#have been sobbing for like two hours and this just snapped me out of it

[imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul]

Overprotective- Jacaerys Velaryon

A/N: My thoughts lie only on HOTD, and most of those thoughts are on this PRINCE. I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader Word Count: 3.0k Synopsis: Jace's overprotective nature begins to grate on the reader's nerves as the birth of their first child looms closer.

Legend told that when in the womb, Targaryen babies started out as dragons before transforming into human children. It was nothing more than a silly folktale, your Targaryen family had assured you. But waking up in the dark of night, flinging the covers off of your scorching body, you aren't so sure.

Your nights had been spent like this for nearly two months now. If it wasn't the heat that coated your body, clinging sweat to your brow, it was waking up nearly ever hour to relieve yourself.

The child growing in your stomach was truly a Targaryen - passionate and unyielding.

The first four months of your pregnancy had been wonderful. You had none of the sickness that so many face in the early stages of their maternity. Back then you were often tired, but the child slept whenever you did. And to top it all off, Jace was a perfect husband. He brought you water when you needed it, rubbed your feet when they were aching, and then, you had wanted him constantly, and he had been more than happy to oblige.

But things change quickly during pregnancy, you are coming to understand. Jace wakes up next to you now, sitting up immediately.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"Nothing," you say, turning to face him. Your bedroom is dark, but even so, you can see the worry in his eyes. "Just too hot."

"Can I do anything for you? Should I call the Maester?"

"No, I'm fine," you say, straining to get out of bed. He supports your back, giving you the extra push to get up. You hate that he has to do this, that he has to push on your sweat drenched back, in order for you to stand.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

"To relieve myself."

"You just got up--"

"I know, Jacaerys," you snap, holding your stomach as you leave the room.

Jace had been wonderful those first few months, when you had been in high spirits. But now, you were in pain constantly, which made you irritable, which made any attempt he made to help you irksome.

When you came back into the room, Jace is still up, his head resting on his pillow. He lifts it a little when you come back in, smiling at you gently. The sheets have been changed - another new routine - but one that doesn't bother you so much. It made a world of difference to lay down in a cool, clean bed after waking in a pool of your own sweat.

"All right?" he asks as you lay down beside him.

"Yes."

"Sure?"

"Yes, why?" you ask, tilting your head up to look at him.

"Because you called me Jacaerys," he says, brushing a stray hair off your brow. "You only do that when you're mad at me." You let out a breath of laughter, but immediately feel like the emotion could change into a sob. Jace must see it, too, because he scoots closer, pulling you into his bare arms.

"Hey," he says, kissing your forehead, "You can call me Jacaerys whenever you like."

"I'm not mad at you," you say, turning into him, so your growing stomach presses into his. "There's just this monster inside of me making me go mad." Jace smiles to himself, nodding his head.

"I know."

"I love you," you say, a hand to his cheek. He leans in to kiss you, his lips cool. When you break apart, you realize the windows are wide open, and while you've been sweating all night, he has to be freezing. You start to say something about it, but he cuts you off.

"I'm fine," he says. "I love you. Please just try to get some sleep."

"Get off me, then," you say, pushing him playfully. He smirks, falling back over to his side, taking your share of the blankets, as well. You lay on your back, and can't help the groan of pain at the pressure the position puts on you. Jace immediately reaches for your hand.

"Jacaerys," you say, squeezing his palm once. He laughs.

"Good night, Y/N."

"Goodnight."

At seven months pregnant, the burning has finally stopped, but you feel weaker still. Every movement puts pain on your back, your shoulders, your feet. You and Jace speak a language that is mostly moans and groans, and not the kind that used to be typical for the two of you.

One morning, when Jace is away at Driftmark, Rhaenyra joins you for breakfast. At the sight of your sovereign, you try to stand, which makes Rhaenyra laugh.

"Don't trouble yourself, Y/N," she says, walking towards you. "I remember when I was your size. Took me all morning just to get out of bed." You give her a tight lipped smile, settling back into the comfy position you had arranged for yourself.

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"How are you feeling?" she asks, pouring herself a cup of tea. She motions to you, but you decline with a shake of your head.

"I'm alright."

"Is she kicking?" she asks, nodding to the hand on your belly.

"Only when I'm trying to sleep," you say with a laugh. "You agree with Jace, then? You think it'll be a girl?"

"The way you're carrying, yes, but one never really can tell. What are you hoping for?" she asks.

"For these next months to pass quickly," you say, straining when a nerve pinches in your side. You adjust your position, and find that Rhaenyra is looking at you with a small, understanding smile. "And of course, for a healthy baby."

"Of course."

"I don't know how you've done this so many times," you say. "Does it get any easier?"

"No," she says simply. You sigh, which makes her smile grow. "How has Jace been?" she asks.

"Very protective," you say, smiling. "Maybe too much so. I feel like if I just breathe wrong he's on alert, worried something has happened." A strange expression passes over Rhaenyra's face - equal parts pride and sorrow.

"I'm afraid Jacaerys has seen more than his fair share of pregnancies gone wrong," she says gently.

"I'm sorry, I know," you say, embarrassment passing through you.

"That's not to say that he isn't overbearing," she adds with a smile. "He's much like his father that way."

"Really?"

"He couldn't always be there," she says, "But when he was, he made up for the time apart with his watch over me." You smile at her as the door opens across the room, and Jace enters.

"You're back early," Rhaenyra says, lifting an eyebrow at him. He smells salty when he leans down to kiss you. He smiles at you, then looks to his mother.

"Thought I might join you for breakfast," he says, sitting next to you. "Besides, I was needed here more than at Driftmark." You exchange a look with Rhaenyra.

"How are you feeling this morning?" he asks you.

"Just fine, Jacaerys," you say, patting his cheek. "You didn't need to cut your visit short."

"Well, there is something I need to do here nonetheless."

"What's that?" you ask.

"It seems Syrax has laid another clutch of eggs. Joff and I are going to retrieve them, and the younger boys are going to help us pick one for the babe," he says, a hand on your stomach. You smile at him, at the gentle caress of his hand. You know he comes from a place of love with his attention.

"Do you want to join us?" he asks.

"I doubt I could make it downstairs, much less down to the Dragonpit."

"We could bring them to you," he says.

"No," you say, "Decide with your brothers. Just pick out a good one." He nods to you, leaning in to kiss your temple.

At the end of breakfast, Jace goes off to the Dragonpit, but only at your insistence. He wanted to walk you back to your chambers, but Rhaenyra assured him she was more than up to the task. Once he was out of sight, she laughed to herself.

"I see what you mean," she says.

Jace returns to your room that night with a shiny, white dragon egg.

Jace's lips are soft on yours. At eight months pregnant, finding moments with him is getting harder every day. He lies next to you, a hand on your stomach, the other cradling the back of your head.

"Y/N," he hums, each word spoken onto your lips, "I want you." You make a sound in your throat, both in agreement and in discomfort. It has been too long since the two of you have been intimate.

"I'm huge," you say.

"You're not and I don't care," he says, his mouth moving across your jaw.

"The last time we did this," you breathe, arching into him when he nips at your earlobe, "We had to stop because you worried you'd hurt the baby."

"I promise I'll relax this time," he says.

"How could you even get to me?" you ask with a laugh. Jace smiles at you as his hand moves from your stomach to your hip, turning you onto your side easily. He presses up behind you, kissing along your neck.

You sigh, relaxing into him. His hand pulls up the skirt of your nightgown, exposing your legs to the cool night air. It has been so long that you know you're ready for him immediately.

"Just tell me if I'm hurting you," he says. You groan, putting a hand to his face to stop him from kissing you more. "Y/N."

"Jace." You scoot away from him, turning slowly to face him.

"I didn't mean anything by it," he says with a sigh.

"How many times have you fucked me in that same position?" you ask. Jace frowns, frustration evident on his face. "Have you ever hurt me?"

"No, but things are different," he says. "What's the harm in asking if you feel okay?"

"It doesn't make me feel desirable," you say, looking up at the ceiling, stupid, frustrating tears forming in your eyes again. Jace sighs and moves to your side, propping himself up on an elbow so you have to look at him.

"Y/N," he says gently. "Of course you are desirable. You are still the most beautiful, incredible woman I know. And it's because you are so incredible that I want to make sure that I don't do anything that puts you in more pain than I know you are already in."

"I promise I will tell you if I am hurting, okay? You don't have to coddle me."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," you say, hand on his cheek to bring his lips to yours. "I'm the bitch for complaining about her kind husband." He laughs and kisses your palm.

"You're not a bitch," he says. You kiss him again. "Now please roll onto your side and let me fuck you." You laugh, doing as he says.

"Of course, My Prince."

Jace is at Dragonstone Castle when you go into labor. He has been anxious for the last month, knowing that any day the baby could arrive. He intended to postpone this meeting with the great houses, but you assured him that the babe would not come today. The only thing that kept him to his promise was the fact that Vermax could bring him back to the Red Keep quickly.

When Joffrey bursts into the room, Jace is immediately on his feet, already fearing the worst.

"What is it?" he asks.

"Y/N has gone into labor."

Jace barely spares a glance at the lords around the table. He urges Joffrey along. His brother had the foresight to request that Vermax be readied for when they arrived upon the shore.

The ride is quick, as he knew it would be, but he still urges Vermax along, wanting and needing to be close to you as soon as he can.

When he gets to the Red Keep, he runs up to your chambers, intending to throw them open and run to your side. Instead, he finds that they are locked. He can hear soft discussion, encouragements, but the loudest sound coming through the door is your screaming.

Joffrey followed him to the door and carefully peels him away. "She's alright," he insists. Jace won't be able to agree until he can see you himself.

Together, they sit outside your door for the next three hours. Joffrey doesn't say much, but when your screaming gets louder, or there seems to be a rise in urgency to the voices inside, he puts a comforting hand on his shoulder.

It seems like ages have passed when the doors finally open.

He doesn't wait to hear what the Maester has to say. He rushes into the room, his eyes going immediately to your bed. Midwives quickly take away bloodied sheets, and when they clear, he sees you. You are drenched in sweat, your hair matted all around you, and he's not sure he's ever seen you look more beautiful.

"Y/N," he says, as if he's looking upon the gods themselves. You look up at him, your face breaking into a smile. He rushes to your side.

"Are you okay?" he asks, taking your face in his hands.

"I'm okay," you say, laying a hand over his. He laughs. It's a result of the built up tension from the hallway, and he can't stop himself. He laughs as he kisses you, over and over. You laugh, too, and he tastes the salt of your tears on your lips.

"What is it?" he asks, quickly studying your face.

"Don't you want to meet him?" you ask.

"Him?" Jace's face falls in awe.

"Him," you say. You look towards one of the midwives and they bring over the smallest bundle Jace has ever seen. He sinks onto the bed beside you as the babe is placed in his arms.

"Hello," he says quietly. You lean onto his shoulder, looking down at your son with a smile on your face.

"Isn't he beautiful?" you ask, your voice a whisper.

"Yes," he says, his heart still thundering from the surprise. "What have you called him?" he asks.

"I assumed we'd discuss that together," you say, "But I was thinking Lucerys, if that'd be alright." Jace has tears of his own in his eyes. He bites back his smile, unable to put into words what the name means to him, what you mean to him. He nods his head.

"Does that sound good to you, Lucerys?" you ask, your finger touching the blanket over the baby's stomach. He starts to move around, crying out just a little. Like you've done it a million times before, you take Lucerys into your arms and shush him gently.

Jace kisses your temple repeatedly, until you laugh. You turn towards him and kiss him fully, passionately.

"I love you so much," he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

"I love you, too."

You stay in that position for an hour or so, Jace holding you, and you holding Lucerys. Joffrey is the first to meet the future heir to the throne, and he kisses you on the cheek when he learns his nephew's name.

When his mother enters the room, Jace doesn't stand, wanting to keep you in his arms forever. She is all smiles as she leans over your opposite shoulder. You sit up slowly, and Jace's arm around you helps guide you upright.

"Hello, little one," Rhaenyra says, taking the child into her arms. You sigh happily, watching her interact with him. Jace can't keep from kissing your face a few more times. He doesn't think he has ever been this in love with you.

"And what is the name of our little prince?" Rhaenyra asks, looking between the two of you. Jace looks down at you, but you nod your head to him.

"We've decided to name him Lucerys," he says simply. Rhaenyra's expression changes immediately, her eyes welling up with tears of her own. Holding Lucerys in one arm, she leans down to kiss you both.

"A fine name," she says through tears. "You did well," she says, looking at you. You smile back, tears forming again in your own.

After a few moments in her arms, she hands your son back to you, and departs, letting the two of you get acquainted to your new family. Neither of you say much. You just watch Lucerys with rapt attention, counting his fingers, and touching his soft patch of hair.

"He's so beautiful," you say quietly.

"He is."

"I don't think I'm ever going to let him out of my sight," you say, looking up at Jace with a smile. He smiles back, but notices the exhaustion on your face.

"Maybe you can for a little while," he says, "Just to get some rest."

"Still so overprotective," you say with a smirk.

"I've got two to protect now," he says, "So if you could just once let me take care of you without arguing--" You cut him off with a kiss.

"I'll try," you say. "But don't either of you leave this room."

"I don't think you could kick us out if you wanted to."

Jace stands with his son in his arms, watching as you lay down. The midwives come back in to check on you and Lucerys, before leaving the three of you alone for the time.

"It's okay, Y/N," he says lowly, when you still haven't shut your eyes, your gaze locked on the two of them. "We'll be here."

"Promise?"

"I swear it," he says, giving you an easy smile. He watches you close your eyes, and in a few moments, your breath falls into an easy rhythm, just like Lucerys's.

Jace looks down at his son. He doesn't want to disturb his sleep, but he wants to tell him, here and now, that he'll always be overprotective. So he makes the vow to himself, just like the one he made when he married you. He is always going to protect the people he loves, even if it sometimes drives them mad.

[peachdues]

IT TAKES TWO

Sanemi • Giyuu • F!Reader threesome • NSFW

There is nothing remotely redeemable about this. This is just straight porn. No plot. Barely coherent, I wrote this in like an hour.

Giyuu and Sanemi fuckers unite.

shoutout to @kentohours for the idea of sweet Sanemi contrasted with ruthless Giyuu.

CW: explicit sexual content • MDNI • threesome • spitroasting • unprotected sex • anal/rimming play • spit as lube • slightly rough oral sex • some might think consent is mildly dubious as the end so just be aware

“Shhh, Y/N,” the rough, calloused hand of the Wind Pillar takes hold of your jaw, his fingers squeezing your cheeks together. “You don’t want the others to know what we’re doing, do you?”

If you knew how to answer with more than the strangled, lascivious moan Sanemi Shinazugawa suppresses as he slips his fingers between your lips, you’d do it.

“Keep her — ngh —“ the dark, strained voice of the Water Pillar rises above the punishing slaps of his hips against your backside where he’s ruthlessly pounding into you from behind. “Keep her quiet.”

Sanemi doesn’t tear his eyes away from your face, from your beautiful, fucked out, blissful expression as Giyuu roughly jerks you back to meet his movements. “She can’t help it,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking the curve of your jaw. “Feels too good, doesn’t it?”

You nod, turning your head to the side to whimper into his scarred palm.

He tsks in sympathy. How odd it seems to have Sanemi Shinazugawa — brutal Wind Pillar and renowned hothead — speaking to you so softly, his hold on your face almost reverent even as his fingers push deeper down your throat. Almost as odd as the sudden change in ordinarily stoic and subdued temperament of the Water Pillar now fucking into you like he has something to prove.

You can’t quite remember the series of events that led you here — sprawled on all fours, your ass held high in the air as the Water Pillar relentlessly drove his cock into your soaking heat again and again. Nor do you recall how the Wind Pillar managed to join in the fray, seated just in front of you as one hand gingerly strokes through your hair while the other massages at your exposed breasted his fingers rolling and pinching at your hardened nipples until you’re damn near sobbing from over stimulation.

“Shit, you’re doing so well, sweetheart. Tomioka ain’t small.” Sanemi praises, his thumb dragging over your bottom lip. His pupils blow wide as you flick your tongue out and graze the side of his finger, moaning at his taste.

“Oh!” Sanemi’s finger slips from your mouth as you cry out against a particularly vicious snap of the ravenette’s hips from behind, one that results in the tip of the Water Pillar’s considerable cock bullying right up against that sweet spot deep within you, before he withdraws.

Apparently, Giyuu hadn’t been fond of watching Sanemi be on the receiving end of your attention — not when it was he who was fucking you into the mess of shaking limbs and pleading cries you now were.

“Oh please, oh please, oh please, please, please —“ you push back against Giyuu’s movements, desperate for him to hit that spot again, but the Water Pillar’s grip on your hips tightens in restraint.

“Shut her up, Shinazugawa.” Giyuu hisses between clenched teeth. “I’m not getting interrupted before I can cum.”

Sanemi scoots forward and opens his legs wider, allowing you to brace your hands on the ground between his thighs. But this new position means your head is now level with the considerable bulge straining against the seat of his pants.

“You heard Tomioka, darlin’,” he keeps the hand gripping your jaw in place as he palms at himself with the other. “I gotta keep you quiet, and you need to help me out”.

Sanemi makes quick work of his belt and the opening of his pants, pushing them down just far enough that he can free his cock. Your eyes widen at the sight of it, thick and engorged, his tip a dark red that begs for your attention.

The Wind Pillar squeezes your jaw, forcing your mouth to part. A low whine begins to vibrate in your throat as Giyuu cock plunges deep, but it’s quieted as Sanemi pushes his length past your lips.

“There you go — good girl.” Sanemi’s head drops back with a soft groan, his brain threatening to melt between his ears as your mouth envelops his aching length with its wet heat. “Fuck.”

You take him eagerly, moaning at the way his tip bumps against the back of your throat. Saliva leaks out of the corners of your mouth, making a mess of both him and you, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not as your head bobs up and down his thickness, no sounds escaping you more than a few, garbled sputters.

Sanemi’s hand cups the back of your head and presses you down, his fingers tangling in your hair as he forces you into a suitable pace. “Fuck, I knew this mouth of yours would be fuckin’ sweet.”

You bob faster, your tongue pressing flat against the underside of his shaft with every downward stroke. His praise sends a thrill shooting through your lower stomach. Eager to please, you swallow around him, and the tightening of your throat makes Sanemi tremble beneath you.

“And look,” he feigns composure by jutting his chin at the Water Hashira at your back. “Tomioka looks like he’s two strokes away from a bloody nose.”

He says it like you’re able to turn your head at all, as though he’s not deliberately keeping your head pushed so far down his cock, your nose is bumping against the seam of his pants.

But even if you can’t see how the raven-haired pillar is rapidly losing control, you can certainly feel it. Giyuu’s fingers are buried hard into the flesh of your hips, and his motions no longer reflect the fluid, precise movements you’ve witnessed him using in battle, or when he first began fucking you like you were a conquest rather than his comrade.

Now, Giyuu has one foot planted by your knee and his grip on your hips allows him to yank you harshly back to meet his jolting, bruising thrusts.

Despite the way his hand keeps steadily guiding your head up and down his great length, Sanemi’s eyes narrow over your head. “You gonna pull out, Tomioka?”

“No,” the Water Pillar growls. “No, she’s gonna take it all — take me.”

He emphasizes his promise by leaning over your back until his lower abdomen rests against the base of your spine. The added weight of his body coupled with the slight shift in angle means his balls — so heavy and full — are left to slap against your clit, and the thought of him emptying himself into you makes you clench around him all the harder.

Had you not been struggling to blink back tears as the top of Sansmi’s cock continued to bump against the back of your throat, you would have seen the challenging glinting in his eyes. A promise, that Giyuu won’t be the only one to partake in that particular honor.

He turns his attention back to you. “You want him to cum in you?”

Sanemi eases his hold in your hair, allowing you to momentarily pull off his cock. You’re gasping and shuddering for breath, and your mouth and chin sloppy with your drool, but your eyes are bright.

“Yes!” You manage between heaving breaths. “Yes, I want him inside! I want his cum, I want your cum, please —“

Your lips press messily against the shaft of Sanemi’s still-hard cock, your cheek mashed against his thigh while you gasp for air. His taste still coats your tongue, a distinct salty-sweetness lingering in the back of your throat.

But you’ve given your answer, and Giyuu puffs a boastful little noise as he continues to pound you damn near into the dirt and leave-strewn ground below.

Sanemi doesn’t argue, instead helping to ease you away from his lap and back onto your hands, his hold lingering on your shoulders as you re-adjust yourself to take the full force of Giyuu’s wild thrusts. When he’s sure your arms won’t buckle beneath you, he reaches under and his rough, thick fingers find your clit. You nearly howl as Sanemi begins circling it, but he only smirks, leaning in to impart a quick, teasing peck against your parted mouth as he works you in time with Giyuu’s movements.

Delicate, surprisingly gentle fingers spread the cheeks of your backside wide. At first, you think it’s to allow Giyuu to bully even deeper into your heat, though the idea that there’s any space left inside you that he hasn’t claimed seems impossible. But then a thumb begins circling the rim of your anus, teasing it, and the slight pressure of Water Pillar’s touch elicits a deep, nearly animalistic groan out of you, one that neither of the men can bring themselves to silence.

“I’m filling this one next,” the Water Pillar swears through clenched teeth. His declaration is followed by a curious wetness dribbling down the seam of your ass, pooling right around your entrance where Giyuu’s fingers continue to tease you. He continues circling your opening, spreading the wetness — his saliva, you think — right around your rim.

Giyuu’s slender yet strong hands massage your backside as his movements grow sloppy and disjointed. Every rotation spreads you wider and wider, until you’re certain there’s not an inch of you he can’t see as he watches himself plunge in and out of your slick, tight heat.

You’re losing control now; the walls of your core fluttering and pulsing as a knot in your stomach begins to tighten. A knot that only cinches harder as Sanemi adds a second finger to swirl around your clit, alternating between rapid, tight circles and gentle presses.

“Fuck,” Giyuu whimpers as you clench harder around him in response to Sanemi’s ministrations. “She’s close,” he pants in warning to the Wind Pillar. “And so am I — fuck.”

Sanemi doesn’t respond; he only increases the pressure of his fingers, now pulsing against your aching bead in time with the spasms of your cunt around Giyuu.

The coil deep within your abdomen winds tighter and tighter, your toes curling against the nearly painful pleasure mounting rapidly between your legs. Tears well in the corners of your eyes, and you sink your teeth into your bottom lip to keep the sobs bubbling in your throat locked in.

You’re desperate for release — so, so desperate, that you begin throwing yourself back to meet Giyuu’s messy movements, circling your hips and whimpering pleas for him to make that spring in your gut unwind, to give you the relief you need.

Sanemi watches you with mock-concern. “You want to cum, sweetheart?” He pinches your clit between his fingers until you begin to vibrate with the effort not to scream.

“Go on, then. Let Tomioka feel how well he’s fucking you.”

Sanemi presses down against your clit right as Giyuu slips his thumb inside your ass, and that’s when you come apart.

You manage to slap your hand to your mouth just in time to muffle your deep, shuddering sobs as you seize around Giyuu’s cock like a vice.

“Shit — shit, Y/N — gonna cum, gonna —“ Giyuu’s pleasured chant chokes off with a moan as he slams into you one final time before stilling.

Your eyes roll back at the first hot, salty spurt of seed that fills you as Giyuu’s climax rips through him, the Water Pillar’s hips canting against your rear.

You thought your climax was powerful before you’d felt Giyuu’s cum — viscous and warm — begin to coat your inner walls. But the sensation of being so thoroughly filled by the Swordsman at your back that you couldn’t imagine fathom how you wouldn’t continue feeling him even hours from now, sends you ascending to an entirely different plane. One that is an endless sea, the precise color of the Water Pillar’s eyes.

One that you cannot but help but to drown in, and so you resign yourself to its waves, your mouth falling open in a silent scream of bliss.

“Damn, she’s pretty when she’s being filled,” Sanemi whistles, catching your jaw with his free hand and sliding his thumb back into your mouth. Though you’re floating high above the clouds of euphoric pleasure as Giyuu continues to fuck you through your high, your lips close around his finger on instinct, suckling him in obedience.

Sanemi’s hand tightens its grip on your chin, squeezing until you open your eyes. “You like being filled with cum, don’t you, doll?”

Though your vision is hazy, you nod, moaning as Giyuu’s hot seed begins to spill over where the two of you are connected and dribbles down your thigh.

“He’s filling you up good, too,” Sanemi remarks, noting the squelching sound as Giyuu’s groin continues to meet your rear in wet, sticky slaps. “But you can take more, can’t you?”

Before you can answer, the canting of Giyuu’s hips slow and the Water Pillar slumps over your back, breathing hard. Warm, gentle lips ghost along your spine as he whispers indiscernible praises against your skin.

The three of you remain still for a moment, you mewling as your core continues a last few fluttering pulses around Giyuu’s softening cock before he withdraws from your warmth. Another gush of his fluid leaks down your leg and its loss makes you whimper, but both men rush to soothe you, Sanemi running his fingers through your hair as Giyuu massages your ass.

You think you’re done, and you motion for one of them to help you with your clothes, but neither respond. You almost give up, too tired and body too limp to warrant any further effort, and you resolve to sink sleepily into the forest floor.

You frown as hands slide under you, pulling and tugging. A string of incoherent babbles lilt out of you as Giyuu and Sanemi work together to flip you to your back, rotating you so that your hips now rest on the Wind Pillar’s thighs.

Giyuu’s hands are warm as they push aside the tattered remains of your uniform shirt where it had been ripped clean down the middle and come to rest upon your exposed breasts, massaging the soft flesh.

There’s a rustle of movement as Sanemi guides your legs around him, your hips suspended as your upper torso rests on the ground between Giyuu’s parted thighs. Blearily, you realize they mean to use you again, aching and sore as you are. But when you try and squirm away, whimpering your over sensitivity, Sanemi only pulls your hips back to him as Giyuu’s hands slide to your biceps to hold you down.

Stiffened cock in hand, Sanemi taps your swollen, abused clit with his tip, already red and leaking.

“Not yet, gorgeous. Now it’s my turn to enjoy that pretty little pussy of yours.”

divider credit: @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

[ddejavvu]

Hiiiiii can u write a blurb about reader having her first baby and she’s struggling letting the baby cry it out to fall asleep.

But Aaron having already gone through this with jack is comforting her and promising the baby knows she loves them but they have to sleep.

i felt this!! i'm not a mother myself (yet) but i don't think i'd be able to stop myself. it was even hard for me to let the baby i was nannying for cry himself out, and he wasn't even mine. i'd be the weak one getting up six times a night cause my baby's crying </33

--

The heartbreaking sounds of your daughter's wailing cries sends tears of your own pricking at your eyes no matter how hard you try squeezing them shut and sleeping through it. You're restless- like her, almost completely controlled by your urge to go into her nursery and comfort her. She's been crying for an hour, and the only reason you've been able to let her 'cry it out' is because Jack is sleeping over at a friend's house.

Just when you think of rolling over to soothe her, Aaron's large hand grasps at your smaller one, and you feel yourself pulled into his chest.

"Don't go now. You need sleep. And she'll be safe. She'll learn."

"Aaron, she's sobbing. She doesn't like learning-" You swallow a sob, "What if- what if she thinks we don't love her? She must be so scared, I- I have to go help her."

"She needs to learn to sleep on her own," Aaron hums, remembering how much it had hurt to sleep train Jack, "Trust me, sweetheart. She knows you love her. And even if its hard to let her cry, we need to let her learn this. We can't be getting up three times a night for the next eighteen years. Once she learns how to sleep on her own, we'll be able to get a good night ourselves. And we need sleep to be good parents."

He's speaking logically, of course. You and Aaron have both been increasingly irritable since the birth of your daughter, as happy as you've both been to welcome her into the world. You've been up and down at least three times a night with your daughter and her irregular sleeping habits, and you're both showing signs of extreme sleep deprivation. Aaron had snapped at Jack only two days prior, which is what had finally pushed him over the edge into sleep training, and you'd felt on the verge of snapping at Aaron yourself. He's right. You need your sleep, and your daughter needs to learn these things.

"Come here." Aaron hums, pulling you tighter into his embrace and flattening his palm over your ear. He disguises it by stroking his thumb over your cheekbone, but you know he's muffling the sounds of your daughter's cries.

"It's okay." He promises, "She'll be okay," And you nestle into the warmth of his palm, trusting him even though you know you're still going to have a sleepless night.

[starryeyesmasc]

fuck it. thinking about a girl riding my strap when she figures out how desperate I am to cum just from fucking her.

her hips rock again and she stretches, slick and glistening, around the head of the strap. I whine as I watch her sink down fully, but I can’t move to touch her how I’d like. my hands are neatly tied to the headboard, courtesy of the girl on my lap right now. she laughs at the painfully turned on expression on my face.

“awww. what’s up, darling?” she coos, sighing as she works herself slowly up and down the length of silicone. “am I teasin’ you? is someone getting a little flustered down there?”

any answer I might’ve been able to give fizzles out when she props a hand on my chest to pick up her pace. I drop my head back against the duvet and groan as the orgasm I’d been rapidly nearing comes steaming back. we’ve been at this for at least an hour, and she’s already cum at least three times. all without letting me cum once. I’m struck wordless, desperate, by the sheer weight of my desire for her. so when she begins to lift again I shake my head and whine.

“no, please. please please please.”

she grins and shunts her hips back down fully, completely swallowing up the ruined strap. it’s the visual of her cum from two orgasms ago smearing into my boxers that makes me arch and jolt.

“fuck—oh fuck, I can’t—m’gonna—fuck—”

for one blessed moment, I think she’s going to finally let me cum. then she laughs again and I feel her teeth nip against my neck. “so fuckin’ eager to please, aren’t you? are you actually gonna cum just from this?”

something snaps above me. I don’t need to look up to know I broke the headboard; I felt the tension holding my hands loosen. but before I can move to touch her, a nimble hand pins my wrists above my head.

“ah-ah. no, darling. you look so good and pretty right now. I’m not done usin’ you yet. you just stay still and let me—oh, awww. are you crying? need to cum that badly, do you? fuck, babe. you’re so, so desperate to be good for me, aren’t you?”

I nod instantly; squirming against the euphoric precipice she had me balanced on.

“please,” I sob. “please, fuck, please.”

“well go on then.” she rolls her hips and the sound makes me moan. “be my good desperate slut. cum for me.”

there’s something missing, and she knows it too. she’s just waiting to drag the answer free and I’m too whiny to hold out. her smirk turns wicked and she gives my hands a little shove into the bed.

“but that’s right. you can’t, can you? you need to watch me fuck myself on you again, babe?”

even as she says it, her hips slide back into motion. up, down, languid, just how I like. I’m a horse in the gates, a pulse in the veins, raring to go. all I need is one last push. she pauses when she sinks to the bottom to roll her swollen clit under her fingertips and her head tilts back as her eyebrows furrow.

“mhmm. fuck, you fill me up so fucking much. I could sit right here for hours. c’mon, babe. I know I nearly have you. close those pretty eyes and give me what I want.” she starts into motion again, and this time it’s rough. chasing release. her hips slamming down into mine with slick, wet sounds. she lowers her mouth to my straining neck. “fucking give it to me. cum for me. cum for me.”

her words push me to breaking point, but it’s her low moan in my ear and the resulting wetness dripping into my boxers that sets me off like it always does. I finally hit that sunlit peak and I arch into the golden heat of it as everything in my body freezes in adoration of her. offering up my orgasm to the goddess above me. she can take it, I have no need for it. it’s all for her, every ounce of me. I come down from it slowly, twitching as I pant and whine underneath her. a hand slips over my cheek and her careful thumb strokes my cheekbone.

“there. hey, shhh. there we go. so good. oh, you just couldn’t hold on, could you? my poor girl. yeah, I got you. I’ve got you.”

I squirm again, trying to steal another orgasm while I’m still hazy from the first, but she tightens her grip and holds me steady.

“ah. where’re you goin’? that’s just one. I told you, I’m not done with you yet. I wanna see exactly how much I can make you cum without even touching you.”

[mother-honour]

Actions have consequences (Simon 'Ghost' Riley X GN Civilian! Spouse! Reader) Part 1

Summary: In a heated argument between the two of you, Simon says something he will regret for the rest of his life.

CW: Simon being an asshole, Swearing, yelling, emotional hurt, heavy angst, car accident, descriptive writing of injury, Character death (?)

Simon truly wanted to be a good husband.

But nothing ever seemed to go smoothly in his life. From his fucked-up childhood, his own demons, to his role as the infamous Ghost. Everything had to eventually come to bite him in the ass.

You, his loving spouse, had always tried to ease his pain in any way that you could. It would vary from cuddling on the couch, to taking him somewhere to lay in the grass and watch the clouds go by. However, he'd been away longer. The world beyond the walls of his cozy home made him more bitter, jaded, and cruel when he returned home.

It was today that he finally snapped.

It was a small disagreement at first, something that had already felt foreign to you. Then it escalated. The both of you kept just kept going back and forth, spitting venom at each other from a supply with an unknown source.

"All I have been trying to do this whole time is make sure that you don't have to deal with the pain alone. I'm only trying to fucking help, Simon!" You yell with hot tears streaming down your face, the grip on your shirt so tight it makes your knuckles turn white.

"Marrying you was a mistake." He snarls. The way your face twists into an expression of pure horror at his words makes him want to take it all back. A choked sob leaves your trembling body as you bolt into the direction of the door. You ignore the frantic calls of your husband as you snatch your jacket and the car keys in one swift motion, not even bothering to look back as you slam the door in his face.

You make your way to the red sports car, unlocking the vehicle before plopping yourself down in the driver's seat. There was no going back now. You start the car, glancing to the side at your shared home with Simon one last time before you hit the gas.

"Fuck…" You whimper while running a hand over your tear-stained face. Simon's words echo through your mind over and over again, the feeling of knives stabbing into your heart becoming more and more evident with each and every loop.

'Marrying you was a mistake.'

Your eyes dart to the side as you catch a flash of bright lights, the booming horn of a truck being the last thing you hear before everything goes dark.

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

Simon sat on the couch, fingers dinging into his hair, as the tears finally stopped. It had been an hour since you stormed out the door, the look of pure horror on your face branded into his mind like the scars that decorated his body. How could he have said that to you? You, the love of his life, were the only person who had let him feel human in the times he needed it most.

"I'm such a fucking idiot." He scolded himself while smacking the sides of his head. The sound of his phone buzzing on the coffee table was the only thing that brought him out of his self-pity. He reached out to the obnoxious device that tried to get his attention, turning it around to find the word 'unknown' flashing readily on the screen.

Alarm bells began to go off in his brain as he pressed down to answer the call. A sweet elderly voice was greeting him from the other side. "Hello? Is this Mr. Riley? I am calling from the Clementine Churchill Hospital." The moment the word 'hospital' registered in Simon's brain, he immediately froze.

"Sir?" The voice on the other side called again, to which this time he did respond. "Yes, you are speaking to him. Why did you call me?" Deep down, he already knew why. "Your spouse has been in a car accident. Do you have the possibility to come over?"

Simon's heart stopped beating.

The time between him rushing to the hospital and finally reaching your room was all but a blur to him. He now sat at your bedside, tears streaming down his face as he looked at the damage he had caused. You looked so frail, all wrapped up in bandages, with all different types of tubes and machinery hooked up to you.

There was only one thought that crossed Simon's mind at this very moment. It was all his fault.

If he hadn't yelled at you, if he hadn't let you walk out of that door, you would've been cuddled up on the couch together. You would be smiling at him, those beautiful eyes he came to love looking up at him with pure joy when you told him about your day. But you weren't. You were lying here, fighting for your life. All because of him.

"Sweetheart? I don't know if you can hear me… but I-" Simon had to swallow as he felt his world crumble around him. "I'm so sorry, baby. I should've never allowed myself to say something so fucking horrible to you." Hot tears streamed down his face as he reached out to caress your cheek. "Please… please don't go. I can't-I can't lose anyone else." Simon wept as he held onto your hand, his lips brushing against your bandaged knuckles.

"Please…" He kept begging. He was hoping that someone, anyone, would hear his plea not to take you away from him.

[gilverrwrites]

Toy Maintenance

Arkham Knight/Reader, 900 words Ft. Slade Wilson Kinktober entry 13: Interruption Warnings: Extremely dubious consent/non-con | implied/mentions of violence | bondage | gags | exhibitionism, sorta | a darker portrayal of Jason Requested by: Anonymous

“Oh, you poor baby. Does it hurt?” The eerily modulated voice of The Arkham Knight jeers at you from above. You’re not exactly sure what he’s referring to, but the answer is yes. Your very bones ache to their core after hours of use. Your wrists are cut from their metal bindings, knees scuffed from the hard floor. Your jaw stings from having your lips locked around a ring gang for such a long time, and you were beginning to fear he was right; your tight little cunt would never be the same again. Everything hurt.

Even as he teasingly slaps his cock between your slit, what should only sting a little, burns. “I asked you a question.”

To emphasise his impatience, he smacks a gloved hand on your already beaten ass, laughing that infuriating fucking laugh when you cry out in pain.

“Uhhh.” Your sob is distorted by the O-shaped piece of metal lodged between your teeth. “Yuush e hopts.”

“Awh.” He continues to mock as he slowly pushes his length inside your used up walls. The pace is not a kindness, you know he wants to feel every inch of it splitting tender walls. As he presses deeper inside, the cum from his previous exploits leaks out of your gaping hole. The wet sound of it escaping and dripping to the floor is absolutely vulgar. Once he bottoms out, he leans over your arched back, ensuring his tip sits snug against your cervix and getting close to your face. “I don’t care.”

The worst part is that once he starts driving into your raw and worked up pussy, ruthlessly snapping his hips at an animalistic speed; the pain is worth it. Just for that modicum of bittersweet pleasure. Even his foul-mouthed compliments and derogatory insults make your eyes roll back, and so he cracks wise at you all the more.

“God you’re pathetic.” He spits in response to your quiet sobs. He likes this angle because he knows he’s hitting that inner sweet spot that makes you crazy with every thrust. “Look at you, fucking loving it. You don’t know even know who I am. Do you?”

You’re shaking your head, scuffing your own cheek on the concrete floor when the door suddenly swings open and slams closed, a tall figure carrying a thick folder entering in between. The Knight doesn’t let up his unrelenting attack on your cunt, not even as the solider stops beside your rutting bodies, depositing the file on The Knights desk.

Up close you recognise him, specifically the two-done armour, and his singular, jarring eye. Deathstroke.

“When you hired me, I came on as a mercenary, not an errand boy.” He states bitterly. You can’t get a good look at him from your spot on the floor, but he seems to be watching your captor. It occurs to you that most would be attempting to cover their modesty about now, but The Knight isn’t done with you, so you remain still, enjoying the euphoric drag of his cock.

“Ohh, sorry, old man. Am I running you ragged?” The Knight replies, voice raspy from exertion but still acrid. Even more sour than it is with you, which you earnestly hadn’t thought possible.

“Not likely.” The merc deadpans. If you had the energy, you might have jumped when his masked head swiftly tilts to meet your eye.

He considers you for a moment before lifting his boot and lightly placing it on your shoulder. You don’t fight, The Knight has long since fucked that out of you. But for the first time since you’d been brought here, you wonder how you must look. Bruised and broken, face planted in a puddle of your own drool. How small and worthless you must seem.

With his foot, Deathstroke shakes your form, only briefly, grunting when you don’t respond and turning back to The Arkham Knight.

“You should take better care of your toys.” He says, chiding him like a father would a child. The Knight doesn’t take too kindly to his tone.

“Fuck off old timer, don’t tell me how to run my shit.” You howl in a twisted mix of relief and anguish as The Knight pulls out of you to get in Deathstroke face. “I got her just how I want her.”

“Is that right?” The older man snickers, his one eye falling back to you, it takes you a moment to register that his proceeding question is directed at you. “Far be it from us to have an opinion, huh girl?”

If or how you should respond is redundant, before you can muster any sound The Knight jams his finger in Deathstroke’s chest. “Do I pay you to have opinions? No, I pay you to do a fucking job. N- “

He cuts himself off mid-sentence, also looking over at you before the two masked men turn to face each other in tandem.

“Oh, I get it. You’re sniffing around because you want a piece.” Deathstroke scoffs in reply but doesn’t deny the accusation. Resolutely unbothered by The Knight’s impeachment of personal space.

Like a carrot on a stick, The Arkham Knight reaches down to you, grabbing you by the scruff of your neck and hauling you upright so that Deathstroke can get a better look at your naked body, cuts and bruises and all.

“Well get me some goddamn results, an’ I might let you take a turn.” You’re not sure how you feel about that, but you doubt your position on the matter will be considered. “But until then get the fuck outta my face.”

You will achieve great things, even though small steps.

Kinktober Masterlist

[frudoo]

I’m so soft for Simon today y’all.

Warnings: Slight angst—lots of crying. Hurt/comfort. Brief mentions of abuse but nothing specific. Overuse of italics lmaooo. Fem!Reader. Simon is sad :(

“Love?”

Simon’s been quiet ever since the two of you left the Garricks’ house. Kyle’s wife had cooked a lovely dinner, and afterwards everybody moved to chat in the living room. Your friends’ kiddos had been climbing over you and loving on you all night, jumping in your lap or begging you to play games with them. That’s when you noticed your husband’s frown—you had just assumed his social battery had run out, but looking back now, none of the signs were there. No short temper, no irritability, no desperate glances over to you trying to convey that he was ready to leave. Now, as you both lay in bed, he speaks for the first time in what feels like hours.

“Yeah, Si? Everything okay?”

He sucks in a deep breath, and you frown. Your husband has never been one to hold his tongue. It makes your heart pound with worry as you reach over to turn your bedside lamp on. Before you get the chance to turn and face him, he wraps his burly arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. You gently raise your hand to scratch the back of his head, fingernails grazing his scalp.

“D’you ever regret marryin’ me?” His voice is so small, carrying the weight of uncertainty and the fear that you’ll tell him exactly what he’s expecting to hear, to break him further.

Your fingers stall their movements and you forget how to breathe all of a sudden. Simon’s breath is labored against your neck, too hot to be normal, too wet to be anything other than the telltale sign of him about to break down. It’s a rarity that he cries, but when he does, it’s the most excruciating thing you can imagine. You can feel his pain like it’s your own. The second his first teardrop falls onto your skin, you finally turn to look at him.

His deep brown eyes are far too glossy for your liking, long blond lashes clumped together by morsels of liquid lies his brain forces him to believe.

“Never,” you frown, rubbing the tip of your thumb over the cleft separating his top lip. “Oh, sugar, what’s brought this on?”

“Y’deserve better than me,” his voice breaks mid-sentence, raspy and raw. “Someone who can- who can make y’happy. Give y’things tha’ I can’t.”

You lean forward to nuzzle your nose against his, gently locking lips with him in a short, tender kiss. You sigh into his mouth, uncaring of the snot and spittle that runs down his face. You’re just about there with him.

“You do make me happy, Simon Riley,” the whispered promise gently whisks across his face like an autumn breeze, refreshing yet not enough to calm his racing brain. “You’ve given me everything I could ask for and more.”

“No. You’ve… you’ve had t’make too many sacrifices f’me, and I don’t deserve tha’. I fucked y’over, and- and stomped on your dreams.”

“Simon, you haven’t-”

“You’d make such a good mum.”

Your mouth snaps shut, teeth grinding together from the sudden motion. Motherhood is a soft spot for you, and he knows it. When Simon first brought up the idea of marriage, he had made it clear that he didn’t want kids—too much risk of him ending up like his father, he explained. It broke your heart, but the thought of living a life where he wasn’t yours hurt far worse. In favor of being his wife, you pushed away the desire to have children, counting on being an auntie or something equivalent to your friends’ little ones.

You bite your lip, trying to blink back tears. He’s just saying this out of hurt.

“Seein’ y’with Gaz’s kids jus’...” Simon trails off, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. “You’re so sweet with ‘em. Fuckin’- you- you’re perfection, lovie, and you’re settlin’ for a monster like me.”

The tears don’t cease this time. A weak sob rips from your throat, and you dig your nails into his bicep to make him listen.

“You are not a monster. Y-you’re the love of my life,” your lip quivers, hurt evident in your tone. “I married you because I love you, Simon. Because I see what’s beneath the surface. You’re gentle, you’re caring—Si, you’re beautiful. You’re a good person, even if you can’t see it. I see it.”

“I wanna see it,” he murmurs, swallowing hard. “Wanna be better f’you.”

You shake your head softly, a sad smile stretching your lips as you wipe your tears. Pressing your forehead against his, you intertwine fingers with him.

“You’d make an amazing dad.”

It’s Simon’s turn to tense up, squeezing your hand a little tighter but not near enough to hurt—it just proves to you further what a sweet person he can be, that he is underneath his Ghost persona. You’ve never met Ghost, Simon absolutely refuses to let you see the side of him that the rest of the world does, but you know in your bones that even he wouldn’t hurt a hair on your head.

“Love, no, I-I can’t- no. I couldn’t live w’myself if… if I-”

“The fact that you’re so afraid of doing anything wrong is what makes me certain you’d be incredible,” you interrupt, pulling back to look at him sternly, although the fondness that hides in your eyes softens the blow.

“Wha’ if I end up hurtin’ ‘em? Get mad at ‘em and- and I hurt m’own child,” he gasps softly, nervously rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

“Bullshit. You would never. Si, you couldn’t even bring yourself to kill the moles in our yard, and you expect me to believe that you could lay a hand on a—your child?” You scoff, cupping his scarred face in your hands and moving to straddle him.

“Lovie, m’not a good man,” he frowns, leaning into the soft warmth of your palms. “Got m’father’s DNA-”

“Stop that. You are nothing like that man. I don’t give a fuck what it is you do out on the field, but you have never once brought it into our home,” you huff, hands shaking slightly. “You know the difference between your enemies and your family even on your worst days. That’s more than you could say for your father.”

Your skin is tacky with his tears that continue to fall even when he’s rendered silent. Gently, you redirect his arms so that they wrap around your waist, warm and sturdy.

“I know you’re scared,” you whisper, tenderly rubbing his temples with your thumbs. “But have I ever lied to you?”

“Never,” Simon admits quietly, sniffling.

“Then believe me when I tell you I’m not lying now. You’re a good man, Simon Riley—to me, to your friends, and you will be to our kids. I swear it.”

He’s stubbornly avoiding your gaze, and you can tell he’s genuinely thinking about it. Gently, you press a kiss to the tip of his crooked nose.

“Let’s go to bed, hm? Sleep on it, baby,” you suggest, nuzzling your face into his neck.

You feel him nod and pull you down so that you’re laying on top of him—a comforting blanket of love that he needs you to remind him he deserves. He reaches over to turn your bedside lamp back off again, reveling in the cool darkness that engulfs the two of you.

“I love you,” he mutters, tracing random patterns along your back with his calloused fingertips.

“I love you more, big guy.”

[squishyo-o]

.+*𝓜𝓸𝓶𝓶𝔂, 𝓱𝓾𝓱?*+. ❤️‍🔥

• IDOL!Seonghwa x FEM!Reader

• CW!: Needy/Desperate reader (in the beginning), Mentions of Nudes (?? Idk. Again, only the beginning) Seonghwa being thirty for that 🐱, body worshiping done by seonghwa and his tongue, Somnophilia, overstimulation, Seonghwa in a black tank top (yes this needs its own warning), pet names (angel, pretty, baby, good/pretty girl, probably more that I put in this thing), smut smut smut with a small little plot, I’m probably forgetting stuff

This was a recommendation by @bbdeongi (sorry if you don’t appreciate tags 😓 I didn’t know how to notify you I made this LMAO) after I made that one post a while ago! I hope you enjoy it <3 (This is basically the prompt: post prompt)

🫧

🫧

🫧

🫧

🫧

🫧

Why did he have to be gone for so long..

So.. agonizingly long…

You and your idol boyfriend, Seonghwa, have been together for roughly a year and a half now. He unfortunately had been super busy since the day of the comeback announcement and you guys hadn’t had been able to spend too much time together. Granted, you’d also get busy at times, but usually the two of you would find a day, or at least a period of time that you guys would be free to go out with each other or relax at home and cuddle together. Even then, sex wasn’t a question with the two of you. Most of the time he’s pretty soft but the days where the group stressed him out, you’ll be in for a lovely ride.

This time you were pent up at home

Since the day of the comeback announcement, he had been busy with recording the new songs for the album and practicing the choreography for their title track. These were the times you kind of hated the most about his job since the amount of time the two of you would spend time together was very little. You were sat in bed with your legs spread and embarrassingly fingering yourself. You knew Seonghwa was way better than you were. Because then he uses his mouth and just makes you fall apart again. Soft helpless sobs came from your lips as you were desperately trying to get yourself to cum somehow. You were hearing Seonghwa’s voice in your head which just turned you on more, but it wasn’t the same.

Every time you got there, you couldn’t seem to get yourself to finish. You eventually got fed up and was too tired to try again. But you decided to show Seonghwa what he was missing out on. You grabbed your phone on the beside table and snapped a picture of your unfinished pussy. Aching and left over. You sent it to him with a caption of 'please hurry home.. miss you.. ❤️' and put the phone down back on the nightstand to go clean yourself up. Even walking to the bathroom just to clean yourself up made you shake and wobble. Seonghwa, who got the message notification, was on a water break when he saw the text.

Fuck..

Seeing you like that, and he wasn’t able to do anything about it right now? Way turned him on. He kept staring at that wetness between your legs in the picture. He silently cursed to himself. Why couldn’t practice just be done already? He wanted so badly to just hurry home and fuck you with his mouth. It didn’t help that your moans were ringing in his ears. Such a beautiful symphony; it makes his cock twitch. He had to cross his legs and play it off as him getting comfortable. "God.. practice can’t go by any faster.." he mumbled under his breath taking a sip of his water, still staring at the picture you sent. He reacted to the picture with a heart and even replied:

"I’m so sorry my angel. Wait for me pretty, and I promise my tongue will give you paradise 💞"

.

.

.

.

Roughly about 3 hours later, and Seonghwa was finally on his way home, Really was just about to step into the house. Fuck he has never been so hungry for you. The entire way back home was just him thinking about you. You and your cunt. You and your wet, throbbing, and needy cunt. Even thinking about it now made his cock jump. He needed to be inbetween your legs. Now. He unlocked the front door and let himself in, taking his shoes off. A warm feeling hugged his arms walking in like it always did, knowing that you were here. Here, home, and horny as shit. Seonghwa went upstairs to your guys’s shared room and opened the door.

"Angel? Oh.."

He looked on the bed and saw you. Sleeping. "Fuck I’m sorry angel.. did I take too long..?" He whispered. He looked at your sleeping body, lips in a soft pout in your innocent and peaceful rest. You looked so adorable, but he was hungry for that needy pussy. That picture stirred him up. "Pretty.. I’m home.." he softly spoke, not trying to wake you up too much, but enough to know he was home. "hwa.." you hummed, very sleepy. "I saw what you sent me.. need a little help?" You whined a little, nodding, and starting to fall asleep again. "Aww poor thing.. I’m sorry I kept you waiting.. here.."

Seonghwa climbed over you and your now sleeping figure. "So pretty.." he lifted the blankets and saw that you were only in underwear. Underwear and his t-shirt. "Fuck Angel.. you know how to turn me on and I wasn’t even here.." he said. He looked at your sleeping figure. "Least you’ll wake up to something pleasant, yes?" He carefully slid your panties off and pushed your legs apart to see your pussy. "Poor thing.. can’t believe I left you hanging for so long.." he put in 2 fingers and curled them a couple times, eliciting sleepy whines from you.

"So pretty. Even while you’re sleeping.." He took his fingers away and licked them clean. "Fuck angel.. gotta get a better taste of you.." he said, now dipping his face between those legs and starting to suck and use his tongue, groaning at how good you tasted. He could hear whines coming from you, and could feel you regaining your consciousness. "H-hwa.. Seonghwa.." you moaned. Seonghwa kept lapping up your cunt and slurping up your juices. He was eating you out like it was his last meal. You clamped your thighs around his face, telling him you were close.

You had a grip on his hair because of how well he was doing. Loud and long moans were drawn out of you. "Seonghwa! Seonghwa please I’m close.. I’m close please! Please mommy I’m gonna cum!" Mommy? That’s surely new. And hot. He kept going until the coil in your abdomen finally snapped and you came hard on his tongue. He licked it all up, but didn’t stop. He was still going. "S-seonghwa! T-too much! Too much!" You moaned, but he was still going; his tongue reaching every spot in your clit. Even the ones you didn’t know about.

Your legs were shaking. Thighs squeezing around his face as he kept eating your out. The slurping and groaning sounds that would usually embarrass you, turning you on more. "M-mommy.. mommy I’m gonna cum again.." you moaned as you felt the same familiar pit in your stomach. With one of his hands he put a hand on your thigh and squeezed it which then set you off again and made you moan his name loud as you creamed on his tongue. And he was there to lick it all up.

You staggeringly whined and moaned as you came down from your second high and seonghwa’s pussy eating finally came to a stop. He came back up and looked at you, cocking his eyebrow in amusement. "Mommy, huh?" Your cheeks flushed and you got goosebumps. You looked away before nodding. "Hm.. interesting.." Seonghwa began taking his sweats off. You could see how much he was painfully aching in his boxers. "Need you so bad Angel.. couldn’t wait to get home after I saw the message.. you and that pretty pussy of yours.. fuck.." he groaned.

"Can’t wait to fuck you.." He took off the blankets and began kissing your neck sweetly. "Hwa.." you whined. "Such a pretty girl.." you were still quite tired from the two previous orgasms, but the way Seonghwa was talking, there was no way he was gonna stop now. He was turned on. "Seonghwa.. c-can’t go again.." you whined. Seonghwa was busy worshipping your body and had already taken his shirt off of you while kissing your boobs. "No bra underneath? In my t-shirt? Someone was needy.." you then pouted. "So are you by how you’re kissing me.." Seonghwa chuckled.

"You don’t seem to mind though, right?" He said and went back to your thighs, kissing and biting on them and listening to the sounds of your moans. Seonghwa took off his boxers and alined himself with your hole. "So sorry I kept you waiting my angel.." he said as he entered you, you gasping at the intrusion. "S-seonghwa I-i can’t.. go again.." he began thrusting in you slowly. "Cmon now.. be a good girl for mommy, eh?" You moaned at his words. He went slow for a little bit before going a little faster, hearing your moans get louder. "Oh my fucking god.. Seonghwa.. please more.."

"Ah ah.. that’s not my name, is it angel? Try again.. what’s my name?"

.

.

.

.

.

𝓐𝓝: chat- the delay on this story IM SO SORRY 😭😭😭😭 I GOT IT OUT THOUGH 🥲 Hope you guys enjoy this one!! Lmk in comments or reblogs <3 love you guys and remember to be kind to yourself and drink water ❤️ xoxo

[osamucide]

Babe, imagine Dazai, but like tied up with a collar and all, vibrator stuffed into him while he's whimpering and rubbing himself against you like the shameless slut he is

–🫧

he’s such a pathetic whore.

you can’t even cuddle innocently on the couch after work without him trying to jump you. it was a long day and you’re exhausted—you told him this, but he’s relentless. please, just let me fuck your thighs! please, just let me grind on your ass! he wants you that bad? fine, he can have you, but you’re going to use the last remaining bit of energy you have to lead him to bed by the neck of his shirt and sit him down before you slide the box out from beneath the mattress.

“quit squirming,” you tell him as you snap the collar around his throat—he doesn’t quit squirming, it only spurs him on—and move to bind his wrists behind him with the pretty black length of rope. you slip the remaining length through the d-ring at the back of his neck, bowing his back in a subtle arch before ordering him onto his knees with his face in the pillows.

it’s cute to watch him struggle, fall face-first a little bit as he positions himself where you want him—you’re coating your fingers with lube as his back falls into a more severe arch, his pretty ass wiggling in the air. he lets out a shameless, full-bodied moan when you yank his boxers down and circle the rim of his hole; another when you start to work him open on one finger, then two; he’s trying desperately to fuck back against you by the time you’re slipping the vibrating plug into him, whining about how he needs it, this is torture, it would’ve been easier if you would’ve just let him fuck you.

you tsk at him as you nestle the plug in his ass down to the base and fish the little remote out of the box.

“lay down,” you coo as you snap the waistband of his boxers back in place and slide the box back under the bed; again, it’s cute to watch him struggle. but he ends up on his stomach, elbows bent to accommodate the rope connected to his collar, and you get up to flick the light off before snuggling into bed next to him, satisfied with your work.

“baby,” he whines.

you shush him, nuzzling against him, wedging your thigh between his—god, he’s hard—and, with the remote in hand, slinging your arm across his waist. he scrambles against you, desperate for friction in the crook of your hip; with your other arm curled beneath his head, you settle in, sigh, and press a soft kiss to his trembling lips before closing your eyes and clicking the vibrator on to the lowest setting.

“ah!” he gasps, his pelvis hitching against yours.

“go ahead,” you mumble to him. “get yourself off. told you ‘m tired.”

so he ruts against you steadily as you drift off to sleep, sobbing quietly in a way that fades into white noise for you. you’re pretty sure he calls you cruel a couple times before you totally lose consciousness, but you just smile a little through your barely-awake state, not even gracing him with your usual praises of good boy, Osamu, doing so good for me. maybe you are cruel.

you’re totally asleep by the time he cums, whining and making a sticky mess against you in his boxers—as he twitches against the aftershocks of his climax he wonders if you’ll leave him like this all night, vibrator in his ass, arms bound behind him; how the hell is he supposed to sleep now? you are cruel.

he wakes up from an uncomfortable sleep in the early hours of the morning to you undoing his restraints, working the plug out of him—and he’s unbearably hard again.

“morning, good boy,” you whisper. “still wanna fuck me?”

you better believe he stretches his sore arms out, cracks his neck and rolls on top of you with fervor—whether or not you’ll regret what you did to him a mere few hours ago will be up to you. ⊹

[dualityvn]

Keith would turn to hypnosis or brainwashing to make us love him if he’s fully snapped…?

Could I maybe please request a drabble about that por favor 🥹

Sweet Vacation

CW: kidnapping, brainwashing, fork harassment

Word count: 1345

You ignored the first signs that Keith wasn’t doing well mentally. When he’d turn his back to you at night and sob silently, you’d pretend not to hear it. When he’d spend his evenings staring out the window for hours on end, eyes glazed over, you’d find things to busy yourself with. 

It did annoy you when he put a tracker on you. The fight that followed only made things worse. He became constantly paranoid, asking to hear your voice every hour you weren’t home, having breakdowns when you so much as left the room he was in. 

There was no doubt that he wouldn’t accept it if you tried to break up with him. You never bothered to start the conversation. You simply packed your things one day, blocked his number and left. 

Unfortunately, he’d used more than one tracker. 

- - -

You awaken to an unfamiliar hardwood floor, head pounding and limbs stiff. So stiff, in fact, that you aren’t able to move them. Your eyes shoot open as you tug on the ropes tying your limbs to the chair you're sitting in. 

The room you’re in is unfamiliar, a lavish living room with wooden walls and a large fireplace. A sweet, mind-numbing fragrance catches your attention. Possibly, the herbs burning in a bowl on the coffee table before you. All the curtains are drawn, so you fail to see anything outside. You can’t remember how or when you got here. 

The sound of footsteps approaching brings your attention to the closed door. Keith appears from behind it, looking much more frazzled and unkept than usual. His hair is a bit messy, he’s not wearing the usual concealer under his eyes and his collar is askew. 

“My love! You're awake!” He rushes over to you. 

“Keith! What the hell did you do to me? Where am I?!” 

He shushes you as he caresses your cheek. You want to scream at him, fight against your restraints, yank yourself away from his touch. But for some reason, as soon as those thoughts enter your mind, they fade away. 

“Everything's alright, dear. You're safe now. I'm sorry about the ropes, but there was no other way. I'll take them off once they're not needed anymore.” 

There is nothing sane in his gaze. His eyes are big and alert and his smile is too wide for comfort. 

“Where are we?” you ask, much calmer than you'd like. 

“Somewhere where nobody will bother us! Don't worry, it's just the two of us.” 

You don't know what he's done to you, but your fear, anger and alarm are all much too mild. 

“Oh! I've made you lunch! Let me grab it for you before it gets cold.” 

He rushes off through the door, then returns with a plate of food and a fork. The sight and smell of it makes your stomach grumble. For how long were you out? 

“I hope you like it! Open wide!” Keith holds some of it out in front of you. 

Thoughts of turning away or refusing the food pass through your mind, then leave just as fast. You reluctantly open your mouth. 

Even when he's crazy, he manages to make infuriatingly good food. You do not complain about being fed the entire plate. If you want to try to get out of this situation, you'll need the energy anyway.

“You ate everything! Good job!” he praises you cheerfully. 

Then, he looks down at the fork in his hand. His eyes flicker between it and your mouth for a moment. Until they eventually settle on you as he brings the fork near his face and licks the part that's been in your mouth. Once his tongue reaches the tips of the tines, he sticks them entirely in his mouth. 

You stare at him, dumbfounded. Before you can say anything about it, he sets the fork back on the plate and turns to leave. 

“I'll bring you a glass of water! Can't let you get dehydrated!” 

What the hell was that? How far gone is he? 

You finally get your brain to cooperate and attempt to struggle against your bindings. Unfortunately, they're tight and secure. Looking around, you can't spot anything sharp enough to cut them. 

When Keith returns, he's brought back not only your glass of water but also a small satchel. You eye it curiously as he helps you drink. 

And once it's done, he sets down the glass and opens up the satchel. It's full of herbs, some of which he places in the bowl with the others. That mind number scent hits you again. Any thought you'd had of escaping is beginning to blur.

As if reading your thoughts, Keith answers. “Just a little something to help you relax! I know you're probably quite stressed.” 

He puts the satchel away and picks up a book instead. “How about I read you something? That way you won't be bored!” 

You want to say no, you want to reason with him, ask him to let you go, convince him none of this is necessary. But none of it leaves your lips. 

“Okay,” you say instead. 

- - -

It's been two days since Keith locked you up in this house. He's fed you and kept you hydrated. When he's not been taking care of you, he's been keeping you entertained or simply chatted with you. 

Perhaps it's your fault you've ended up this way. You ignored the signs that he wasn't doing well. You weren't a very good partner overall. 

This morning he made you heart shaped pancakes with strawberries. It was kind of cute. 

Perhaps you don't need to escape, perhaps he will snap back to reality and release you himself. The two of you aren't good for each other. 

- - -

Four days have passed since Keith brought you here. He untied you from the chair but kept your wrist handcuffed to his to make sure you don't run away. 

It's a pretty nice vacation home. Apparently you're in the mountains. The view from the balcony is stunning. Although it gave you a bit of a fright when you woke up here four days ago, it isn't so bad. 

Keith still insists that you let him prepare meals, despite you being able to help now. You can't believe you treated him so coldly before. When he discovered you had bruises on your wrists from the rope, he cried and kissed them better. 

At night, when you get ready for bed, he asks if he can cuddle you. If you say no, he keeps his distance. When you do give him permission, he holds you tight and whispers that he loves you. He smells sweet, a bit like burnt herbs. 

- - -

It's been a week since the start of your little vacation. You took a walk through the forest this morning, hand in hand with your beloved boyfriend. He told you about the plants that grow here and which ones are safe to eat. He's so smart! 

When you got back, you made lunch together. He’s been a bit down and anxious the past few days, but today he was in good spirits. Though he still won't tell you where he got the new perfume he's been wearing. It's so sweet, it makes you want to hold him close constantly. 

Now that it's evening, you're both sitting on the couch, cuddling as you watch TV. Keith holds you against his chest, his chin resting on the top of your head. You feel safe here. 

“I love you,” you murmur. 

He stiffens at once. Thinking there must be something wrong, you pull away to look at him. A mixture of shock and joy battles on his features. 

“I love you too!” Tears are spilling from his eyes. 

You laugh and cup his face, holding it still so you can kiss away his tears. Your boyfriend is so sentimental. His hand brushes over your chin, silently asking you to lean down. His lips quiver against yours, soft and uncertain. You press in lovingly. 

Even the taste of his lips is sweet.

[trikalovski]

LIMERANCE

Dom!, mean! Caitlyn kiramman x sex!worker, zaunite! reader. (Set in Season 2 act 2.)

Warnings: internalized misogyny, sexism, use of strap-on's, choking, slapping, name calling, discrimination, etc.

"Look at you-" she says with a scoff. "With all of your proud talk about justice and balance.. Only to end up at my feet." Her tone is void of any emotions, not even derisive, just pure venom dripping from her lips.

Or

You're a sex-worker from the brothel who Caitlyn uses to blow some steam off from time to time. And you have a crush on her, basically.

(This is a dark!fic so everything is slightly exaggerated.)

Your ancestors, if they're watching, must be cringing at your current predicament;

Face smushed into the table, make-up smeared, mouth wide open as you fight for air.

The hand pinning your head down tightens around your hair, applying more force as the woman fucking you silly bends over to hiss in your ear;

"You deserve nothing but the scraps i'm feeding you."

Another half pained moan slips past your lips when she suddenly stops fucking you and instead, pushes the toy all the way in.

"Guh-"

You breathe out, hands gripping the edge of the table so hard your knuckles turn white.

The sudden stillness and lack of friction morph pleasure into pain.

It's driving you mad. You've never felt this full before.

You attempt to slam yourself back against her lenght, yearning for some sort of release but the action turns out unsuccessful. Already you're standing on your tippy toes, barely touching the ground and the body trapping you against the table prevents you from moving about.

"Quit that."

She's been toying with you for nearly an hour now and silently, you couldn't help but think how unlike her all of this was.

It was habitual for the two of you to see eachother at least once a week, yes, but she's never been so rough and mean before. Your sessions were always quick and desperate. She came and went, never even sparing you a glance after.

Something's eating at her.

"Cait-" you sob, indignation starting to boil inside you.

"Be quiet." she interrupts, emphasising her words with a series of deep thrusts which make your mouth snap shut and eyes roll back.

Caitlyn proceeds to pull your head back forcibly, fist wrapped tightly around your hair. She pulls until you can feel her breath fanning down your neck.

You take it like a good girl, of course.

Teeth clenched shut. The way you know she likes it.

The woman gives you a once-over, then mutters; "You disgust me," with such sincerity, you're sent spiraling.

Another thrust.

"What would your people say if they knew how well you're taking my cock right now, hm?"

You stay mute, eyes squeezed shut as the tension building in your core prevents you from talking back.

Besides, she wasn't looking for an answer-

Her intention was solely to break you.

Too bad there's not much left for her to break.

Her hand sneaks down to grab you by the neck, firm fingers hauling you flush against her.

Into your ear, she hisses; "You really have no sense of loyalty, do you?"

Your heart drops at that, a lump forming in your throat. You couldn't stop the following words from slipping past your lips even if you wanted to; "Lucky you-"

The commander merely scoffs, incredulous, fucking into you with newly added force that sends pinpricks of pain and pleasure all over your body.

An overwhelming feeling of guilt consumes you, causing a new trail of tears to stream down your cheeks as you're made into a whimpering mess. That was reality kicking in-

She was right, you're nothing but a treacherous whore.

"Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!" You grit out, teeth bared as you turn your head just enough to look at her from the corner of your eye.

"If you insist.." She simply says, and your heart drops for a second time.

This was mostly your fault.

You knew what she was, what she was planning on doing to your people- Yet you craved her touch, her affection, the praise.

You wanted to be good for her, needed her validation.

And Caitlyn isn't stupid, no.

She knows what she's doing-

She carries this.. Appeal.

Appeal that comes with her authority; The draw that influential people have over those below them.

A praise here, a lingering touch there..

It happens just often enough to keep you dependant, wanting more.

'Another person's temporary pleasure is someone else's forever pain.'

The woman was setting you up for failure and you couldn't find it in yourself to care.

As if to punish you, she presses more firmly against your neck, squeezing. You choke, hands jerking up to claw at her wrist.

"Zaun's finest whore, they said.." She comments derisively, before slamming you back down.

The contact makes you blink a few times, but it sadly isn't violent enough to knock some sense into your poor head.

(If the fresh trail of wetness dripping down your thighs is anything to go by.)

Now, now.. Caitlyn must've been reading your mind or something because to your absolute horror, her free hand slides down your stomach and slots itself right between your parted legs.

"Oh, darling.." She sighs at the abundant amount of wetness coating her fingers, tone almost pitying. "You're insatiable."

Thankfully, your current position prevents her from seeing your flushed face. Her fingers already running through your abused folds, greedily collect everything they can before she pulls her hand back and presents it to you mockingly.

The taller woman opens her mouth, ready to drop a new series of casually dehumanizing insults, except nothing comes out-

She watches as you take three of her long fingers, knuckle-deep into your depraved mouth and suck, moving your head up and down vigorously.

"You- fuck.." she breathes out. You bite down offering an apologetic kiss to her wrist right after and manage to elicit another strained moan that fills you up with pride. Finally, you got to break her composure, having been fed up by her constant insults and air of superiority.

You don't really register her pulling out and spinning you around until it's done. Brows furrowed, you go to voice your confusion except the words die in your throat when she cracks her palm across your cheek.

"Oof-"

The commander gives you no time to react before she's got your jaw secured in a vicious grip, forcing you to meet her gaze. Eyes impassive as ever she simply states;

"It would do you well to remember your place.."

Okay, so, she clearly wasn't happy about her little slip up.

She towers over you easily, but you don't let it get to your head. You make a sucking noise with your tongue and gums, tentatively soothing the pain inside your mouth.

Your next question carries a challenging lilt to it;  "And where, pray tell, would my place be?"

She laughs briefly, and without humor. Her long fingers brush afew strands of hair from your eyes. "Come now.." she says matter-of-factly "You know you'd be nothing but a splatter on the wall like the rest of them, if it weren't for me."

Your reaction is instantaneous;

You lunge forward with a gutteral scream, attempting to grab at the taller woman's neck.

Caitlyn's moves are mechanical; She grabs your wrists with ease before she sends you crashing into the carpet with a mere leg sweep.

You attempt to push yourself up on shaky arms, ready to strike again but she's already straddling your hips and pinning your wrists above your head single-handedly.

Completely immobilizing you.

Caitlyn cracks another slap across your face, this time using the back of her palm. You cringe from the pain. Nothing will ever compare to the inner turmoil you're experiencing right now.

"Look at me" she spits. You don't want to.

"Fucking look at me!" She nearly yells this time and you flinch, but other than that, keep your eyes shut and face turned to the side in an act of defiance.

She allows you this. Doesn't push further, knows you'll listen to her words nevertheless.

"I don't need your whorish love [Name], do you need that in writing?"

Your eyes snap open reflexively at the sudden name-drop.

She never calls you by your name. (Or anything nice, really.)

The other presses on, taking advantage of your silence

"Do you really think i wouldn't notice?" She questions, brows furrowed in genuine confusion

"I tire of your dog-like obedience. I tire of your dumb little face, the way you look at me like i'm the sole solution to your shitty fucking life problems-"

Each sentence that leaves her mouth crushes your soul little by little.

"You're a whore, and i'm not your fucking lover."

"Hypocrite!" you finally grit out. A single stray tear rolls down your cheek, "You're a fucking hypocrite Kiramman, and you know it!"

Her eye twitches at your words, she offers a 'do you really want to go down that route' type of look which you ignore.

Naturally; You too, press on.

"It's funny, really." You laugh drily "You've got all these nasty things to say about me, my ill fucking adoration for you- And yet here you are.."

"Careful now [name]-" she warns, jaw clenching and unclenching.

Caitlyn's words fall on deaf ears though.

"Screwing a 'nasty zaunite whore' instead of your goody-goody little enforcer girlfriend, while also being on the brink of yet another war that you, initiated.."

"Shut the fuck up." she grits out through clenched teeth, eyes closed as she pinches the bridge of her nose in obvious irritation.

"We're done here.."

She pulls back, fingers already working on unbuckling the straps around her hip when you reach out, blinded by your rage

"What would violet think of-"

she releases a strangled screech of outrage, lifting your upper body up only to slam you back down into the carpet, nearly denting the floor with your head.

"Shut the fuck up i said!"

You wince, but the eye-contact stays.

"I will fuck you, and i'll keep fucking you till there's nothing left of you for me to fuck!" Both her hands shoot out to grip your neck with bruising force,

"You ought to change professions after tonight because you won't be of  any fucking use to any of your clients by the time i'm through with you-" She sneers down at you, then captures your lips in a furious kiss. 

A kiss you sadly return with equal amount of force, moaning into her mouth when she nearly suffocates you with her tongue.

"I'll ruin you-"

She rasps out.

The tension and anger between you two dessipates into pure and animalistic lust. You've never experienced this type of want before.

It's the type of want that makes you want to rip all your hair out. It's pathetic, you're pathetic. "I hate you, i hate you so much!" you sob into her.

She stops her ministrations with a laugh, low and derisive-

The young commander queezes her free hand between your bodies, grabbing your pussy and smearing the wetness there, proving her point. "Clearly.."

It's your turn to wipe Caitlyn's grin off her face. You pull her back down for another kiss.

Both your arms snap up to claw at her back, leaving angry red marks that make the older woman's hips snap forward, dragging her long shaft along your slit as she groans into your mouth.

"Fuck-" You blurt out.

Caitlyn sits back on her heels. The older woman sneaks a lazy hand between her legs, smearing the remaining wetness from her hand over the plastic dick in an achingly slow fashion. Gets it ready for you.

She gives it a few pumps, the head steadily bumping into your swollen clit making your spine arch up.

"Behave.." She hisses then puts a hand on your stomach and pushes down, denying you. 

Your whines morph into moans when the other finally decides to fuck the tip of the toy inside you, to which you plead for something more.

She mutters a low "You talk too much" before bottoming out while simultaneously shoving two of her fingers down your throat.

She audibly gasps;

"Slut, can't even gag on my fingers anymore? How many of my men had their way with you already, hm?"

Fuck,

"Ten? Fifteen, perhaps?"

You try to pull back but she adds another long finger, hips pushing down and stretching your walls impossibly wide.

"Mmph-"

You do choke on them this time.

Hard.

"Quiet now, i don't want to hear it." She breathes out then sets a crazy pace for the both of you. The woman crushes your body under her weight and fills your walls up to the brim.

At one point, the two of you switch positions. She lays there, holding your hip with one hand while gripping your cheeks with the other, keeping you quiet as you ride her.

It's bordering on too much after some time, even so you try meeting her crazy rhythm.

You tap her arm afew times, hoping she'll go easier on you but she's far too gone to care at this point. Your well-being of lesser importance.

"Look at you-" she says with a scoff. "With all of your proud talk about justice and balance.. Only to end up at my feet." Her tone is void of any emotions, not even derisive, just pure venom dripping from her lips.

You're utterly mortified, face blotched and swollen with crying.

Still, her words make your hips buck forward involuntarily, while a moan dies somewhere deep in your throat. the head of her dick is hitting a very specific spot within you that makes your eyes clench shut as you begin to crumble.

She notices you're close and slides both hands down to hold you by the hips. She selfishly encourages you to keep going while silently enjoying the way the other end of the strap rubs against her aching clit.

"Gods, you were made for me darling-" She moans out, slightly out of breath at this point.

Both of you moan into eachother's mouths when she pulls you down for yet another sloppy kiss.

"Made for me to use as i please-" you shake "Fuck, you're lucky this isn't the real thing cause i wouldn't be able to pull out if you paid me to." she groans

That does it for you, you can't hold your weight anymore, the force of your orgasm makes you double over in ecstasy as you shove your head in the crook of Caitlyn's neck.

The latter allows you this brief pause, wrapping her long arms around you, pushing you further into her.

You quickly come to realize the action was far from affectionate though. It's a trap, she's trapping you against her.

Your fear is only further confirmed as you go to pull back and are met with resistence.

"Please, no more-" you plead weakly, feeling utterly used and quite frankly, mentally worn out after all the moral shit she's been spewing on you tonight. But above all, you feel so. Fucking. Raw.

"What did i tell you earlier, sweet thing?" She whispers in your ear.  Your heart drops for what feels like the millionth time. "And i didn't get to cum yet"

In the end, she does end up pulling out, briefly;

You're too busy gasping for air to comprehend what she's doing until you find yourself laying on your back.

And you know it's going to be a long night because the way she smirks at you before slipping back inside is simply diabolical.

At least you'll go out doing what you loved most.

[xzaddyzanakinx]

first of all, i fucking love ani being a stalker:(

and what about bestfriend!anakin? but like, he's a bit creepy. he just knows he's been in love with you since you two were kids. you're his first love. you were just to dumb to see it. and he was always there to take care of you and hug you when your boyfriends dump you after he secretly threatens them because no one is too good for you. no one but him.

also, have you never noticed that some of your panties are missing?

I will totally do bestie!Ani. He’d be so sweet but so mean simultaneously.

Warnings: controlling behavior, gaslighting, verbal/emotional abuse/condescension, gen. smut, rough foreplay, hair pulling, dubcon, slut shaming?, kinda innocent/definitely bratty & naive reader, arguing, possessiveness, ownership, misogyny

“Oh for the love of-“ Anakin grabbed your wrist and yanked you roughly away from the handsy jock who’d lured you to the living room couch at this frat house party that you just ‘had to go to’.

“Ani that’s rude! You can’t just do that!” He huffed, protesting physically by stubbing up and trying not to move. “At least let me say goodbye! He was being nice!”

“No! You’re drunk and he’s just talking to you because he thinks you’ll be an easy lay.” He snapped, changing tactics and gripping the back of your neck to steer you toward the door.

“You just let him put his arm around you and squeeze your ass! Are you fucking daft? At this point you’re just asking for it.” He sneered, opening the passenger door of his truck and lifting you up. He reach across you and buckled you in just like he always did.

“Is that what you want?” He asked angrily, throwing the truck in reverse the moment he slammed his own door shut.

“No!” You started crying, your bottom lip wobbling when you realized Anakin was right. “I’m sorry Ani! D-don’t be mad! Please, I’m sorry!” You sniffled.

He let you sob, apologize, beg, and grovel the entire way back to your shared apartment. He got out of the truck silently and walked around to your side, helping you out and shutting your door. His hand on the small of your back as he walked one step behind you until you reached your front door and stepped inside.

“Ani please! Talk to me.” You whined, the silent treatment killed you everytime he did it. “This isn’t fair! I’m sorry I was being s-so stupid! I’m sorry!”

Anakin ignored you, pretending you weren’t even there. He didn’t even miss a stride when you stood in front of him defiantly. He just side stepped you and played it off as though he meant to do it, he scooped up a throw blanket and sat down on the couch.

“Fine!” You stomped off to your bedroom and got changed into a comfy nightie, pouting and sniffling away the remaining tears.

He was really, really pushing it with the silent treatment this time. It’s been almost three hours. It’s 11:00pm and you’ve padded around the kitchen, slamming cabinets as you loudly made yourself a snack. You practically tossed the heavy ceramic plate onto the coffee table with a clatter. You’d tried all your tactics that normally have him holding you, coddling you and comforting you while you apologized profusely. Nothing was working.

You sat down in his lap and blocked his view of the Tv, he was completely unfazed. He simply pulled out his phone instead.

That was the last straw.

“This isn’t fair!” You shrieked, standing up suddenly and pointing your finger in his face. “You’re being an ass! What happened wasn’t my fault!”

His jaw tightened and he struggled not to react, you could tell, his nostrils flared and his tongue poked at the inside of his cheek.

“I don’t understand why you’re acting like this.” You scoffed continuing to chide him animatedly.

Until you said the wrong thing. Oh, you really, really fucked up royally. You’d never seen him so angry. Livid. Livid was a better word.

He swatted your hand away the moment those words left your lips: “You don’t own me. You can’t tell me what to do!”

“I don’t?” He sneered, standing up and using his height to his advantage, towering over you. “Are you sure?”

“What? Yes I’m sure!” You huffed.

“You ungrateful brat.” He snapped. “You depend on me for everything. You live in my apartment. You need me to provide for you: food, clothes, the stupid shit you just have to get everytime we go to the fucking store. You’re worse than a child. I’ve spoiled you until I’ve ruined you. Without me, you’d be hopeless.”

“You know nothing about the real world because I’ve coddled you for years. You’ve never had a job. I do all your homework because your tiny little girl brain can’t handle more than a few words at a time. Fuck! I do everything for you! When was the last time you tied your own shoes?”

“You think I don’t own you?” He growled, ignoring your whimper as your lip trembled. “I do own you.”

“You belong to me.” He scowled. “Why do you think you don’t have a fucking boyfriend, why no one has ever asked you out since fucking freshman year of highschool? Why do you think the only attention you get is from a random creep while you’re wasted and wandered off from me?”

“Everyone else knows you’re mine. Everyone but you.” He yelled. “I’ve spent my life bending over backwards for you! You fucking stupid spoiled bitch!”

He laughed throwing his hands up and running them through his hair.

“The sad thing is: I can’t even blame you for being so goddamn useless. It’s my fault.” He said angrily. “It’s my fault for treating you like a fucking princess your whole life. I’ve waited on you hand and foot for the entirety of my existence.”

You stood there motionless. Mouth gaping in shock, your eyes dry of tears because… how do you even react to this response? It was as if he’d caused you to completely fawn, your gaze fixed on him as your brain raced to process his words.

“You don’t have anything to say?” He scoffed, rubbing his face before snapping his fingers in your face. “Hello? Earth to princess.”

“I love you! I fucking love you.” He yelled and that startled you out of your stupor.

“Love me?” You echoed.

“Yes, you fucking dumbass.” He groaned.

“You love me love me?” You asked, shocked that you’d somehow been so oblivious. Maybe it was because he was right, he’d always treated you this way. You were just to stupid to understand why.

“God.” He grumbled, grabbing a fist full of your hair with his left hand and forcing you down over the armrest of the couch. “I love you. You love me too don’t you?”

“Y-yes.” You nodded, admitting it aloud for the first time.

“Of course you fucking do.” He said in a softer tone, though his actions didn’t mirror it. He roughly pulled down your panties and let them fall to the floor.

“You’re mine aren’t you? I own you. Right?” He demanded, his rough fingertips gently gliding back and forth across your dripping slit. “Fuck. You don’t even have to answer that.” He groaned through gritted teeth.

He swirled his finger around your entrance before dipping inside and removing his finger just as quickly, bringing it to your lips and shoving it in your mouth.

“Suck it clean.” He ordered. “You wouldn’t be so fuckin’ wet if I didn’t own you. Right?”

You simply nodded, your brain addled with the onslaught of information that it struggled to keep up with. You really were useless.

“I’ve been patient.” He said slowly, his tone low and gravely as he unbuckled his belt with one hand, his other keeping it’s place in your hair. “I’ve waited for you to realize it on your own.”

“That was my mistake.” He sighed, unzipping his pants and letting them fall. “I should’ve known you’d need me to spell it out for you, just like with everything else.”

“Well this time I’m gonna show you.” He said sternly, leaving no room for negotiation. “You want that don’t you? You want my cock?”

“Uh huh.” You nodded, pushing your ass up alittle higher.

“See? Mine.” He chuckled. “Even after all that, you’re still my obedient little puppy aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, too distracted by his cockhead rubbing firmly through your folds to collect your slick.

“You know that’s why I call you puppy right?” He snickered. “Cause you’re my bitch.”

You whimpered, ashamed that you found it incredibly attractive.

“Fuck. So goddamn needy.” He laughed, pumping his cock a few times before lining himself up. “Is my little puppy ready for me? Ready for me to fuck this pussy til’ all you have left in that dumb little brain is me?”

[ruewrote]

𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑚𝑒.

PAIRING: josh washington x gn!reader WARNINGS: josh breaks down to you, no use of y/n GENRE: angst but more fluff SONG INSPIRATION: lay it all on me by rudimental WORD COUNT: 2k REQUESTED: yes

navigation | ask | josh washington masterlist

it was well past midnight when your phone rang, disturbing the silence of your apartment. you groggily fumbled for it on your nightstand, squinting at the screen. josh. your heart dropped into your stomach.

he never called this late unless something was wrong. the sound of his name, even in the dead of night, was enough to pull you out of sleep.

“josh?” you answered, sitting up, suddenly wide awake.

he didn’t respond immediately. you could hear his breathing, ragged and uneven, like he was struggling to catch his breath. it was enough to send a spike of worry straight through you.

“josh, hey, what’s going on? are you okay?”

“i–” his voice cracked, and the sound broke something inside of you.

“i need you. please… can you come over?”

you were already moving, tossing off your blanket and grabbing your coat from where it hung on the back of your chair. “i’m on my way,” you promised, your voice firm despite the fear creeping into your nerves. “hang tight, okay? i’m on my way right now.”

the drive to his apartment felt like it took hours instead of minutes, the city lights blurring past as you pressed harder on the gas. your mind raced, a thousand scenarios playing out, each one worse than the last. you knew josh had been struggling lately.

old memories resurfacing, the weight of the past dragging him down. but he rarely asked for help, let alone called you in the middle of the night sounding so... broken.

when you finally reached his building, you sprinted up the stairs two at a time, barely pausing to knock before pushing open the door to his apartment. it wasn’t locked, and that only made your chest tighten with worry.

“josh?” you called out into the darkened space. the only light came from the city’s glow through the windows, casting long shadows across the floor. you found him in the living room, curled up on the couch, clutching his head in his hands.

he didn’t look up as you approached, but you heard the sharp intake of breath as he realised you were there.

“hey, hey, it’s okay,” you murmured, dropping to your knees in front of him. your hands hovered over his, not wanting to overwhelm him but aching to touch, to comfort. “i’m here now. what happened?”

josh’s head snapped up then, his eyes wild and glassy. “i saw them,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. “they were right here. i swear i could hear them screaming... i can’t–” his words dissolved into a choked sob, he squeezed his eyes shut as if that could block out the images.

your heart clenched painfully at the sight of him like this, so raw and vulnerable. you’d seen josh put on his bravado before, cracking jokes and averting how he was feeling by making sure everyone else was okay. but this was different. this was the real him, laid bare and hurting, and it killed you to see the man you loved like this.

without thinking, you reached out, cupping his cheek in your hand. he flinched at the contact but didn’t pull away, leaning into your touch like it was the only thing tethering him to reality.

“they’re not here, josh,” you said softly, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone. “it’s just us. you’re safe.”

he shook his head violently, his breath coming in shuddering gasps. “no, i can still see them. it’s like they’re… they’re blaming me. i can feel it.”

“look at me,” you pleaded, moving closer until you were almost nose to nose, your other hand finding it’s way to his shoulder, squeezing gently. “it’s not real. it feels real, i know, but you’re here with me now. you made it through, josh. you survived.”

“i shouldn’t have,” he rasped, his eyes welling with fresh tears. “they didn’t, and i did. why do i get to be here when they don’t?”

“because you deserve to be,” you said sternly, letting the words hang in the space between you. you swallowed thickly, the love you held for him swelling in your chest, making your voice tremble. “i know you don’t believe that right now, but i do. and i’m not leaving you to fight this alone.”

his eyes searched yours desperately, looking for something to hold on to. “why are you here?” he asked, the question slipping out so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. “why do you keep coming back?”

you exhaled shakily, the truth sitting heavy on your tongue. you’d been hiding it for so long, burying your feelings under layers of friendship and concern, but now, looking at him like this, it felt right to tell him the truth.

“because i love you, josh,” you confessed, your voice breaking. “because i can’t stand to see you like this and not do anything about it. i love you, even when you’re hurting like this, especially when you’re hurting like this.”

for a moment, everything went still. you could hear the rain pounding against the windows, the distant murmur of the city outside. but between the two of you, there was only silence, a tense, fragile thing that felt like it might shatter with the next breath.

something in his expression softened, and his hands reached out, grasping your wrists like he was afraid you might slip away. “you love me?” he whispered.

“i do,” you nodded, feeling tears stinging your own eyes now. “and i’m not going anywhere. not tonight, not ever. i’m here, josh. i’ve got you.”

he let out a strangled sound, something between a sob and a laugh, and before you knew it, he was pulling you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you. you clung to him just as tightly, feeling the way his body shook against yours, the way his breath hitched as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“you’re too good to me,” he mumbled, his voice muffled against your skin.

“no,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple, lingering there as you stroked his hair. “i’m just what you need.”

for the first time that night, you felt him relax, the tension slowly draining from his body as he melted into your embrace. you held him there, rocking gently, whispering soothing words until his breathing evened out, his grip on you loosening but not letting go.

“i’m here,” you repeated, the promise sinking into the silence of the room. “i’m not letting go.”

and you meant it, more than anything you’d ever said before.

the tension in josh’s body slowly faded away in your arms, replaced by a heavy, exhausted weight as the last of his sobs quieted. he clung to you as though you were the only thing keeping him anchored to the present, to reality. 

his breathing was still ragged, but it had started to even out, the frantic edge fading into something softer.

you shifted a little, your fingers still tracing up and down his back, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple. “let’s get you to bed,” you murmured, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

josh tensed for a moment, he wasn’t ready to let go, but when you started to pull back. he released you reluctantly. he wiped at his eyes with the heel of his hand, sniffling. “i’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice small and raw. “i didn’t mean to–”

“hey,” you cut him off, cupping his cheek and guiding his gaze back to yours. “you don’t have to apologise, not for this. you needed me, and i came. that’s all.”

he nodded, swallowing hard, his eyes glistening in the dim light of the room. you took his hand, squeezing it gently as you helped him to his feet. he swayed a little, unsteady, and you tightened your grip, steadying him. his fingers intertwined with yours almost as if he was afraid to let go, and it made your heart ache.

“c’mon,” you said softly, guiding him toward his bedroom. you led him to the bed, pulling back the covers before easing him down. he sank into the mattress, looking up at you with a vulnerability that made you want to wrap him up and shield him from everything that had ever hurt him.

you tucked the blanket around him, smoothing your hand over his chest as if you could soothe away the remnants of his panic. his eyes fluttered shut at the touch, a shiver running through him.

you slipped off your shoes and climbed into bed beside him, the mattress dipping under your weight. he rolled onto his side, facing you, and without thinking, you reached out, your fingers threading through his hair again. you combed through the soft, messy strands, gentle and rhythmic, he let out a deep sigh, finally letting himself start to relax.

you began to hum quietly, the familiar tune of a lullaby you knew he loved. a song you’d sung together on countless road trips, or played during quiet moments when the world outside didn’t matter. you felt the tension melt away from his body bit by bit, his sniffles becoming further apart, until they were just occasional, quiet sounds.

josh’s eyes fluttered shut, his breathing slowing, you thought he might be asleep. you kept stroking his hair, even as your own eyes grew heavy. the love you felt for him was a tangible thing, filling up the space between you, wrapping around him like a blanket.

you pressed one last, lingering kiss to his forehead, lingering just a moment longer than you probably should have.

“goodnight, josh,” you whispered against his skin, your voice filled with a tenderness you could no longer hide.

you waited a beat, your heart squeezing in your chest, before slowly beginning to pull back. you slipped out from under the covers, careful not to wake him as you swung your legs over the side of the bed. you had just managed to stand up when you felt a hand wrap around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“don’t go,” josh mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. his grip on your wrist tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you there, to keep you from leaving. “please stay.”

you turned back to him, your eyes meeting his. he looked up at you, his face half buried in the pillow, his eyes glassy and pleading. “i… i don’t want to be alone.”

your resolve crumbled in an instant. how could you possibly leave him when he needed you like this? 

you squeezed his hand in return, you nodded. 

the way he looked at you, the raw plea in his voice... you couldn’t say no.

“of course,” you whispered, a gentle smile tugging at your lips. “i’ll stay as long as you need.”

you crawled back into bed, settling beside him, and this time when you wrapped your arms around him, he pressed closer, tucking his face into the crook of your neck. his breath was warm against your skin, a soft, steady rhythm that matched the beating of your heart.

he let out a contented sigh, his entire body relaxing against yours. “thank you,” he breathed, so quiet you almost didn’t catch it.

you kissed the top of his head, your fingers resuming their soothing pattern through his hair. “you don’t have to thank me,” you replied. “i’m right where i want to be.”

he didn’t say anything after that, just nuzzled closer, the last of his sniffles fading into silence. you felt his breathing slow, becoming deep and even, and it wasn’t long before you could tell he was asleep.

you kept combing your fingers through his hair, even as your own eyes grew heavy, the sound of his steady breaths lulling you into a peaceful drowsiness.

you’d meant to stay awake, to make sure he was okay, but the warmth of his body against yours, the comfort of having him so close, made it impossible. you pressed one last kiss to his forehead, a silent promise that you weren’t going anywhere, before letting your eyes flutter shut.

and for the first time in a long time, you both fell asleep easily.

comments and reblogs are appreciated ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ @joshwashingtonmybeloved

© ruewrote 2024.

[sibyllinebooks]

would you fall in love with me again? // s.s.

summary: in the aftermath of allison’s death and the nogitsune’s possession, stiles had pulled away until your relationship snapped. until one night when he has nowhere else to go but your doorstep.

a/n: this is not proofread we die like the suitors in the odyssey ( which is coincidentally the musical of which this fic was inspired by )

a/n: i have been trying to write this for days and i still am not fully happy with it but it is what it is ( also i recommend listening to “would you fall in love with me again” from the epic concept musical by jorge rivera-herrans while reading )

word count: 1k+

you knew things wouldn’t be the same. after everything your friends had been through, change was inevitable. allison was gone. and while you knew that the nogitsune had been the cause, you also knew that stiles couldn’t not blame himself. you knew that stiles had gone through something horrible, a terror that you couldn’t imagine. but you had assumed that he would lean on you, turn to you in his hour of need, let you comfort him and tell him that it would all be okay.

he didn’t.

instead, you felt the thread of your relationship grow so thin you weren’t sure it existed anymore. he didn’t seek you out, didn’t tell his usual jokes, didn’t offer you rides home, didn’t do anything that the stiles from before would do. you wondered sometimes if you were a painful reminder of things that had been lost— if he looked at you and saw something that he no longer was allowed to have for the things the monster inside of him had done.

he never officially broke up with you. there was no messy breakup, no screaming match or sobs. he was there one day and then he just. . . wasn’t.

you didn’t hate him for it. you wanted to. god, how you wanted to hate him for ignoring you, for turning you away when he so obviously needed you. but you couldn’t. because you knew that he was still your stiles. he hadn’t changed. he had hidden. you knew that he would come back eventually.

eventually came.

it was late, the last droplets of rain pelting the roof of your house with a slowly dissipating strength. you had dozed off while the storm outside had run its course, but something had roused you. a knock. two. several.

glancing at the clock on the wall, you had no idea who would be visiting at this hour. a gnawing feeling grew in your gut as you stood and walked towards the door. had one of your friends been hurt? was there an emergency to attend to? you threw open the door with a frantic look, panic in your eyes. but it wasn’t bad news.

it was stiles.

his hair was wet from the rain, his eyes rimmed in red and his breathing heavy. he looked awful. his frame was sunken in, almost as if he were trying to diminish his presence. like he somehow bothered you for showing up. like he was afraid you would turn him away.

you weren’t sure what to say. it had been so long since you had been alone with him, so long since he had intentionally sought you out. you wondered just what had happened to make him appear on your doorstep, shaking and afraid and looking as if he was going to collapse.

“stiles. oh my god, stiles, what happened to you?”

your voice was quiet, unsure if you would spook him by speaking too loud. he seemed torn. in more ways than one. you realized he hadn’t moved and you stepped aside from the doorway, your face soft as you beckoned him in. it only took seconds for him to collapse against you, his head buried in the crook of your neck as you felt the sensation of tears against your skin.

you held him. you didn’t know how long the two of you stood there, but you held him all the same. he was trembling, holding on to you as if you were the only thing keeping him tethered. you couldn’t stand it.

gently, you pried him away from your body and he looked so broken it made your heart ache.

“what happened?”

he froze at the question, looking back at the door and for a moment you were convinced he was going to bolt. but instead, he sat down on the couch, his head in his hands as he answered.

“i killed him. i killed donovan.”

you sat down gently beside him, removing his hands from his face and cradling them in your own. and while part of you wanted to be shocked, to say he would never do something like that, the other part of you said he would. but only, only, if he’d had no other choice.

“okay.”

he looked at you, his expression puzzled, as if he hadn’t quite understood what you said. and then his expression morphed to bewilderment.

“what do you mean ‘okay’?! i tell you i killed someone and you just accept it?!”

“because i know you had a reason.”

you paused, searching for the right words.

“the stiles i know, the stiles i love, would never kill someone without having a reason. it’s not who you are.”

“what if you don’t know who i am? what if i’m not the same person? what if i don’t know who i am? what if. . . what if scott was right?”

you paled, wondering what exactly scott had said to him. had he gone to scott first, tried to explain, only to be met with judgement and disappointment? had scott spurned him? the thought made you seethe. while scott was your friend, he had known stiles for years. how could he possibly question what stiles had done? how could he not believe that stiles was still at his core who he had always been?

“he was wrong.”

“no, he was right. i’m not the same person. how could you love me? after what i did?”

you were furious. you stood, whirling on him, your voice raised as you countered.

“you’re not?! then go take your jeep apart. scrap it! put that useless heap of junk where it belongs!”

he looked up at you, hurt in his eyes that quickly turned sour.

“how could you say that?! you know what that jeep means to me! you know it was my mother’s, that it’s the last thing i have of hers! how could you tell me to get rid of something like that?!”

“if you had changed, you wouldn’t care about that. the stiles i love always cared for it. so don’t tell me that you’re not the same person. you are. you always have been. i’ve been waiting for you to realize that.”

you had him. you knew you did the moment his gaze softened. his shoulders sagged with relief, letting out a shaking breath as you sat back down next to him.

you would deal with the aftermath later. for now, you had stiles. and that was more than enough.

[creepswrites]

i've been dealing w/ a lot lately and wanted to write something nice so. enjoy.

SLASHERS w/ A GN! S/O WHO IS DEALING WITH DEPRESSION & ANXIETY

MICHAEL MYERS

"I just don't feel like doing anything..."

Michael gives you space if you ask for it but will still stand and watch you from the corner of the room

He's not the most outwardly affectionate person but you can tell he's worried when he comes over to squeeze your wrist once or twice

And you can tell he's worried sick when he points at the television as an invitation to watch a movie with him

He'll let you cuddle against him and he plays with your hands or hair and actually does hold you back

(It's not that he's NOT affectionate, just not usually like this)

The two of you can spend all day watching silly tv shows and movies to make you laugh

Every day may not be good, but there is something good in every day.

LESLIE VERNON

"Oh my god, Leslie, I think I'm having a panic attack."

Your hands are shaking so bad, you're sweating cold, and your vision is starting to get spotty as he hurries over to catch you

He rocks you through it, sits you down on the floor, and keeps you close to his chest while running his fingers down your arm or through you hair

Leslie's voice is soft and grounding as he tries to talk you back down

When you're finally able to breath again, you break down into such guttural sobs that he just holds you and rocks you gently

He lets you stay over at his house, you two get your favorite for dinner, and he reminds you that if you ever need to talk, he's there

After watching a movie, you talk to him about it. About how everything feels so overwhelming, how you feel helpless and out of control, and how you feel alone. He listens, really listens. And right now, that's all you really need: to just talk it out with someone

Even the darkest hour only has 60 minutes.

STU MACHER & BILLY LOOMIS

"I feel like everything is going wrong."

Stu happily listens to you vent about your problems and tries to drag you out on walks or to see movies or something

Definitely the type of guy to take you to amusement parks to give you constant dopamine hits

Billy, in contrast, will give you solutions to your problems and gives you space

He's not the most emotional guy so he tries to give you space to sort out your thoughts

So you've got a good balance!

Whenever they catch you starting to spiral again, Stu will go grab you a drink or a blanket while Billy tries to talk you down, reminding you that your problems are temporary and you will be okay

You've survived everything up till this point. You will continue to survive.

VINCENT SINCLAIR

"Do you hate me?"

Honestly, Vincent is surprised you could even think that!

But he understands how your mind works at this point so he takes you aside and opens the floor for you to talk

Everything just spills out. Small things he may have done on accident that just began to pile up, larger things that have just added to weighing you down, everything

Anyone else would think you were blaming him for your problems but he didn't see it that way. He saw you finally cracking and asking for his help to fix things

He can't magically solve everything for you but he supports you, showers you in hugs and kisses, and starts talking to Bo about maybe driving you out of Ambrose every so often to see someone about your mental health

You're grateful for his help. Everything feels so much less overwhelming when you have someone to hold hands with while you try to get help

Small, baby steps each day add up to huge, giant leaps over time. Don't give up.

LESTER SINCLAIR

"I think everyone hates me."

Lester's head snaps around and catches you staring down at your phone with wet, sorrowful eyes

You break down when he hugs you, spilling everything about a fight with your friends that left you scared. Not sad - scared

That's what sets off alarm bells in his head. He puts your phone aside and listens to you talk, vent, cry, anything you need

You're afraid. Afraid of what your friends said, worried about what they might tell others, and a petrifying anxiety that you'll end up alone

But Lester reminds you if they do that, then they were never really your friends to begin with

He peppers your face in kisses and reminds you that, no matter what, he will always love and care for you. Even if the whole world was against you, you'd always have him Jonesy comes and sits in your lap, licking your face and hands as she tries to smother you in her love as well!

Don’t dwell on those who hold you down. Instead, cherish those who helped you up.

[running-with-kn1ves]

CAN WE PLEASE HAVE A PART 2 FOR THE KILLER CLOWN POOKIE :((((

A/N: Long awaited, took me forever to actually finish, but HERE IT IS. I really struggled making an interesting part 2, so I hope you find it mildly interesting anon (-‿-")

Link to 1st part found here!

TW: Murderous killer clown, mentions of past killings, blood, kidnapped reader, forced close proximity, isolation torture

Synopsis: Kidnapped by your killer clown stalker, you navigate being stuck in his toy room and being fed a very personal dinner, all while trying to avoid his loving insanity.

A room full of dolls, no matter their origin or purpose, is never an endearing sight. You swore even if the off-putting, Raggedy Ann and porcelain, dust-ridden dolls were anime figurines and children’s collectibles, you wouldn’t feel any safer in this hellscape. “Your punishment” he called it, and a punishment it was. Like a child made to spend the rest of the day in its bedroom, you were tied snuggly to the recliner chair in birthday string, forced to stare back at the eyes and broken limbs of endless toys. Of his, toys. Was this room part of the abandoned warehouse connected to the shit hole he called his home? Why did this room smell so repugnantly of petrichor and mold, when the rest of the “house” was either doused in bleach or rot that made your nose so dry it bled?

Maybe, if you had ever learned to properly meditate, the hours in here wouldn’t feel so head-splitting. The darkness nearly brought you to insanity, begging for the arrival of your captor to come slinking back in with another microwaved meal. You would’ve welcomed his manic personality and demented point of view, if it meant you could hear anything besides the echo of your own thoughts and the crushing sound of an analog clock's ticking. 

If only you were smarter, stronger, faster. You could’ve gotten out sooner, could’ve kept yourself away from this kidnapping entirely. But it was your stubbornness that led you to be “disciplined”, inside the toy room. Two hours ago on the shelf behind you, an old fire truck (you guessed, from the siren sound and reflecting red) went off, falling to the floor and proceeding to wail for several minutes. Even with your erratic, terror-stricken sobs leading you to beg for freedom from this room, your captor never unbolted the door.

 You hadn’t even heard his footsteps from the other side. Maybe he was out luring another victim, adding to the stockpile of bloody buckets in the closet, or perhaps your replacement-- a relieving sentiment. But you knew, from the hours he droned on about soulmates and how your appreciation of him that night that seemed years ago, you weren’t going anywhere. Atleast, not without provocation. 

Your exhaustion didn’t let you care if there was someone chained in the woodcutting section of the warehouse, if there was another layer of gore on the ground. You just wanted out from here, food in your gnawing stomach. You could even pretend to apologize, to care for him. Okay, maybe not that far, but you could give a convincing act. By now, you were sorry. Sorry you didn’t open your mouth to his prodding questions, didn’t comply when now it feels like it would’ve been so easy. 

You licked at the corner of your mouth, hoping a salty, fallen tear could reach your tongue. Your lips were so cracked, you’d give anything for chapstick, for some water to cover your sawdusted throat. 

So hoarse from screaming and wracking with sobs, you wondered if this was how he was planning to kill you. The day was inevitable, after what you’d seen him do… but, you really thought it’d be more horrific than this, more… agonizing. Maybe you should be grateful. Dehydration really isn’t too bad compared to drawing blood or whatever sick, Saw-type torture he had in mind. 

And like that, when you were near accepting this newfound death, Satan spoke. 

The creak of an industrial metal door respunded in your pounding head, your neck snapping and cracking to look toward it's screech.

“Hm-- I thought I let you out before I left.” His signature, raspy voice rendered muffled under his mask. “How long have you been in here?” 

The swift blade of a hunting knife came to the back of the recliner, letting the tight ribbon binding your hands and body fall to the ground, harmlessly. It looked so small now, so thin and fitting for this uncharacteristically silly, dusted room. 

“I--” You cut yourself off with a blood-spitting cough, the sensation of needles coming up and out of your throat. 

“Oh rats… look at you, covered in dust and all tear-stricken; It was only twelve hours,” He brushed the wet spot on your dusty cheek. “Sweet doll… that’s all it takes to drive you insane?” 

He laughed a short snort, reeking of dried blood and dirt. The diamond-patterned gloves usually adorning his bone-thin fingers were already gone, cold and clean hands pulling your bound wrists forward out of the chair. He drug you up far enough to get you out of the recliner. Legs weak and practically immobile, you did your best to keep your distance; but he was determined to make you lean on him, taking your hands to inspect. 

“Bruises don’t look too bad on you…” He mumbled, watching the dark ring that had formed below your palms. “But it's not right, I need to take better care of you, don’t I?”

He asked, as if your say meant anything. But you knew this; you were getting a hold of the game now. 

Nodding your head, you leaned just a tad against his damp shoulder for support, nearly ready to fall to the ground. From the sound of the metal roof, it had been raining only an hour earlier. You prayed it was rain drops staining into your sleeve. 

“I don’t feel good..” You mumbled, voice cracking under pressure. 

“Of course you don’t. That was the whole point of this little time out session, dollheart; but I bet you want to come out, to talk a little bit now, don’t you?”

He was always too comfortable, acting as if you were more than just an angry hostage. You were his darling, his pet, his everything. It made you sick, listening to the way he talked at you-- feeling like you were watching yourself from outside your body, as if these pet names were for somebody else. 

You forgot the whole purpose of this endeavor was to get you to cooperate; when you didn’t respond immediately, you could feel him tense up. 

Even a nod wasn’t enough, like you expected. What did he want, again? For you to say his name, to listen and to speak? All this time in here, and you barely reflected on the purpose of your discipline. 

He gave you another opportunity, a short kindness, placing his ridden jacket over your shoulders. 

“Are you hungry? Ready to come out and eat without problems?”

You swallowed the little saliva you could muster. 

“Please, yes...Quin.” You were so quiet, a small part of you doing it on purpose, shame in saying your kidnapper’s name so casually like old pals. You kept that anger at the back of your mind, ignoring how speaking rubbed your throat into a deeper raw. 

He led you through the thick steel door away from your prison, rubbing at the back of your neck in an attempt to soothe the state your throat was left in. You hobbled your way out, gaining some strength back in your jello-ified legs. 

“What do you want to eat, chicken or beef?” 

You almost threw up in your mouth remembering the frozen pasta options you had consumed for the past two months. Would you ever get to taste something besides starch and fake meat again? 

“...Chicken. Please.” You added, forgetting you were on thin ice. One wrong move and another needle-full of mystery fluid was stuck into your thigh and you went eye-to-eye with Raggedy Ann again. 

You let the apathetic creature grab hold of your sweating fingers, hand-in-hand as the labored breathing behind his stained, venetian-like mask became unbearable to listen to. It was different from the one you had seen him in the night you were dragged here; most of the time he wore something new, maybe depending on his mood or something as superficial as his outfit, you weren't sure yet. It made you more afraid, only being able to see shadowed green eyes beneath a painted porcelain, often accented with red and gold to accompany the splatters of gore that make way to his face. 

Quin watched you walk barefooted and soulless, taking in the familiar sights of the small inhabitable area of his “home.” What wasn’t inhabited by you most of the time, was reserved for Quin’s… activities. Despite thinking about what he must’ve done today, you were ravenous. 

He wasn’t wearing the usual get-up today-- the circus-like, ridiculous clown-inspired rags he dared to do most of his bidding in. It was… oddly casual, muted colors with dark layers to shield him from the cold. The mask looked out of place, wisps of fiery red hair covering his forehead and ears. The color was fresh, not fading into blonde like the last time you saw him a mere half-day ago. 

Quin pushed your shoulders down, placing you in the wooden chair that had already been pulled out; the way it was left after you had been drug out of it. 

“Sit. How tired are you?”

He pulls out a small keychain flashlight from his pants pocket. 

“Tired.” You respond, huddling into yourself as the cold from the floor crept in. It was freezing outside, late November proving to be no joke compared to the windy October day you last saw the sun.

Quin gave you a dead stare, shinning the light into your eyes. 

“Very funny. Do you feel like passing out at all? Your eyes are bloodshot.” He focused on each eye, temporarily blinding you before turning the flashlight off to put it back in his pocket. “Warm,” He mumbled, smoothing a finger from your chin to your throat. “A little too warm. Maybe got a fever being in that old room.”

“I’m just exhausted, I didn’t sleep… at all.” You didn’t have the energy to be angry, but the resentment and hate burrowing into you was making you more disgusted with him by the minute. Who was he to act worried and interested, after throwing you into a demented toy room for hours? “I couldn’t, being in that godforsaken room.”

“Hey, don’t take it out on the dolls, doll. I thought they’d keep you company.”

Your captor stood up, running his frozen hands along your jaw, smoothening your cheeks with his thumbs. 

“Keep me company?” You remembered the firetruck, wanting to scream and cry until your body shook again. “I.. I don’t think I was alone, but there was something more than dolls in there. It moved, things were moved…” Tears rushed to your eyes, willing to fall faster after crying so recently. “ I can’t go back in there.”

You were firm in your words, looking up at him. You wouldn’t go back in there, you’d give yourself a heart attack before he managed to kill you. 

“I don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands.” Quin bent back down to lay a hand on the wooden chair frame behind you, scanning your eyes. 

You tried to lean back, not too obvious yet not allowing him to get any closer. You could feel the exhale of air through the mask’s nose hitting your forehead. 

“I’d rather you kill me than put me back in there.” His chest was warm, from where you put a shaky hand to stop him. You didn’t have the courage to be firm, to do more than rest your palm there, as if you were feeling his heartbeat. It was gentle, a rhythmic beat that reminded you he was just as human as you were. A monster of a human.

“Really? You’re that scared, baby?” Quin smoothed the hair above your ear, resting his hand on your scalp. “Even after everything I made you see, more that you’re gonna see? You’re scared of some collectibles?”

You looked away, being the first to lose the staring contest he put in order. 

“It’s different.” You murmured through hoarseness, trying to ignore the pit in your stomach after hearing another sappy pet name.

“Fine. Next time I’ll just make you bleed our next guest dry. Its about time you learned the family trade.”

He placed a kiss to your cheek through the mask, doing little to acknowledge the wince you gave when he moved forward so quickly. By now, maybe you should believe him when he says he’s not killing you quite yet... But after witnessing so many of his activities, you can’t help but imagine yourself in his victims’ place, waiting for a knife to drag itself across your stomach.

The thought made bile rise in your throat. You had so little to vomit away, and yet you still felt the desire to rid last night's meal. You couldn’t do it. The dolls were better. You couldn’t hurt someone like that. It was now, that you realized how different watching was compared to actually doing it. You couldn’t stomach watching him work with his gadgets and coroner tools, how could you comprehend actually doing anything with them? 

The microwave began to churn alive after Quin’s button pressing, refrigerator door swinging to a close as the microwaves’ hum filled the damp, grainy room. Peeling wallpaper reminded you of an aging housewife, brown stains on the floor being a more comforting vision than looking up at your captor. 

Even if you kept your eyes down, you had to contribute-- to be more than a lifeless doll here, lest you get thrown back in again to that pit of clown memorabilia. 

“What did you do, while I was here?” 

Your voice cracks dryly, attempting to clean the dirt under your nails as you stare down. 

“Do you really want to know?” You could hear the smile through his words. “you've got such a weak stomach,” He waited for you to protest, continuing when you sat silently. “It wasn’t anything you would deem oh so “horrific,” really. Just some shopping at the hardware store, odds and ends.”

“Oh.” Is all you could muster. You continued to pick at your nails until the ending beep of the microwave resounded. Quin opened its door, grabbing the tips of the cardboard meal plate as it steamed. The smell of chicken and pasta filled the small, round dining room. 

Your stomach churned, hungry and yet sick at the thought of eating another mushy, microwaved meal of little to no nutritional value. 

“...Thanks, Quin.” You were mildly sarcastic, a habit you had forgotten to shove down in fear of punishment-- but you tried to shoot him a crooked, half-smile to cover it up. 

“Nothing but the best for you, doll.” The clown pulled out an unmatching foldable chair with a lengthy screech, a plastic fork with muted ends already sitting in front of him at the table. He was so lean, uncharacteristically gangly at the hips and forearms, but wide in his shoulders and thighs. It tooke everything in you to not scratch at the floor boards to get out, to run away from a man so close that took pleasure in hurting people just like you. 

You were going to comment on the fork, again still not understanding how a plastic utensil could cause enough damage to need to be shaved down, but Quin did something that struck you as even more unsettling. 

“I think, maybe we should go back a few steps. It would do us some good, rebuild our trust.” He stirs around the mixture in the cardboard frozen meal box. Quin looks toward you while he covers the bits of broccoli and chicken in alfredo sauce. “ If I can trust you again to be good to me, there’d be no reason to return to the toy room you’re so afraid of.”

You bit your tongue, trying to choose your words wisely. He overstepped, but you shouldn’t be trying to stomp on his toes either-- save future you some punishment, you told yourself. 

“Thats not necessary, I’ve… you know I just need some time to adjust, I’m kept here all day and--” 

Quin suddenly patted at his lap in interruption, opening his legs and turning himself to face you. 

“Come sit.” 

You look at him incredilously, trying to garner a reaction out of that stoic, masked face. 

“Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Just sit, you’re hungry, aren’t you.”

Gritting your teeth, you shoved down an insult, wanting to throw fast words on how the hell he knew what you wanted, who he thought he was to tell you what to do!

You sit there in defiance, utter disbelief and anger at how he watched you quietly, patiently stirring the pasta absentmindedly, the other tapping his leg twice again-- like he was calling a dog. 

He puts both hands on his knees and looks as if he’s about to get up. His bottom nearly leaves the chair before you race out of yours, taking an uncomfortably close step to prevent him from moving any further. It would do no help in a fight, but you could at least make it as uncomfortable for him to try and hurt you if he wanted. You knew better now that when you were walking on cracking ice, to work faster than he did-- he was unlikely to carry out his undesired punishment that way.

Quin relaxes, putting his back against the fold-up chair with a squeak. His palms still grasp his knees looking up at you, an expectation in his body language. 

“Well?”

You turn to the side, lining up with his thigh in preparation to sit. The idea of sucker punching his head is mouth-wateringly appealing. You almost consider it, despite the implications of what will come after; yet, the masked murderer is quicker than you, cutting off your plotting thoughts. 

Cold hands grab at your hips, lurching you down and back against his chest, the full weight of your butt on his thigh. Immediately you hold your weight back up, hovering above his leg as you fear the oddly heated sensation of being against someone, close to another living being. It's been a long time since you felt skin on skin contact. 

“Sit down, you're insulting me,” Quin complained with an effort of wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you back. “Acting as if I'm the plague. Just eat.”

You'd try and pull up again but his arm would not relent. It felt uncomfortably close with his leg shifting under you, the muffled sound of his breathing and speech under the puckered mask. 

He didn't seem uncomfortable with your weight on his lap-- weirdly… more relaxed, oddly calm. Shoulders slumped, legs open in the usual masculine spreading fashion-- if you didn't know better, you'd say he was enjoying this. 

Staring down at the steaming pasta, you swallow down your dissipating apetite. Quin picked up the small fork, looking away from you. Every millisecond that he took his gaze away, you fought back the urge to escape. He twisted thin noodles around the fork, stabbing a piece of broccoli along the way. 

Letting go of you for just a moment Quin used his free hand to lift up the Venetian mask from his chin, pushing it just barely above his lips. He bent down gently to blow on the fork, flurries of steam pushing away from the utensil. You watched, mildly weirded out at his softness, feeling the heat of the meal container radiate toward you. 

Quin, finished with his motherly theatrics, pushed the fork towards your mouth. You instinctively pulled your head back in a flinch. 

It looked as if he was about to say something, jaw clenched in a grating fashion. 

“...Thank you.”  This sugarsweet, docile behavior you had to pretend to play was even harder than you were hoping. 

You leaned forward, reaching your hand out to take the fork as you opened your mouth. But Quin didn’t let it go, allowing your fingers to rest on his as you tried to take it. The pasta was gently placed against your tongue, filling your mouth as you bit down. 

The killer slowly, --too slowly you might add-- removed the fork from your lips. He was watching, his eyes and gentle, plum lips nearer than they ever had been before. You had never seen him up so close, only mere inches away as you cautiously chewed. 

A thought ran across your mind, wondering if the food had been tampered with-- but at this point, did it matter? It likely wouldn’t be the first time, or the last. 

Quin repeated the process, softly blowing on the food before feeding you with a tenderness that wasn’t mean for a captor and his captive. 

You appreciated the silence, though; no bitingly silly remarks or sadistic smiles, just a softly domestic scene with the humming of the yellowed refridgerator. 

The wrongness of having someone watch you eat, waiting till you’ve swallowed, making sure you’ve taken every bit off of the fork-- it was like being watched by a crowd, not showing immediate judgement and yet just as uncomfortable. 

“You’ve got a little,” Quin hesitated, putting the fork back down in the frozen meal plate. His nimble hand came to hold under your chin, pulling your face closer to his. You could feel his breath now tickling your nose as he parted his lips in concentration. A wintry thumb swiped over the corner of your mouth, taking away stray sauce that hadn’t made it to your mouth. 

“There; what a mess you make. Looks like you're trying to tease me, acting all helpless.”

You were ready to react, but a splotch of something dark resting on the clown’s open chest caught your eye. You thought it was a birthmark at first, one you had never noticed before-- but upon closer inspection, you saw it was uneven dots of blood, dried and smudged. 

Your tongue went dry, breath getting caught in your throat as you recalled his words earlier. Was up to nothing, huh? 

…How many people have died since you’ve been stuck alone in that room? 

The fear of your impending death was rising in your throat in the form of acid, no longer hungry for anything-- merely sick and distraught. What was he saving for you, what were you going to become-- he may be spouting nonsensical “I love you” ‘s and such, but how could you believe it when so many have been killed in your stead? 

Quin ignored the creased lines of horror on your face, the silence of your twitching frown as you kept your gaze on his soiled neck. 

“Alright, now open wide.” Quin brushes your cheek with one hand, the other holding another forkful of pasta and chicken. 

Your lips shake, finding it hard to keep your mouth anything but clamped shut as you remember the foul sights, the smells of the rest of this warehouse-- how could you be so stupid, thinking maybe you’d find one way to get this all to stop, a daydream of freedom from this dank hellhole. 

You’d better start getting used to saying ‘I love you.’