#he brushed his hair back but its still a mess sobs

[kana7o]

sketch comm for cvvani on twitter!!

tfw you and your boyfriend propose at the same time.....

[leqonsluv3r]

PROMPT 3 WITH LEON I BEG

oh! darling

prompt: "please don't stop.”

—re!4 leon kennedy x reader

contains nsfw content, MDNI, 18+

masterlist taglist prompt game

you don’t know how you ended up in the backseat of your boyfriends car, getting eaten out like a five course meal, your legs trembling around his head. his large hands holding onto your hips and stomach, keeping your stomach flat.

you don’t know at what point the teasing turned to taunting, the kissing turned passionate and he decided to eat you out until you were screaming and practically dripping all over his backseat.

you don’t know how he managed to pull the car into a field, tucked into brushes and trees at night. you also don’t know how long it took the windows of his car to steam up, or at what point they did.

all you knew is that you couldn’t stop trembling and shaking as he ate you out, pulling orgasm after orgasm from your mouth and body. all of a sudden after the aftershocks of her last orgasm, he presses kisses on the insides of your trembling thighs.

“i don’t think i can go anymore. i think…i think…” you try to talk but your brain is muddled and empty. all you can think about is the exhaustion in your body and how he pulled so many orgasms out of you with just his mouth and fingers alone. you don’t know if you can even take anymore.

he laughs softly against your thigh, his breath fanning against the skin there, “you also said that after the first one…but look,” he gestures to the mess you probably made on his seat. “your dripping everywhere. i think you can handle one more.” he says with an almost feline smirk on his lips.

you didn’t think you could. you would probably pass out before he even pulled another one for you.

but he shocked you by sitting up in the back of his car and pulling your naked and sweaty body ontop of him, your thighs straddling over his.

“what are you doing?” you slur in a desire drunken haze as you steady your palms onto his bare shoulders. he chuckles and presses a kiss to your sweaty cheek, smoothing a hand down into your hair. “i’m fucking you.” he rasps as he maneuvers your body so that your able to ride him.

“i can’t…i can’t ride you.” you mumble in a whiny protest as you feel him rub his erection in between your drenched folds. “i can’t…” you whine again in desperation.

he shakes his head, his blonde strands moving with him, “you don’t have to do anything, just sit on my cock and look at me all pretty. i’ll take care of it.” he says with some minor confidence.

you don’t even care about the logistics of how, that’s out the window and not even in your brain anymore. you feel horny but overstimulated and tired. you feel like you could just fall asleep ontop of him and pass out from the mindless way he’s been pulling orgasms from you.

you can’t even protest or get the words out before he’s lifting you up by the flesh of your thighs and lowering you onto his cock. basically spearing you from the inside out, even though he slipped in with no resistance.

you choke back a small noise, mixed between a sob and a moan. because, how can this feel so good and so overwhelming at the same time? doesn’t matter how many times you’ve taken him in your relationship, it’s still a tight fit.

“fuck me…your so fucking — christ…” he mutters in a strained tone as he ducks his head into your shoulder, keeping you still on his lap. your head is lulling backwards and you can’t even fight the energy to even care how fucked out you probably look.

“leon…” you whine softly, your brows furrowing as you try to just sit still and not even move on instinct. he grips the flesh of your hips tighter, “don’t. don’t say my name like that right now.” he mutters as he tries to not blow his load like pubescent boy.

he slowly begins to move you up and down on his lap, slowly thrusting in and out of you. both of your breaths ragged and strained with exhaustion and desire. your both pushing each other to the limits to make yourselves feel good and its showing. he can’t stop groaning and making noises, which only makes you clench around him tighter. “please…fuck, baby, christ.” he practically begs as he keeps slowly thrusting up into you. his hands holding firmly onto your hips as he aims to get you off, yet again.

you have no idea what he’s begging for but you probably have a good idea as to what.

but your getting impatient, he’s not hitting the right spot and as sensitive as you already are, you figured you would’ve cum by now. you haven’t and it’s frustrating you so much that you begin to take matters into your own hands. you start meeting his thrusts despite your exhaustion and frustration. he notices this and leans his head back with a small groan, loving that you’ve started to fuck him.

he almost doesn’t want to look as you begin to ride him, you’ve done it plenty of times before so its kind of ingrained in his memory. he can almost picture it in his mind — you bouncing up and down on his cock, your pupils dilated with lust and hunger, your breasts bouncing and your head thrown back. god, the image in his mind alone is enough to make him —

“please don’t stop…” he finds himself saying in a voice that sounds nothing like him at all, all whiny and pathetic. like your torturing him by riding him. neither of you would admit this out loud but their was always an unspoken rule in your relationship, that you liked it when the roles were sometimes switched. so when he practically moaned that through the car as you rode his cock, you squeezed around him and gripped at his bare shoulders. desperate to get him to the same peak as you.

you don’t know how long you rode him, it felt like a whole year had passed but in reality it was only a couple of minutes. you hit that spot when you bounced down on him and kept chasing it, his moans low to high and whiny were making you feel elated. like you were reaching the peak and you could accomplish anything if you made him cum.

he grips the fat of your hips tightly again and holds onto you desperately as you feel that knot unravel in your stomach, “fuck, gonna cum…leon…” you moan with a small whine at the end, keeping up your pace on top of him even though your legs were beginning to hurt. you couldn’t stop, not when you were so close and so was he —

“oh! shit!” you whined loudly as you interrupted your own thoughts and clenched around his cock as you came. your legs and your whole entire body shaking as you fell apart ontop of him.

he groaned loudly, it was almost too much for him as he buried his head into your neck and kept you on top of him. feeling you come undone was just enough for him as you rode out your high on his cock.

“that’s it baby, it’s okay…” he says in a raspy voice as he lets you slide up and down on his cock a little slower. he could feel his own muscles tense up as he practically growled against her neck, coming undone with a shaky exhale. he swears he almost saw stars for a moment as he erupted inside of you.

thrusting his come up into you as you both slowed the pace of your own movements. making yourselves slowly come down and come back to earth. you let leon talk you through it as you stayed ontop of him, letting him plug the cum inside of you.

you buried your head into his shoulder as his hand came up and stroked your hair, untangling the messy knots in it. his hand running down to your spine and tracing patterns to soothe you.

he knew he took a lot from you tonight, he was aware. but you also knew that it was worth it. all the pain and exhaustion was worth it when he brought bliss to the both of you tenfold. he loved seeing you fall apart as much as he loved being the one to do it. it gave him satisfaction and comfort knowing that when you were with him, you were taken care of.

and you always would be.

“you feeling okay?” he whispers against your sweaty temple as he still traces his fingers over your spine. you nod against his shoulder and let out a couple ragged breaths. “yeah, i feel okay.” you whisper softly as you drag your eyes up to look at him.

“i love you baby.” he says softly as he strokes his hand up to your cheek, rubbing his thumb under the skin of your eye. you melt into a puddle of softness and goo underneath his caring touch, so gentle and contrasted to how he pleasures you.

“i love you too.” you whisper. and you mean it, you couldn’t imagine loving anyone else.

not like leon.

an: i’m sorry this took so ungodly long for me to finish and post. i’ve had so much going on in my personal life and it’s been very very chaotic lately. but i managed to finish and post!!! yay!!! three cheers for me, pls, i need it right now. i’ll be posting more consistently since my life has become a little less crazy, i hope you guys enjoyed. pls reblog and like!! it supports small lil writers like myself. i love you all, kisses. xx

taglist: @elihii @heartsforvin @sqiim @adollrable @leonkennedygvrl @porcelainseashore @squazmine @spfoah @jmivenus (if you wanted to be added, interact with the link at the beginning!! <3)

[silent-stories]

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐒

Pairing: Eddie x GN!Reader

Summary: Eddie's father didn't react well when Eddie accidentally dropped a bottle on the ground and years later, he still expects a violent reaction to an incident like this.

Warnings: violence (eddie gets beaten by his dad), blood, angst, fluff.

Eddie slowly opened his bedroom door, careful not to make too much noise and looked around, trying to identify the figure of the man who had returned home about an hour before, around three in the morning.

Probably, it was not a suitable time for a father of a seven-year-old boy and husband of a dying woman in hospital to come back home, even Eddie understood that.

He used to come back home late and drunk when his mother was still with them and he didn't stop doing it even when she got sick.

The blue socks on Eddie's feet cushioned the few steps he took forward, in the dark. His sleepy gaze, due to the late hour, scanned the room as he brushed aside a curl that had fallen over his eyes with his small, thin fingers.

His hair was getting too long again, he knew his father would soon order him to cut it.

The man's snores were guttural, punctuated by occasional coughs that rattled the room. The bottle lay discarded on the floor, its contents drained, a silent witness to the nightly ritual.

The television flickered in the corner, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Eddie’s mother’s favorite show played—a distraction from the harsh reality outside. But she wasn’t there to watch it anymore.

Eddie knew that when his father woke up in the morning, he wouldn't remember the bottle of whiskey left at his feet and would most likely drop it when he got up.

Only a few weeks earlier it had happened and Al had blamed it on the boy, saying that when he saw the bottle, the kid should have picked it up and thrown it in the trash when he was sleeping.

Eddie walked over to the couch where his father lay and grabbed the bottle in his hands. It was sticky and had a smell that the boy had found nauseating at the time.

He headed towards the kitchen, thinking whether he should leave it on the table, throw it in the bin with the remnants of the reheated pizza he had eaten for dinner, or go out and throw it in the rubbish bin on the street in front of the house.

The TV program came to an end and the screen went black for a few seconds, plunging the room into total darkness.

Eddie was sure that chair was a few steps ahead, he could have sworn it.

Probably, he should have waited for the light on the screen to return before taking any more steps.

His body hit the chair. The bottle slipped from his hands.

The glass shattered into a thousand pieces, emitting a deafening sound in the silence of the night and the man who was previously sleeping thoughtfully woke up with a start.

"What the hell..."

The child's eyes filled with tears even before his father reached him, staggering.

"What the hell did you do!?" The man barked, his deep voice seeming capable of shaking all the doors in the house.

"I'm sorry! I just wanted to throw away the bottle and I didn't-"

The man's fist came in contact with Eddie's face before he could finish his sentence.

The boy stumbled back, leaning against the wall behind him to keep himself from falling on the ground.

A terrible pain spread across one side of his face and he felt something warm dripping from his nose, the blood mixed with tears that he couldn't hold back.

��You never do anythin' right.” His father spat out.

Eddie sniffed, his lower lip trembling as he spoke. "I'm sorry, I-"

"Shut up!" Al shouted from a few inches away from the child's tear-stained face.

Eddie closed his eyes and held his breath, waiting for a second shot that didn't come. A sob escaped his lips and the fear that another punch would come soon didn't go away.

“Look at you,” Al chuckled, “weepin' like a girl.”

"I-I'm sorry-"

“You keep fucking sayin' that but you're doing nothin' to fix your mess!” The father shouted, grabbing the kid by the shoulder, with a grip too firm that would surely have left a bruise, pushing him towards the place where the bottle had fallen.

"Clean up." Al ordered.

Eddie nodded, knowing his voice wouldn't come out the way he wanted it to.

The silence received in response only further angered the man who, after reaching the child again, grabbed his face with one hand, squeezing it between his fingers.

"What is wrong with you? I said fucking clean up."

"Yes- sir." The boy sobbed.

Al released him with one last push, gave him one last look before heading towards his bedroom while the boy tried not to step on the pieces of glass around the room, which would easily pierce his old socks.

"Useless, fucking useless" Eddie heard his father say, "He can never do anything fucking right."

Finally, he closed the door of his room behind him and, only after Eddie heard the sound of his snoring reaching all the way to the kitchen, he started sobbing like he had never done in his life.

He spent the last hours of the night and early morning cleaning the pieces of bottles from the floor- cutting his hands two or three times in the process- and wiping away the drops of blood that his nose had left there.

He went to bed when the sun was already up, his hands had been bandaged as best he could and his nose had finally stopped bleeding.

The sound of the bottle shattering and his father's shouts seemed to haunt him even during his sleep.

That was the case for several days.

The memory of that night has never been erased. Not even thirteen years later.

"Eddie, we didn't buy any basil!" You exclaimed, looking up from the open recipe book on the table. “I knew we forgot something!”

The kitchen was warm, the aroma of simmering tomato sauce filling the air as Eddie stood by the counter, his hands dicing onions.

You were surprised that he hadn't cut any of his fingers yet and that he seemed to be putting all his effort into the task you assigned him.

"I have all kinds at home, if you really wanna add some... herbs."

You threw a rag at his head, making him laugh under the fabric.

"Hey!" He complained.

"What does "hey" mean? You wanted to put fucking drugs in my sauce!"

"“I thought that was our sauce.” He smirked.

You laughed at the way he said it, as if he was actually offended and hadn't spent the last hour laughing even though he was chopping onions.

“It depends, are you done with those?”

Eddie rolled his eyes. "All yours, my lady."

When he turned around, his elbow accidentally hit the glass bottle of olive oil, making it crash onto the tiled floor.

You never do anything right

Shards scattered like stars, reflecting the dim light.

After the sudden deafening noise caused by the bottle, the room seemed almost too quiet. He felt your gaze on him, but he didn't dare meet your eyes.

His heart raced, memories of that childhood night flooding back. His father’s rage, the jagged edges of broken glass, and the fear that had etched itself into his soul. Eddie clenched his fists, berating himself for his clumsiness.

His hands shook, the tremors echoing the chaos within. The room seemed to close in, the walls pressing against him. He suddenly felt like couldn’t breathe.

“Shit,” he muttered, his voice barely audible, "I'm sorry."

You keep fucking saying that but you're doing nothing to fix your mess.

He knew you weren't like him, not even remotely. He knew that he was no longer with him, that he was far away, that he couldn't hurt him.

What is wrong with you?

Despite this, he held his breath for a moment without even realizing it, as if he expected you to yell at him, to insult him, to tell him that he was no good at anything.

Useless, fucking useless.

"Shit, I have to clean up." He breathed, ducking ready to grab the pieces of glass with his hands.

He didn't even notice when you knelt in front of him, almost without making any noise.

Your touch was gentle as your hand met his, preventing him from grabbing the glass pieces.

"Hey. You're gonna cut yourself."

Your voice was calm and sweet, your tone almost sounded like one someone would use with a scared animal.

You weren't mad at him. You knew something was wrong with his reaction, and you weren't mad at him.

"But-"

“It’s okay,” you said softly. “Just a bottle.”

Your thumb ran over the back of his hand, drawing a couple of circles.

Eddie thought he might burst into tears right there in the middle of the kitchen covered in bottle pieces.

He expected anger, frustration, maybe even a shout. Instead, you reached for a dustpan, your hand never leaving his. Together, you swept up some of the shards, the silence broken only by the soft clink of glass. Eddie’s breaths steadied, and he realized that maybe, it was going to be okay.

His words stuttered when he spoke, still caught between vulnerability and fear. “You’re not mad?” he asked, his voice raw.

“No,” you replied, you gaze steady, still soft as ever. “I’m not mad and I have no reason to be. I don't know what was going through your head and I'll be here if you ever want to tell me, but really, it's just a bottle for me. It's okay. We’ll clean this up together.”

Your smile has always been one of the most beautiful sights for Eddie and in that situation even more so, if possible.

He couldn't help but gently push you against him and leave a light kiss on your forehead, without saying a single word. Now he knew you understood him even without them.

In your small kitchen covered in broken glass, Eddie realized that it was impossible to erase certain bad memories but that, if you gave him the opportunity, he would spend the rest of his life creating new ones with you.

When you finished cleaning and the sun went down, neither of you really cared that you hadn't finished cooking.

When you went to bed, Eddie held you a little tighter than usual.

His dad was no longer part of his life.

You were. And you loved him.

Eddie didn't need anything else.

A "thank you" was whispered during the night.

Tags: @jacklesbrainworms @morning-sky7 @pipsqueakkitten @navs-bhat @michaelfuckinglangdon @flawiette @needylilgal022 @bubsonnobx @yujyujj @findmeincorneliastreet @kennedy-brooke @witchwolflea

[red-riding-wood]

I Want You to Want Me

Pairing: Neil Lewis x F!Reader

Fandom: Watching the Detectives

Summary: Neil receives a frantic call and finds you outside of Gumshoe after a date night gone wrong. Secretly habouring feelings for you ever since the two of you met, he finds you oddly irresistable in your tears and torn fishnets.

Warnings: SMUT, mutual pining, dub-con touching, dryhumping, riding, foreplay, teasing, begging (m), masturbation (m), clothed sex (semi), Neil being a wet paper towel, so just Neil being Neil, pervy Neil, switch!Neil, slight dom but mostly sub!Neil because c'mon guys it's NEIL, slight dom!reader, body worship, public sex (technically?), premature ejaculation (sort of?), angst, some fluff? by my standards anyway lol so take that with a grain of salt -- this ended up being more wholesome than I thought it would be

Inspired by this cover of I Want You To Want Me (the reader's song) and Creep (Neil's song) by Radiohead.

Huge thanks to @your-nanas-house for getting me started with a prompt for this and cheering me on!

Totally nicked the "jock boyfriend" inspo from @cillianmesoftlyyy's fic here; go check that out if you want more spicy Neil content, because it was fantastic!

And thank you and also fuck you to @rysko for dramatically beta reading this in my ear WHILE I WAS TRYING TO MAKE THE HEADER

And now that I'm done thanking every fic writer on tumblr, my parents, the Royal Society for the Prevention of Birds, and Saturn and all of its rings, enjoy your filth!

WC: 4239

He found you outside the back door of Gumshoe, huddled against the concrete step, the cool air of the spring night nipping at the wet tears that streaked your cheeks, the slight breeze stirring a shiver from one fretful limb to the next. The whites of your eyes burned red beneath the faint glow of the lanterns atop the neighbour’s picket fence. It wasn’t exactly the most incognito place to cry your eyes out, but you didn’t have a key to Neil’s store, and it was nearly three in the morning. 

“Hey, I got your call. What’s going on?” A familiar voice broke the pitiful sounds of your sobbing, and the tension of your shoulders eased if only slightly at the mere sound. 

You tried to answer past your sobs, but found that your words came only in hiccups, in broken fragments of your splintered heart, and it didn’t take long for him to sweep an arm around your shoulders, lowering himself to sit beside you on the cold step. Instinctively, you found yourself leaning into his touch, trembling against the warmth of his body. 

Neil was never really great at these sorts of things to begin with, but it certainly didn’t help that his attention was drawn to the low-cut top where a tear streaked down the groove of your breasts, to the fishnets that you’d torn on your way out the door of your boyfriend’s, to the short skirt that rode up just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the lace hem of your panties. 

He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and he tried to keep his eyes on the face you so desperately tried to hide with your trembling fingers, for you were ashamed of your unkempt appearance. You must’ve looked like a cheap whore – a mess of one, no less. You couldn’t tell what was more embarrassing: the way you were dressed, like you were begging for attention, or the way your emotions seized you so cruelly that you could scarcely breathe. 

“Hey.” His warm, careful touch landed on your wrist, and as you pulled your fingers from your lashes, they came away black with smudged mascara. “I’m here,” your friend said. “Tell me what happened.”

You could still only speak in hiccups and broken vowels.

“Shhh,” Neil soothed you, fingers running up and down your spine, sending tiny shivers through each nerve as the fabric of your shirt bunched and his skin brushed yours. “Shhh. I’m here.”

Resting your head on his shoulder, your hair spilled in sticky threads over the jacket that, judging by the slight musty scent that lingered in the weave of the corduroy, had probably missed one too many washes. But you didn’t care. You’d come to appreciate the little imperfections about him, the details of his scent that made Neil Neil. Like the waxy tinge that seemed to always cling to his fingers after a long shift of rolling back tapes. Like the silk cream and smoke of the vanilla candle you’d gifted him last week. Like the artificial scent of cheap shaving cream and the slightest hint of blood where he’d nicked himself with the razor. The musk of his sweat and skin, buried beneath all these little things that you’d come to know almost as intimately as your own.

But there was something else, something you couldn’t quite pinpoint. And its unfamiliarity unnerved you.

His other hand came to rest on your knee, hot as fire in the cold of night. He thumbed at the tear in your fishnets and looked at you with bright, concerned eyes, but he used this as an excuse to touch you.

“Did he hurt you?” Neil asked. His hand stayed on your knee. In a way, it felt comforting; it grounded you enough so that, finally, after lulled by the rise and fall of his shoulder and the unique blend of his scent, you could speak.

“Is that cologne?” You wrinkled your nose and drew back to look him in the eye, your tangled hair peeling reluctantly from his corduroy jacket.

A rose blush came upon Neil’s cheeks, and he smiled nervously. He’d been sure to spritz himself with a good helping of it before he left, despite his hurried state. He needed to impress you; ever since you’d started dating that jock from across the street, he’d been trying to find more ways to steal your attention back.

“Yeah, it’s new,” he said, a little flustered, in a way that made your stomach flutter. “I wanted to ask for your opinion on what I should get, but you – well…” His voice cracked a bit as a hint of sadness crept into his tone. “… you’ve been pretty busy lately.”

“It’s awful,” you told him, laughing slightly, and your words seemed to cheer him up; his lips tugged into that playful grin of his again, and a deep chuckle rumbled from his throat.

And then you both fell into silence, and he looked back to your knee, still thumbing the skin where the fabric had torn.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Neil said.

You swallowed, another lump forming in your throat, and when you looked at him, bottom lip in your teeth, reddened eyes pouting, rimmed by your messed mascara, his heart sped in his chest in both fear and arousal. The thought of James even touching you boiled his blood, made his skin crawl and tightened a noose round his neck, but seeing you like this, baring your soul to him with those tear-brimmed eyes and mournfully upturned brows, it made him want you even more.

If he’d been the one to take you out tonight, he would’ve brought you home to his bed, worshipped each inch of your hallowed skin and made love to you like you were the only woman in the world, splayed his fingers across your thighs and parted them like a sea, dropped to his knees and prayed with the hungered strokes of his tongue and lapped at your holy waters.

He’d started reading poetry lately. It had felt right; it was the only thing that seemed to express just how he felt about you. Echoed the words in private like they were gospel; chanted your name from desperate lips as he palmed himself each night – and morning – to your photographs, to the vanilla of the candle that reminded him so much of you, to the fantasy of your sweat-slicked thighs wrapped around his waist, your walls clenched around him as he bucked his hips against your weight and finally let himself go, spilling himself inside you and hearing you moan so sweetly for him from those heavenly lips, feeling his own cum dampen his stomach as you collapsed over him. He always knew you’d be so tight, that you’d fit so perfect around him.

But sitting here, staring at your shivering, impotent form in your torn fishnets and your skimpy attire, he could barely contain the urge to tear open your knees and fuck you against the concrete. It had been so long since he’d even been this close to you; James took up all of your time nowadays, and gone were the late movie nights and stolen games of basketball on the breaks he took so liberally.

He missed you. So much.

And you knew it. You knew it, deep in your chest where the remnants of your heart twisted, still hearing the words, “You’ve been pretty busy lately.”

You shook your head, choking out another sob as shame crept along your skin, and you shivered at its grotesque touch. “No, he didn’t hurt me… not – not in that way.”

You couldn’t look at him; his pearlescent blue eyes and his sun-kissed freckles and his boyish brown locks all fading into memory as you buried your face in his chest, inhaling once more the faint scent of his laundry detergent and the musk of him beneath the shirt that was flipped inside-out but still outlined the blatant logo of Back to the Future. Whether he hadn’t realised he’d put it on backwards or he’d been shy about it, you couldn’t be sure, but it lightened your heart all the same, your sobs turning to giggles.

Neil pulled you closer, his chin resting along the nape of your neck and his hand running up your thigh; you barely noticed how near his hand was to your panties as you tugged at his shirt, nails sinking past the fabric as if to keep him and never let him go.

You regretted all that time you’d spent with James, when you should have been spending it with him instead. Everything felt so much easier with him; your smiles were broader, your laughter more carefree.

But you wanted more – selfish and lovesick, you wanted more than what he already gave you. You needed more than his attention and his friendship.

You needed him to want you.

“I thought that…” You sniffled. “… I thought that James wanted me. I dressed up all… nice… fucking whorish… and I thought tonight was finally the night and that he would’ve… that he would’ve…”

The words twisted in your throat, and you squeezed your eyes shut. Two hours ago, when you did up your makeup and clothes for your date with James, you’d felt sexy. Powerful, even.

Now, you just felt worthless.

Neil nestled his nose in the crook of your neck, brushed the silk strands of your hair aside, breathed your scent in so deeply that for a moment, the butterflies came back to the pit of your stomach.

“I just want to be wanted,” you admitted, losing it, sobbing uncontrollably into the now-damp shirt that clung to his thin frame. “I just want to be desired. That was the only reason I was with him, Neil. The way he looked at me that day when he came into the store, I…”

With a bitter pang in his chest, Neil remembered that day. The way James had looked at you like you were a piece of meat. The way he’d asked you if had any recommendations on which sports film he should rent and Neil had practically wedged himself between the two of you and started chattering to James about every little piece of trivia he knew about Chariots of Fire and Rocky. How, despite his efforts, James had still gone home with your number as well as the tapes. How you’d come in the next morning with a hickey on your neck and Neil had just known that where James had paused one of the tapes was when your movie night was likely cut short by… things he’d rather not think about ever again.

It should’ve been his couch you’d been curled up on, should’ve been him watching the movie with you. His mark on your neck.

And he would’ve picked something a little more fitting for the mood, too. Something more like Casablanca or Sin City. It was as if James didn’t even have to try to get you drooling over him. What was so special about him, anyway?

I wish I was special, Neil thought.

Neil’s grip on you tightened at the memory, nails digging in to the flesh of your thigh in a way that stirred a little gasp from your lungs, huffing against his collarbone as you tilted your head up to look at him.

“Y/N.”  His breath caught in his throat, and he reluctantly pulled from your neck to look you in the eye, locks of messy hair falling across his forehead and his eyes half-lidded. His fingers ghosted up your thigh, and you blinked past the sharp mint of his mouthwash – it burned your eyes slightly, but you didn’t care. You were so close to him, your breaths became one, a few threads of his hair tickling your cheeks and his nose brushing yours.

“Neil,” you breathed, the slightest of smiles tugging at your lip as your heart thudded between your legs, dangerously close to his fingers. Warmth spread across each fevered limb, taking you somewhere past the cold concrete and bitter chill of the wind, somewhere away from the graffiti-painted alley and the reek of broken booze bottles. Somewhere safe, and warm, and thrilling all at once.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Neil’s voice cracked around the words, a nervous laugh huffing against your fluttering lashes as his freckled cheeks darkened another shade of red. The hand that wasn’t between your legs played with a lock of your hair, twirling it in his finger but still supporting you beneath a quivering arm.

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t believe this was real.

He had to have been playing some sick joke, right?

But the whimper that fell from his lips was very real, as his nails dug into your flesh again and he tugged you closer, his hips arching upward against your outer thigh.

“You look more than nice. You’re so fucking hot in this skirt, in anything you wear. That asshole is fucking blind,” he breathed, fingers grazing your panties and landing over your hipbone, testing the waters more and more as he tried not to rock his growing arousal too obviously against you.

But you noticed. You noticed the way his cock hardened and twitched beneath your weight; you noticed how even despite his body trembling from his attempts to resist his primal urges, his hips still gave little bucks upward, seeking friction. Seeking the heat that flared between your thighs, that ached for him so desperately that it was all you could do not to return the favour.

He couldn’t take it anymore. Staring into those gorgeous, bright eyes. Looking up at him with anything but innocence. So he scooped both hands around your ass, squeezing the flesh and lace and tugging you properly onto his lap with an alluring squeal tearing from your full lips.

“I want you, Y/N.” His hot breath pooled at your collarbone as he trailed wet, sloppy kisses along your jaw, your neck, and your lips parted in another gasp, back arching and thighs clenching around his waist as you ground wet panties against the bulge in his trousers.

“I fucking need you,” he whined, nipping like a needy puppy at the delicate skin of your neck. “Always have.” Another kiss. “Ever since I first saw you. Long before James.” A possessive growl stirred from his throat at that, the flare of dominance sending a jolt through your core.

“Neil, I – oh my God.” A moan broke your words as his fingers moved up your spine and his teeth grazed your collarbone, hovering over your pulse point.

“Fuck, baby. Say that again. Just like that.” His fingers began rolling your shirt up over the lip of your breasts, the sight enough to make him whine again in need. He couldn’t help himself from groping you, squeezing your breasts and rolling one nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Bending his neck to trail more sloppy kisses down your torso, they were his next destination.

“Oh my – Neil. Neil, I – “ You had so much to tell him, so much you needed off your chest, but his hips bucked sharply against you at the sound of his name moaned so beautifully, a low groan in his throat and his cock digging slightly inside your heat, the fabric of your panties scraping almost painfully against your walls.

“Please, Y/N, please don’t make me stop. Please let me keep touching you like this. I wanna worship you.” His hot breath shattered against a pert nipple. “Wanna fucking prove to you how much I want you.”

For a few moments, you were rendered speechless, mind whirring like the wheels on a VHS. Everything was happening so fast, and the warmth of his touch was seeping into you like honey, inundating you in a sort of comforting flame.

He could almost smell the vanilla of the candle wick burning.

You left nail marks down his chest where you clawed at the collar of his shirt, but he didn’t care. He sucked a nipple past his teeth and moaned around the taste of you, the sound so filthy that your eyes nearly rolled back in your skull as your parted lips tipped to the heavens. His name outlined by their perfect shape.

Reality came crashing down around you as you jumped, another squeal leaving your tongue as his teeth bit at your nipple and pain shot along your nerve endings.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, chest heaving, looking up at you with reverent eyes. “I didn’t mean to, I – “

You cupped his chin in your palm and shook your head. “No, Neil. I’m sorry.” A tear streaked down your cheek, beaded on your jawline. “I’m so, so sorry.” You were beginning to sob again, and his brow furrowed in concern, thumb beginning to trace small circles along your spine. “I’m sorry I abandoned you for James, I didn’t… I shouldn’t have. I didn’t know you felt this way, I – I’m so sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he told you, his words sinking into your skin like a warm tide. With one hand, he brushed the tear from your jaw and wove his fingers into your hair, pulling you closer. “Just let me keep touching you. Please.”

When you didn’t respond for a moment, caught up in the way his blue eyes seemed to hollow with a certain hunger, the way his chest rose and fell beneath the bare flesh of your stomach, he uttered that word again:

“Please.”

You smiled, elated and giddy with joy, blood pounding with arousal, and kissed him, threading your own fingers into the fluffy locks of his hair.

Another tear streaked across your lips as they met his, and you tasted like salt and vanilla, slightly waxy from your chap-stick but the sweetest thing he’d tasted nonetheless. At first, he was embarrassed by the noises he made, the way he’d accidentally called you “baby” because he’d always wanted to do so, but he melted beneath you like butter. Nothing mattered anymore except the fact that you were finally his, that you were in his arms and grinding against his cock.

Neil broke the kiss to pull your shirt over your head, tossing it aside somewhere on the concrete – he would buy you a new one. His hands flattened against your back and pulled you flush to his chest, taking any excuse he could to hear that little squeal you made each time.

“Please, baby, please let me be inside you,” he whined, biting his lip as he stared up at you with those powder-blue eyes. Nails dug into your skin. Hips bucked against yours.

Your heart soared with his words, his worship, his want; you’d never been this ecstatic in your whole life. Part of you wanted to keep teasing him, make him beg, while another part of you ached to feel him buried to the hilt inside you.

“Patience, Neil,” you giggled, as you undid his trousers. You worked them down to his knees and your eyes widened as your hand brushed his cock, bare and springing flush against his stomach. You hadn’t expected him to not wear boxers.

Neil smiled sheepishly up at you, eyes still lidded, mouth still panting out a fevered breath. “I was in a rush getting dressed. I…” His cheeks reddened, and there was something so cute about how pathetic he looked in that moment. “You wanna know how much I want you, Y/N? I was touching myself thinking of you when you called.”

Creep, some voice in the back of his head hissed.

You bit your lip to suppress a moan, trying to ward off thoughts of Neil stroking himself to you, finishing to the thought of you. Oh, how you wished you could have witnessed the sight.

“Did you come?” you asked, a devious grin pulling at your lips as you took him in your hand, massaging a bead of pre-cum into his sensitive flesh.

His eyes fluttered, and he shook his head, his words coming out as a breathy whine,

“No, I promise. I didn’t come. Not yet.”

“Will you?” You dipped your head to let your words tickle his neck, your grip on him tightening.

“Yes,” he moaned. “Yes, yes, oh God, I will. Fuck, baby. Fuck, gonna come if you don’t stop that, need to come inside you, please, please…”

His mutterings trailed off into a low hiss of a whine, and your movements stilled, dragging him to his peak and letting him teeter at the edge as you both caught your breaths, chest heaving and a cold chill racing down your sweat-slicked back, thighs trembling around him.

“You sure you can handle this?” you purred against his ear before pulling back once more to witness the shivering mess you’d made him, priding yourself in your accomplishment. Lining his cock up with your entrance, the fabric of your panties scraped his tip teasingly as you slotted them to the side.

Neil looked up at you like you were some kind of goddess, his breathing coming laboured, his throat stripped of words. The dazed, blissful look he gave you was all the answer you needed. But you wanted to reap him of every last praise he had.

“Use your words, Neil,” you giggled, smirking.

“Ah…” His lips parted, near soundless. You watched intently as they formed the word “Please”.

You almost felt bad for him.

But it wasn’t pity that brought your hips down around him, slowly, teasingly, savouring the stretch of him against your walls and the fullness in your belly, but rather, your own need.

Neil’s head rolled back against the brick wall, blood welling at his lip where he bit it to keep himself from toppling over his peak; he nearly did it to himself when he bucked his hips upward, burying himself inside you, making you whimper at the pain that blended so sordidly with the pleasure. Your fingers tugged at his hair, and your nails grazed his scalp, and every little sensation sent him into overdrive. He used these little things to ground himself, as you had his tangled scents; he focused on how smooth your stomach felt against his own, his shirt hiking up so that you were skin to skin; he focused on the noises you made, huffing and whimpering, as you began to ride him; he focused on the softness of the breast that he cupped in his hand. Tried not to think about how you felt better than he’d imagined, how you clenched so tightly around his cock that he was almost pushed out each time you elevated your hips, but were so wet for him that he slid back inside so seamlessly each time.

“Neil,” you moaned as you fucked yourself on his cock, breast bouncing beneath his thumb, skirt fluttering around the bareness of his thighs. “Neil, fuck. Fuck.”

“Baby, I’m s—sorry. I’m gonna…”

You yelped again as pain shot deep inside your core, his hips bucking against yours with a violence you hadn’t known sweet Neil from the VHS store to possess, bottoming out inside you as his nails dug into the now-abused skin of your back and pulling you close, so close you were panting over his shoulder and his breath shattered against your ear. The hand that had been cupping your breast shot up to cradle your head, petting your hair.

He held you to him so tight, you didn’t think he’d ever let go. And you couldn’t have been happier.

Warmth spilled around his cock, sticky against your thighs, painting your insides white. You shuddered around him, balling his hair into a fist and digging your own, sharper nails, against his back.

“I didn’t mean it to be over so fast,” he mumbled into your neck. “I just… you’re so… fuck, I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”

“So have I,” you breathed. You practically hugged each other, shivering in the night air but content in each other’s warmth. “Don’t worry.” Pulling away slightly, you smiled down at him, cheeks flushing bright red. “If anything, it… it’s endearing.”

“Really?” he chuffed out a laugh.

“It…” you looked down, unable to meet that crystalline gaze. “It makes me feel wanted.” You pecked a quick kiss to his jaw, and could’ve sworn you saw love in his eyes when you pulled away.

“God, you’re perfect.” His voice broke again as his lips sought yours, and his breath hitched in his chest when the action caused you to rock your hips forward, a new sensation he’d never felt before buzzing along his skin. His mouth hung open and you laid kisses to his lips, his jaw, the Adam’s apple that bobbed along his throat. He felt his cock stiffen again inside you, already eager for Round Two.

“I should take you home,” he murmured, hands running up and down your sides. “You must be so cold.” As if just realising that he still had his jacket on, Neil shrugged it off in haste and wrapped the heavy material around your shoulders. A chill ran down your spine, as the material was damp with sweat – you smiled at how predictably forgettable he was when he had a woman on his lap, just as you’d imagined –, but his scent soothed you.

Though you were cold, it was a small sacrifice to make to stay here, with him buried so deep inside you that you felt dizzy in the head. Depleted of your energy and sinking into his warmth, you smirked, and rested your chin on his shoulder.

“I was thinking of just staying like this a while,” you admitted.

“Whatever makes you happy,” he breathed, hugging you even tighter. “Whatever you want.”

A.N. Sorry if this was a bit rough, guys. I smashed this one out the other day because I was tired of my writer's block.

I actually laid into some themes that I was planning on using for a Dark!Neil fic based on the song "Creep" which I don't know when I'll get around to writing, but let me know if you guys would like to hear more about the idea for the series or are interested.

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[staretes]

it's dark in the fortress of meropide.

the duke’s office is quiet, the silence only broken by the soft snores of the man sleeping at the desk. half filled papers and letters are strewn around wriothesley, who is slumped on the table surface, fountain pen still loosely clutched in his grip.

wriothesley doesn't usually drown himself in work, but on certain days he finds himself dealing with maison gestion’s stringent documents, recording each clockwork meka assembled in the production zone. on those days, both of you forgo your usual night routine, and you always head to his office to keep him company as he works.

but today, it appears exhaustion has taken hold of him, and he drifted off to sleep in the middle of work.

you cautiously make your way to his desk, treading with light steps, careful not to make a sound. 

his desk is a mess. you quietly sort the papers as your lover snores away beside you. before long, neat little piles of paper form in front of you. 

you gently pry the fountain pen from his loose grip. the pen is old, and sometimes ink refuses to flow from its nib. you remember telling him so, and bought him a new one to use at his desk. a sleek black body with his name engraved on it in silver.  funnily enough though, that pen never even made it into his office. instead, it sits on the table next to his side of the bed. 

with the desk in front of you tidied, you take wriothesley's jacket, hung over the back of his chair, and cover his sleeping form.

now that everything's settled, you ought to take your leave. you will see him again in the morning. 

you pause. unless…

your bet with sigewinne is still on. 

you pull a sheet of stickers from your pocket. before long, a grumpy monsieur neuvillette has decorated your lover's shoulder. 

you should have stopped there, really, but neuvillette looked so lonely without anyone to accompany him.

running out of flat space to comfortably stick stickers on, you make a daring move. a pleading melusine, right on his cheek. 

its hard to say you felt a little guilty, especially as the grin on your face grew wider and wider as you pasted more stickers on your partner's gorgeous face. a proud-faced bunny here, a sobbing kitten there, and ooh this one has hearts on it how could you not….

before long, the entire sheet of stickers had been plastered onto wriothesley's face. 

at this point, your shoulders are shaking with silent laughter. your palm is pressed to your lips as your other hand reaches over to his eyes to brush his hair away-

and suddenly you find the sky blue irises of the duke staring into yours.

“just what are you up to, darling?”

[vegan-peppermint]

SFW and NSFW what dating Jeff would be like <3

Dating Jeff the Killer would include

Both SFW and NSFW

You can find the rest of the creeps here

Nsfw CW: P in V, unprotected- slight breeding kink?

SFW

Jeff's been stalking you for quite some time before introducing himself

Watching over you as you walk to school

Peaking from the window as you were fighting with your parents

Every now and then, he would find himself coming back to your neighborhood, your street, your house, you.

How many times were you looking aimlessly out the window, having no idea your eyes met his

Until he finally decided to introduce himself to you, on a random Tuesday months ago

Your usual night routine was interrupted by a soft repeating tapping sound coming from the window

Your dates only happen at night

He either helps you out the bedroom window, inviting you to roam the streets in the dark

The two of you are hanging out in empty playgrounds, every so often some other creeps joining you

But most of the time, it was just you two fooling around

Jeff running wide circles around the Merry-go-round, pushing it faster and faster as you grip the bars tightly

You partially screaming at him through uncontrollable laughter as the carousel spins so quick the world dissolves into a whirl of colors and shapes

Jeff spray painting you on random building

Its just a stick man with boobs

Being chased by the police, he runs faster than you

"I don't have to outrun them, I just have to outrun you!" He'd laugh.

You tripped him

Eating junk food in random parking lots

Talking about anything and everything for hours

You never met someone who understands you the way he does

He understands how everything that's happened affects you

He knows how you reacted before you even finish the story

You realise he has been through similar things before

Never getting to have a serious, emotional moment because he starts acting like a clown

When the nights grew colder you would invite him in your room

Cuddling in your bed as you watched movies

Falling asleep in his arms only to be awaken in the middle of the night by his snores

Trying to squeeze out of his arms to get out of bed

Only for his arms to wrap around you to drag you back in

His hands pulling you closer with your back against his chest

He squeezes you tighter murmuring sweet things in your ear

On mornings like this, you take full advantage

NSFW

Swaying your hips as you protest against his grip

Your ass brushing against his morning boner

Him groaning in your ear

"Come on, Jeff~ let me get up" you'd moan pushing your ass against his erection

Jeff getting excited, removing the layers between your soft skin and his eager hands

You act all innocent and clueless as he rubs his bare cock against your ass

One hand getting under your shirt squeezing your breast and tugging at your hardened nipples

You squirm against his cold touch

"Mhm- Stop moving so much!"

You barely register the words as you feel the fat, angry tip pushing past your wet fold

He's too big.

"It h-hurts!" you cry

"Why you moaning so fucking much then?"

He feels better than anything you've ever felt before, your walls stretching to accommodate his size

With a hard thrust he pushed himself inside you completely

He loves it when you scream, the sudden shock of him overwhelming you

"F-fuck, you're so wet, baby,"

He exhales heavily, cock twitching inside you

"No matter how many times I break this pussy, it's so tight every time,"

The moment of stillness passes and he starts pounding into you- slick, wet sounds fill the room

He pants against your ear, his hand creeping between your legs

He slaps your clit sending shivers through your whole body

"Such a pretty fucking cunt,"

His hips press in faster and his cock reaches deeper

You couldn't do anything but grab at the sheets beneath you

You're stuffed to capacity, a sobbing and blabbering mess

"Taking me so well, baby," he grunts. "You were made for me. For my cock."

You reach back to grab a fistful of his hair pulling him into a messy kiss, moaning into his open mouth

He loves feeling the way your gummy walls stretch every time his thick cock enters you

His grip on you tightens, his strong arms caging you

His thrusts get sloppy and needy, his teeth biting your lips

Your eyes roll in the back of your head, toes to curled as your slit tried to squeeze every last drop of cum

He pumps you full, his thrusts not stopping yet

"It's t-too much, ba~Fuck!" You cry as your own orgasm washes over you, but Jeff's not stopping fucking his cum into you

"Deeper," he murmurs like a prayer. "Just take me deeper..."

[kurooandkenmasslut]

I would like to request a Megumi Fushiguro x reader, where Megumi is saved and Sukuna is defeated. Megumi remembers everything he did, including killing his sister and Gojo. He has a break down and the reader comforts him.

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓.

ⁿᵒᵗᵉˢ: ˢᵒʳʳʸ ⁿᵒⁿⁿⁱᵉ ⁱᵗ ᵗᵒᵒᵏ ˢᵒ ˡᵒⁿᵍ!! ⁱ ʷᵃᵗᶜʰᵉᵈ ᵃˡˡ ᵒᶠ ʲʲᵏ ˢ. ᵗʷᵒ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ ⁿ ⁱ ᶜᵒᵐᵖˡᵉᵗᵉˡʸ ᶠᵒʳᵍᵒᵗ!! ʰᵒᵖᵉ ᵗʰⁱˢ ˢᵉʳᵛᵉˢ ᶠᵒʳ ᶠᵒʳᵍⁱᵛᵉⁿᵉˢˢ ❁

𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐈 stared emotionless at the white ceiling. suddenly taking interest of every brush stroke that can be seen. anything to get his mind off the chaos that has happened.

The two people that he held close, died. again. His teacher, the person that took him in, and the sweetest soul that god had to offer, the girl he grew up with and went to school with, died.

He was a mess. Dark circles lay under his eyes, looking like he never had sleep in a day of his life. And it was true, ever since that day, he hasn't been sleeping properly, even if you, his girlfriend, tried cooing him to sleep. it was a matter of time before he woke up in sweat from a nightmare, of them.

He hasn't been eating, and if he did, it would be to a minimal. The guilt of eating while his loved ones become angels above. He knew Gojo n' tsumiki would scold him for blaming himself, telling him he should know better. but at this rate what is?

As he lay in his bed, his phone on his nightstand buzzed, the light shining through the darkness of the room, the only source of light was the window next to him, although the sun was setting soon.

After a few notifications later, he heard a gentle pattern of knocks on the door. A slight scowl appeared on his face, his throat managing to rasp out, "Who is it?" to the person behind the door.

"It's me, 'gumi. can I come in?" You called out. his silence was making you nervous. that was until you got a "yeah,"

slowly creeping into you're boyfriends room, as if it was a dangerous territory you shouldn't and mustn't pass. you didn't wanna alert him and make any sudden moves.

In hand, you held a wooden tray. filled with all the food your sweet boyfriend likes, aswell as drinks.

Setting it down on the nightstand, there was still some space for you to lay in next to him, and so you did.

"You haven't been answering my texts or eating, gumi. you worry me, you know?" You mumble. you only got a hum back. You know he's grieving and you wanted to help in anyway you could.

Inspecting his face, his eyes were all puffy and his cheeks were a rosy red.

Wrapping your arms around him, taking in his body heat.

"You can talk to me, you know. don't take this all out on yourself, ya hear?" You say, your fingers interlocking in his raven dark hair. Slowly giving him a massage on his scalp, he closed his eyes, and that's when a tear slipped.

"I-I just.. fuck, why did they have to go? its not fair." Megumi mumbled, before the dam broke.

The dam that's been holding an angry ocean for all these years. and it broke on your chest, a sound of someone's muffled sobbing coming after.

massaging his scalp, you whisper sweet nothings into his ear. You truly wished he would recover soon, because seeing and hearing him like this shattered your heart like no other.

when the tears stopped and the sniffles started, megumi lifted his head, mumbling a "thank you, darlin',"

"no problem baby. let's say we watch a movie n' eat the snacks I brought, yeah?"

"That would be 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕, my love."

[daisymbin]

Hi belle can I request 22. "you were my first love—you still are." Of second chance romance with Joshua. I feel like reading second chances are like a tales that always end in a happy ending ❤️.

hi lovely!!! of course you can! & yes... but honestly I think I'm addicted to thrill at the start of a second chance romance because its always exhilarating yet terrifying 😬

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // shua's m.list

second chance prompt #22: "you were my first love—you still are."

it was supposed to be a fun night. a few drinks, some dinner, the three of you just laughing and letting loose. chan, mingyu, and you had been out for a while now, but as the night wore on, the fun started to fade.

you hadn’t realized how much you were drinking at first, but as the alcohol hit you, it blurred your thoughts and made your heart ache.

your mind wouldn’t stop going back to joshua—joshua, joshua, joshua. the love you had for him. the love you still had for him.

the way he smiled at you. the way he’d look at you like you were the only one in the room.

you missed him.

“hey, you okay?” mingyu asked, his voice cutting through the fog in your head.

you blinked at him, not quite able to focus. your eyes were heavy, your chest tight. “i miss him,” you whispered, more to yourself than to anyone.

chan and mingyu exchanged a worried glance, both of them knowing exactly who you were talking about. they had been trying to keep you distracted all night, but it was clear you were spiraling.

“come on,” chan said softly, trying to get your attention. “let’s get you home, okay?”

but you just shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. “no… i can’t go home. not without him.”

mingyu, despite his large frame, was surprisingly gentle. he leaned down to help you up, but you flinched away from him, your body swaying.

“come on,” mingyu coaxed, his deep voice comforting. “we need to get you home.”

but you weren’t having it. you shook your head stubbornly. “no, i need him,” you slurred, clutching at your chest as if it would ease the ache there. “only joshua.”

chan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “this isn’t going anywhere. i’m calling him.”

the moment chan dialed joshua’s number, you stiffened, your gaze sharpening, even though you were beyond tipsy.

“joshua…” you muttered under your breath, your heart pounding.

it didn’t take long for joshua to pick up.

“hello?” his voice came through, the usual warmth in his tone immediately replaced by concern when he heard the situation.

“hyung, can you come?” mingyu said, his voice surprisingly tense for someone usually so laid-back. “(y/n)’s a mess. she won’t let us take her home.”

there was a long pause on the other end of the line. “what happened?”

“she’s drunk off her ass and crying over you,” chan explained. “we can’t get her to leave until she sees you. we’re at that bar near the corner. please, hurry.”

joshua didn’t waste another second. “i’m on my way.”

when joshua arrived, he found you, a sobbing mess, crumpled against the bar counter. mingyu and chan had both tried to console you, but you were inconsolable.

the moment you saw joshua walk through the door, your eyes widened. for a second, it felt like a dream.

your face, already flushed from crying, broke into a small, relieved smile. “shua…” you whispered, your voice raw and barely audible over the sounds of the bar.

you wobbled to your feet, and despite your blurry vision, you flung yourself into his arms.

joshua caught you instantly, his arms wrapping around you tightly, feeling the weight of your sadness. his heart broke as he felt how fragile you were in his embrace, how lost you looked.

“you’re finally here,” you mumbled, barely coherent, your voice trembling as you clung to him. “i waited for you…”

joshua’s heart ached at your words. you didn’t mean for him to hear, but he did. and it tore him apart.

“hey, hey, i’m here now,” joshua whispered, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face, his hands soft against your skin. “it’s okay. i’m here, sweetheart.”

but before he could say anything else, your body went limp, your eyes fluttering shut as you passed out in his arms.

“sweetheart?” joshua called softly, but you were already passed out.

“oh boy,” mingyu muttered under his breath.

joshua face set with determination, “get the car ready. i’ll carry her.”

as he carefully scooped you up in his arms, joshua couldn’t help but scold chan and mingyu. “i can’t believe you two let her drink this much. she’s been sobbing all night, and you didn’t stop her?”

mingyu looked guilty, rubbing the back of his neck. “we tried, but—”

“don’t,” joshua cut him off, shaking his head. “just get the car.”

when joshua reached your apartment, he carried you inside, his heart still heavy with everything you had said. he laid you gently on your bed, tucking you under the covers.

but you stirred, a soft, drowsy whimper escaping you as you reached for him. you clung to his sweatshirt, your fingers weak but desperate.

“shua,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

"you can let go sweetheart, you're home now." he says as he patted your head softly.

“if i let go… you’ll leave me, right? forever?”

joshua felt a tightness in his chest as he watched you, your tear-streaked face filled with so much pain, so much fear of losing him.

he sat down next to you, gently brushing your hair away from your face. “i’m not going anywhere. i’m not leaving you,” he whispered, his voice filled with so much tenderness.

“promise?” you asked, your eyes barely open, looking up at him with hope.

joshua’s heart broke at how vulnerable you were, how badly you needed reassurance. how badly you needed his reassurance.

he didn’t say “yes.” instead, he spoke the words he had been holding back for so long.

“you were my first love,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “you still are. i would do anything for you.”

your breath hitched at his words, and for the first time that night, you finally felt a weight lift from your chest.

joshua stayed by your side, his hand gently stroking your hair as you drifted into a peaceful sleep. and now you're finally home, you're safe. he is here, and he isn't going anywhere.

[ask-steven-stevenson]

[EUU. It’s happening again. He’s slightly uncomfortable. Nothing bad! Sly still isn’t used to people caring. Sly usually did stuff on his own! Now that people care? He.. is scared.]

“Uhm- I see I see. That seems like something we can work on together? Don’t you agree? I mean we can set up a small plan or something. I’m… not used to doing this but, I’ll still make a list. As for the shower. They do sound nice at times.”

[he. Sighed. Can you guess what he’s doing!! That’s right! Fidgeting with his ring. Also. Avoiding eye contact.]

“Ah. Alright. It makes you feel better, yes? If that’s the case. I can probably stay human. For a little longer.”

im just gonna.... drop this guy here again....... oh and. for the time being. teleports all of you back to jake and steven's house!!!!!

wh. oh and we're back....

//@the-flys-buzz (giving him an opportunity to talk with his son again........ cause im pretty sure harrys mod is asleep :3c)

[[THEY ARE BACK! Also. Literally.. the first thing Steven did when he got back was hug William </3]]

“Are you okay??did you sleep well? are you hungry?? I can make you food-“

[oue… he sounds extremely worried HEL.]

“Holy fuck Steven. You are going to kill xe holy shit-“

[[also!! Nods nods! Father son bonding…)

[lovezbrownies]

Hello! This is a bit of a 'unique' request. I'm in love with your characters!

For my request (yandere bully): Lauren begins to regret the cruel prank she pulled on the reader at school, after finding out that the reader and their family moved away to a new city far away.

A few months later, it's all over the news. Zombie outbreak, in that same city the reader moved to. Although, the military managed to take control of the situation and quarantine the city, the reader is one of the captured rabid monstrosities, yup, they got bit, yikes.

This was so hard to write for, i had no clue how to write it and where to go ;.; but its okay, I've rewritten this many times and I'm still not so sure if i like it or not but wtv! made a fluffy ending cuz i needed it

My Zombie Lover (Yandere!F!Bully x Gn!Zombie Reader)

Masterlist- Lauren's Masterlist

Warnings: Lauren goes too far, sad, two loving parents, Laurens goes coocoo, testing on people, zombie kidnapping, zombie tantrums, approx 6.5 words.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. Lauren didn’t mean for things to spiral so badly. Well, maybe a part of her did—she loved watching your composure crack, seeing the way you scrambled to regain control when she toyed with you. But this? She hadn’t expected this. Not the way your face crumpled as you stood frozen on the stage, pink paint dripping from your hair in uneven streaks, clumps of feathers stuck to your skin like some cruel parody of a costume.

It was supposed to be funny—a harmless prank to humble you, to remind you who had the upper hand. But the way your wide, tear-filled eyes locked onto hers, brimming with betrayal, struck something raw in her chest. It wasn’t just anger; it was pain. And for a moment—a fleeting moment—Lauren wondered if she’d gone too far.

The auditorium erupted in laughter at first, cruel and raucous, echoing off the walls. You stood there, trembling, your hands balled into fists at your sides. You tried to hold your head high, to keep your voice steady as you stumbled through the closing lines of your speech, but the tears gathering in your eyes betrayed you. The laughter turned to murmurs, the audience shifting awkwardly as they realized the prank had been more vicious than amusing. You didn’t wait for the teacher to dismiss you. With your vision blurred and your heart hammering in your chest, you fled, bolting through the double doors and into the hallway, leaving a trail of feathers in your wake.

Lauren watched you go, her smirk faltering as guilt began to creep in. She didn’t regret the prank itself—humiliating you was a pastime she enjoyed far too much—but the aftermath felt wrong. You were supposed to shout at her, maybe shove her a little, but then brush it off like you always did. The way you ran, the way your shoulders shook as you fought back sobs, made her stomach twist unpleasantly. But instead of confronting that feeling, she dismissed it, her mind already spinning excuses. It wasn’t my fault, she reasoned. I told them to use a little paint, not drench you like that. If anything, I’m the victim here for trusting such idiots to handle the details.

Meanwhile, you didn’t stop running until you reached home, your chest burning and your legs aching. The moment you slammed the front door behind you, the weight of it all came crashing down. Your father, who had been in the kitchen preparing lunch, rushed out at the noise, gripping a frying pan defensively. The sight of you—soaked in pink paint, feathers clinging to your clothes, your face streaked with tears—stopped him in his tracks. His brow furrowed, his expression shifting from alarm to deep concern as he set the pan down and approached you.

“Bumblebee?” he said softly, the childhood nickname falling from his lips like a plea. It was a name that had always brought you comfort, a reminder of simpler times when the world felt safe. But now, it only made you cry harder. Your father’s arms were around you in an instant, pulling you close despite the mess you were making of his shirt. “Hey, hey. What happened? Talk to me.” His voice was steady, calm, the way it always was when you needed him most.

It took several minutes for you to calm down enough to speak, the words tumbling out between shaky breaths. “Th-That horrible asshole—Lauren McCanister—she dumped paint on me… and feathers… d-during my speech!” Your voice cracked as you relived the humiliation, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. “Everyone laughed at me, Dad. I—I can’t go back there. I won’t.”

Your father’s jaw tightened, his hand continuing to rub soothing circles on your back even as anger began to boil in his chest. He’d tried to protect you from Lauren before, reporting her behavior to the school, but nothing ever came of it. They always brushed him off, citing Julie McCanister’s influence and how they couldn’t afford to upset someone so powerful. Julie, his old friend. The same woman who had once promised him that she’d take care of things.

“She’s done this before,” your father murmured, more to himself than to you. “But this… this is too far.”

He held you close until you finally fell asleep from exhaustion, your head resting against his chest. As he stroked your hair, careful not to disturb the dried paint, he made a silent vow. No more warnings, no more waiting for the school to act. He would talk to your mother tonight, convince her to transfer you somewhere safe. It didn’t matter how prestigious this school was or how much they had raved about your scholarship. Nothing was worth watching his child suffer like this.

When your mother came home later that evening, she froze in the doorway, taking in the scene before her. The couch was a mess of pink stains and feathers, the smell of cheap paint lingering in the air. You were curled up against your father, your breathing soft and even as you slept. Her eyes darted to your tear-streaked face, her hands clenching at her sides. “What the hell happened?” she asked, her voice low and sharp.

“Lauren McCanister happened,” your father replied, his tone as cold as hers. “And we’re pulling Bumblebee out of that damn school. No more arguments.”

The next morning, Lauren waited for you at the school gate, a box of cupcakes cradled in her hands. She’d stayed up all night baking them, decorating each one with pink frosting and delicate sugar flowers in the colors she knew you liked. It was the least she could do, she thought, to make things right. She imagined your face lighting up when she handed them to you, your gratitude shining through as you forgave her.

But as the minutes ticked by, you never showed. Lauren’s initial confidence began to waver. Maybe you were avoiding her? That was fine—she’d just drop the cupcakes off at your house later. By second period, your seat in class was still empty. Her stomach twisted uneasily, a feeling she didn’t like and didn’t want to name. You were probably embarrassed, she told herself. That was normal. She’d simply have to make a grander gesture to show you how much she cared.

By lunchtime, Lauren had made up her mind. She excused herself from class and drove to your house, stopping at a florist along the way to pick up a bouquet of roses. She didn’t bother thinking about whether you’d actually want to see her. In her mind, you would be touched by her effort, maybe even a little flattered.

When Lauren’s bright pink car pulled up in front of your house, your father watched her from the window, his eyes narrowing. He recognized her instantly, her confident stride and saccharine smile enough to reignite his simmering anger. Closing the curtains, he turned back toward your room, where you were still resting. “Don’t worry about it, Bumblebee,” he murmured. “We’re leaving this all behind.”

Outside, Lauren knocked on the door, her smile faltering slightly when no one answered. Still, she wasn’t discouraged. If anything, the silence only fueled her resolve. You were probably overwhelmed, too shy to face her after everything. That was fine. She could wait as long as it took. After all, she thought with a small, possessive smile, you’re worth it.

A week had passed, and Lauren felt like she was losing her mind. At first, she had convinced herself that your absence was temporary, that you were just taking a few days off to recover from the prank. But as the days bled into one another, and your seat in class remained empty, her patience frayed.

She told herself it was fine—you needed space, and she could give you that. She busied herself with writing apology letters she never sent, baking more batches of cupcakes she never delivered, and scrolling endlessly through your sparse social media accounts, hoping for some sign of life. There was nothing. No updates, no pictures, not even a passive-aggressive post about how much you hated her. It was like you had disappeared off the face of the earth, leaving behind an aching, gaping void that she couldn’t fill.

By the fourth day, Lauren’s carefully curated composure began to crack. She found herself wandering through the halls, hoping to catch a glimpse of you, even though she knew deep down you weren’t there. Every feather left behind in the auditorium, every smudge of pink paint she spotted in the art room, sent her heart racing with a twisted sense of nostalgia. She lingered by your locker between classes, tracing the cool metal of the lock with trembling fingers, imagining what she would say if you turned the corner and saw her there.

When you didn’t, she started asking questions. At first, she was subtle, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice as she cornered your friends and classmates. “Hey, have you seen [Your Name]? They’ve been absent for a while.” Most of them shrugged, offering vague, unhelpful answers—No idea. I think they’re sick or something. But Lauren knew you better than that. You would never miss an entire week of school over something as trivial as an illness. You were strong, resilient. That was one of the reasons she loved you.

By the sixth day, Lauren’s desperation had transformed into an all-consuming fire. The gnawing pit in her stomach had grown so unbearable it felt like it might swallow her whole. The first few days had been torturous enough, but this—this was a new kind of torment. Every second you remained absent was a fresh cut to her already fragile composure. She couldn’t focus in class, the once dull drone of her teachers now grating on her ears. Her assignments lay forgotten in her bag, crumpled and torn from where she’d scribbled your name again and again, trying to imagine what you were doing, where you could be. The emptiness of your seat, the silence in the halls where your laugh should have been, became unbearable reminders of the void you’d left behind.

Lauren tried to convince herself that it was all a misunderstanding, some elaborate punishment you’d devised to make her sweat. That had to be it. You were teaching her a lesson, playing hard to get. But every logical explanation she clung to unraveled the moment she saw the look on your face that day, burned into her memory like a cruel brand. The raw betrayal, the hatred—no, she refused to believe you could hate her. Not when she had spent so much time thinking about you, dreaming about you, needing you.

By lunchtime, she couldn’t take it anymore. Subtlety, composure—those were distant memories, drowned in the tidal wave of her obsession. She stormed into the principal’s office, barely noticing the shocked expression of the secretary as she barreled past. Her hair was disheveled, her uniform rumpled as though she’d slept in it for days. A week of sleepless nights and constant anxiety had taken its toll, and the cracks in her once-perfect image were glaringly obvious.

“Where is Y/N?” she demanded, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear as she planted herself in front of the principal’s desk. The man glanced up, startled, but Lauren didn’t wait for an invitation. “I know you know something. Tell me where they are.” Her words were sharp, her tone teetering on the edge of hysteria, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

The principal studied her for a moment, his tired eyes narrowing as if weighing his options. He was used to Lauren McCanister’s dramatics, her entitlement, her fiery temper. But there was something different in her this time, something wild and unhinged that made him hesitate.

“Miss McCanister,” he began cautiously, lacing his fingers together, “I understand you’re worried about your classmate, but their attendance is not your concern. If you’re that curious, perhaps you should reach out to their parents—”

“Don’t you dare deflect,” she interrupted, slamming her palms onto the desk with a force that startled even herself. Her breath hitched as she leaned forward, her eyes burning with a desperate light. “You’re hiding something. I know you are. Just tell me where they are!” Her voice cracked at the end, the raw emotion spilling over like a dam breaking under pressure.

The principal frowned, his gaze flicking to the photo of a young Julie McCanister holding the noble peace prize hanging on the wall. He sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair. “Fine,” he said at last, his voice low but firm. “Since I doubt you’ll let this go otherwise… They had transferred schools.”

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. Lauren blinked, her mind struggling to process his words as though he’d spoken in a language she didn’t understand. The air in the room felt heavy, suffocating, as her heart thundered in her chest. “Transferred?” she echoed, the word tasting foreign and bitter on her tongue.

“Yes,” he replied matter-of-factly, clearly unbothered by the devastation he had just unleashed. “Their mother received a significant job opportunity in another city—an excellent position, from what I understand. The family moved earlier this week.”

Lauren staggered back, her knees threatening to give out as her world shattered into a million jagged pieces. Her ears rang, drowning out the principal’s next words. Moved? Another city? No, it wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. You wouldn’t leave her—not like this. Not without saying goodbye.

She didn’t know how she made it out of the office, her legs carrying her blindly through the hallways as her mind spiraled into chaos. Every step felt like she was sinking deeper into quicksand, the weight of your absence crushing her chest. The bustling noise of students and teachers faded into a distant hum as she stumbled into the bathroom, locking herself in a stall before collapsing onto the cold tile floor.

Her breath came in short, ragged gasps as she clutched her head, nails digging into her scalp. The thought of you—so far away, out of her reach—was unbearable. You were her world, her reason for waking up in the morning, for breathing, for existing. Without you, there was nothing. Just this emptiness, this gnawing ache that no amount of tears or apologies could soothe.

“No,” she whispered hoarsely, her voice trembling as she rocked back and forth. “No, this isn’t over. This can’t be over.” Her hands clenched into fists, her nails biting into her palms as a twisted determination began to take root in her mind. “I’ll find you. I’ll find you, and I’ll make you understand. You’re mine, whether you like it or not. You’ve always been mine.”

The next morning was met with Lauren skulking in bed, scrolling through her phone and constantly refreshing you insta page as if it would do anything to help. She decided she didn't need to attend any of her classes if you weren't going to show up, the least she'll do is take her exams and quizzes, nothing else matters.

Yet as Lauren stalked your social media page for the billionth time a notification dinged from her news app causing Lauren's fingers to shake violently as she clutched her phone, eyes still glued to the screen, her mind unable to process what was happening. The words “deadly virus outbreak” replayed over and over in her mind, each repetition sounding more ominous than the last. The image of you—her—out there, in the middle of Xasa, where you'd gone off to, stuck in a city that was quickly descending into chaos, filled every corner of her thoughts. The idea of you being caught in the middle of something so violent, so deadly, turned her insides into a hollow, aching pit.

Her heart pounded against her chest, each beat louder than the last, and her thoughts swirled in a frantic haze. She couldn’t breathe. The air felt heavy, thick with fear and tension. No, not you. You can’t be part of this. Lauren’s mind refused to let go of the thought, the idea that you might be hurt, infected, or worse. The outbreak, this terrifying virus, was unlike anything she had imagined. The news footage of people—no—creatures, twisted and ravenous, was a nightmare made real. And you could be one of them, right now, suffering.

She dialed her mother's number again, her thumb hitting the screen with trembling urgency. She had to reach her mother. Julie had always been the one with the answers, the one who could solve any problem, no matter how complicated or deadly. She had to be able to fix this. It wasn’t just that Lauren couldn’t bear the thought of losing you—no, this was different. Lauren couldn’t live without you. Her entire being revolved around the idea of you being there, in her life. The thought of never seeing you again, of you being lost in that city with no way out, consumed her.

She could feel the panic rising in her chest, her breath growing shallow, too rapid, as she paced in tight circles around her room. The walls felt as if they were closing in on her, the small confines of the space becoming suffocating. Every second that passed felt like a thousand years. What if she’s too late? What if it’s already too late? Her mind spiraled deeper, her stomach lurching as she imagined you caught in the thick of it. Her fingers were slick with sweat as she swiped through the screen, her eyes desperately searching for any sign of hope, any sign that you were okay.

Her phone rang. Julie.

“Mom!” Lauren’s voice cracked the moment the call connected. “is something happening?! The outbreak in Xasa—it’s real! You’ve seen it, right? You know what’s happening there. I need to get to them! I need to make sure they’re okay!” Her breath was ragged, her words tumbling out faster than she could think. “Mom, please, you have to help me! You have to do something. You’re the only one who can.”

Julie’s voice was calm on the other end, too calm. But Lauren could hear the undertone of concern in her mother’s voice. “Lauren, I know. I’m already on it.”

Julie’s words should have been reassuring, but Lauren couldn’t help the wave of nausea that washed over her. She didn’t want calm. She didn’t want rationality right now—she needed action, she needed to know that everything wasn’t slipping through her fingers.

“I have to get there,” Lauren insisted, her voice rising again. “I can’t wait around for them to fix this! I need to be there now. They’re there, Mom! In the middle of all of this. I—”

“Lauren, listen to me,” Julie interrupted, her voice sharp and authoritative, the sound of her mother taking control sending a wave of reluctant comfort through Lauren. “I know exactly how bad it is. And yes, I can help. You’ll have your chance to get there, but not by rushing in. The government has sealed the city off, and it's not safe for anyone to go in or out without proper clearance."

Lauren’s chest tightened painfully. She hadn’t even thought about the logistics—the checkpoints, the quarantine zones. Of course, that’s how it would be. The government wasn’t letting anyone out, and the military presence meant that the chances of sneaking in or getting through were slim to none. But Julie was right. Lauren needed to think, needed a plan.

But even as she tried to cling to the fragile thread of calm Julie’s words gave her, the sense of urgency burned in her chest, a fire she couldn’t douse. Her hands gripped the phone tighter, knuckles turning white, as her mind snapped back to the brutal reality of it all. Xasa was locked down. You were still there. And Lauren was powerless to reach you.

“I can get you in,” Julie continued, her voice steady now, as though she had already accepted the weight of what needed to be done. “I’ve made calls. With my connections, we can bypass the system. They’ll accept my assistance in handling the outbreak. I’ll volunteer to work directly with the government to help research and develop a treatment.”

Lauren’s breath caught. Julie’s influence, her reputation, it was enough to have the government thanking every higher power for this mercy. They couldn’t afford to refuse her.

“But that’s not what I need right now!” Lauren hissed, frustration breaking through her voice like a crack of thunder. “I need to get there. I need to know if they’re still—if they’re safe! I can’t—”

“I understand,” Julie said quietly, her tone shifting. “And you will. But we do this my way, Lauren. We can’t risk making any rash decisions. Trust me. I’ll get you there. I’ll get you the answers you need.”

Lauren’s eyes closed, her chest tight as a new kind of realization began to settle over her. The fear didn’t vanish. It never could. But there was a flicker of something deeper—a sense of purpose, something she could hold on to. Julie would get her what she needed. And if it meant waiting, if it meant relying on her mother’s brilliance to carve a path through this madness, then Lauren would endure. She had to. You were out there. And she would never stop until she brought you back.

The hum of the transport vehicle was a dull reminder of the weight pressing on Lauren's chest. Her fingers gripped the strap of her duffel bag so tightly that her knuckles whitened, a faint tremor running through her hand. Outside the reinforced windows, the city of Xasa loomed—a sprawling mass of chaos, the streets lined with overturned cars, shattered glass, and the faint, acrid smell of smoke that managed to seep into the sealed vehicle. It wasn’t the Xasa Lauren remembered from glossy brochures or family trips. This was something else entirely: a dead city that seemed to pulse with an eerie, unnatural life.

Her mother sat across from her, calm as ever. The older woman’s tablet screen flickered with charts and data, her perfectly manicured fingers swiping through lines of text with precision. “We’ll be entering the quarantine zone in ten minutes,” Julie said without looking up. “Remember what I told you, Lauren. Follow protocol. Do not engage anyone—or anything—unless I give you explicit permission. Am I clear?”

Lauren nodded, though her mind was far from the sterile instructions Julie had been drilling into her. Her thoughts were with you. Every step closer to Xasa only deepened the gnawing pit in her stomach. Were you still alive? If you were… were you safe? Or had the virus claimed you, turning you into one of those things?

The image of you, twisted and unrecognizable, haunted her. She’d seen the footage, the grainy videos leaked online of the infected—pale, ravenous creatures with jerky, unnatural movements and eyes devoid of humanity. She couldn’t let herself believe you were one of them. She wouldn’t.

“Lauren,” Julie’s voice snapped her back to the present. “Focus. I need you sharp for this. I can’t have you distracted.”

Lauren swallowed hard, forcing a curt nod. “I’m fine,” she lied, though the crack in her voice betrayed her.

Julie’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, softening just slightly. “I know this is difficult,” she said, her tone quieter. “But if we do this right, we can save lives. We will save lives.”

Lauren didn’t respond. She didn’t care about saving lives. She cared about saving one. Just one.

The facility was a stark contrast to the chaos outside. White walls gleamed under harsh fluorescent lights, the sterile air heavy with the scent of disinfectant. Lauren followed Julie down the corridor, her boots echoing against the polished floor. They passed rows of sealed glass chambers, each one containing a test subject. Most were infected, their bodies twitching or slumped lifelessly against the walls of their containment units. A few were ordinary citizens, pale and terrified as they awaited testing.

Lauren’s stomach churned at the sight. She wasn’t naïve—she knew this was necessary. But knowing didn’t make it any easier to see the desperation etched into the faces of the uninfected or the inhuman rage burning in the eyes of the infected.

“This way,” Julie said, leading her into a high-security lab. Inside, a team of researchers bustled around a central workstation, their movements brisk and efficient. On the far side of the room, another glass chamber housed a young woman—infected, her body contorted as she writhed against the restraints holding her in place. The sound of her guttural snarls sent a shiver down Lauren’s spine.

Julie set her bag down on the workstation and began unpacking vials, syringes, and stacks of meticulously labeled documents. “We’re starting with the RNA samples we brought from the lab in Lesia,” she explained. “They’ve shown promising results in vitro, but we’ll need to test them directly on live subjects.”

Lauren nodded, trying to keep her hands steady as she helped arrange the equipment. She’d always admired her mother’s brilliance, but being here—this close to the virus—was something else entirely. The weight of it, the proximity to the infected, the constant undercurrent of fear—it was suffocating.

As the hours dragged on, Lauren threw herself into the work, her hands moving almost mechanically as she assisted Julie. They ran tests, analyzed blood samples, and monitored the reactions of the infected subjects to the experimental treatments. Some showed signs of improvement—a flicker of lucidity in their eyes before the virus reasserted its hold. Others… didn’t.

Lauren tried not to dwell on the failures, but each one felt like a blow. With every test that ended in another convulsing body, her hope dimmed. What if they were too late? What if she never found you? Even if she didn't, she will make sure to find your remains at the very least.

The heavy, acrid scent of antiseptic clung to the air as Lauren moved through the sterile corridors of the Xasa quarantine facility, her steps unsteady but resolute. Rows of thick, reinforced glass walls lined the halls, each containing what could barely be called people anymore. Twisted forms shuffled in their enclosures, their once-human eyes now clouded with hunger and fury. Lauren tried not to look too long at any of them. She had learned quickly that looking meant imagining, and imagining meant pain. Pain she couldn’t afford to feel—not now, not when you were still somewhere in this godforsaken city, and she hadn’t stopped convincing herself that she could find you, save you, even if it defied every truth she had ever known.

Julie led the way, clipboard in hand, her expression unreadable. The months spent in this facility had stripped her of softness, replacing it with clinical efficiency and a ruthless determination that mirrored her daughter’s. “Lauren,” she called over her shoulder, her voice as sharp as the gleaming scalpels in the lab. “Focus. Today’s testing is critical. If we can stabilize the latest iteration of the serum, we might finally get viable results.”

Lauren barely heard her, the words registering as background noise against the thundering of her heartbeat. She nodded absently, gripping the tray of syringes so tightly her knuckles whitened. Each step toward the testing chamber felt like walking through quicksand, the weight of her emotions pulling her deeper with every moment. She had learned to bury her fear, to suppress the waves of grief that threatened to drown her. But she couldn’t stop the flickers of memory—your laughter, your voice, the way you had always looked at her with pure hatred, never realizing how much she needed you.

Inside the chamber, the stench of rot was overpowering, even through the layers of masks and protective gear. A restrained test subject thrashed weakly against its bonds, its grotesque features contorted in a permanent snarl. Lauren swallowed hard, averting her eyes. It didn’t matter who this was or what they had been; they weren’t themselves anymore. She repeated the mantra in her mind like a prayer. Not a person. Not you. But no amount of repetition could fully numb her to the horror of it.

Julie’s voice broke through the fog of her thoughts. “Administer the serum.” Her tone was calm but commanding, leaving no room for hesitation. Lauren approached the restrained figure, the syringe trembling in her hand. The creature snarled, its movements growing erratic as she drew closer. For a moment, she froze, paralyzed by the sheer wrongness of it all. Then she felt Julie’s hand on her shoulder, firm but reassuring. “Lauren,” her mother said softly, her steely gaze locking with hers. “This is for the greater good. You know that.”

Nodding tightly, Lauren plunged the needle into the creature’s veined arm, ignoring the way its decayed skin gave way too easily. The serum flowed in, and for a moment, there was silence. Then came the spasms, violent and horrifying, as the subject convulsed against its restraints. Lauren stepped back, her stomach churning, as blood-flecked foam dripped from its mouth. Moments later, it slumped forward, lifeless.

Julie sighed, her frustration palpable. “Still too unstable,” she muttered, scribbling notes on her clipboard. “But we’re close. I can feel it.”

Lauren didn’t respond. Her eyes remained fixed on the now-still figure, her chest tight with an emotion she couldn’t name. They had been through dozens of tests, each more grueling than the last, and the failure never got easier to bear. But this one wasn’t the worst. The worst came later.

Hours passed in a blur of data analysis and recalibration. Lauren barely registered the passage of time, her mind numbly cycling through the same thoughts: You were still out there. You had to be. That belief was the only thing keeping her upright, the only thread tethering her to sanity. Then, a voice crackled over the intercom, pulling her abruptly from her reverie.

“Dr. McCanister,” the technician said. “We’ve recovered a new subject. It’s... unusual. You’ll want to see this.”

Julie frowned, exchanging a glance with Lauren before nodding curtly. Together, they made their way to the intake ward, where a group of soldiers stood guard around a gurney. The figure strapped to it was so still, almost as though they were dead, its movements were oddly calm, but what struck Lauren most was its appearance. The clothing, though torn and filthy, was familiar. The shape of its face, though twisted beyond recognition, sent a jolt of icy recognition through her veins.

It was you.

Time seemed to slow as Lauren stared, her mind screaming in denial even as the evidence lay before her. She stumbled back, her breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head violently. “No, it’s not them. It can’t be.” But even as the words left her lips, she knew they were lies. The way your body moved, the faint remnants of your features beneath the decay—there was no mistaking it.

Julie’s hand gripped her arm, anchoring her as she threatened to collapse. “Lauren,” she said, her voice low and urgent. “Pull yourself together. If we lose focus now, it’s over. Do you understand me?”

Lauren tore her gaze away, her body trembling with the effort it took to remain standing. She nodded numbly, unable to speak, and followed her mother into the lab, where the gurney was wheeled in behind them. The technicians worked quickly to secure you, your snarls when they got too near echoing off the walls like a cruel parody of the voice she had once loved.

As Julie began issuing instructions, Lauren found herself frozen, her eyes locked on your thrashing form. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to do something, to stop this, to save you. But there was nothing left to save. You were gone. And yet, she couldn’t let go. Not yet. Not ever.

The lab was silent except for the faint hum of machines, the usual cacophony of snarls and thrashing absent. You lay restrained on the gurney, oddly calm now, though the feral gleam in your clouded eyes hadn’t diminished. Lauren hadn’t moved for what felt like hours, her gaze locked on your still form. Beside her, Julie flipped through a stack of reports, her face a mask of grim finality.

“We’ve exhausted every avenue,” Julie said quietly, her voice carrying the weight of months of failure. “There’s no cure. The infection is irreversible once it reaches this stage. But—” She hesitated, her pen tapping against the clipboard. “We’ve confirmed the vaccine’s efficacy. Administered in time, it prevents the infection from taking hold entirely.”

Lauren flinched as if struck, her hands curling into fists at her sides. She turned to her mother, her face pale and tight with disbelief. “You’re saying we can save everyone else, but not—” Her voice cracked, and she couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence. The lump in her throat felt like it might choke her.

Julie placed a hand on Lauren’s shoulder, her expression softening for the briefest moment. “We’ve done everything we could. More than anyone else would have dared to try. But we can’t dwell on what’s lost, Lauren. If we act quickly, we can still save countless lives.” No, no life mattered when yours was endanger.

Lauren wanted to scream, to throw something, to rage against the unfairness of it all. But the exhaustion, the unrelenting tide of grief, made her sink back into the sterile chair instead. She looked at you—silent, unmoving, and unsettlingly calm for what you had become. Something about it made her chest ache in a way she couldn’t describe, as if there was still a sliver of you in there somewhere, waiting for her to reach you.

“I’m not leaving them here,” she said suddenly, her voice hard with determination. Julie blinked, startled. “Lauren, that’s—”

“I don’t care!” she snapped, standing so abruptly that the chair screeched against the tiled floor. “We’ve done everything for everyone else. For strangers. We owe them this. I owe them this. They’re coming with me.”

Julie exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re being irrational. They’re infected. Dangerous. What are you planning to do? Lock them in a room and pretend they’re fine?”

“I don’t know!” Lauren shouted, tears streaking down her face now. “I just— I can’t leave them here to rot, Mom. Please. You don’t understand.”

Julie stared at her daughter for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she sighed, her shoulders sagging. “Fine. But this stays between us. If anyone finds out, we’ll both be implicated.”

Lauren’s nod was immediate, almost frantic. She wiped at her tears with the back of her hand, trying to steady her trembling breaths. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Together, they worked under the cover of night. Julie cleared the lab of technicians, citing a need for privacy to conduct “critical tests.” Lauren kept a wary eye on the surveillance system, ensuring no one could see what they were doing. They transferred you into a reinforced containment pod and loaded it onto a vehicle under the guise of disposing of biological waste.

The ride home was eerily silent. Julie drove with her lips pressed into a thin line, while Lauren sat in the backseat beside the containment pod. The straps holding you down seemed unnecessary now; you remained disturbingly still, your clouded eyes staring blankly at nothing.

Lauren couldn’t stop watching you. Her mind raced with questions she didn’t have answers to. Why were you so calm? Was it some anomaly in the infection? Or was it just another cruel twist of fate, a mockery of the person you had been? She reached out hesitantly, her hand hovering just above the pod’s reinforced glass. “You’re still in there, aren’t you?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You have to be.”

Julie’s sharp voice cut through her thoughts. “Don’t get attached, Lauren. We don’t know what this means. It could be temporary. It could be nothing.”

Lauren didn’t respond. She leaned back in her seat, her heart heavy with a mixture of hope and dread. She didn’t know what she was doing, but she knew one thing for certain: she wasn’t letting you go. Not now. Not ever.

By the time they reached home, the night had deepened, cloaking the streets in darkness. Julie parked in the garage, and together, they maneuvered the containment pod into the basement. It felt surreal, like a nightmare they couldn’t wake up from. Lauren sat on the cold concrete floor beside you long after Julie had gone to bed, her head resting against the pod as exhaustion finally overtook her.

And you? You lay there, silent and unmoving, the faint flicker of something unknowable lingering in your lifeless eyes as Lauren pressed her head against the pod's glass.

The basement had transformed over the years from a sterile, eerie containment zone into something almost… cozy. Lauren had shoved an old couch into the corner, set up a table with mismatched chairs, and strung a few fairy lights haphazardly along the ceiling. It was ridiculous, really—what kind of person turned their basement into a playroom for a zombie? But then again, Lauren wasn’t exactly known for her practicality.

“You ready to lose again?” she teased, shuffling the deck of cards with exaggerated flair. She sat cross-legged on the floor, her grin wide and taunting. Across from her, you sat slumped, your posture as loose and lifeless as a marionette’s, but your clouded eyes tracked her hands with unnerving focus.

Lauren dealt the cards with a flourish, sliding each one across the makeshift table she’d cobbled together out of old crates. “Alright, rules are simple. No eating the cards this time. And don’t just grunt if you’re losing; you have to play fair.”

You grunted anyway, low and guttural, a noise that Lauren had somehow learned to interpret as begrudging acceptance. She watched as your stiff, jerky fingers fumbled with the cards, managing to hold them in a way that was almost—almost—correct.

The game began, and for the first few rounds, you actually seemed to be doing well. Lauren even raised an eyebrow, impressed. “Okay, okay. Look at you! A zombie poker prodigy in the making. Who knew?”

But then it all went downhill. Lauren laid down her cards—a full house. Your cloudy gaze shifted from her hand to your own pitiful pair of twos. The realization was slow but unmistakable. Your shoulders tensed, your hands trembled, and a low, frustrated growl bubbled up from your throat.

“Uh-oh,” Lauren said, biting her lip to keep from laughing. “Don’t be a sore loser now.”

But you were absolutely a sore loser. With a sudden burst of jerky motion, you slammed your cards onto the table—scattering them everywhere—and let out an indignant roar. Your fists hit the table with such force that the crates wobbled precariously, one of them toppling over completely.

“Hey! Hey!” Lauren cried, throwing her hands up to shield herself from the chaos. She was laughing now, unable to stop herself. “It’s just a game! Chill out, freako!”

You, however, were inconsolable. You kicked the nearest crate, sending it skittering across the floor, and then crossed your arms in what could only be described as a pout. The effect was both terrifying and hilarious—a full-blown zombie tantrum, complete with huffy breaths and a refusal to meet Lauren’s eyes.

“Oh my god,” Lauren wheezed, clutching her stomach as tears of laughter streamed down her face. “You’re worse than a toddler! I should’ve strapped you to the chair for this.”

You let out another disgruntled growl and turned your head away, sulking. The sight of a zombie throwing a tantrum over a card game was so absurd that Lauren actually had to lay back on the floor, gasping for air between fits of laughter.

Finally, after a long moment, she wiped her eyes and sat up, still grinning. “Alright, alright. I’ll let you win the next one. Deal?”

You didn’t respond, but you stopped growling, which Lauren decided to take as a tentative agreement. She began picking up the scattered cards, shaking her head. “You know, if anyone ever finds out about this, my reputation is done. ‘Lauren, the girl who babysits a zombie.’ What a legacy.”

For a moment, she thought she saw the faintest flicker of something behind your lifeless gaze—amusement, maybe. Or maybe it was just her imagination. Either way, she tossed you the deck of cards and smiled. “Your shuffle this time, champ. Let’s see if you can keep it together when you lose again.”

[stay-corner]

im crying. jisung wearing a choker with a heart shaped tag on it. i need him so bad.

–🐿💕

warnings: nsfw, minors do not read! unprotected sex, creampie, hanji wears cat ears and a choker but they don't come into play much, he's desperate and horny and whiny and that's exactly how i like my men, he sucks on your fingers, u choke him, he cries, all that. he passes out a bit but he's fine. overstimulation ig? idk it's also pretty nasty and sweaty

word count: 1.1k words

a/n: hanji anon it has been almost two years since you cried in my inbox about jisung wearing a heart choker and i don't know if you're still around but i'll let you know the recent bow choker jisung incident made me let out an honest to god whimper. so here's a nasty drabble involving jisung, a bow choker with a heart shaped tag on it, and cat ears. jesus take the wheel

[05:31 am - han jisung]

"faster, faster, fuck," he chants in a desperate tone, hands slipping quickly from your hips to your thighs and back up, restless and greedy as he grips your flesh, nails digging in and squeezing painfully. all you can do is moan, whimpers stuck in your throat as you piston your hips on top of his own, legs quivering from both extertion and his needy pawing.

"i'm going... as fast as... i can, ji..." squeezes through your constricted throat between pants, jaw slack and eyes barely keeping open. jisung's so hard and thick for you, you want to throw your head back and fall prey to the enjoyment, but the image of him fucked out underneath you, cheeks flushed, pretty black choker resting on his neck, frilly bow and shiny heart glinting back at you, and the cat ears clumsily clipped in his hair... god, you couldn't have mustered a more erotic image even if you tried your hardest.

jisung bucks his hips up into yours at just the right time, the impact hitting a new angle that makes you keen and pulls an open sob out of him, head lurching off the pillow from the pleasure as his eyes squeeze shut. "oh, you're sopping wet, fuck... fuck..." jisung whines, his high voice reminiscent of the harmonious high notes he hits in the recording booth, now distorted with lust and want and desperation. "please, please, faster, wanna cum so bad," he runs his mouth stupid, brain shut off, and you feel your lungs burning.

"ji, you're so... fucking... insatiable..." you groan back at him, eyebrows furrowing because you're positive that you can't physically go any faster than you're going right now, the sound of smacking skin and wet squelches and unabashed moaning bouncing off the walls of jisung's bedroom. you already forgot how many times either of you came so far, brains gradually turning to mush the longer you pleasured each other, until you were reduced to the mindless animals bucking into each other now, fucking like rabbits.

one of jisung's hands moves down, brushes your clit in its pursuit of rubbing against his pelvis and your thighs, fingers becoming drenched in the mix of both of your slick and cum. he lets out an almost pained sound at the feeling, gaze watching how the substance webs between his spread fingers, and he almost grows cross eyed at the sight, head falling defeated on the pillow.

"that word's too big for me..." he remembers to respond, fingers returning to grab at your body, wherever you'd let him. "it's so sloppy, fuck, i'm... so numb, but it's so good... fuck... make me cum, make me cum," jisung rambles on and on, eyes squeezing and head thrashing from side to side, messing with the ears in his hair, choker straining at his neck. you think it's on a bit tight, but jisung probably likes it. it might leave a small mark, and you clench at the thought.

jisung is still wailing for you, the filter between his mouth and mind nonexistent, and before you think, one of your hands lifts from his toned, sweaty chest, up to his mouth, two of your fingers slipping in effortlessly. jisung responds with muscle memory, jaw falling slack and body relaxing, lids finally lifting as he shows you his beautiful doe eyes, growing glassier by the second. his hands don't flex painfully into your flesh anymore, fingers letting go as he begins rubbing over your torso and legs, mouth alternating between tongueing your fingers and sucking on them.

"that's it.. pretty and brainless for me, ji, hm?" you huff down at him, tone sweeter, sticky and soft for him. it's hypnotic to him - jisung thinks you'll be the death of him, and he's fine with it. "you're fucked stupid, baby," you add, and one of his hands runs over your tummy, catching onto your bellybutton before it descends further, soaked thumb making contact with your aching clit. it's gentle - even in his fucked-out state, jisung knows how to touch you, knows you're sensitive, knows this is enough to make you tighten around him, make your toes curl.

his other hand slips off your thigh, rubbing up his own torso, over his soft tummy, over his raised chest, and finally finds your fingers, coiling them in his grasp and pulling them up, towards his neck. jisung blinks up at you, gaze zoning in and out, and his eyes begin to well up with tears when you finally grab his throat firmly, the feeling of the choker's frilly fabric making the hair on your arm stand up.

"shit, jisung, you're fucking nasty," you mutter, fingers pushing harsher against his tongue as you grip the sides of his throat, and the new leverage allows you to angle your hips better, descending on him harsher, over and over and over again, the sound of smacking skin and wet squelches and muffled gagging echoing against the walls of jisung's head, and he only realizes he's crying when the cold tears roll down his ears, his burning red hot ears.

jisung wants to warn you, tell you he'll cum, but it builds up so fast in his lower tummy, and he sees only bright white behind his eyes as the sensation travels down his legs and up his body, feet clenching and unclenching, hands all but smacking down on you from the sheer force of the feeling, pushing and pulling at once, unsure of where he wants you - he shivers violently, thighs and ass and biceps burning and shaking, his lungs pushing all the air out in spite of the sharp clench in his chest, veins bulging in his throat and forehead and fucking cock, balls clenching as he empties inside you, the pull deliciously painful. your walls milk him too well, and he lets another sob out around your fingers as the tip of his dick throbs, each drag of your pussy sending electric jolts down his shaft, directly into his bloodstream.

jisung only comes around again when you brush his hair off his forehead softly, fingers working the cat ears out of his strands, and tenderly undoing his choker. his ears ring, and he has to relax his muscles manually, body still tensed and jolting every few seconds. you leave a peck on his temple, hand rubbing softly at his throat, down his chest, up to his cheek, and he has half a mind to tilt his head, kiss your palm. his eyes are closed.

"you're so good to me, ji" you whisper against his skin, body lying next to his. you're both sweaty and gross, and jisung is in love with you, so he tells you so.

"... 'm love you."

you chuckle and nuzzle into him. it only takes you two a minute tops to drift off, sweaty, and gross, and in love, and thoroughly satisfied. (for now - he'll agree with you tomorrow, when his brain can finally process more than three syllables at once, that he is insatiable, after all).

sick and twisted. thank u so much for reading, hope you enjoyed! here is my inbox, where you can leave feedback, thoughts, or request an idea! here you can find more of my writing, and here are my guidelines! :> i appreciate every like and reblog and sweet word thrown my way! have a nice (and wet and nasty) day hehe~ - lunar

[captain-mj]

I really hope this isn't too weird... I saw a tweet recently talking about a trope of "Just the tip" porn where they promise they won't put it all the way in and then do.

Completely understand if this isn't something you're comfortable with! But I'd love a SoapGhost version (if you are cool, I might ask for other ships too)

Consent is dubious. Consent is shy. Consent is in the other room but they can kinda hear it.

Ghost was just fine with their current sex life. He gave Soap a blowjob or a handjob anytime Soap got hard. He'd think he'd would be happy about that. Unlimited pleasure with no need to give anything back.

But Soap was not. He was constantly begging Ghost to let him please him too. Ghost always brushed it off or insisted not right now.

Ghost was well aware if he actually told Soap no, he'd stop. He'd be upset, maybe a tiny bit of pouting, but he'd stop. Still, he let the little game continue.

Soap stopped mentioning it for a while. Funnily enough, he never sought Ghost out. If he really thought about it, all of their sexual encounters were initiated and started by Ghost. Ghost just didn't get off.

Soap had his fingers dug into Ghost's hair, panting and whimpering as he tried not to come yet while Ghost mused. His fingers were working him open.

In all honestly, he hadn't had sex in years. After Roba, he barely had a will to touch himself, let alone allow anyone else to touch him and see him so vulnerable. It took him this long to be able to do this. In his opinion Soap should be grateful instead of greedy.

Though, that wasn't fair. Soap hadn't even seen Ghost fully undressed.

Johnny sobbed as he came, throwing his head back. Ghost kept his legs open so he could keep going for another minute before puling away.

Soap groaned softly and his hips jerked. He looked down just fast enough to watch Ghost swallow.

"Fuck, Simon. Finally going to let me return the favor?"

"Nah." Ghost stood up.

Soap looked a tiny bit defeated before looking at the bulge in Ghost's pants. Quietly, he leaned forward, mouthing at him. "Don't you want something?"

Ghost felt his cock twitch. It was a pretty picture. But he grabbed his mohawk and yanked his head away. "Maybe later."

Soap made a sinful fucking sound. He ran his tongue along the bulge in Ghost's pants. "Thank you so much, Si." Ghost wanted to think it was his excellent head giving that he was thinking him for but it was instead the idea of later.

He just didn't get the big deal.

Ghost finally gave in though. As he always did when it was something Soap wanted. He found himself surprisingly less comfortable than he expected, but he only gave off confidence, refusing to have Soap seeing him anything but. The idea of Soap finding him weak was nauseating. He didn't want to mess up.

Soap didn't know yet that Ghost was going to give in that, so he started up on it. "If we did fuck, who would top and who would bottom?"

"Don't know."

"Guess we'll have to go by dick size. You know, its completely fine if you're smaller than me. Won't think any less of you." Ghost could tell it was supposed to be a joke but also reassurance. He rolled his eyes as he looked through his drawers for new boxers for Soap.

Soap sighed. "Simon, come on. It's not fair."

"To me?" Ghost unzipped his pants, being silent so he wouldn't know.

"To me! I like helping. I don't get why you're...." Soap trailed off. "ah..."

Ghost was big. He was well aware. Judging by the look on Soap's face, Johnny hadn't thought of that yet. "There. I'd top."

Soap nodded. "I can... use my hand?"

"Where did all that bravado go? Huh? Suddenly get nervous?"

Soap laughed nervously, proving Ghost's words. "Listen.... sure I can't top?"

"Your rules." Ghost started to fix his pants again, going back to his original idea of finger Soap until he came from that. He could let Soap think about it for a few da-

"Wait... I could blow you?"

"Soap, need you speaking the next few days. I've seen the way you handle fingers." Ghost rolled his shoulders. "We don't have to do this."

Soap groaned. "You have too much self control when it comes to sex."

"I get you off and then we can move on."

Soap swallowed and looked at Ghost's cock again. Ghost could see the wheels in his brain moving. He chewed his lip and it was already clear he wouldn't let this go until he got Ghost off.

"What if I promise to just put the tip in?" Ghost asked, curious on if he'd even go for it.

Soap thought about it. He wanted to please Ghost so much. "Yeah. Just the tip. Promise just the tip?"

Ghost laughed. "Yes. Just the tip. I promise." He doubted he'd have that big of an issue with it.

Soap was already prepped which is perfect. He laid back down and let Ghost get on top of him. Slowly, Ghost positioned himself. At this point, he was praying to himself that he wouldn't come immediately. It was definitely a possibility. Gently, he started to push in, feeling the tight walls around his cock.

Ghost hear the whine that came out of him and his eyes rolled back. It felt so good. He forgot how good it felt.

Soap groaned and clenched hard. "Fuck. You're so big. Feel nice?"

Ghost bit his lip to try to shut up and just nodded. This was so much better than he remembered. Soap always wanted more... It wouldn't hurt.

"Ghost? Wha-"

Ghost pushed in more, moaning properly. He whimpered. "Don't make me pull out, fuck, please don't make me pull out."

Soap panted. "Fuck, fucking hell. You're so big. How do you even...." He clenched hard and gasped for air. "I don't think I can fit it."

Ghost started to rock his hips. This is what he had been telling Soap no over? He started to work himself in deeper as Soap continued making sinful noises.

"Si, Simon, Simon." Soap bit his pillow and let Ghost keep going. He started to thrust in with no abandon, hearing Soap's noises being swallowed.

Ghost kept pushing. He knew Soap would tell him to stop if he actually wanted to. That's how they worked.

Ghost moaned when he finally bottomed out. "Fucking hell, Johnny." He panted softly as he started to fuck him. He never wanted to pull out. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

Soap arched his back and let him keep going. Ghost heard, and felt, him come around him. He finished and came inside him.

Soap fell into the sheets and whimpered as Ghost pulled out. His hole gaped and Ghost groaned.

"Sorry."

Soap panted softly. "Don't worry about it. You can do it again, any time. I promise."

Ghost nodded and groped his ass. "I didn't mean to be so rough with you."

Soap moaned and pushed back against him. "Felt so good. So good." He relaxed into the pillows. "You got off right?"

"Yes, Johnny. Sorry for not asking."

"I loved it. Don't even worry."

[chuusmuts]

imagine having a comfort sex with enemy!diluc

smut, soft sex, afab reader, a lot of kissing and affection. not proofread so there might be some errors 😪. inspired by this c.ai.

the last post got so many notes i was shocked 🤭🤭

"your boyfriend cheated on you?" diluc snapped. he had seen you two together for years now, so when you told him about it, something sparked inside him. it was as if an ignited match burned his heart. "y/n, look at me." he tried to calm you down several times, but you wouldn't listen to him as you kept sobbing, babbling on and on about your ex-boyfriend and his girlfriend. "y/n!" his voice echoed throughout the house. "you'll be okay, don't worry. i'll make him pay later worse than you could imagine, okay? so don't cry." he hated you since you always get on his nerves, but he hated it more seeing you cry over some random guy.

but you didn't stop. you were a sobbing mess. even when he hugged you, whispering sweet and comforting words, your eyes still filled with a puddle of tears. and to be honest, it made him annoyed. just how much this bastard meant to you. so he decided to use his last option. in the midst of your crying, you felt a pair of warm lips suddenly capture yours in a soft kiss. his kiss was long, and he didn't miss the look of shock on your face.

"are you calming down?" he asked, his voice low. nervously, you averted your gaze away as you fiddled with your fingers. you were slowly calming down, but you're still frowning, and tears were still streaming down your cheeks as you sniffled quietly. he clicked his tongue in annoyance before picking you up and placing you on his bed.

once again, he pressed his lips against yours, his tongue pushing its way into your mouth, silencing your sobs and sniffles. unlike before, this time you melted into the kiss as you kissed him back, your mouth moving in a slow rythm. "shall i comfort you?" he whispered against your lips. you nodded silently as you hastily wiped away your tears.

diluc wasted no time pulling your shirt over your head and unclasping your bra, shushing you when you whined in embarrassment. "lay down." he commanded softly. as you tried to make yourself comfortable, he discarded the rest of your clothes before discarding his own.

diluc positioned himself between your legs as he stroked his cock before pushing it inside you, making you gasped and arched your back in pleasure. he began to thrust at a slow pace as he pressed a kiss to your stomach, "is this okay?" he inquiries gently. who would've thought diluc, your enemy for years was going to treat you gently? you expected him to be rough, to dig his nails into your skin, to knock the air out of you, but no. his touch was light and gentle like a feather.

you choke back a sob as you bobbed your head. you weren't making any sound at all, just a small whimper as a reply, and it worried him. diluc leaned down and brushed your remaining tears before tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. he wrapped you in a warm hug, comforting you as his other hand gently stroked your cheek. "that bastard... should i kill him for you?" his voice darkening as he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear.

his question caught you off guard, and you immediately shook your head. you refused to let anyone get injured because of you. "okay, if that's what you want." he swiftly pulled back and gave you a long and tender kiss. your hands quickly found their way around his neck, pulling him closer as you separated your lips, kissing him even deeper.

something inside you told you that this was wrong, and you shouldn't be doing this, especially after you had just broken up with your ex-boyfriend. but the way he caressed your skin, the way his cock slammed into your sweet spot, the way his lips pressed against yours, it all felt so good. you whimpered again, closing your eyes as you felt him thrusted a little more painful.

"shh, it's okay. i'll take care of you." he murmured, gently stroking your hair as he pressed tender kisses along your neck. "just breathe deeply and slowly." as his pace started to increase, your breath became heavy, and you turned your head to the side, unconsciously giving him full access to your neck. he started to kiss your neck and collarbones, leaving tiny red marks by sucking and nibbling softly on your flesh, slowly making his way down your breasts.

just when your ex-boyfriend's too busy with his girlfriend, diluc's here to comfort you. to make you feel good, to give you the pleasure you couldn't receive, and he's here to make sure you feel safe and loved. you couldn't hold back your moan any longer when he swirled his tongue around one of your hardening nipples before bringing it inside his mouth, suckling on it. his free hand was kneading your muscles, squeezing and massaging your other breast as he kept his thrust steady.

as he continued nibbling on your sensitive bud, you felt the pressure slowly building in your stomach, and you knew you were close. your hands grabbed his hair, not so rough as you closed your eyes, ready for what to come, "i– i'm..." you trailed off your sentence as you gasped for air, head falling forward, making strands of your hair fell to the front.

"i know. just let it go." he said warmly, cradling you in his arms as he gave you an open-mouthed kiss. his gentle kisses soothed you and his movements increased ever so slightly. he gradually speeded up on the intensity of his movements until the pressure finally reached its peak, and you came all over his cock. your hands tightened on his hair as you cried out, your legs shaking uncontrollably.

a small smirk spread across diluc's lips as he watched you climax. he pulled you close and kissed you passionately, his movements slowing down a little. he looked at your flushed face, cupping your cheek before asking, "you okay?" he was proud of you. proud of you for enjoying yourself and not holding back, proud of you for forgetting about your ex-boyfriend, and proud of you for being such a good girl for him.

"f- fine..." you managed to breathe out, feeling exhausted and embarrassed with a little sprint of sadness as you steadied your breathing. diluc removed the hair that fell on your face as he cupped your cheeks before pressing his forehead against yours, all while watching you closely for any small signs of discomfort or unease. "now, stop crying. it's too troublesome."

[shiorihoshino]

Where Ruin Remembers

When Reality Fractures [Part 2]

When Reality Fractures | 1 | 2 [here currently] |

A rush of red and green blocked out your vision, swirling together in a mess of colors as the world spun on its axis. Or, so you think before your rolling came to a stop, laughter spilling out of your lips. The chest your head rested on jostling you as it rose and fell, matching your sounds of joy.

You gave a few light slap to the plane, giggling. Your attempt to lessen the jostling fruitless. On the contrary, more chuckles rushed out. The action bouncing your body more.

Seeing that failed, your hands covered the other's mouth and nose, hoping the lack of air would force them still. Instead, you received a light nip to your finger, a smirk adoring the culprit's lips. Yelping, you jolted back, though, not much as the other's arms kept you caged against them.

You huffed out a name, pretending to be annoyed. It would have worked if not for the sparkle in your eyes and smile on your lips. Then again, even if you had none of those, the other would not have been deceived. Their smirk ever on their lips, eyes shining with mirth and smugness.

A large clawed hand helped you sit up proper, gentle but firm all the same. You busied yourself sweeping off the scattered flower petals from your dress, brushing them to the floor. Head bowed and unaware of soft fond eyes.

You blinked, glancing up from beneath your lashes as you felt careful hands plucking petals from your hair. You did not protest, sitting still and letting the hand do as it pleased without complaint. Well.. Until it sneak under your chin, nudging your eyes up to meet carmine. You always loved them... If rubies could be eyes, this would be what they look like. Deep, a bottomless warm priceless sea that glimmer and shine like stars in the sky, never to be put out.

Clawed hand rubbing your own pulled you from your thoughts. You blink, glancing between beautiful eyes and deadly but careful fingers. Curious, you watched as your hand was guided to the hemi-octahedron ruby embedded in the strong muscular chest. Just shy of touching if you stretch out your finger, lifting ever so slight...

Blood... So much blood...

Your frenzied eyes darted from his chest to the sides, hoping, praying for anything to help lessen the flow. Your feeble muscles straining, pitiful and weak, as you struggled and failed to remove the great sword jabbed deep into where his gem should be. The shattered remains of the stone laid by both your feet.

He's bleeding.. He's bleeding so much.. He's going to.. to...

Your throat squeezed and scratched, the familiar ache bringing your awareness to the fact you were screaming. Or, at least, you thought you were. Your ears had a deafening ring, rendering you unable to perceive any and all sound. Yet even without your hearing, you could feel the sobs wrecking through your body, the clog in your throat and the stinging of your eyes.

Your mouth moved once more, though, you did not register any of the shape it made. Your sight blurred with your tears, no matter how much you tried to blink them away, they clung stubborn to your lashes. In your desperation, your eyes locked with carmine and you broke, shattered until nothing remained.

A gasp ripped out of your mouth, eyes flying open. Your hand scrambled for purchase, clawing at your chest as you forced your body up. Your head ached from the sudden motion, the dizziness and nausea following straight after.

Your free hand clutched at the armrest of the couch you were on, chest heaving for air. To settle the dizziness and nausea or to force back the dam of rushing water building, you didn't know. You didn't have the mental capability to think and find out either, mind a mess of hazy memories, thoughts and emotions.

A deep soothing voice battered into your chaotic mind, stilling you. The sound of double doors swinging open reached you, the person stepping into the room. "You're finally awake. I didn't pay you to arrive just barely on time and then fall asleep—"

The voice drifted to a halt, eyes scanning your messy form from head to toe in rapid succession. Hurried footsteps thump against the carpeted floor, fabric rustling before a gentle hand grab your chin. Your glistening eyes forced up to meet the stern orbs of your boss. The hold unyielding, leaving no room for arguments, all in one motion despite the lack of words exchanged between you two.

"I..." You managed to choke out before a sniffle interrupted you. The storm of emotions you could not place a name on spilling the moment you locked eyes.

Your boss caress your cheek with a thumb, the motion cautious but assured. Lips parted, whispered words shushing you. Your sniffles followed the command, dying down along with your tears. Glistening eyes blinked, lashes heavy with lingering dampness, meeting with the watchful eyes of your employer.

Swallowing a lump, you averted your gaze, dislodging the hand stuck under your chin. You cleared your throat, preoccupied with dampening the heat in your cheeks, unable to notice how those fingers hesitated from moving away. Unable to see how liquid rubies refroze, your boss's posture straightening and the distance between you both returned.

A scoff entered your ear amiss your scramble to wipe your waterworks. "It's late, I'll handle the rest myself." Your head lifted, gawking at your boss, who raised their chin up. "Go, it's already past closing time. I'm not paying for overtime."

Eyes narrowed, you returned the expression, feelings stomped down. "I didn't expect you to." You searched around the couch, snatching your shoulder bag the moment you spotted it. "You're a real cheapskate despite being a billionaire."

You pushed yourself up, hair whipping as you spun to storm out the door. Although, you didn't manage to step from the couch as a hand clasp around your wrist. A firm yank had you collide with hard planes of your boss's chest. The motion disorientated you, eyes blinking rapidly to rid the blur.

"You have a mouth on you, even when the one you're sassing is your superior."

Bristling, you tugged to free your wrist, teeth gritted. "Let go!"

Your boss huff out a chuckle, eyes crinkling at your pitiful attempt to free yourself. Deciding to not agitate you further after whatever nightmare had you so frazzled, your wrist was released soon after. The unexpected action had you stumbling backwards, near tripping over your inky heels.

The moment you caught yourself, you threw a glare up at your employer. Who, unfazed, threw a coat over you head, blinding you. You yelled out, hands flailing out to pull down the thick black blazer. The scene further amusing your employer who took mercy and stepped closer to help.

"The night's cold." A flick of their hands and the blazer that once covered your head now rest on your shoulders, wrapped around your form. The article of clothing dwarfing your figure, not surprising since it belonged to your unfairly tall boss. "If you're found sick after exiting my building, I'll be forced to compensate you."

You huffed, holding the blazer front closed. "Of course that's what you're worried about..." You grumbled under your breath, lips pulled down at the corners.

"Come on, I'm taking you home."

[bo0neey]

Gullible's Written On Your Palm

Chapter 1: Bite The Bullet

Pairing: Chuuya x Reader, Dazai x Reader

Fandom: Bungo Stray Dogs

Synopsis: You wanted nothing more then to reach out, take that bandaged hand and finally break free from gravity. But yours falls short.

5 years pass. What changed? Nothing. His hand still remains. Bandaged and bruised as always. Haunting you like a ghost. Maybe next time you'll reach out.

-A fic on missed opportunities and guilt centred around yourself and your time in the PM: Do you stay with you loyal friend through a torturous environment hellbent on consuming humanity, or take the heavenly hand presented and ignore the effects of gravity?-

Type: Multi - Chapter (1/3)

Combats not my thing. I don’t dress for it and I don’t expect it. So when Dazai bought me along I hadn’t a clue I’d be fighting for my life in stilettos and a tight dress. I was readying for some political event when Dazai jumped in and requested my help. I was just 2 minutes from finishing my makeup. All done and pristine for 20:00. I’d be lucky if I could even make the event on time let alone in an acceptable state. “You didn’t say I’d be breaking my ankles!” The wind blew at a fast pace, whipping my hair into my eyes. “Minor details. You look beautiful by the way.” He responded from somewhere behind. I couldn’t see him right now. In fact I couldn’t see anything right now. “I certainly wont be when I’m stuck in a cast. Where are you by the wa-“ Something hard came into contact with my abdomen as I turned around. I winced and fell forwards, tripping over my dress and loosing balance. “Dazai!” I scream as reflex as I stumble back and fall. I throw my hands out in front of me to try and grab something but its futile. I don’t feel anything as my fingertips clench around air. I don’t feel anything as my back falls to the ground either. It never hits.

: ̗̀ - ➛

You were oddly cute at 15. A mess as always, matted hair and migrated makeup-but the clash of optimism and nervousness gave you that innocent glow reserved for youth. Hair was lazily slicked up into a messy up-do from the previous nights endeavors, scandalous clothing fit only for a hooker or delusional teen covered your figure and chipped nails gripped a perfectly polished pistol. Your cold fingers twitched around the trigger as you stared down the barrel. Your eyes were madly wide from both adrenaline and a strange excitement - Not at the thought of the weapon but at the freedom and power thrust into your hands by your executives. You felt seen. You felt powerful. Alive even. The gun was pristine. Glistening under the bathroom lights. Not a scratch or smear on the case. You envied its beauty; its effortless elegance. It was nothing like you. Your gaze shifts from the barrel to the head behind. Long flowing locks of a woman 5 years your senior, blonde and clean. You didn’t know who she was, you didn't care to remember the details. Just another box to tick to get the job done. You cock the safety off and watch as the head jolts. She steps back and bumps the weapon, gasping and throwing her arms above her head. Fresh French tips adorned with rings of gold. One caught your attention in particular: Plain and battered, sat on her left hand. Married. She was someone. She had people who cared. She was a real live person. But you needed this. You needed to prove that you were more then just some sad party girl collecting gossip, you could be serious. You could be worthwhile keeping. You just needed to prove it. Prove you could be seen. You suck in and brush the trigger, eyes shutting tight as your ears ring. Your hand snaps back and you eyes jolt open. A mirror. You.

Blood.

You were full of harsh sobs as you scrubbed and peeled at your skin. No matter how hard you tried, the red tint stained your finger tips. It covered your skin and filled any creases. Your nails were worse: framed by a thick, dark red. “C’mon n/n. The boss finally gave you a proper job and you flip out.” Dazai scoffed from his spot behind you. Through your haze a calming hand sits on your shoulder. “Not everyones a psycho like you.” Chuuya retorted. His gloved hand rubs small circles into your shoulder as he speaks. You cant see their faces and frankly you didn’t care. You knew they were glaring daggers at each other. “Dunno. Who else would scrub their hands like that.” Maybe gloves were a good idea. You’d need to ask Chuuya about that later when you could trust your voice. “Maybe she isn’t cut out for missions.” Yeah gloves to hide the discolouration’s a good idea. Plus you wouldn’t need to worry about stains again. “A bit of sympathy wouldn’t kill you right now.” If you find a nice set of gloves then maybe you’ll stop feeling so cold all the time too. They feel like the dead sometimes. “Look at her. She’s not even listening.” you pause. you wish you was able to block out the noise. You want to ignore them. You want to ignore your conscience. You want to ignore everything but you’re just too tired to run. “Just get out.” Those 3 words register in your mind but you’re unsure just who spoke them. While you didn’t think you were capable of speaking right now, you certainly didn't think Chuuya would snap that fast either. “Thats no way to address your superior now is it?” But he leaves. You can hear the receding foot pats. Chuuya’s gloved hand on your shoulder slides down your arm as he tugs you into a more comfortable embrace. You feel your body convulse with more sobs which he gently tries to sooth. “If it helps, I never knew my first. Saw their faces in the paper but…I never knew what was my doing and what was just collateral.” “So they all weigh you down the same.” You’re voice is small and crooked but he hears you still. He nods and gives you an encouraging squeeze. Your words had always just tumbled out. Most of the time you were fortunate that they made a coherent sentence but sometimes you felt like you were just saying words for the sake of it. Trying so desperately to be heard that you made a fool of yourself. In fact sometimes you felt like you’d never even had a unique thought to voice out loud, let alone being worthy of voicing out loud. You felt like you just mindlessly regurgitated what's worked in the past in hopes of passing through the conversations. Everyone just muddled together into one messy day you’d endure. Nothing particularly stuck out and every conversation felt like the same mindless slop. “You’ll learn to live with the ghosts because that's just the type of person you are.” He gently pulls away and holds your hands in his. You drag your eyes from his touch to his face and its filled with pure sincerity. “Thanks Chuu…” But I’m a ghost myself.

For the next 5 years, your missions morphed from info gathering - more specifically from parties - to closing small scale deals. It must’ve been Dazai. He must’ve said something to stop you getting your hands dirty again because while you appreciated the gesture, you were dead weight. Your ability had become obsolete. Your work load had diminished. You were practically just the duos lap dog. If people looked down on you before, they certainly had neck cramps now.

“Y/N.” You turn around with a smile. You just missed his brooding figure as you passed the training room. You hadn’t heard from your friend in a few days now. “Dazai.” You look up at the taller boy. He was only 3 years older than you but it looked more like 5 considering heights. His face was dark. Darker than usual. He looked pained, genuinely hurt. “Oh Dazai. Whats wrong?” He roughly grabbed your shoulder and tugged you into the training room with him, shutting the door swiftly behind. He was facing away but you could see his slow breaths. “Da-“ “Odas dead.” He states grimly. Your face pales.

“Oda?“

“Yeah…” Your mind was blank. You knew he was hurting. You knew this was awful. But you simply didn’t feel a thing. It like you were glad, you were fond of Oda, this wasn’t good news by any means. You simply place a hand on his shoulder and try to offer some comfort. “I know how close you two were and-“ “I’m leaving.” He cut you off before you could say any further. “Sorry?” You were shocked. He couldn’t just leave. No matter how much he was hurt, they’d never let him go. He knew too much. He did too much. They liked him too much. Even for a lowly grunt like yourself, leaving was a death wish at best. He turned around and held your cold hand in his warmer ones. Large brown eyes met your own. “I’m leaving.” He stated firmer as if he was making this up as he went. You could tell his unsaid words. He wanted you to go with him. And you wanted to. You wanted nothing more then to leave. “I’m leaving tonight.” “I see.” No longer being able to hold his gaze, I drop my sights to his shoes out of shame. Too scared to stay and too prideful to ask. His shoes were muddy and speckled with dots of rain. He’d not been back long. He’d probably not even told anyone else. I open my mouth to say something else, something encouraging or comforting, but no words fall out. I gently release my hand from his grip and step back. “I shouldn’t get in your way then.” Over one conversation the friendship you’d accumulated over the last two years had convulsed into something unfamiliar, something cold, something that made your heart ache. “See you again soon then.”

And you were a fool to believe it.

End of Chapter 1

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[florawrites-blog]

Your Fault - L.hg

The evening sun cast a golden glow over the house, its warm light unable to penetrate the chill between you and Heeseung. The wedding had been called off just days before, a whirlwind of misunderstandings and hurt feelings tearing apart what was supposed to be the happiest time of your life. Now, you found yourself in an ironic twist of fate, forced to share the house you had chosen together because you had nowhere else to go.

Living under the same roof had been awkward, to say the least. The silence between you was deafening, filled with unspoken words and unresolved issues that hung heavily in the air. You tried to stay out of each other’s way, but the house seemed smaller with the tension between you.

That night, as you were cooking dinner, your mind was elsewhere, distracted by the painful memories and the unresolved emotions. You didn’t notice the pot handle sticking out over the edge of the stove until it was too late. As you reached for it, your hand brushed against the scalding metal. You yelped in pain, pulling your hand back quickly.

“Ow, damn it!” you muttered, examining the reddening skin.

Heeseung, who had been passing by the kitchen, rushed in when he heard your cry. “Are you okay?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.

You turned away, trying to hide your tears of frustration more than the pain. “I’m fine,” you snapped, though it was clear you weren’t.

Heeseung ignored your protest and gently took your hand, examining the burn. “This looks bad. Let me get some ice,” he said, heading to the freezer.

You pulled your hand back, not wanting his help. “I said I’m fine, Heeseung.”

He sighed but didn’t argue. Instead, he grabbed a clean cloth, wrapped some ice in it, and handed it to you. “Here, at least take this.”

Reluctantly, you accepted the makeshift ice pack, pressing it against the burn. The coolness provided some relief, but it did little to soothe the turmoil inside you.

“Why are you even here?” you suddenly blurted out, the frustration you had been holding back breaking through. “This is all your fault! If you had just listened to me, we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

Heeseung’s face hardened, his own frustration bubbling to the surface. “My fault? You’re the one who jumped to conclusions and wouldn’t give me a chance to explain!”

The argument escalated quickly, both of you throwing accusations and hurtful words at each other. You could feel the anger and pain boiling over, and before you knew it, you were hitting his chest repeatedly, each strike punctuating your words.

“How could you do this to me? To us?” you cried, the tears streaming down your face. Your hands were shaking as you continued to hit him, your voice breaking. “I loved you, Heeseung! I still do, and it hurts so much!”

Heeseung stood there, taking each hit without flinching. His eyes were filled with pain and regret, but he didn’t move to stop you. Finally, when you were too exhausted to continue, he reached out and pulled you into his embrace. You struggled at first, but his hold was firm and gentle, a silent offer of comfort.

You collapsed against him, your tears soaking his shirt as you broke down completely. The sobs wracked your body, the weight of everything that had happened crashing down on you all at once. You clung to him, your fingers tangling in his shirt as if it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

Heeseung held you tightly, his hand stroking your hair as he whispered soothing words. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”

You stayed like that for what felt like hours, the fight forgotten as you both let out the emotions you had been holding in. Your fingers ached from the tension, and you almost felt like yanking your hair out in frustration and sorrow. But Heeseung’s arms around you were a steady presence, grounding you in the moment.

“I don’t know how we got here,” you whispered through your tears, your voice trembling. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Heeseung replied softly, his voice filled with determination. “Together. We’ll talk, really talk this time, and we’ll find a way.”

As you stood there, wrapped in his embrace, you felt a glimmer of hope. The path ahead was uncertain, but for the first time since the wedding had been called off, you felt like you might be able to navigate it together. The road to healing would be long, but with Heeseung by your side, you knew you could take the first step.

Please don't steal or copy , thank you