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urdreamydoodles · 2 months ago

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X-MEN x FEM!READER

A year after your death, you are resurrected on Krakoa and reunited with your lover

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Hank McCoy, Emma Frost, Laura Kinney & Wade Wilson

It was proposed by @valkyrie7274 ! Thanks, love ♡

Logan Howlett (Wolverine)

- Logan had seen too much death, had held too many bodies in his arms, but yours—yours—broke him in a way nothing else ever had. You died in his arms, your fingers clutching at his shirt, your breath rattling in your throat as your body failed you. He had pressed his forehead to yours, desperate, snarling at the universe to take him instead, but death never listened. He stayed with you long after you were gone, his grip so tight on your lifeless form that even the strongest among the X-Men had to pry you from him. He didn’t make a sound. Not when they pulled you away, not when they buried you. But something inside him snapped, something vital, something that made him more animal than man.

- The others felt your absence in the silence Logan left behind. He spoke less, drank more. He vanished for weeks at a time, returning with blood under his nails and vacant eyes, the scent of whiskey and gunpowder clinging to him like a second skin. The world became a blur of violence, a never-ending cycle of fights he started just to feel something other than the ache in his chest. Jean tried to reach him. Ororo, too. Even Charles. But Logan wasn’t there anymore. Not really. He was where you were, in the moment of your death, trapped in a memory that refused to fade.

- And then—Krakoa. A miracle. A second chance. When he saw you again, standing there, alive, his breath caught in his throat, something feral and raw surging in his chest. He didn’t hesitate. He moved, crossing the space between you in a heartbeat, hands cradling your face as if you might disappear. His voice was rough, thick with too many emotions to name. "You real, darlin’?" He didn’t know if he believed in heaven, but if it existed, surely this was it. He kissed you like a man dying of thirst, like he had been starving for you, like he needed to prove you were real.

- But the fear remained. He had lost you once. What if he lost you again? He became obsessive, hovering near you, ensuring you never fought alone, ensuring no harm ever touched you again. He didn’t care that you were resurrected, that Krakoa promised eternity—he remembered what it felt like to lose you, and he refused to feel it again. It made him reckless, overprotective, angry at the world for daring to put you at risk. "Yer stayin’ with me, got it?" He wouldn’t let go. He couldn’t.

- But at night, when it was just the two of you, when you curled into his arms and whispered his name, he softened. He buried his face in your hair, breathing you in, letting the scent of you ease the last remnants of his nightmares. He had been drowning in grief for a year. Now, he had you back. And if Krakoa ever took you away again, if fate ever dared to separate you once more—Logan would tear the world apart to bring you back.

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)

- Remy was not a man built for grief. He was a man of laughter, of mischief, of silver-tongued charm—but when he lost you, all of that died with you. The moment you slipped from his grasp, the moment your breath stilled and your body turned cold, something inside him broke. He didn’t cry at first. Didn’t scream. He just stared, as if he could trick himself into thinking you were only sleeping, as if his voice alone could call you back. And then, when reality crashed down, when he realized you were gone, he shattered.

- The X-Men had never seen Remy like that before. He wasn’t just heartbroken—he was lost. He stopped playing cards, stopped flirting, stopped being Remy. He wandered through the halls like a ghost, eyes dull, smile absent. Rogue tried to reach him, but he barely spoke. Even Logan, who had seen his fair share of loss, didn’t know how to pull him from the abyss. When Remy did talk, his voice was hoarse, whispering "She ain't supposed to be gone, chérie… she ain't supposed to be gone."

- And then—Krakoa. Resurrection. The moment he saw you again, standing there, his entire world tilted on its axis. He blinked, once, twice, as if you were a hallucination, as if his mind was playing some cruel trick. And then—he ran. He crashed into you, arms locking around your waist, his breath ragged against your neck. "Mon Dieu, y’came back t’me." His hands trembled as he touched you, as if terrified you might vanish again. He kissed you like he was drowning, like he needed you to breathe.

- But the fear never left him. He had lost you once. He couldn’t bear to lose you again. He became clingy, his usual flirtation laced with desperation. He followed you everywhere, always keeping you in his sights, always ensuring you were safe. He started waking up in the middle of the night just to check that you were still there, pressing kisses to your skin, murmuring reassurances to himself. He held your hand more, needed to touch you more, to remind himself that you were real.

- But even through the fear, through the grief that still lingered in his bones, he found joy again. You were his joy. And though he still carried the pain of losing you, though the memory of your death haunted him, he knew one thing for certain—he had been given a second chance. And he would spend every moment proving just how much he loved you.

Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler)

- Kurt was a man of faith, but even faith could not protect him from the agony of losing you. He held you in his arms as the light left your eyes, whispering prayers, pressing desperate kisses to your forehead. He begged—begged—for God to spare you, to take him instead, to not let this be your end. But no miracle came. And when you died, when the last breath left your lips, Kurt collapsed over you, sobbing so violently that even the strongest among the X-Men had to look away.

- The mansion was quieter after your death. Kurt, once the heart of the team, withdrew into himself. He still smiled, still laughed—but it was hollow, an echo of what once was. He prayed more, locked himself away in the chapel for hours, seeking solace in a God who had remained silent. And when he was alone, when no one could hear, he wept. He wept until his body ached, until he had no more tears left to shed.

- And then—Krakoa. A miracle. The first time he saw you again, his heart stopped. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. And then—he teleported, appearing in front of you in a burst of smoke and desperation. His hands cupped your face, his eyes wide with unshed tears. "Mein Liebe… is it truly you?" And when you whispered "Yes", he broke. He pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly it was as if he feared the world would steal you away again.

- That night, he did not sleep. He lay beside you, his fingers tracing your features, memorizing every inch of you. He murmured prayers of gratitude, pressing reverent kisses to your skin, promising that he would never take you for granted again. He had been given a second chance, a gift from heaven itself, and he would cherish you for as long as fate allowed.

- And though the pain of losing you still lingered, though nightmares of your death still haunted him, he found peace in knowing that you were here, with him. And if ever the world tried to take you again, Kurt would fight heaven and hell alike to keep you by his side.

Scott Summers (Cyclops)

- Scott was a soldier. He had lost comrades before, seen death too many times to count, but nothing had ever destroyed him the way losing you did. You died in his arms, your blood staining his gloves, your final breath a whisper against his cheek. He had begged you to hold on, voice trembling, fingers pressing against your wounds as if his touch alone could keep you tethered to the world. But he felt it the moment you slipped away. The moment your body went limp, the moment your last exhale left you, the moment the warmth faded from your skin. He had been forced to let you go, but something inside him never did.

- The X-Men mourned you, but Scott grieved you. He buried himself in missions, in strategies, in war, but even victories felt empty without you there. He operated with precision, with control, but behind the visor, his eyes were hollow. Logan told him he was colder now, Jean said he had lost something vital, but Scott didn’t know how to be anything else. You were gone. He had to keep moving. He had to keep leading. But at night, when no one could see, he sat in your old room, hands curled into fists, jaw tight with the pain he refused to show.

- And then—Krakoa. A resurrection. A second chance. When Scott saw you again, standing before him, breathing, alive, his composure shattered. He didn’t move at first, didn’t trust his own senses, didn’t trust that this wasn’t some cruel illusion. And then—his voice, raw and disbelieving. "It’s you." The moment you whispered his name, the moment he knew it was real, he closed the distance between you in three strides. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you so tightly against him that he almost lifted you off the ground.

- He didn’t cry. Not in front of the others. But later, when it was just the two of you, when his fingers traced over your skin as if committing you to memory, his voice broke. He admitted—admitted—that he had been lost without you. That he hadn’t known how to move forward. That he had buried the pain so deeply it had become him. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath uneven. "I won’t lose you again. I swear to God, I won’t."

- Scott had always been a protector, but now, he was obsessive. He watched you like a hawk in battle, refused to let you fight alone, refused to risk you again. It was possessive, almost suffocating, but you understood—he had lost you once. He couldn’t bear to do it again. And when the world quieted, when it was just you and him, his fingers laced with yours, his lips brushing over your temple, he allowed himself to breathe again. Because you were here. Because he had you back. And he wasn’t letting go.

Jean Grey (Phoenix)

- Jean felt you die. Felt your soul slip from the world like a whisper lost to the wind. She had reached for you, her telepathy stretching out in desperation, but there was nothing to hold onto. You were gone. Vanished from the psychic plane, from the world, from her. And in that moment, something inside her broke. A scream tore from her throat, raw and grief-stricken, shaking the very ground beneath her. She had lost you. She had felt you leave. And she didn’t know how to exist in a world without you.

- The X-Men mourned as a team, but Jean mourned alone. She locked herself away, mind shutting out even Scott, even Logan, even Charles. The Phoenix inside her stirred, restless with the weight of her grief, but she held it back—barely. She visited your grave every night, fingers pressed against the cold stone, whispering things she never got to say. "I should’ve saved you." "I should’ve been stronger." "I don’t know how to live without you." The wind carried her words away, but the pain remained, deep and unrelenting.

- And then—Krakoa. When she felt your mind again, a presence she had ached for, she nearly collapsed. Her breath hitched, her vision blurred, and she ran. She didn’t care who saw, didn’t care about appearances—she ran to you, her telepathy reaching out before her arms ever did. And when she touched your mind, when she felt you, whole and alive, she sobbed. Her hands cradled your face, her lips pressed to your forehead, her thoughts pouring into yours in a rush of love, grief, longing, and relief.

- That night, she didn’t let you go. She wrapped herself around you, pressing her ear to your chest, listening to the steady thump-thump of your heartbeat. Her fingers traced absent patterns over your skin, her mind entwined with yours, never letting go again. She whispered against your shoulder, "I thought I lost you forever." And in her mind, in the quiet, she made a silent vow—if the universe ever tried to take you again, she would burn it down before she let that happen.

- Jean was always powerful, always strong, but your death had almost unmade her. Now, with you back, she was whole again. She became fierce in her love, in her protection, in her need to keep you safe. She touched your mind constantly, always needing to feel you, always needing to know you were still here. And when she kissed you, it was never just a kiss—it was everything. A promise. A devotion. A love that had transcended death itself.

Ororo Munroe (Storm)

- Ororo had never believed in helplessness. She was a goddess, a queen, a force of nature itself. But the day you died in her arms, the day your blood stained her fingers, the day the storm inside her fell silent—that was the first time she had ever felt truly powerless. She had tried everything to save you, had screamed your name to the heavens, had begged the sky itself to bring you back, but the universe remained cruel and indifferent. You died, and Ororo broke.

- The X-Men saw her grief in the way the weather changed. The sky over the mansion remained gray for weeks, the air thick with the taste of rain. Thunder rumbled in the distance, low and mournful, echoing her sorrow. She still led, still stood strong for her people, but the warmth in her eyes was gone. She visited your grave often, leaving flowers, whispering words only the wind could carry. "I should have protected you." "I failed you." "I would have traded places if I could."

- And then—Krakoa. She did not believe it at first. She could not. But when she saw you, when she felt the hum of your presence in the air, her breath hitched. The storm inside her stilled, as if the universe itself held its breath. And then—she moved. She crossed the distance between you in a heartbeat, her hands framing your face, her eyes searching yours with something raw and fragile. And when she whispered your name, when she felt your warmth, she exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding for a year.

- That night, she held you close, arms wrapped around you as if you might slip away again. She traced gentle fingers through your hair, the electricity of her touch soft and reverent. She pressed a kiss to your forehead, murmuring, "I will never let anything happen to you again." And in her heart, she vowed—if death ever came for you again, it would have to go through her first.

- Ororo had always been protective, but now, she was unyielding. She watched over you with a quiet intensity, ensuring you were safe, that nothing could harm you, that you would never be taken from her again. She loved you fiercely, wholly, eternally. And when she looked at you, her eyes no longer held grief��only devotion. Because she had been given a second chance. And she would not waste it.

Rogue

- Rogue had always been strong, always been stubborn, but when you died in her arms, she crumbled. She held you so tight, rocking you like a child, begging you to stay even as your body grew cold against hers. She could feel you slipping away, feel your life thinning into nothing, and she hated herself for not being able to take your pain—just once, just this one time—so you could live. And when you exhaled your last breath, when your fingers slackened in hers, she let out a cry so raw it shook the battlefield.

- She didn’t let go for hours. Not until they forced her to. Logan tried first, but she lashed out, feral and wild, screaming that she’d kill anyone who touched you. It was only when Remy pulled her close, whispering to her in a broken voice, that she finally let them take you. And after that, she vanished. She stopped talking, stopped showing up to team meetings, stopped doing anything but sitting in your old room, surrounded by everything you left behind. Her gloves—always such a necessity—sat abandoned, her hands trembling as she traced over your things, lost in a grief that felt too big to hold alone.

- When Krakoa resurrected you, she didn’t believe it. Not at first. She thought it was a dream, some cruel trick played by a universe that had already taken too much from her. But then—she saw you. And for the first time in a year, she breathed. Her hands shook when she reached for you, gloveless, fearless, pressing trembling fingers against your cheek. And when she felt your warmth, when she knew you were real, she choked on a sob and collapsed into you, burying herself in your arms like she was drowning and you were the only thing keeping her afloat.

- That night, she didn’t let go. Not once. She pressed herself against you, listening to your heartbeat, fingers tracing over your skin as if memorizing every inch of you all over again. "Ah thought Ah lost ya forever," she whispered, voice raw with emotion. "Ah didn’t know how to live without ya." And then, softer, more desperate—"Ah ain’t never lettin’ ya go again."

- Rogue had always been protective, but now, she was relentless. She wouldn’t let you fight alone, wouldn’t let you put yourself in danger, wouldn’t let anything take you from her again. And when she kissed you, it wasn’t just love—it was a promise. A vow. A fierce, unyielding devotion to never losing you again.

Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto)

- Erik had lost too much in his life. He had buried family, friends, entire legacies beneath the weight of war and genocide. But your death—it broke something in him that even he didn’t know could break. He held you as you died, his voice a desperate, shaking plea against your ear. "Stay with me." "Don’t go." "I won’t let them take you." But death did not bargain, did not show mercy, and when your body went still, something inside him snapped.

- After your funeral, Erik did not mourn like the others. He did not cry, did not wail, did not fall apart. He burned. He rained destruction down on those responsible, his fury so great that even Charles had to intervene. "They took her from me," he spat, voice cold, hands shaking. "And you expect me to be merciful?" He was not merciful. He was merciless. And when the last of your murderers lay dead at his feet, he still did not feel peace—only an emptiness so vast it swallowed him whole.

- And then—Krakoa. A miracle. A second chance. When Erik saw you again, standing before him, alive, whole—he did not move. He could not. His breath was sharp, unsteady, his fists clenching at his sides as if afraid you would vanish if he dared to touch you. And then—you smiled. You whispered his name. And the great and terrible Magneto fell to his knees.

- He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against him with a desperation so raw it hurt. His fingers traced over your skin, your face, your lips, his expression shattered with disbelief and relief. "I lost you," he murmured, voice trembling. "And I do not lose." His forehead pressed against yours, his breath uneven. "But this time, I have won you back. And I will never lose you again."

- Erik had always been possessive, but now, he was obsessive. He hovered, protective and unyielding, ensuring you were safe, that nothing could take you from him again. He spoke of forever now, of building something permanent, of a love that could not be destroyed. And when he looked at you, his eyes were fierce, burning with the promise of a man who had already lost you once and would tear the world apart before he let it happen again.

Charles Xavier (Professor X)

- Charles had spent his life understanding loss. He had lost friends, family, even his own body’s ability to stand. But your death—your death was something else entirely. He had felt you die, not just with his eyes but with his mind, had felt the light of your thoughts flicker and fade into nothingness. The silence where you used to be was deafening.

- He withdrew. He still led the X-Men, still played his part, but something in him was absent. The warmth in his voice was gone, his smiles never reached his eyes, and he spent too much time alone. When others tried to reach him, he only ever responded with a tired, hollow "I am fine." But he was not fine. He was haunted. Every time he reached out with his telepathy, he expected to find you there. And every time he was met with silence, it destroyed him all over again.

- And then—Krakoa. When your mind returned to the psychic plane, Charles felt it before he even saw you. His breath hitched, his chest tightened, and for the first time in a year, the silence inside him was filled with you. He turned so quickly his wheelchair nearly toppled, his eyes wide, his hands gripping the arms of his chair so tight his knuckles turned white. And when you stepped forward, when you spoke his name—he wept.

- He held you as tightly as he could, his fingers trembling as they traced over your skin, your hair, your face. His telepathy flooded into yours, overwhelming with the depth of his grief, his longing, his relief. "You were gone," he whispered, his voice breaking. "And I did not know how to go on without you." His lips brushed over your forehead, his breath uneven. "But you are here now. And I will not waste a single moment."

- Charles had always been devoted, but now, he was fiercely protective. He needed to feel you constantly, to touch your hand, to hear your thoughts entwined with his. He whispered to you at night, murmuring things only the two of you could hear, promises and confessions and love. Because he had been given a second chance. And he would not waste it.

Wanda Maximoff (The Scarlet Witch)

- Wanda knew loss intimately. It clung to her like a shadow, whispered in her ear like an old friend. She had lost her parents, her brother, her children—things torn from her hands, leaving behind echoes that never truly faded. But your death was something else. It was catastrophic. You died in her arms, your breath trembling, your fingers curled weakly against her cheek, as if trying to memorize the feeling of her one last time. She screamed, shaking you, calling your name, but no power—no spell, no hex, no desperate plea to the universe—could bring you back.

- After your death, Wanda became unknowable. The X-Men found her standing over your grave, night after night, unmoving. Her hands, her lips, her very breath crackled with chaos, the air thick with something volatile and wrong. The ground beneath her feet pulsed as if rejecting the unnatural grief she carried. They tried to pull her away, tried to speak to her, but she only whispered, over and over—"It wasn’t supposed to happen this way." At times, she vanished entirely, disappearing into corners of the world where even Charles couldn’t reach her mind. Because if she stayed too long, if she let herself think, she feared she might undo reality just to hold you again.

- When Krakoa resurrected you, Wanda felt you before she saw you. A shift in the air, a flicker in the fabric of existence. She turned, slowly, almost afraid to believe it. And there you were. Standing in the light, looking at her with those eyes she had dreamt of every night. Her breath hitched, her body trembling, and then she ran. She crashed into you, gripping you like a lifeline, her fingers tangling in your hair, her breath uneven and desperate against your skin. "I lost you," she choked, tears slipping past her lashes. "I lost you, and I broke with you."

- That night, she refused to let you out of her sight. She traced her fingers over your skin, whispering things in languages ancient and lost, spells to keep you here, to bind you to this plane, to make sure nothing ever took you from her again. You told her you weren’t leaving, that you were real, that you were back, and Wanda exhaled a broken sound before pressing her forehead to yours. "I won’t survive losing you again," she admitted, and it was not a plea—it was a truth.

- Love had always been dangerous for Wanda, but this—this was something beyond magic, beyond fate. You were her constant, her tether to the world. And she swore, with every ounce of power within her, that no god, no war, no force in existence would ever take you away again.

Pietro Maximoff (Quicksilver)

- Pietro had always been fast. Fast enough to outrun bullets, fast enough to move between heartbeats. But the day you died, he wasn’t fast enough. He saw you fall, saw the blood, saw the way your body convulsed before going still—and no matter how fast he ran, no matter how many times he replayed that moment, he couldn’t change it. You died in his arms, and for the first time in his life, time meant nothing at all.

- After your death, Pietro became restless. More restless than usual. He didn’t sleep, didn’t stay in one place for too long, didn’t let anyone near him unless they wanted to be met with a sharp glare and a sharper tongue. He snapped at everyone—Wanda, Logan, even Charles. When someone tried to tell him you were in a better place, Pietro laughed, a hollow, humorless sound. "A better place?" he spat. "She belonged here. With me." And then, without another word, he vanished, a silver blur in the wind.

- When Krakoa brought you back, he didn’t believe it. He refused to believe it. He stood at a distance, arms crossed tightly over his chest, eyes narrowed in something unreadable. But then—he heard your voice. "Pietro?" And suddenly, the world was silent. No rushing winds, no constant movement—just you. He was in front of you before you could blink, hands gripping your shoulders, eyes searching, desperate. "Is it real?" His voice was hoarse. "Tell me it’s real."

- When you nodded, Pietro let out a breath that sounded like a sob, his forehead pressing to yours, his hands shaking. "I wasn’t fast enough," he admitted, voice raw. "But I swear to you—I will never let anything take you from me again." That night, he stayed by your side, moving only when you moved, his fingers ghosting over yours as if trying to memorize every detail of you all over again.

- Pietro had always been protective, but now, he was ruthless. He didn’t let you out of his sight, didn’t let you fight alone, didn’t let anyone threaten what he had lost once before. And when he kissed you, it was with the desperation of a man who had spent a year in hell and had finally—finally—found his way home.

Hank McCoy (Beast)

- Hank McCoy was a man of logic, of reason, of science. But when you died, nothing made sense anymore. You bled out in his arms, your trembling fingers brushing against his fur in a final, fleeting moment of comfort, and all the knowledge in the universe could not save you. He whispered words of reassurance, promises that everything would be fine, that he would fix it—because Hank always found a way. But this time, there was no equation, no hypothesis, no miracle discovery that could bring you back. You died, and Hank was left with a silence that no amount of knowledge could fill.

- After your death, he changed. He buried himself in his work, deeper than before, hiding in his lab for days at a time. The others tried to talk to him—Jean, Ororo, even Logan—but he always waved them off with a tight-lipped smile, pretending to be fine. But at night, when the world was quiet, he sat alone with a single photograph of you, his glasses slipping down his nose, his hands trembling as he traced the edges of your face.

- And then—Krakoa. When he saw you again, alive, standing before him with that same beautiful smile—Hank froze. His brilliant mind, capable of solving the most complex puzzles, could not comprehend what was in front of him. He removed his glasses, as if seeing you clearly would change something. But you were still there. Real. Alive. And then—he broke. His arms wrapped around you, crushing you against his chest, his breath uneven as he buried his face in your hair. "You were gone," he whispered. "And I forgot how to be me without you."

- That night, Hank did not return to his lab. He stayed with you, hands tracing over yours, memorizing the shape of you as if afraid this was all a dream. He whispered soft, poetic musings against your skin, quoting philosophers, scientists, poets—all the words he never got to say before you were taken from him. "You have been the missing piece of my every equation," he murmured. "And I refuse to miscalculate again."

- Hank had always been careful, but now, he was deliberate. He cherished every moment, every laugh, every fleeting touch, knowing how fragile it all was. And when he kissed you, it was with the reverence of a man who had been given a second chance and refused to waste a single breath of it. Because he knew now—life was too short not to love you completely.

Emma Frost (The White Queen)

- Emma Frost was not a woman prone to visible grief. She did not collapse, did not wail, did not crumble into the kind of sorrow that people expected when you died. No—she shattered in ways too quiet for most to notice. Her grief was precise, like the sharp edge of a diamond, embedded so deeply within her that it cut into every thought, every breath, every carefully composed word. She had held you as life drained from you, her telepathy drowning in the deafening, chaotic echoes of your fading mind. And then—silence. A silence that lodged itself within her chest, a silence that never left, no matter how much she pretended otherwise.

- After your death, Emma became colder. The X-Men expected her to lash out, to wield her grief as a weapon, but instead, she withdrew. She occupied herself with Hellfire dealings, mutant diplomacy, anything that required her to be untouchable. But at night, in the stillness of her chambers, she sat in front of a mirror and hated what she saw. She had spent her life convincing the world that she was indestructible—but losing you had proven otherwise. And that, above all else, infuriated her.

- When Krakoa resurrected you, Emma was there, but she did not rush to you as others did. No, she stood at a distance, hands folded, expression unreadable. You turned, met her gaze, and for a moment—just a moment—there was hesitation. Because Emma Frost did not believe in miracles. She believed in power, in consequence, in the unrelenting reality of the world. And yet, here you were. And suddenly, she was moving. Her heels clicked against the ground, and then her hands were on your face, her breath uneven, her mind opening to yours in a desperate, wordless declaration: Do not leave me again.

- That night, she did not sleep. She laid beside you, fingers tracing absentmindedly over your arm, her mind whispering things she would never say aloud. I broke without you. I am not whole without you. You are the only softness I allow myself. And when you finally fell asleep, she watched you, eyes shining in the darkness. For the first time in a year, the silence in her mind was not unbearable.

- Emma Frost did not love lightly, and she certainly did not lose lightly. Now that you were back, she would make sure of one thing—she would never lose you again.

Laura Kinney (X-23)

- Laura Kinney was born into violence, shaped by it, taught to wield it as both armor and weapon. She had seen death, caused death, buried death in the back of her mind as a survival mechanism. But your death—your death was something else entirely. She held you as you bled out, her hands pressed to your wounds, her voice rough as she told you to stay awake, damn it, stay awake. And then—you were gone. Just like that. No enemy she could kill, no battle she could win, no fight to bring you back. And that—that was something Laura didn’t know how to live with.

- After your death, Laura became a ghost of herself. She trained harder, fought longer, threw herself into missions with reckless abandon. Logan warned her, told her she was going to get herself killed, but she just shrugged, expression empty. She didn’t want to die. She just didn’t see much reason to avoid it, either. She stopped talking as much, stopped engaging, stopped pretending she was anything other than a weapon with nothing left to protect.

- And then—Krakoa. When she saw you, standing there, alive, something in her broke. She didn’t think. She just moved, closing the distance in an instant, grabbing your face between her hands, her breath short and sharp. "This isn’t real." But it was. And the moment that realization sank in, Laura collapsed against you, forehead pressed to yours, her fingers trembling as they gripped the fabric of your shirt. "I was supposed to protect you."

- That night, she barely let you out of her sight. Her hands never stopped moving over you—your hair, your arms, your pulse point—constant, silent reassurance that you were here. That she was not losing you again. And when you finally asked her to talk to you, to tell you what had happened after you were gone, she hesitated before whispering, "I don’t know who I was without you."

- Laura had lost many things in her life, but you were the one thing she had never wanted to lose. And now that you were back, she wasn’t sure how to be soft again. But she would try—for you, she would always try.

Wade Wilson (Deadpool)

- Wade Wilson was no stranger to death. He had watched it, dealt it, felt it wrap around him more times than he could count. But when you died? When you gasped your last breath in his arms, your blood seeping into his gloves, your lips barely forming his name before going still? He broke. Not in the way he usually did, not in the way that ended in crude jokes and misplaced laughter. No—this was different. This was quiet. This was Wade Wilson staring down at your lifeless body and realizing that, for the first time in his entire miserable existence, he wanted to die and stay dead.

- After your death, Wade became erratic. More than usual. The jokes became sharper, meaner, too forced even for him. He picked fights he didn’t need to pick, tore through enemies with a desperation that made even Logan pause. But at night, when no one was watching, he sat in the dark, staring at old photos of you, mumbling to himself like a lunatic. "Hey, sweetheart, if you’re out there somewhere—hope you’re laughing at me. Or haunting me. I’d be down for some sexy ghost action. Just—just come back, okay? Joke’s over. You win."

- And then—Krakoa. He didn’t believe it. He refused to believe it. He saw you standing there, looking at him with those same eyes, that same soft expression, and his brain short-circuited. "Oh. Oh, this is a trick. This is a cruel, cruel joke, and I love it. Round of applause to whoever came up with this one!" But then—you touched him. And Wade Wilson—king of wisecracks, champion of bad ideas—stopped breathing.

- He crushed you against him so tightly you almost couldn’t breathe, his body shaking, his mask damp from the wetness gathering beneath it. "You’re back. Holy fing hell, you’re back." He pulled away just enough to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks like he couldn’t believe you were real. And then he laughed. A real, broken, beautiful laugh, pressing frantic, open-mouthed kisses all over your face. "Never do that again, okay? Like, ever. Seriously, babe, I’m fragile."

- Wade Wilson had never been good at keeping the things he loved. They always slipped away, got taken, or left him behind. But now that you were back? He was never letting you go. Ever. And if anyone dared to try? Well. Wade had a very particular set of skills, and he would make sure they never got a second chance.

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kpopscruggles · 9 months ago

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Genre - Smut, nothing but filth

Work count - 2k & some change (of porn)

Warnings - roomate yunho and chubby reader cause that's hot, pwp (kinda), mature language, sexual content (obv), speaks about stealing panties, hints of a wet dream, yunho is obsessed with your body fr, foot kisses, unprotected sex, oral (f reciving)), dry humping grinding, It's just filth, reader is confident in this but talks about an insecure moement.

summary - after a wet dream and yunho waking up with a problem, he simple cant go back to sleep. Seeing you wake up not too long later and talk about a date that went south he realizing he's done. He needs you.

I’ve had him in my head since I went to my ateez concert so I need to shed this, also tell me what you thought.

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He panted; his body close to being drenched in sweat; The only stop was the cotton of his clothes soaking it up. This was the second night this week Yunho had that dream...

The same dream that had been haunting him on and off this month, one week it was all his body and brain could think about, the next week his brain watched you during the day only to think of the perverted scenarios and dream about it the week after that. It was a never-ending cycle that the male could not get rid of. Looking at his phone, he hissed as the screen blinded him “3:05?” he groaned, he was now lying wide awake, still not being able to catch his breath. Eventually he had come to reality, sitting up he let a weak sigh leave his throat before pulling away the comforter and seeing the wet patch of cum in his sweats. He should have known this was going to happen as he began to think about the dream again.

“F-fuck...so big~” He could not help but feel his heart burst like a fragile little virgin, but his body knew what it was doing. His tip a bright hot pink, watching his slit come in perfect alignment with your swollen clit before he began rubbing his cock against it. Your body shuttering at how sensitive you were “Baby please~ just let me have your cock..I need it so bad...” who was he to deny you? Denying you was never an option for him.

He chuckled a little just thinking about it, ‘almost like a puzzle piece’ he thought before groaning and soon combing the hair from his face, coming back to the cold and harsh reality. Finally getting up from his bed he made his way to the shower, the cold one didn’t even suffice for him, but he made it work. Soon he even drank a glass of water as he sat on the couch only for it to take over his thoughts again. It wasn’t till the chime of the dryer from the closet had caught his attention. Quickly getting up he walked to open it, seeing your basket he put the items inside and placed it next to the closet door.

He smiled to himself...he was nothing but proud. At least this time he hadn’t take your panties, yet he reminded himself he hadn’t returned the other ones. Minutes went by, Hours. It wasn't till he looked back into the hallway to see you rubbing your eye as you shut your bedroom door. It was 5 am, why didn't you get your rest?

“What are you doing up?’ your question, that simple question but with your morning voice ached him. “Oh...nothing...just woke up early I guess.” Hearing you chuckle and making yourself your own glass of water before joining him on the couch. Yunho took a deep breath only to hide it with a yawn right after, “you still seem tired....” Hearing your words then watching you gulp the water; he could only reply by shrugging his shoulders.

The short responding but steady conversation went on and on, yet Yunho could only admire you. Your face was so precious. He only heard small mumbles leaving your lips. “Yunho?” you chuckled causing him to snap back. God he really had to stop spacing out....” I’m listening” was all he could respond back with, which he wasn’t. He was just watching. He watched your lips move, how you nibbled on them sometimes, but only after you licked them.

Staring at your lips didn't last long though, once you started turning on the tv to see what late night shows had one more episode before ending, that was his time...

He being the secret pervert he was for you made sure his eyes scaled down. Straight to your breasts, scanning the area he felt his cock twitch seeing your nipples ever so slightly from your tank top, your bits of chub on your upper arm coming together with your chest and you hugged yourself slightly while finding your show to watch. Fuck your tits, his worst enemy, your chest and him had a love hate relationship. How could he love something so much without touching it, or how could he hate it so much, but it gave him an ache in his cock.

Your full and pretty tummy, that was the part of your body he wanted the most. Your stomach made him spin in circles. Thoughts of watching the soft fat jiggle ever so slightly as he’d bury his cock in your cunt. The thought of gripping it, rubbing it, spilling his cum on it. Yunho felt sick to his stomach but only because he continued to think about how he wanted you.

He could keep going, your legs, your thigh thighs, your cunt. Oh god your cunt...knowing behind those cute little sleep shorts was your cute chubby pussy. Knowing it was currently sitting nice and cute in your panties, in his mind it was just gushing and waiting for his cock. The thoughts of your pussy only inches from his face, placing kisses on your plush hood before stuffing his head in you. He knew you would taste so sweet.

“Oh, I didn’t tell you, that date went awful.” you added and that made his heart hurt a little. “I think he didn’t realize how big I was, which his loss, I’ll just have to find a man who can handle me....” Yunho could handle you; he knew he could. Letting out a sigh he relaxed on the couch before watching you stretch your legs where they rested on his lap. He debated.... Should he admit this?

“What do you think, when you think of a guy who can handle you?” he questioned before clearing his throat to try and conceal the nervous gulp he just did. His hands rested on your ankle while playing with the small star charm on your anklet before feeling the butterflies in his stomach hearing your small chuckle. Seeing you nibble on your bottom lip as you watched him fumble with the charm. Seeing you think he smiled a little, he knew you had a certain idea in your mind. He could tell you were thinking about saying something risky.

Glancing at your pretty manicured feet he then looked up once you spoke “I want a man who wouldn’t treat me any different than if I was a skinny girl, I want to be loved like that...I'm confident don't get me wrong, but sometimes I have my moments....” he watched you sigh. “Like I dressed up for that man, I got confident enough to wear a cute tight dress just for him to see my fat and get disgusted, I guess....” Seeing you get so venerable, his poor baby. He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to show you he loved you.

“I loved you in that dress...” he added before rubbing your ankle and taking a glance at you. “I thought you looked so fucking good...” seeing you smile a little he couldn't. He watched your chest heave a little, he was practically doing the same, matching his breathing with yours. “And yes, I mean it...” he added simply. He couldn't take it no more, he had to have you.

His cock growing a mind of its own, his tip already begging to be inside you. Pushing himself to that limit of holding on long enough. Using his last bit of energy, he made sure he placed himself between your thighs. Hish hands attached to your lips; his body pressed against yours. Feeling your nipples grow hard against his chest. Looking you in the eyes only for a second before attaching his lips to yours. Hearing your small moan but accept his lips just made his cock twitch in a way he could never describe.

His cock begging to have some friction before it explodes, his only option was to begin grinding against you. “Y-Yunho~” fuck you sounded so sweet to him, hearing you moan his name almost made him so nervous he got sick. Just by those few reactions, he knew you were his, he couldn’t let you go no matter who or what was told to him. The wet patch of your shorts began reaching through his sweat. Your sticky precum causing your shorts to stick to your cunt as he lifted his hips just enough to peek.

His rutted his hips closer, the pressure on your cunt from the weight of his lower half. His lips attached back to your neck, sucking the darkest shades of purple on your neck. “Gonna..ngh...Yunho I’m gonna cum~” your whimpers rang through his ears. His hips only got faster, you could barely hear him reply “Me too~” but you could hear his moans, he knew you did. Hearing the shaking gasp leave you and the way your nails dug into his skin he could tell you had come. Such a simple yet so sweet release.

His hips shuttered feeling the spurts of cum fill his boxers, a groan leaving his lips while he bit on your collarbone. Taking a deep breath, he hissed slightly once lifting his hips to reveal the sick mess between you two. “I can't get enough of you~ I have to cum in you baby, will you let me? Please say..please say yes...” he added, still trying to catch his breath. Seeing you nod, he knew that he was gone.

Sitting up completely he helped you remove your clothes piece by piece before scarring to remove his. Watching the sticky substance glisten on your cunt after he removed your shorts...gripping your leg he immediately started placing kissed on your ankle, slowly moving up your leg. He was so eager enough, but he had to let you know how badly he wanted to make you feel good and cherish what you were giving to him. Seeing your face flushed, your hands gripping the sofa pillow under your head to try and keep yourself grounded. You looked so precious.

Dipping his head down to your cunt he groaned slight, letting out a breath and watching you shiver from it touching your clit. Your pussy was so much better to see in real time, he struck. The way he imagined it through your shorts. The sticky cum covering your pussy completely, looking up at you one last time before running his tongue over your hood, take the soft fat into his mouth licking the thin layer of cum from it.

Hearing a pant leave your lips he groaned to himself once pulling away “I've always wanted to have you in my mouth...do you think I could be the only man to love this pussy after this?” he smirked a little before spreading your cunt. Watching your pussy lips gently pull apart, strings of cum soon disappearing the further spread. He sighed again seeing the small hole almost overflowing with the creamy substance that was gushing from you. “Your pussy is so pretty~ Why are you so fucking tempting...” he whispered the last bit to himself.

Scooping his hands around your thighs he soon had you locked to him. His lips immediately attaching to your clit. Feeling his tongue push past the opening of your outer cunt, his tongue slowly circling your clit. “F..feels so nice~” Your hands running through his hair before pushing his head deeper into your cunt. Your actions showing him you begged for more. He had to give you more.

Removing his arms from your thighs, one arm running up your body, caressing your tummy before his large hand gripped your breast, running his hands over your nipple. His free hand moving to your cunt, slender fingers slowly pushing past your hole, your gummy walls swallowing his two fingers. He could feel your lips tightening around him, your cunt getting warmer and wetter with each thrust his fingers gave.

He could tell from the shaking of your hips that you were close. Enjoying himself in his own little world in your cunt, he could feel himself someone processing your release once the small begs left your lips. “Yunho~” You whispered, “Fuck Yunho~” It got louder “UGH FUCK~!” Hearing your cry leave you brought him back to reality. Your hips bucking as he pulled his fingers from you revealing the cum before he sucked them clean.

Sitting himself up again he watched his cock, the precum oozing from his tip. A drip even falling onto your hood making you both chuckle softly. Seeing your hand come into view, it wrapped around his cock pumping it only a couple times. That dream now feeling like Deja vu once he seen his slit shape to your clit like a puzzle piece. But the Deja vu only lasted for a moment until you pushed his tip into you.

A small whimper leaving him, he never felt that in his dream. Bottoming his cock into you he chuckled softly hearing your moan and the small squelch from how wet you were. Pulling out completely it only took a deep breath before shoving his cock back into you. “I can’t wait to give you my cum~.” His hips slowly started rocking but that wasn’t enough for his baby as you softly began begging for more.

He picked up his pace, the small smacking sound echoed in the living room. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” He groaned with every thrust he made. Your loud cries being his motivation to go deeper. Watching you lift your legs, placing your feet on his chest, your gold anklet bouncing with each thrust he made. Your chub jiggling along with your breast, if he didn't find a distraction soon, he was a goner.

Immediately he took your ankle giving it a couple wet kisses before admiring your pretty feet by taking your toe into his mouth, sucking on it slightly to muffle his filthy moans. Your free leg dropping to his side giving him back the clear view of his cock disappearing in your cunt. “So big baby so fucking big!” Your cried before looking up at him, your eyes barely open as you tried not to tightly screw them shut.

“A-all for you baby!” he muffled before gently removing your toe and going back to kissing your ankle. “This cock is all yours! My c-cum is all yours! SHIT!” He groaned feeling tour cervix kiss his tip with each go, and he knew he was about to cum. “I'm gonna cum princess!” Your leg now pushed against your chest, and he leaned down to place his forehead against yours “Gonna fill up this fat pussy~ ngh! S-show you how bad I love you, how I can't-fuck~ how I can-not go a day without you!”

Your cunt sucking him in, begging for his cum. He could not hold it. His stomach dropped; his thighs covered in cum shivering as he plunged into your leaking pussy. The creamy substance done formed a ring around his cock, that sigh was the last straw. One more deep thrust before his warm load filled your insides. The shakey sighs leaving his lips before a choked gasp left him as he felt you cover his cock in your cum.

Your sticky bodies holding each other tight, the suction from your cunt almost stopping him from pulling away. Soon giving in he let out a whimper before he pulled his cock away from you. A small chuckle leaving the both of you before he gave in giving you a kiss “F-feel free to use me whenever you want. I’m yours like I said” he added making you smile “I think we're gonna be closer than just roommates who fuck..” A flush formed on his face before giving you another kiss and just nodded. He had no problems with that.

#ateez smut #ateez hard hours #ateez hard thoughts #ateez yunho smut #ateez yunho hard hours #ateez yunho hard thoughts #jeong yunho smut #jeong yunho hard hours #jeong yunho hard thoughts #yunho smut #yunho hard hours #yunho hard thoughts #yunho x chubby reader #ateez x chubby reader

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elikajinnie · 4 months ago

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Shadowed Desires - S.J

P: Dead By Daylight Killer!Jake X Survivor!Reader (recommended age 17+)

Warnings: Murder, Obsession, Touchy & Needy Behaviour, Blood/Injury, touch starved jake lol.

Synopsis: A new killer is made of darkness—and now he has his eyes set on you, and he wants to swallow you whole, pulling you to him. After all, darkness always consumes what it wants, leaving nothing but emptiness behind. And soon, you’ll be lost to it.

a/n: finally done with this series :3 i kinda dont like this? idk.. maybe ill delete it.

heeseungs vers sunghoon vers jay vers

Ever since the Entity dragged you into its twisted realm, you’d never really had the time—or the chance—to initiate much of anything with the other survivors. There wasn’t room for hugs, no moments for cuddling, and certainly no stolen kisses. Not that you had any romantic connections with any of them, but even something as simple as touch felt like a forgotten luxury.

And the killers? That was out of the question. They were designed to hurt you, to hunt you, to bring pain and death for the Entity’s satisfaction. Over and over, you’d all return to the camp after each trial, alive and unscathed. Unharmed physically, sure, but it all felt meaningless. Same routines. Same outcomes. Same exhausting loop.

Time didn’t matter here. Physical affection didn’t matter. Your feelings? They mattered least of all. Everything was irrelevant in this place. The same cycle, over and over and over again.

It was tiring, to be honest—so quiet yet so endlessly exhausting.

The only reprieve you ever got from the monotony was when a new survivor or killer arrived. For a fleeting moment, it felt like something had shifted, like maybe this new presence could disrupt the cycle. But it never lasted.

The new survivor always followed the same pattern. At first, they’d be terrified, trembling and frantic, trying to grasp the horror of what they’d been thrown into. You’d try to comfort them, maybe offer some kind words, but even that felt hollow. In time, they’d come to understand—just like you had—that there was no escape. Their fear would dull into resignation, their hope smothered by the truth of the Entity’s realm.

As for the killers, they brought a brief curiosity. The camp would buzz with whispered speculations about their abilities, their quirks, their story. But after a few trials, it was always the same. They were there for one purpose: to hunt, to kill, to please the Entity. The only “excitement” they brought was in figuring out how their power worked, what perks they wielded, and how best to survive their hunt. Once that was done, they became just another part of the endless cycle.

Even the killers, as terrifying as they were, eventually became predictable. A face you’d recognize in the fog. A pattern of movement. A strategy you’d seen a hundred times before.

And so, the moments of change you’d cling to at first inevitably folded back into the same unending routine. Nothing really changed here. Not the faces, not the feelings, not the futility of it all. It was a crushing realization every time: no matter who arrived, no matter what was added, this place was always the same.

So you could never expect it to actually change. Change wasn’t something the Entity offered much of. It wasn’t what it thrived on. Yet, on that trial, something did.

It started out the same as always. You were sitting by the fire, exchanging a conversation with Nancy. Then the fog crept in, curling at the edges of your vision, and you were called into a trial. Business as usual. You didn’t expect anything different. Why would you?

But as soon as you dropped into the trial, you knew something was off.

The air was cold, biting at your skin like needles. The ground beneath your feet was hard and uneven made of ancient stone and disturbed earth. The faint sound of whispers filled the air, just on the edge of hearing, coming from nowhere and everywhere all at once. You turned, scanning your surroundings, and realized you were in a catacomb.

But this wasn’t the Plague’s temple catacombs, with their decaying walls and pools of disease. This was something… different.

The walls were lined with endless rows of forgotten graves, the cracked stone engraved with faded names you couldn’t read. Shadowy tendrils slithered along the edges of the halls, moving unnaturally, almost as if they were alive. You froze as one of them stretched toward you, curling in the air like it was reaching, calling.

Yeah, no, this wasn’t just a new map—it was something entirely foreign.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you began to move, navigating the labyrinthine hallways of the catacomb. The silence here wasn’t the usual quiet; it was alive, buzzing with whispers and the faint scraping of unseen movements. Every step you took echoed, the sound bouncing off the cracked walls around you.

You passed by what might have been burial chambers long ago, their occupants disturbed and forgotten. The floor was littered with debris—shattered stone, splintered wood, and dried remnants of things you didn’t want to name. You kept moving, your eyes darting for the faintest glimmer of light or safety, but all you found were more hallways, more graves, and the ever-present shadows, shifting as if they were watching your every move.

Something about this place felt wrong, even by the Entity’s standards.

You eventually found your way out of the endless labyrinth of tunnels and into a larger chamber. The ceiling loomed high above you, shrouded in darkness so thick it seemed to swallow the dim, flickering light of the torches lining the walls. At the center of the room was an altar, its surface cracked and weathered with age. Surrounding it were pools of… shadows?

They didn’t look like water or any other liquid you’d seen before. They rippled and shifted, alive with an unnatural energy that made your skin crawl. Occasionally, tendrils of darkness stretched out from the pools, writhing as if searching for something.

You approached cautiously, your footsteps hesitant and quiet, unwilling to draw attention to yourself. The shadows seemed to pulse in time with your movements, almost as if they were aware of you. You stopped a few feet away from the altar, your breath catching in your throat.

This map relied solely on shadows—that much was clear. The tendrils, the pools, even the way the hallways seemed to twist and shift in the dark—it all pointed to one thing.

If your theory was right, this possible new killer worked through these shadows.

Your heart pounded as you tried to piece it together. What could their power be? Could they travel through the shadows? Use them to attack from a distance? Or maybe they could manipulate the darkness to obscure your vision, making it impossible to see them coming.

The thought sent a chill down your spine.

A sudden movement to your left made you freeze. One of the shadowy tendrils shot out from a nearby pool, lashing toward the ground before retreating. You took a step back, your instincts screaming at you to run.

But just then you heard it—a low, guttural sound that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. It wasn’t quite a growl, nor was it a voice. It was something in between, echoing from the shadows themselves.

You looked around, confused, your heart pounding in your chest as the low sound faded into the shadows. Suddenly, a scream tore through the silence, sharp and gut-wrenching, and it was close—too close. You barely had time to react before David bolted down the hallway in front of you, clutching his shoulder, blood seeping through his fingers.

Your eyes widened as something sharp whizzed past him. Then another, and another. Shurikens? You blinked, trying to process what you were seeing. Shurikens weren’t part of any killer’s arsenal you’d ever faced.

Oh no.

Your stomach sank as a shadow suddenly surged down the hallway after David, swift and silent, like it was gliding through the air. Then, abruptly, the figure halted, the movement unnatural, as if the darkness itself commanded it to stop. And it did—right in front of you.

You froze.

The figure loomed in the dim light, draped in a tattered cloak that billowed as if caught in a phantom wind. The hood obscured its face, leaving you to stare at the faint, shifting tendrils of shadows that coiled around its form. It didn’t seem to touch the ground, its entire body hovering just slightly above it, giving it an almost otherworldly presence.

And then it turned.

The motion was smooth, almost too calm. The killer’s body shifted toward you, and with a deliberate motion, they raised their hands and pulled back the hood.

You gasped.

The killer was… handsome. Not in the way that made you feel safe—far from it. There was something dangerous to his features, the curve of his lips, the way his black, curly hair framed his face. His dark eyes seemed to bore into you, unreadable and endless, as if the shadows themselves were staring back at you.

And the shadows—they clung to him, crawling over his form like a living entity, their movements fluid. It was like he wasn’t just using the darkness; he was the darkness.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. The way he tilted his head, the faint smirk curling at the edge of his lips—it was enough to send a shiver down your spine. His eyes burned with a confidence, as if he already knew how this chase would end.

You didn’t wait to find out.

Your legs moved before your mind could catch up, adrenaline surging as you turned and sprinted down the nearest hallway. The air seemed heavier, as you weaved through the twisting corridors, the faint whispers around you rising to an almost deafening hum.

Behind you, you could hear him. His movements were unnervingly quiet, save for the occasional sound of something cutting through the air—shurikens.

The first one hit the wall to your right, chipping the stone. Another whizzed past your shoulder, so close you could feel the sharp breeze as it sailed by.

“Shit,” you hissed under your breath, ducking as another one flew, this time grazing your arm. The sting was immediate, sharp and hot, but you couldn’t stop.

You rounded a corner, your heart pounding in your chest, only to find yourself in yet another dimly lit hallway. The shadows seemed to thicken here, almost as if they were conspiring with the killer to slow you down. You felt another shuriken hit, this one embedding itself into your side. Pain flared, and you stumbled, but you caught yourself against the wall and kept moving.

The whispers seemed to echo his movements, warning you of his approach—or maybe taunting you. You didn’t know, and you didn’t care.

You spotted a doorway ahead, partially obscured by hanging tendrils of shadow. Without thinking, you dove through it, emerging into a larger chamber filled with more of those rippling pools of darkness. You hesitated for half a second, scanning the room for a way out, but the faint sound behind you pushed you forward.

Your breaths came in sharp, ragged gasps as you darted toward another hallway, the pain in your side making every movement harder. Still, you couldn’t stop—not with him so close.

And then, just as you thought you might have gained some distance, the whispers around you changed, their tone shifting to something more urgent. You glanced over your shoulder and saw him again, emerging from the shadows as if they had carried him forward.

Your chest heaved, each breath burning as you pushed your body. The pain in your side was relentless, but you couldn’t stop. Not with him so close. The whispers grew louder, their eerie tones twisting in your ears like warnings—or mockery.

Then, just ahead, you saw movement. Another survivor.

It was Meg. She was crouched near a wall, her eyes scanning the hallway with the practiced vigilance of someone who had done this a thousand times before. When she spotted you barreling toward her, her expression shifted from confusion to alarm.

You skidded to a stop beside her, clutching your side, and for a brief moment, the two of you just stared at each other.

Then her gaze shifted behind you, and her eyes widened.

You didn’t need to turn around to know what she saw. You could feel him behind you. Slowly, you turned your head, eyes locking on the figure now standing at the end of the hallway.

The killer didn’t rush. He didn’t need to. Instead, he tilted his head again, his eyes darted between the two of you. Shadows coiled at his feet, slithering across the ground like living things, eager to obey his command.

Meg let out a low, shaky breath. “Great. A new one.”

“No kidding,” you muttered, gripping your side as you tried to steady your breathing.

For a moment, the three of you stood there, the tension suffocating. The killer took a slow, deliberate step forward, his eyes narrowing as his hand dipped into the shadows, drawing out another shuriken.

“Run?” you suggested, your voice tight with fear.

Meg nodded. “Run.”

Without another word, you both bolted in opposite directions, hoping to split his attention. The sound of the whispers surged again, almost laughing as the chase began anew.

The sound of pounding footsteps faded, and the whispering shadows seemed to hold their breath, the air still for a moment. You paused, chest heaving, your mind racing as you took a quick glance over your shoulder. The hallway was empty now, the killer’s presence a lingering weight in the air.

You didn’t hear Meg’s scream, but you knew—he had gone after her. She’d made the right call, though, splitting the attention. That gave you a fleeting moment of silence.

You took a cautious step forward, listening intently for any sounds—footsteps, whispers, anything—but there was nothing. Not yet, at least. The only thing you could hear was your own breath, ragged and desperate.

You turned down another hallway and spotted it in the distance: the soft, flickering light of a generator.

You approached cautiously, glancing around, but there was no sign of the killer. The shadows were quiet, as though they were waiting for the next move, for the next victim.

You kneeled beside the generator, fingers trembling as you placed them on the rusted panels. Slowly, you began to turn the wheel, starting the repair. Every sound felt amplified—the grinding of the metal, the slight whir of the mechanism turning on. You glanced up every few seconds, just in case, but the silence continued to stretch on.

You kept working, the dull hum of the generator filling the space. The weight of the shadows seemed to recede for now, but you knew it wouldn’t last long. You had to finish the repair.

The seconds stretched into minutes as you twisted the dials, forcing your hands to move quickly despite the sting of your injuries. You could feel the tension rising again, the unease gnawing at your gut. Would the killer come back for you next? Would Meg be okay?

The repair progress bar finally clicked, the generator sputtering to life with a low rumble. You breathed a small sigh of relief, your pulse still racing. One down.

But the moment of peace was fleeting. The whispers had started again—soft, but unmistakable. And then you heard it. A sound far too familiar.

The soft clink of a shuriken spinning through the air.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you froze by the sharp sound of something slicing through the air. You didn’t even need to turn around to know what it was.

The shuriken flew past you with a deadly precision, missing your side by mere inches, the breeze it created a chilling reminder of the danger.

Without wasting a second, you pushed yourself up, your body reacting instinctively. You didn’t wait to see if another one was coming—you ran.

You sprinted down the hallway, the shadows closing in around you as the whispers grew louder, more urgent. Every step echoed in the narrow, darkened corridor, and you swore you could almost hear him moving with you, just behind, just out of sight.

A quick glance over your shoulder revealed the faint silhouette of him slipping through the darkness, the shadows swarming around his feet like tendrils, moving in perfect unison with him.

You took a sharp turn, heading toward another corridor, hoping to throw him off. Another shuriken whizzed by, the sound sharp and deadly as it embedded itself in the wall just inches from your face.

You didn’t stop.

You could hear him now—closer, his breath, heavy and echoing in the quiet between the whispers, and the realization hit you hard: you had no choice but to outrun him. And somehow, you had to survive long enough to make it out.

But you couldn’t keep running. Not anymore.

The shurikens hit you, one after another, each strike sharp and unforgiving. Pain bloomed in your side, your leg, your shoulder—each wound adding to the weight of exhaustion dragging you down. You stumbled, your legs failing to keep up with your frantic pace, and then, with a sickening lurch, you fell to the ground.

You groaned, struggling to push yourself up, but the world spun and your vision blurred. The cold, dark floor beneath you felt unyielding as you fought to regain your bearings, only for a shadow to loom over you.

You turned your head, half expecting him to pick you up and toss you over his shoulder like you were nothing, to drag you away to whatever horrific fate awaited you.

But he didn’t.

He stood there, hovering, his dark eyes studying you as you laid on the cold floor. For a moment, you both just stared at each other, the air thick with anticipation.

And then, something shifted.

The shadowy tendrils that seemed to be an extension of him reached out, their touch as cold as ice. They wrapped around you with an unnatural strength, pulling you toward him with surprising force.

You gasped as your back collided with his chest, the sudden closeness making your heart race even faster.

His breath was warm against your neck, a wide contrast to the cold tendrils that still clung to you.

Then you heard it.

A sharp, quiet gasp from behind you.

You turned your head to see the killer, his gaze fixed on you with something… different. Shock? Confusion?

And then, almost to himself, he muttered, “How can I touch you?”

The words hung in the air, confusing you further. What was he talking about?

Before you could react, you felt his arms wrap around you—no, not his arms, but something else. Something... different. His arms seemed translucent, like they were made of smoke or mist, flickering in and out of existence as they moved around your body.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as the realization sank in—his arms weren’t fully there. They looked see-through, like they didn’t belong to a solid, tangible person at all.

The killer, too, seemed shocked. His eyes widened, his expression flickering with something you couldn’t quite read. His arms—ghostly, ethereal—were now fully wrapped around you, but when his skin made contact with yours, it felt… strange.

His gasp was barely audible, but it was there, a breathless sound that caught in his throat. For a moment, neither of you moved.

You could feel the heat of his body against yours, yet his touch felt distant—disconnected, like he was struggling to truly reach you.

Before you could fully process what was happening, the killer suddenly moved with startling speed, twirling you around so that you were now facing him. Your breath caught in your throat as you found yourself pressed against his chest, his arms locking around you in a firm hold.

You tried to push against him, to break free, but his grip was unyielding, making it impossible to move. He held you there, his face mere inches from yours, his eyes wide with something that looked like desperation and something about it that made you feel uneasy, yet… compelled to stay. His gaze roamed over your face, his breath quick and shallow as he muttered to himself.

"How is this possible?" His voice was barely a whisper, thick with confusion and awe. His fingers gently traced along your arm, but the touch felt as though his skin were made of mist, like he couldn’t fully reach you. Still, he continued, more to himself than you, his words tumbling out in a frantic murmur.

"How are you… different?"

You couldn’t take it any longer. His behavior was maddening, and your own confusion and fear were bubbling over. You snapped, your voice cutting through the tense silence.

"What do you mean?"

The killer’s eyes flickered to yours, a brief flash of hesitation before he answered, the words tumbling out as if he hadn’t meant to speak them at all.

“I can’t touch any of the survivors,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost as if he were ashamed of the admission. “Or any of the other killers. I go right through them… like i’m nothing but air. But with you…” He trailed off, staring at you as if trying to make sense of the impossible.

With you… you felt a chill run down your spine as his words sank in. He could actually hold you. He wasn’t phasing through you like he had with everyone else.

"Why?" His voice was barely above a whisper, a tremor of disbelief in it. "Why can I touch you?"

The weight of the question hung in the air between you, leaving a profound silence in its wake. You wanted to say something, anything, but you found yourself at a loss for words. How could you even begin to understand what was happening? How could he be so confounded by his own existence?

Before you could process what he had just said, something shifted in his demeanor. His tense body seemed to perk up, a sudden awareness flashing in his eyes. You followed his gaze, confused, only to hear it—soft at first, then steadily growing louder—the hum of a completed generator in the distance.

The killer’s eyes flickered toward you for a brief moment, a look of determination flashing in his gaze. Then, without warning, he released you from his hold, but his hands didn’t leave you completely. He tugged you toward the shadows with surprising force, and before you could react, he whispered under his breath, barely audible over the whispering darkness.

“I’ll be back for you.”

His voice was intense, almost pleading, as though he couldn’t quite comprehend the gravity of the words himself. Then, in one swift motion, the shadows on the wall seemed to come to life, curling and twisting, reaching for you like a living entity.

And just like that, the shadows wrapped around you, pulling you in with terrifying force.

You gasped, trying to scream or fight back, but it was useless. The shadows enveloped you entirely, suffocating your every movement. You couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, and before you could make sense of what was happening you were no longer standing on solid ground. Your body was floating, suspended in the air. There was no floor beneath you, no walls to guide you. The space around you was entirely dark, a suffocating blackness that seemed to stretch on forever.

You could feel the cold tendrils of the shadows curling around you, clinging to your body, holding you in place as whispers and giggles echoed all around you. The voices were indistinct at first, but they grew clearer, their tones twisted, mocking, and strangely gleeful. It was as if the shadows themselves were alive, sentient, and they were toying with you.

You felt your heart race, your chest tightening as panic set in. You could move, but only slightly, your body caught in the strange limbo.

You struggled, trying to break free, but the shadows only tightened their hold, their tendrils wrapping around you like chains, keeping you suspended in this endless dark void. And all the while, you could sense it—the presence of the killer, somewhere in the distance, maybe watching, maybe waiting.

He’d said he’d be back for you. But what would happen when he returned?

Time seemed to stretch in the endless void, your body suspended and held by the unyielding shadows. The whispers and giggles continued to swirl around you, but the longer you hung there, the more you became accustomed to the presence, as unsettling as it was. Still, you couldn’t shake the sense of anticipation—the knowing that eventually, he would return.

And when he did, you felt it before you saw him.

The shadows that had once clung to you so tightly and suffocating suddenly slackened. You were no longer held by their chilling tendrils; instead, you felt a warm presence behind you. It was as if his body had materialized from the darkness itself, his form pressing against you, pulling you close.

His arms were solid now, no longer transparent like before, and his breath was shallow as he held you, his touch so much more real than anything you had felt in what seemed like an eternity. The weight of his body against yours, the heat from his chest, the steadiness of his breath as he looked at you…

For a moment, neither of you moved, just breathing, existing in that shared space. His eyes, dark and wide, locked onto yours with such intensity that it almost felt like he could see into you, as though he understood you in a way no one else ever had.

He caressed your skin gently, his fingers trailing along your arm and then your face, as if memorizing every inch of you. His touch was tender as if he were afraid to break something fragile—something precious.

You didn’t know if it was the long and lonely time you spent, the isolation and fear that had dulled your senses, or if it was simply him, but you didn’t resist. There was something about the way he looked at you, something about the way he touched you, that made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t felt in so long.

His fingers ghosted over your lips, brushing them softly before trailing down your neck, his gaze following every movement with rapt attention. His touch was unlike anything you had ever known—careful, intimate, as if you were something he couldn’t let slip away.

No one had ever looked at you like he did. No one had ever touched you with this kind of gentleness. And no one had ever whispered to you the way he was now, words so soft and soothing, it was almost as if he was trying to comfort you.

“You’re real,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe and something else you couldn’t quite place. His lips brushed your ear as he continued, “You’re not like them.”

His words wrapped around you like a blanket, soothing your anxieties, even as they left you with more questions. You wanted to ask, to demand answers, but somehow, in that moment, all you could do was let him continue, to feel the care in his touch and the sincerity in his gaze.

For a fleeting moment, you were no longer a survivor, no longer someone just trying to escape. You were something else, something he was willing to hold, to cherish in this twisted, dark world that seemed to offer nothing but pain.

And it was terrifying. Because you didn’t know what it meant. You didn’t know what was happening, what was real anymore.

But none of that mattered. Because in his arms, you felt something you hadn’t in a long time—a connection.

The moment stretched in the strange, suffocating stillness of the shadowy realm, but soon enough, the air around you shifted. The shadows that had clung to you like a second skin began to stir, moving in ways that made the atmosphere feel thick.

The killer’s eyes snapped toward the shadows, his expression darkening. He muttered something under his breath, something sharp and frustrated. A curse, perhaps? Whatever it was, it was enough to snap him into action.

Without warning, he pulled you with him, his strong arms gripping you firmly as he yanked both of you out of the shadows. The darkness that had enveloped you receded as you were dragged back onto solid ground, the familiar, grounding feeling of the catacombs’ floors beneath your feet.

Even as your feet touched the ground, he didn’t let go of you. His hold on you tightened, his body pressed close to yours, as if he feared you might slip away again. You glanced up at him in confusion, but he said nothing, simply continuing to walk, his pace steady, the urgency in his movements palpable.

His grip never wavered, and the shadows around you seemed to retreat, leaving you with nothing but the sound of your footsteps echoing through the silence of the map. You didn’t know where he was taking you, but you didn’t dare question it. Not now, not with the strange bond that seemed to have formed between you.

As you walked, you spotted something familiar in front of you. The hatch. You couldn’t quite believe it, but there it was, just ahead of you. The familiar shape, the light flickering from within—the hatch.

Your heart skipped a beat as the realization hit you: You were somehow the last survivor left? How had that happened? When did that happen?

You looked at the hatch, then back at him, your mind racing with a thousand questions. The world seemed to freeze for a moment as your gazes locked. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes said it all—he was waiting.

Slowly, his hand moved to your cheek, his fingers brushing against your skin with a tenderness that was almost unbearable in its intensity. His face was close now, and you could feel his breath against your lips as he leaned in, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips in a way that made your breath hitch.

He didn’t say anything at first, but then, in a voice so low and desperate, it sent a shiver through you, he muttered, “Please... don’t run from me next time.” His words were a plea, a aching cry from someone who didn’t seem to know what to do with the feelings he was experiencing.

You could only nod, stunned, still trying to process everything that had happened. The weight of his words settled over you, and for a moment, everything seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you.

Without another word, he brushed your hair away from your face, his fingers lingering just a moment too long, as if reluctant to let go. Then, as though he had made up his mind, he gently lowered you toward the hatch.

You felt the soft, unexpected drop, and before you knew it, you were tumbling through the entrance.

A wave of warmth washed over you as you fell, as your wounds and the scratches healed. The pain, the exhaustion, everything vanished, leaving you feeling as though you had never been touched by the chaos of the trials at all.

You landed softly, the familiar sight of the survivor camp filling your vision. The flickering of the campfires, the distant chatter of the others, the comfortable hum of life returning to normal…

But something had changed.

You had returned to the camp, yes, but not in the same way as before. Something about your connection with the killer lingered, something that couldn’t be undone, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. The shadows were still there, somewhere within you, calling to you.

It took a total of five trials before you found yourself back on his map. This time, however, something was different.

The moment you dropped into the trial, the shadows on the walls didn’t feel suffocating. No, this time, they seemed to welcome you. The familiar whispers that usually chilled your spine were replaced with something… lighter. Almost playful. Giggles danced around you like echoes in the distance, as if the shadows themselves were delighted by your arrival.

You looked around, trying to make sense of your surroundings. The environment felt different, more open. You weren’t in the catacombs this time. Instead, you were standing in the center of an open chapel. The stone floor beneath you was cracked, worn by time, but the space itself felt strangely sacred.

Above you, the remnants of a collapsed dome hung precariously, the shattered stained-glass windows glinting in the dim light. The shards of glass were scattered across the floor like fractured pieces of a long-lost memory, reflecting faint flashes of color from the soft light that filtered in from above. It was a beautiful sight, even in its ruin. The chapel was a hauntingly perfect contrast—so full of potential, yet broken, like everything else in this world.

But you couldn’t focus on the surroundings for long. The atmosphere felt… different. It was as if you were being watched, but not in the usual way. The giggles, the whispers—they didn’t hold the same weight of threat as before. Instead, they were more like a gentle invitation, teasing you, drawing you in. It felt like the shadows were beckoning you, urging you to stay, to explore.

You had a feeling—no, a certainty—that this trial would be unlike the others.

You glanced around the chapel, the giggles of the shadows still echoing faintly in your ears. It was strange—this quiet sense of calm that had settled over the place. The air felt thick, yet there was no immediate threat. For the first time since you’d entered, you allowed yourself a brief moment of focus, and that's when you spotted it.

In the corner, tucked away amidst the broken pews and cracked stone, was a generator. You couldn't believe it at first, but there it was, its faint hum calling you towards it. Without thinking, you made your way over to it, the sound of your footsteps reverberating softly against the chapel's walls.

When you reached it you didn’t hesitate. You kneeled beside the generator and got to work, fingers deftly turning the dials and adjusting the levers, your mind oddly focused. There was something almost peaceful in the process, a rhythm you’d become familiar with in the trials. As you worked, the air around you seemed to settle, and you couldn’t help but feel as though someone was watching you, encouraging you.

It wasn’t long before you heard it. The unmistakable sound of your heartbeat growing louder and a familiar shiver ran up your spine. The shadows seemed to grow darker, more pronounced, as the figure appeared at the edge of your vision.

You didn’t need to look to know who it was. His gaze, though unseen, was like a weight on your back, pulling your attention toward him, and you could feel it—his gaze—drawn to you, to the way you were moving, to the delicate process of repairing the generator.

For a moment, you thought you heard him chuckle softly, the sound of it lingering in the air like a haunting melody.

Eventually the generator clicked into place with a soft, satisfying hum, signaling that it was finally working. You stood up, brushing off your hands, only when you turned around you saw that the killer was standing far too close for comfort. His dark eyes seemed to be watching you with an intensity that made your heart race, and before you could react, he moved.

In a swift motion, he reached out and pulled you into him. His body was firm against yours, and yet strangely gentle. The suddenness of the contact took your breath away, and you found yourself trapped within the circle of his arms, the warmth of his body radiating through you, as if he was desperate to hold you, to keep you close.

His breath brushed against your ear as he nuzzled into your neck, his presence consuming you, the shadows around you seeming to swirl tighter, more alive, as though they, too, were eager to wrap around you. The giggles in the distance faded, replaced by the steady sound of his breath, his chest rising and falling beneath your hands as you tried to steady yourself.

You didn’t resist. You couldn’t. The way he held you felt oddly familiar, like a part of you that had been missing for far too long had finally found its place. And his touch, though a little colder than it should have been, was still comforting in a way you couldn’t explain.

The killer’s fingers gently threaded through your hair, his touch delicate, as if he were afraid of hurting you. He nuzzled closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his voice barely a whisper against your skin. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” he murmured, his words almost like a confession, a desperate plea.

The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy and vulnerable, and your heart stuttered in your chest. The shadows around you seemed to respond to his emotions, curling and shifting as if they were reflecting his mood.

You didn’t know what to say, or if you even could.

You tried to pull away, a desperate need for some breathing room overtaking you. The closeness of his body was overwhelming. His grip tightened in response, pulling you back against him with a sense of urgency, as though letting go wasn’t an option for him.

“No,” he whispered, his voice low and thick with something you couldn’t place, “don’t pull away.” The plea was buried in his tone leaving you with no choice but to stay close.

He clung to you desperately, his hands tracing the lines of your back, the shadows around you thickening, as though they, too, were unwilling to release you. His breath was warm against your ear as he spoke again, each word drenched in an almost reverent tone.

“You’re… you’re a blessing,” he murmured, his voice trembling with something you hadn’t heard from him before. “The Entity has blessed me with you, brought you to me.”

You froze, the words sinking into you like an anchor, pulling you deeper into his embrace. You wanted to ask him to explain, to make sense of it all, but the way he held you so tightly, so desperately, made it impossible to think clearly.

“Don’t leave me,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t lose you. You are too special for me now.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, the confusion and disbelief clouding your thoughts. But the rawness in his voice, the way he clung to you as if you were the last thing that mattered in this twisted world, made you hesitate.

You couldn’t pull away, not with the way he held you, not with the whispers of the shadows wrapping around you like a cocoon. For a moment, you didn’t know if you were trapped or saved.

He eventually slowly pulled away, though his hands lingered on your arms for a moment, almost as if he wasn’t quite ready to let go. You were left standing there, your breath shaky, your heart racing, as he took a step back.

His eyes were focused on you, softer than they’d ever been. You noticed a shift in them, something you hadn’t seen before—puppy eyes, as if he were pleading with you in the quietest way possible. The shadows around you seemed to quiet down, almost as if they were holding their breath, waiting for whatever was about to happen.

He traced your cheek with a finger, his touch light, like he was memorizing the feel of your skin, as if it was something he had dreamed about. His gaze followed his hand, and you could feel the heat of his stare, intense and tender all at once. You didn’t know what to do. It was all too much.

“I can’t stand it,” he whispered, his voice a soft plea, the words just for you. “I need you to stay... please.” His breath was warm against your skin, and before you could respond, before you could even find your voice, he leaned in.

Everything around you seemed to still, the whispers of the shadows fading into the background as his lips met yours. The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, as if he were waiting for some sign, some permission from you. His lips were cool but soft, and for a moment, it was as if time had stopped.

You were frozen, caught in the unexpectedness of it all, caught in the moment. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as his kiss deepened, a quiet desperation in every movement, every touch. He kissed you as if he couldn’t stop, as if he feared you might vanish if he let go.

For a moment, you gave in to the sensation, the overwhelming mix of emotions, the sweetness and the tension. You couldn’t pull away, not even if you wanted to. The shadows seemed to curl around you both, their presence now almost comforting, like the world had faded away, leaving just the two of you in that fragile moment.

His kisses grew more desperate, each one heavier, more consuming than the last. His hands pressed firmly against your back, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t bear even an inch of space between you. A low, guttural groan escaped his lips, vibrating against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

You didn’t move, caught entirely off guard by his fervor. No one had ever acted like this around you before—not before the Entity’s realm, not during. There was something almost intoxicating about the way he clung to you, his lips trailing from yours to your jaw, down to the curve of your neck.

And, to your surprise, you realized... you kind of liked it.

His voice came in soft, muffled murmurs against your skin. “I need you,” he groaned, his tone laced with an almost painful desperation. “I need to hold you, to keep you close. You’re mine—you’re meant for me.”

The words hit you like a wave, leaving you breathless. His arms wrapped around you tighter, his fingers gripping as though he feared you might vanish if he let go. The shadows around you seemed to move in tandem with his emotions, curling closer, darker, as if they were an extension of his longing.

“You don’t understand,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I’ve waited... I’ve searched... and then you came.” He pulled you so close it felt like he was trying to meld you both together, his forehead pressed against yours as he panted softly, his lips brushing yours again.

There was no denying the intensity in his words and the way his entire being seemed to focus solely on you. The world around you faded away, all of it becoming irrelevant under the weight of his need.

And for a moment, just a moment, you let yourself lean into it, into him.

You didn’t know how it worked. Honestly, you didn’t question much about the things that happened in the Entity’s realm—trying to make sense of it always felt like a losing battle. But being the only person that the killer—Jake, as you had learned—could touch and hold? That made the trials with him… special.

Special in a way that involved him finding you almost immediately when the trial started, his shadowy tendrils guiding him to you as though you were a beacon. Special in the way he would pull you into his arms without hesitation, holding you so close it felt like he was trying to merge your existence with his. And then came the kisses—hungry, fervent, and relentless. He didn’t seem to care about the trial or the Entity’s expectations, not unless another survivor got too close to where you both were. That was the only time he would let go, stepping between you and anyone else like a jealous guard dog.

You had learned early on that he truly couldn’t touch the other survivors. You’d seen him try—his hand passing right through them as though he was nothing but air. It made you wonder, why? Why were you the exception?

The Entity gave the killers their abilities. It had given Jake control over the shadows, molded him into one with the darkness itself. The Entity had made Jake a shadow—a specter that could haunt but never truly connect.

So why you? Did the Entity truly bless Jake with you, as he claimed? Was this some kind of twisted reward or cruel joke? You didn’t know.

And, honestly, when Jake held you so close, his arms wrapped around you like you were his entire world, you didn’t want to think about it. His touch was warm, his attention was unwavering, his affection intense.

A handsome, desperate man who seemed to make it his life’s purpose to hold you, kiss you, and pour all his emotions into you wasn’t something you regularly stumbled across—especially not here. The way he acted like you were his lifeline, the only thing tethering him to existence, wasn’t something you’d ever experienced before. He made you feel wanted, needed, cherished—things you hadn’t felt in longer than you could remember. And maybe that was why you let him.

It felt pretty good, honestly.

Good to be wanted. Good to be someone’s lifeline.

You did figure out one thing, though... well, two things.

For one, you enjoyed the feeling of Jake’s arms around your waist. How they would drape over you, his hands firm yet gentle as they gripped your hips, holding you as though you were the only solid thing in his shadowy world. It was strange, feeling safe in the arms of someone who was meant to kill. Ironic, even. But that’s how it felt—safe.

The second thing you figured out was that you loved the feeling of Jake’s lips. It didn’t matter where they landed—your neck, your throat, your shoulder, your cheek, your forehead. Each kiss sent a warmth through you that you hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever. But the best? The best was when his lips met yours. Jake’s kisses weren’t just kisses. They were declarations. They were desperate, wanting, filled with the kind of need that made your head spin and your heart race.

Your favorite moments, though, were the times when it had been too long since you last saw him. When he’d finally appear, the shadows curling and shifting to reveal him, he would drop every pretense of being a killer. The mask would slip away, and there he was—clingy, needy, and entirely fixated on you.

“I missed you,” he’d murmur into your hair as he held you close. “I kept thinking about you. I can’t stand being away from you. I need you.”

He would rant softly, his words spilling out like a dam had broken. His voice would tremble, and he’d clutch you tighter, burying his face into your shoulder, his shadowy figure melting into something softer—something vulnerable.

In those moments, he didn’t feel like the Entity’s chosen killer. He felt like a lovesick puppy, desperate for your attention, your touch, your reassurance.

And it was cute. At least, you thought so.

a/n: i basically had peggy from ceechynaa on replay during this. reblogs and commentary are appreciated!

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maladaptivewritings · 3 months ago

Text

HeadLock

Summary: Simon just returned from deployment, to realize he has a new neighbor. His paranoia soon leads to obsession as he dives into a cycle of charismatic stalking.

Tw: stalking, smoking, general Simon behaviors.

Y/N: She/They pronouns, has tattoos, library associate, mid-late 20'

word count: 900

Pt 2

The clock read 4:38 A.M as the rain beat down on the windshield. A so-called simple task that was meant for a month at maximum, turned into a four month escapade; Johnny had been getting antsy towards the end, "He had promised to be home before his niece was born."

Simon scoffed at the thought as he sat at the red light, thunder cracks as he waits. He hated the city, a common thought as the second the light switched green, the lone car he shared the road with blared their horn. He put out the cigarette, letting it fly out his window as he picked up the pace. The flat was a few hundred meters away, despite the near vacant halls it was a comfort.

The flat was funded through Price and Laswell, though unorthodox it was the least they could do, seeing at prior he was practically living in his office. The factory turned, flat lacked parking that would protect him from the storm. He made his way up from the street, drenched from the downpour and reeking of dried blood, liquor and lead.

The 11th floor, came sooner than he thought as he turned down the hall. Unlike his routine would normally have it, he was not alone in the desolate hall. There stood a meek younger woman, who like himself was drenched as they hastily tried to unlock her door to know avail. Groceries slowly slip from her reach, Simon sloped forward picking up a bag of crisps that had already slipped.

"Y'need help." His voice like gravel hit you like a bus, he was a hulk of a man. You looked up at the strange figure you shared the hall with, he observed you squirm trying to keep hold of your bag of curious items.

"Oh uh, um yeah please." The stranger was an American. What a great surprise, especially after his head was nearly blown off by one. She continued on trying explain why at this hour she was up. Simon grabbed the bag that you held in your left hand. He scanned what was in the bag as you finally unlocked the door.

"Ya' new to the area." He spoke once more, what would normally sound so comforting unnerved you for a moment. You nodded, smiling politely like you were taught to do so, tired eyes showing the lie. As you slipped inside your apartment, once you retrieved your other bag.

Simon sat in the hall, he watched as your form went to hide. The damp shirt sticking to the skin of your arm as you waved goodbye. His mind going to the worst scenarios, he locked himself in his flat.

The computer read now 6:45 A.M, passed out at a desk within his hospital-esque bedroom. Within the time he had gotten home he had learned your name, date of birth and education; hours of internet stalking had him cross-referencing to what tattoos you had and if they had any meaning to Graves and his men. Luckily they didn't, but as the storm subsided mentally he was too enthralled by who you were to stop searching.

Why did you move here? Why this building? Were you an undercover spy?

The questions that ran rampant throughout his mind became like a cruel game. His exhausted body hunched over his desk awoke with someone knocking on his door. The little American with muffins.

He stared down at you, eyes like obsidian and peering at you incessantly despite how much you tried to make him focus on the muffins.

"So, I made some for everyone else in the hall but I'm Y/n and I move here like a few weeks back..." Your words fluttered as you attempt to reintroduce yourself. Concerned with looking rude you hand over the cheap Tupperware. "It's Blueberry by the way.."

He already knew your name, where you went to University and where you were going to be working. Despite this of course, he nodded pretending to take in the information as if new to him.

"Thanks, sorry for not welcomin' ya been busy." His voice fills the hall. He leaned against his doorframe, determined to figure you out. Relaxing his body, as best as he could, he made glances at your form. If you were a spy, you were one of the better looking ones.

"Oh no you're fine, It gave me more time to unpack." You said brushing your hair out of your face. You had hastily woken up and realized you needed to redo this introduction to your incredibly hot, intimidating neighbor. You smiled up at him, you had even made sure to wear the nice Pj's for this and not the raggedy old college merch.

"Well.. speaking of that I need to get back to my place. Good to meet you.." You said pausing for his introduction.

"Simon," He said as you made your way into the apartment. You piqued his interest and he needed more. This was for security reasons of course, nothing more. He would start repeating this more and more. As he returned to his flat he stared at his computer, multiple tabs opened like a map of you.

This was not normal, he understood this as a fact but he had to determine if you were a threat, and if not how he can he create a way to pass the the time before he disappears once more.

#tw stalking #dark romance #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #fanfic #cod x reader #ghost cod #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #cod modern warfare #Cod x civilian reader #cod x y/n #american!reader #cod fanfic #maladaptivewritings

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metranart · 11 months ago

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“You… you’re so fucking beautiful.” His voice sounded so close that your eyes flew open to find him crouching in front of you.

ft. Hawks centered, Hawks x reader, Slight! Bakugo x reader, Slight! Dabi x reader.

Hawks x UA Student! Reader (Part 4)

Warning tag: obsessed! Hawks, possessive! Hawks, naive! student reader, violation of trust, dubious consent, mating cycles, rut response, obsessive behavior, uncontrollable thirst for reader, manipulation, forced, thigh riding, hormonal minds out of control, sexual content, first time, cock riding, teenage fuck, Dabi's toxically interested in you, Bakugo bestie yet secretly inlove wit you, love confessions, cock-drunk, Hawks trying to be good but failing miserably, gaslighting, HEAVY plot, lots of smut.

You could feel his hand insistently yanking you towards him. He was about to lose control again but kept fighting back. The hero didn’t want to choke you on his cock, but you were taking your sweet time and that made him a dangerous, and highly impatient, lover.

“—Don’t make me shove it down your throat, kid.”

He half begged, half demanded in a breathy voice, subtly smearing the reddened tip against your close lips, eyes shutting tight while he refrained himself from slap you across the face with it. He could clearly see the uncertainty in your young face, surely you had already blown someone, but not an adult, not a full-grown cock, wide and meaty, curved just a little for your greatest pleasure. Hawks was frighteningly large and thick for an inexperienced teenager.

His head fell back as he bit his lip, hard, taking several deep breaths, as if trying to suck it up like a pro instead of letting his rut have a smashing win.

“Don’t be scared—” He pleaded. “Just-just… this will work…,” his hips thrusted, kneading his erection against the warm skin of your cheek, heavy balls kissing your lips at the suddenness of the motion. “Fuck—it hurts.”

Hawks was really making and effort to let you take the lead. Shutting your eyes for a moment, your mind went back to when you blew one of your classmates after a training session, both so excited that it was inevitable, he returned the favor a few days later, it was the first time someone eat you and it became your dirtiest little secret, then why, why was it taking you so much to open your mouth for Hawks.

“You… you’re so fucking beautiful.” His voice sounded so close that your eyes flew open to find him crouching in front of you.

His pupils blown wide as he stared into your eyes, warm breath fanning your face. He even smelled nice- like mint and honey... and so devastatingly handsome, it hurt.

You opened your mouth to apologize, but it was immediately covered by his lips. Ferocity was the trademark of this kiss, the blond bit, licked, sucked and ravaged your mouth like you’d never experienced before. Leaving you openly heaving.

The soft, endearing look on his face, gently screamed to you that the man facing you wasn’t the hero anymore.

“Mate.” Keigo branded you in a deep voice, inoffensively rubbing against you like a cat in heat, the kindness that dripped from his tone could have bring any woman to his knees, yet it only sent shivers down yours. “My, sweet elusive mate.”

“M-mate?” you repeated, swallowing the lump in your throat, due to the implications of the word.

“Say it.” His blown pupils shone dangerously like sharp obsidian, and he waited with bated breath.

“Mat—”

“No.” Hawks cut you off, “say my name,” his stare so firmly set on you, it scared you. “Keigo...” he shared calmly, yet didn’t look it, “My name is Takami Keigo.”

The revelation cracked your serenity… did Hawks just blown his secret identity?? What the fuck?! According to Aizawa sensei, that kind of information was extremely sensitive, only shared with close family, a few privileged friends and… and mates for life.

Fear contorted your features at the realization, this couldn’t be happening… how did your quirk twisted his mind so extremely? This was a nightmare, was the blowjob still an option, or—

“Don’t… please, please—… stop crying, I will take care of you…” You hadn’t even realized you were crying until he began to clean the tears with soft kisses, forehead pressing against yours to try to convince you. “I swear. I won't hurt you, you’ll be so, soooo precious to me, my wife—my mate!”

His lips trailed over your face, like sealing his promises against your skin… cheeks, jaw, forehead, eyelids, and even up your earlobes. Hawks scented you whole, you could hear his ragged breathing, loud and conflicted, almost animalistic.

And that was when you felt it, his feathers wrapping around your wrists and ankles like shackles clinging to your skin.

“Hawks—Hawks, please…” you sniffled the words, “… I can still blow you—”

The tips of his fingers prevented you from keep talking, and he only shook his head, standing up.

Dammit! The only thing you had blown was your chance to walk out of there with your virginity intact. You were so screwed, all options closing in front of your eyes, watching him in horror, slip out of his jacket along with his shirt, discarded on the floor next your hope.

“Take off your panties and shirt—” he indicated, cheeks blazing with heat, a few drops of sweat sliding down the side of his face and half-lidded eyes, panting like he was not getting enough oxygen into his lungs, “your bra too, I want to see your tits bouncing while I breed you—” instead of start stripping you sobbed, and he growled, knuckles white at how hard he was tightening his fists.

“—You can keep the skirt…” he conceded, as if he were being remarkably gracious by allowing it.

“You are a Pro Hero, you can´t—”

“MINE.” He growled lowly, crouching again, seizing you like a wild cat until you were against the wall, made you fall on your ass and then, in almost studied moves, straddled you over his wide thighs, knitting your legs at each side of his lap, sprawling you wide for him, your little fighting hands were no match for his strength and dexterity, every time you unplugged one of his hands away, the other replaced it, getting so close that it was impossible for you to see anything but him and once having you in the optimal position, held you there for a minute to admire you, mesmerizing you with his awfully sharp predatory gaze to distract you from his slippery hands ripping your panties away. It was only when you felt the cold air that you found your struggle again. “.... Knock it off already, kid...”

He sounded heartbreakingly conformist, as if he had given up trying to stop himself, as if he didn't care about your opinion on the matter, but you kept fighting, begging, sobbing.

"Hawks...you have-e to control your-yourself, don't give up...” you stuttered the words to the best of your ability, “I swear—I'm not going to tell anyone about this.”

The sardonic chuckle along with his head tilting to the side and his eyebrows rising incredulously to his hairline, almost made him look like the real victim in the situation.

“First you force me into an early rut—and now you blame it on me?!” The disbelieve in his tone was palpable, he looked almost offended, and you looked away, embarrassed by the reality you had chosen to forget.

“Look at me, kid.” He demanded, but you refused to acknowledge him, pushing him to grip your chin and force you to face him, even if you tightened your eyes, the tears slipped out, but he was beyond that. All his mercy and patience eaten away by his roaring instinct, cornered between his hormonal brain and his unconcluded rut, you OWED him.

He was done playing the wooing game, you had it coming, you had your chance to tame him, but you didn’t use it, now the outcome was far from being his fault, he just couldn’t care anymore, now he was hunting for sweet and fulfilling, release.

“Open your fucking eyes...”

He didn’t scream, he didn’t even raise his voice, even so, the firmness of it, commanding and inflexible, edged you to obey.

“Stop FUCKING fighting me.” His grip grew tighter on your chin when your lips pouted, yet his eyes seemed void of tolerance, “If you could just behave yourself like the fucking hero you are aiming to be...” he pinched your UA uniform skirt to emphasize his point, “this would be so much better for you—for the both of US,” he let go, once felt had your entire attention, “......—but you just have to be a little brat, don’t cha?” he snarled the words, gaze narrowing while trying to countervail his elaborated breathing.

His hard stare was too heavy on you, too charged with feelings you couldn’t deal with. Guilt, anger, frustration, lust, resentment.... shame, all mixed and ready to burst, in the less than fulfilling, angry sex you were cooking for yourself.

So, you strive to understand and listen to him, because actually, Hawks was right. You were aiming to be a hero, you had screwed thing up to this level, you needed to step up and behave accordingly. This blast of self-awareness driving you to finally speak.

“You´re right...” you squeaked out, raspy and weak, throat sour from crying. “...What-what do I have to—”

“Just stop fighting me.” Hawks cut you off, burdensomely. Didn’t seem touched or even proud of you taking on your responsibility, all he seemed was desperate and hungry for you to stop unlatching his hands off you. And you did, granting him a free pass to maneuver you at his liking.

“Good girl.” He hummed, less frustrated and without asking lifted your skirt up your thighs, “here we go,” leaning, planted a velvety kiss on your neck as your reward for behave, and without delay traced your cunt with his thumb, the sensation shook your core, making knots inside your tummy, driving a low whine from your throat while his thumb made itself at home over the bundle of nerves.

“Hawks—”

“Keigo.” He corrected, absentmindedly, “Takami Keigo—…. or love, baby, darling, sweetheart, mate… there’s a wide variety for you to choose…” he said, as if nothing wrong, as if his thumb weren’t keeping its steady pace on your clit. Driving you to the edge in demanding, circled motions, not too slow not too fast, he didn’t want to deal with overstimulation too soon in the race. The experienced Hero was aiming to make you slippery as possible for it not to hurt as much as it will.

But you weren't helping his self-control, how Keigo loved that you were like a broken songbird, stuttering a load of broken and unconcluded moans, without a doubt a clean slate, his little virgin, his to trash and soil to his liking. So, he grew confident enough to worm two long fingers inside your slit to aid his quest, bending them against your stomach found that spongey place inside every female that made her see stars, and without a single care, abused the spot until you were squirming and wailing under his masterful administration.

“You can do it, sweet one, c’mon.” He groaned, picking up the pace of his fingers, jabbing into that spot at an unholy speed. Fucked his carefulness not to drive you to the ugly side of overstimulation, he was losing it. You were HIS mate, you´ll need to learn how to please him. “It feels good.... like I promised baby, c’mon.” He was practically licking his lips in anticipation when you cried out, unable to stop yourself when your core tightened and you came, HARD—so fucking hard that you even squirted, for the first time ever, a long spurt of pleasure that washed all over his abdomen, shining his abs in your love juices.

“I´m so... so-sorry...” You heaved, totally out of breath and strength, feeling strangely exhausted, too ashamed to even look him in the eye. “I didn´t know—I have never....”

“I’ll bet.” Hawks said, smirking wildly, perverted pride marring his words.

The eager Hero was about to lose it, overly agitated over your little squirting fount, you basically ticked all the requirements in his dream woman, you were definitely his person, and that thought excited him to no end.

Keigo smeared his palm over his slick abdomen, and palmed his length, coating his stiff cock on your juices, pumped himself in long and lazy strokes, you couldn't see it thanks to your palms covering your face, but you had his utter and most committed admiration solely on you, he had decided it in that exact moment, no doubt about it in his mind... he was going to knock you up, and keep you for himself.

“You on birth control?” He called, right as he started to align with your entrance, bulling your narrow slit with the head of his cock.

“N-no,” you choked out, drawing a boisterous chuckle out of him.

“Goody, goody.” He sing-sang, shit eating grin almost cracking his face in two. “I wanna be a daddy,” said, slipping a finger inside of you, then adding a second to seize how stretched you were. “It´ll have to do.” He muttered under his breath and pinching your clit to draw you out of your sheepishness, locked his gaze with yours while outstandingly slow, began to split you open.

You jolted at the sudden invasion, eyes popping open from shock alone. “W-wait...... let me-let me think it through.... I-I don´t.....AHHHHHH—” you choked out a high-pitched scream at the feeling of your little cunt being slowly breached, it hurts! It hurt so bad that you desperately tried to push him out, but he was massively stronger than you, and had a solid grip to work with.

“Use your quirk to stop me....” he purred amused, resting both forearms in each side of your head against the wall, “—if you can, kid.”

Demurely, kept going, burying himself deeper, stretching you so wide that it felt like an entire forearm was stuffing you, you trashed and clawed at his chest, shoulders and neck to no avail, until without warning he sheathed completely in one swift roll of his hips, dragging a deaf cry out of you.

“That’s it~” he muttered too far gone into his own pleasure, you were so wet, preparing you first was more rewarding than he thought it´ll be, “Shit, fuck,” the winged hero held himself rooted deep inside you, heavy balls plush against your center, tears were falling freely now but it didn’t seem to faze him at all, “That’s it—dammit! That´s what I was fucking talking about.” You were vaguely aware of Hawks swearing like a prayer, doing the extra mile to stay very still for you to be able to accommodate around him. Panting heavily against your hair as you foolishly tried to wiggle away, only driving a low, pleasurable rumble from his broad chest.

“Oh, poor kid! that´s the best you can do, huh?” He almost sounded apologetic, edging in sarcastic but it didn’t stop him from leaning closer, you could feel a feather slice your bra, and you whimpered when one of his hands wrapped around your naked breast and squeezed.

“You have a good pair of tits on you, my little stutterer.” The Hero praised, and you felt overly violated.

No! you didn't want to keep going, you were afraid, and he wasn’t even gentle. You felt him twitch inside you, the tip of his cock against your cervix just waiting for his owner to give the command, and you tried one last, pitiful time.

“Ple-please.... Hawks, please-e, let me …... let-let me go-o.....” You begged between broken sobs.

“You stutter so prettily — it fucking breaks my heart to have to do THIS.”

COMING SOON PART 5....

⭕️ In this PATREON LINK you will find NSFW art of this story and more spicy MHA NSFW art and exclusive smut fanfiction (also JJK, Demon slayer, and Tokyo Revengers) .... Plus more fascinating rewards, check it out and if you got some extra bucks around, join our community. My eternal and vast gratitude for your support!!!

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some-israeli-guy · 4 months ago

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With the talks of the hostage deal possibly being signed soon, I will feel a great relief when the hostages return, but I am also incredibly angry.

1000 terrorists. This is how many Israel will be freeing from prison in exchange for 33 hostages, not all of them living, in the first stage of the deal.

I am not saying we should let the hostages stay there, I don't want anyone thinking that. We should have released them a long time ago. But I am angry at everyone responsible for the deal taking this long and being this uneven (every deal is uneven when you release terrorists in exchange for civilians and babies).

All the social organizations who put demends of ending the war only on Israel. The world leaders calling for never ending aid to Gaza. The media releasing countless lies and libel about Israel, right out of the mouth of hamas. The UN that knowingly financed hamas through UNRWA and blamed Israel for the war. The Red Cross who ignored the hostages and tried to silence their families. Everyone who made it possible, and beneficial, for hamas to keep the war going.

Imagine if things went differently. When hamas attacked Israel, Israel stopped providing aid to Gaza. No food, no water, no medicine. The world called on hamas to release the hostages, all at once, unconditionally, to end the war. The war would have ended in a month. So much suffering wouldn't have happened due to the obsessive enabling and justification of terrorism.

But no, once again the world told Palestinians that they are special little darlings who can do no wrong and need face no consequences for anything. And now, again, Palestinians will see the destruction in Gaza as "Israeli aggression", instead of "what you get when you start wars". And the cycle will repeat.

#israblr #israel #ישראבלר #jumblr #i/p #palestine #fuck hamas #palestine is a death cult #fuck palestine #fuck the un #western hypocrisy #the jews are tired

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muletia · 5 months ago

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𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

[tfp] obsessed!ratchet x human!reader

summary: when his emotions turned overwhelming, ratchet tried to hate you instead, to protect both of you. despite his efforts, he cannot stop caring about you

cw: angst, obsessive thoughts, emotional manipulation, mentions of jealousy and possessiveness, ratchet is kinda toxic in this (but he gets better i promise)

word count: 1250

At first, he tried to hate you. To push you away, to make you despise him just as much as he tried to despise you. To turn passion into hatred, to move to the opposite end of the spectrum, yet still burn with the same fervor, the same intensity. Hatred was, after all, easier to manage than love—easier to understand, easier to explain, and easier to back up with facts. Love was an unknown, raising millions of questions he could never answer. Hatred hurt less. And although both passions were fierce in their own right, Ratchet could swear that the first one was far less damaging.

At first, he tried to be cold. Indifferent toward you, mean, and grumpy. He would throw comments at you that he could have easily kept behind his denta because he knew they would hit a nerve and wound you to some extent. He wanted you to leave him alone, to grow disillusioned with him. To stop interacting, to stop looking, to stop being a part of his daily life.

Another warm relationship was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Ratchet was tired. Tired of war, tired of being a medic, tired of patching up his friends only for them to return with fresh, bleeding wounds—or not return at all. Every mech and femme he grew close to either died or suffered, and he had to watch. Watch as the light faded from their optics, as energon poured from their wounds, as they lost limbs. You weren’t a Cybertronian, but would associating with him not weave a similar fate for you? One filled with pain and suffering? If the war didn’t harm you, his feelings surely would—what difference would it make? And your death was something he could not survive.

That’s why he wanted to prevent it. To break the vicious cycle, to stop the machinery of torment. To give himself no hope of a happy ending because he knew it was never meant for him. He couldn’t afford to think of himself. Ratchet was harsh, unfeeling. He made sure that every word he said struck like an icicle, that it hurt. Yet he wasn’t sure who was suffering more. The last thing he wanted was to cause you pain, but in this situation, he saw no other way. In a sense, he was saving you from catastrophe, from a collision that would destroy you both. He preferred to deliver the blow when his feelings were just budding, before his infatuation grew into something unmanageable. At least then, you’d both have a chance to recover.

But he found himself checking on you. Ensuring you were all right, even though he had just done so moments ago. He found himself having needs that terrified him because he was never supposed to feel them. Even with a carefully laid plan, with his rigidly set values, Ratchet’s thoughts circled taboo. He contemplated touch, intimacy. Happiness that wasn’t meant for him.

He often wondered if you understood why he had to be the way he was; what kind of clay the war had molded him from. If he explained the details, would you grasp his intentions? Understand that he couldn’t afford the luxury of love? He only hoped you didn’t think it was your fault, that you had made some mistake, even though he gave you no reason to think otherwise. And that hurt more than any sharp remark he ever hurled your way.

It was a pity that by the time he acted, it was already too late. You had cast your spell, enchanted him and his processor. You haunted him during the day, in dreams, when you visited your alien friends, and when you were at home. You appeared in his thoughts when he least expected it, yet when he needed it most. At first, sporadically—when you hadn’t visited them for a while, when he began to miss the sound of your chatter near his workstation. When the lack of your presence started to bother him. Then, you appeared more frequently, and fleeting memories turned into fantasies and daydreams. He stopped thinking he’d like you to sit with him and started longing. Intensely, fervently.

Still, he believed his plan would work. That he could end the relationship he had nurtured for so many months. But you had entirely different plans. Consciously or not, you dismantled the calculated, artificial hatred, tearing down the walls he had begun to build around himself.

The first time you touched him to draw his attention, Ratchet was convinced his knees would buckle under his weight. Suddenly, new colors entered his field of vision, and where you touched him, an explosion of sparks erupted, an electricity incomparable to merely being in your presence. The touch was more vivid. Raw and intimate, and so incredibly powerful that it broke him. It pierced through his defenses, reached so deep that Ratchet abandoned his plan. He stopped trying to change your relationship at an unnatural pace and in a dishonest way. Oh, what a fool he had been, what a burden to both you and himself.

Mending the fractured relationship didn’t happen quickly, nor was it easy, but it gave him time to loosen the collar and allow himself to enjoy your company. Your presence brought comfort and peace. Even when you disagreed, when arguments grew heated, Ratchet clung to those shared moments. He wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world and would fight to keep them going. He grew jealous when you claimed you wouldn’t speak to him again, though he knew it wasn’t true. He knew, but he couldn’t stop himself from pulling you into his servos whenever you started talking to someone else. He wasn’t proud, but seeing you in your rightful place, close to him, made everything feel right again. Everything returned to normal.

“I owe you my sincerest apologies,” he once said to Optimus, choosing a day when the base was nearly empty, save for him, his friend, and the two humans who had changed their lives. Whether for better or worse was yet to be determined.

“You have done nothing that could cause me harm,” Optimus replied.

“But I did not understand,” he said. “That has changed somewhat recently.”

The medic’s gaze anchored on you, dispelling any doubt in the leader’s mind. Optimus began to pity his friend.

“Will it ever improve? Will this torment ever bear anything good?” Ratchet asked.

Optimus fell silent for a moment. “I am unable to provide an answer to that. However, I am certain that surrender is not the correct course of action, and you must not pursue it, for it would destroy the benevolence you have labored so long to cultivate. [Name] holds you in great regard; I would urge you to keep this in mind.”

For Ratchet, it was already too late for retreat, though he had lost the battle with himself. You had entwined yourself too deeply in his spark, taken a permanent place in his processor. He failed to keep his feelings in check, and they took over, spreading everywhere.

He started with hatred, using it as a familiar form of self-defense. Now, when you come to him with the tiniest scratch on your finger, Ratchet is ready to wage a war for you, blinded by his feelings. Ready to protect you at all costs, dedicating every free moment solely to you. He was finished, undone, but the fact that his demise would likely come through you no longer mattered to him.

#transformers #transformers x reader #ratchet x reader #obsessed!ratchet #tfp

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occultwaters · 1 year ago

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Painful placements in astrology I

💜 Sun square/conjunct/opposite/inconjunct (quincunx) Pluto. Inconjunctions should be maximum 2/3 degrees. If I see this in a natal chart it would indicate to me that the native has had issues with their father or figures with authority in general. Could also be men in their family. I have also noticed the fathers side of the family were absent, early on they could have been separated. The separation could be due to many threats. If not cultivated well, this aspect is common amongst serial killers and people notorious for being bullies.

💙 Moon square/conjunct/opposite/inconjunct (quincunx) Pluto. Inconjunctions should be maximum 2/3 degrees. Now this would indicate a person who has issues with the mother figure in their family. This could also indicate issues with the women figures in their life. These people are also very distant with their mother’s side of the family. Like harsh Pluto and Sun, they were separated early on. Which again potentially could’ve been due to threats to their safety in general. If not cultivated well, this can lead to mental health issues, especially those relating to Pluto. Dark obsessions and desires etc.

💜 Having square placements to personal planets, this alone is very hard to deal with as there is strong friction no matter which side you look at. These people need to work on the aspect and appropriately release the energy, depending on the house, sign, and degree.

💙 Pluto in 12th. These individuals harbour a lot of their trauma in the subconscious. They have probably also seen some crazy things in the spirit world. It’s like they attract that sort of attention without really meaning to aswell. These individuals may also have very disturbing dreams and sleep paralysis.

💜 Saturn/Uranus/Chiron in 11th. This is a constant cycle of feeling alienated from society. These people may feel like they never found their group of friends. They crave for a home they’ve never had. These are also the type of people who have had friends make secret group chats behind their back and never include them. Just because Uranus is at home here, doesn’t make it any easier. This is also true if these placements are in Aquarius.

💙 Harsh Venus and Saturn aspect (square, opposition, inconjunction). Or Venus in Capricorn/aquarius. These people were made to feel unworthy of love and care when they were younger. There’s a constant battle between loving oneself and self destructive behaviours. There is an imbalance with their feminine side, due to masculine/ figures of authority, making them feel like they weren’t good enough.

💜 Harsh Moon and Venus aspects (square, opposition, inconjunction). Again made to feel like they weren’t pretty enough and probably dealt with a lot of toxicity from maternal figures. There is also an imbalance with their feminine side due to issues with women, and maternal figures. These people also a lot of the times refuse to acknowledge their emotions and bottle things up a lot.

💙 Having inconjunctions/quincunx aspects. They need to be at a maximum 2/3 degree orb. This is similar to opposition. But the difference here is that two signs that have no similarity are making a harsh aspect. There’s bound to be heat and constant internal conflict. This one is about learning to balance the scale of energies from both areas.

💜 8th house placements. These people are constantly undergoing transformations in their life. They can easily leave everyone on delivered for months and when they return, they are no longer the same person. Then the cycle repeats. There’s a lot of trauma in these people’s lives, and a lot of it comes from family. But they’re also naturally talented when it comes to things like the occult. This aspect is powerful for astrologers as it gives the native the talent to deeply study and observe people for long periods of time. This also includes psychology.

💙 Saturn opposite/square/inconjunct Pluto. Again inconjunctions should be maximum 2/3 degrees to be truly felt. This is more of a generational aspect (may reflect the society more so). These individuals dad could carry some sort of deep trauma. This is a pretty heavy energy so will require a lot of work for the generation that has this. In addition, the themes of the abuse they dealt with surround feeling restricted from expressing oneself in regards to what Pluto represents. They seem like the sheep or the scape goat of the family. Also if they have siblings that don’t have a similar aspect, if they make a mistake, the punishment they receive can be harsher than if their sibling was to make the same mistake. Their dad/ authority figures in their family can also be/ may have been involved in the dark side of structured systems and have a lot of experience and knowledge regarding the world from that.

💜💙💜💙💜💙💜💙💜💙💜💙

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smallestapplin · 2 months ago

Note

Hello- I have come back once more! Could ask for G1 Jazz and the terror twins?? (Please don’t mind me, I love them-)

This time just with an insomniac cybertronian reader??

Or more like a cybertronian reader that just sucks with taking care of themselves, in which they tend to overwork and not recharge properly or they don’t fuel themselves properly either. They just kinda forget they have to- which ends in them being dragged off either to go get energon or to theirs or their partners berth to recharge.

They don’t mean to, they just kinda forget they have to take care of themself to instead of working or trying to take care of their partner(s).

Hope ya had a good day or night! Make sure to take care of yourself and take breaks when needed!

🥺you’re too sweet to me I swear. I hope you are taking care of yourself too! Be sure to drink some water if you haven’t.

Jazz knows more than others give him credit for, whatever they think he knows he always knows more. You and your lack of care for yourself was one of many things he noticed around base even before you made his helm spin and had him swooning. He it’s going to just let you continue this, but he also knows he can’t just tell you to do it either, so Jazz gets creative with it.

You won’t take lunch for yourself, but will you take lunch to eat with him? His grin his devilish when you sigh and stand from your desk, not being one to make your beloved sad, you can’t find it in you to deny his sweet request.

You get so caught up in working you stay up writing reports or fixing things around the base, completely zoned into work and forgetting to recharge? Jazz is already ‘sleepily’ going to you, whining your name and pleading with you to return to your shared habsuite.

“Rechargin’ just ain’t the same without you there, I can’t sleep without you.”

It’s comical to see your frame shake trying to stay strong cause you’re almost done, you swear! But the sad look he gives you makes you instantly cave. You do not have a strong will when it comes to Jazz, and the sly glitch knows it, he knows the power he has over you and will use it against you.

Late night reports? Hope you don’t mind him walking behind you, slowly wrapping his arms around your shoulders and nuzzling his helm into your neck cables, kissing your cheek so sweetly.

“You’ve been working so hard, sweetspark, I miss my little light.”

He misses you sooo much, it makes you feel bad thinking you’ve been neglecting not only your own health but also your beloved, and that’s the last thing you’d ever want! Jazz chuckles, smiling as you instantly stand, apologizing to him, that you love him so much you never want to make him feel like he’s not a priority to you.

Trust, he knows, but it certainly enjoys hearing it every now and then.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are, as you’d call them, affectionate bullies.

These two don’t like two things happening here, thing one is you are busy working and not taking care of yourself, and thing two is that means you’re paying less attention and spending less time with them, and that is a crime.

These two have quite the approach, if they notice you haven’t had anything to eat today, well guess what? They are barging into whatever room you are in and literally dragging you away to get you to eat, all while scolding you for this scrap!

“You do this every damn cycle!”

“At this point we might as well keep you at our side all the time.”

Sunstreaker scoffs, “At least that means SOMEONE would be having some energon.”

They mean well, they worry a lot about you and it drives them crazy that you just forget to take care of yourself, when they remember all the time because they are obsessed in love with you, and you’re all they can think about.

You shower with them too, cause they always drag there on a set schdule so they can wash you and you can help wash them, though sometimes it’ll just be two of you if one of them gets sent out somewhere. However the two are big on looking good, always using the best polish they can get their servos on, which means YOU get a nice polish after every shower.

Forgetting to recharge? Prepare to have them standing at your office door, arms crossed and scowls on their faces.

“And just what are you still doing here, you should be in your berth by now.”

“OUR berth. You know you need to recharge, don’t you? C’mon, we are going.”

You can try to argue all you want, but they will be on either side of you and dragging you to bed, where you get tossed into the center of it and swiftly have one of them on either side of you and snuggling into you.

Grumbling about the scrap you make them do, before kissing you and finally resting. They can’t sleep without you but refuse to admit it, so your sleep schduled starts to impact them, though it just makes them hunt you down around base so they can finally sleep too.

#transformers jazz #transformers sunstreaker #transformers sideswipe #transformers g1 #transformers x reader #transformers x cybertronian reader #gn!reader #transformers jazz x reader #transformers Sunstreaker x reader #transformers sideswipe x reader #transformers fluff

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fridaysmind · 2 months ago

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I'm loving your yan!starscream so much!!!! I love the way you write star's pov of the situation And oooo reader reminding him of someone he knows??? Sweet!!! Can't wait for chapter 2 !💗💗

Yandere!Starscream x Autobot!Reader

Chapter 2

(Chapter 1 is here)

TYSM!!💗💗 GN!Reader; Obsession; A departure from the canon I'm not a native speaker! TW! PTSD; Religiosity; Fighting; Memories of war

You rub the back of your head, gently touching the sore spot where the Doctor had stabbed you. Ratchet is clearly wasting his cybernerves, you were acting strictly Autobot code. Yes, the weapon pointed at your faceplate was not a pleasant circumstance on Starscream's part, but you did your job and healed the wounded mech! But it didn't hurt any less...

When you leave the medbay, the rest of the team already knows why you've earned their doctor's disfavor. Bumblebee and Arcee laughed at you for managing to waste their resources and not even getting anything of value in return. It's not out of spite, you know they're good guys and marvelous warriors, but the taunts made the optic itself droop with shame. You discreetly leave to come to your senses and relax after a hard shift. Another evening at the Autobot base goes smoothly.

***

It was hard to reload, though it was one of the few nights he'd had without nightmares. There were no gunshots, no smell of burnt metal, no huge gray hands trying to rip his spark out of his breastplates, but he was haunted by something else, something new. Strange thoughts, desires, and a feeling of lack of something were flowing through his status reports, and it was getting tiresome.

Starscream devoted many hours after his sluggish awakening to searching for any information about you. Your photos, documents, and any available wartime reports where you were even briefly mentioned were downloaded onto the abandoned ship's occasionally hovering computer.

Nothing.

It was obvious that you were the problem, you did something. But nowhere is there anything even slightly suggestive of the possibility of hypnosis or any other mind subjugation on your part. In the empty room, Starscream nodded to himself. No doubt, while you were treating him, you injected something his sensors didn't recognize or discreetly implanted a chip.

How could he have fallen for such a simple trick, would you really have treated him without asking for something in return, while making small talk? No, of course not. Even if you're an “honorable” autobot, it's not something anyone on your team would do. But he's smarter than that, and he'll make you make things right.

As he finished his thoughts, Starscream received a new alert about the hull's running out of energon.

Once again, the search for energon stretched on for far too long, and the soiled seeker felt his irritation growing more and more. Piece by piece, the sky-blue crystals, so beautiful in the hungry's eyes, had accumulated in sufficient quantity to allow him to live a little longer.

Is this it? The life he deserved? Digging up scraps, making ends meet? Is this what he came all this way for? Sleepless cycles in the academy, research, the fall of Vos and the many sacrifices, this was not the life he had dreamed of...

A noise outside distracted him from his thoughts. The sounds of blows that had already embedded themselves into the deepest parts of his helmet had become not just familiar, but the only sound he could distinguish from a great distance without a hitch. Every inch of his body tensed.

And dust, dust, dust. Dust from what used to be life. There's so much of it, it's impossible to ventilate in peace. The pain in the helmet, the pain outside, the pain inside. The smell of death and melting, the smell of dead hopes. Nothing sacred left in any of them.

With a wave of his helmet, Starscream shakes off his panic and cautiously approaches the exit, watching the two warriors dancing in battle. Breakdown and... that green one... Clawed into each other. Why here? Why right now? Mech prayed that he could get past those two and go unnoticed.

As he worked out the perfect escape plan, Starscream noticed the swarming to the side. Just a fraction of a second, and he rushed faster than lightning in your direction, dropping almost every resource as you tried to dig into the hard ground behind the vegetation.

With a snarl, he literally slams into your body, and both of your frames fall with inertia, sliding down the slope. His fingers around you unclench, in an attempt to stop the motion, and you brake on the flat surface almost at the cliff's edge.

“Are you out of your mind?” the grill in your helmet spits out the ground with a jet of air as you rise, yelling at him.

“Quite possibly, and you're responsible for it!”

Abruptly, Breakdown's body flies out from behind the trees, falling right on top of the two of you, interrupting the dialog, forcing you to run to the cobblestones to one side. The Decepticon lands with a lurch and the surface beneath you shakes from his weight. Even though he has noticed the other two cybertronians, he pays no attention, trying to get up and continue the fight.

Cooling the processor you turn to the seeker with an angry face, but he speaks first:

“What did you inject me with?” and in response to his question you only squint in incomprehension.

“Huh?”

“Don't play dumb, bot, I know you did something!"Starscream yells and there's no more energy to keep from rolling your eyes in annoyance.

“Suppose, just suppose I genuinely don't know what you mean.”

“You injected or sewed something into my protoform, you idiot. I can't sleep because of you, I can't work because of you, it's like I'm losing touch with my frame because I don't feel it-”

Some object flew over your helmets so close that you pressed your palm against his forehead reflexively and pressed his back into the stone.

Time around him seemed to slow down, the frightening sound of battle fading into the farthest background, almost subsiding. A single touch made a current run through all the circuits and the scarlet optics go out as he exhaled and lowered his twitching wings in pleasure. The heaviness, the doubt, everything leaves his helmet with that long exhale and the realization almost blinds his mind. The mech slowly shifts his gaze to the Autobot that, turned to him by the back of the head, barely peeks out from its general hiding place.

As if seeing you for the first time, as if he hadn't been looking at images of you all morning, he scrutinizes every little thing, every notch and detail.

The sacred writings of Vos insisted that one day, when all things on Cybertron were dark, someone unremarkable would appear. A seemingly ordinary formers would change history and bring forth a new age. Starscream buzzed all the audiosensors to his trine, truly believing that it was the eloquent silver miner who fit all the verses of the ancient book. And they trusted him.

For nothing, as it turned out.

It took a long time for any faith in the warlord's chosenness was wiped away. The energon of the innocent bots and cons had become embedded in every atom of the frame and was ghosted even after a trip to the washrooms. But what was the point of stopping, it would never get cleaner. Where is it, the promised victory and the new age of Cybertron?

But the momentary touch of your limbs made the spark calm down. He felt the wounds deep within his essence suddenly heal. Thoughts circulating over and over, Starscream grinned to himself.

“Is this a hint from the sky after all?” he says the words very quietly, you don't even turn in his direction and he clenches his long claws around your wrist.

Your body jumps at the unexpected touch and you turn sharply toward the mech, and the one without raising his optics at you, absolutely suddenly presses the back of your palm against his own cheek.

Not quite sure how to react, your gaze runs all over the landscape ahead, back to the blissfully sighing seeker, and nervously moves to the landscape again.

“Remember what we discussed yesterday? About the end of the war?”

Oh, yeah, you remember. For a moment, you thought Starscream was just a former like the rest of you, desperate to just go home and get on with normal active. You nod, hoping he sees the movement of your helmet. Seeker continues:

“He's not going to agree, yeah? All he wants is more wrecks and won't stop until he loses everything...”

“Are you sure you're in an adequate state?” you turn to him with a question. Silence in response. The Seeker let go of your limb and suddenly began to rise.

“Yes, now I do.” Starscream sounded so confident and calm now, as if he wasn't the one who'd recently screamed at you like a hysterical, toppling you down a slope.

“So many millions of years I was blind, and then ashamed of my own blindness, trying to forget everything and at least just crawl to the end of this horror.” the seeker paid no attention to your faceplate wrinkled in incomprehension of what was happening. “I will not miss that sign. The end of all things must come!”

He suddenly swiped the tips of his claws across the top of your head and, just like last time, transformed and soared into the sky.

*** “And then he said he had to end it all. Whatever that means...”

“It can't mean anything good a priori” Arcee, shakes her head unhappily and you agree with her opinion.

After your story, the whole team murmurs in thought and only Ratchet turns from the monitor to face you all for the first time ever.

“Let's hope he ends it all by shooting himself in the helmet.” the silence in the room became extremely loud after his phrase. Even the humming of electricity stopped for a while. Everyone on the base, including the children, looked at the medic in amazement, and the medic looked back at everyone in confusion.

“What other options are there?” the doctor tried to defend himself. “He's not going to act like a hero and win the war single-handedly just because something stung his helmet, is he?”

You shrug and the others continued to think, putting forward possible options, but their words were no longer reaching your audiosensors.

Thoughts of everything that was happening swirled and swirled in your processor, never stopping for a second. The team had only heard about the whole situation, but they hadn't seen it. They don't know how strangely insane Starscream's optics have become.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers x reader #tf prime #yandere transformers #transformers prime #tfp #starscream #starscream x reader #tfp starscream #yandere starscream #yandere x reader #fridays mind fic

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kuntprodukt · 7 months ago

Text

PINK CELLPHONE

Incel Leon S. Kennedy x OnlyFans reader | 18+ MDNI. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, INCEST, smut, female reader, reader is a little bit mean, creampie, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, teasing, Leon is submissive, nipple play, tits sucking.

notes: uhm, i didnt proofread this so... i want to remind you that english isnt my first language :3 also i imagined re2 og Leon, but whatever! also reblogs and any kind of feedback is really appreciated

tags: @withonly-sweetheart

There was something fundamentally wrong with Leon in female’s gaze.

Maybe he is unlucky or those girls are blind. Really hoping it is the latter, cause it is not flattering when guys with migrated hairline can get cute girls, while he can’t. And 4chan doesn’t help either, those advices aren’t useful when he can’t even talk to a real girl.

Yes, they are blind. He is going to set on that.

So after many years of solitude, his only company has become the blue gleam which most night was the only source of light in the room, while air was full with low noises coming from the old, poor laptop. Trying to survive after years of not being turned off correctly. Multiple tabs on his laptop’s screen, he doesn’t bother to close them anymore, hoarding them like some kind of treasure - Leon doesn’t give a shit anymore.

This century is perfect for a man like Leon, internet may be the second Library of Alexandria. A real paradise, so much colorful and vibrant sites with cute girls showing their bodies if he pays for that content.

Thank god Onlyfans exists. And he is a nice guy, supporting cute and sexy girls.

Paying for limited content can be considered as supporting women, right? Even if he was motivated due to his selfish reasons - to get attention and limited content. Something special for him. It was embarrassing how long he could browse a fair share of accounts and get or even interact with some girls without being rejected and they would not know him. There are a lot of them, all cute and nice, and they acted even better when he tipped them, so they would interact more with him, calling him a ‘pretty boy’. At least it made him feel special for a while. Still, not his fault that their, too perfect, videos or photos led him to lose his interest - their content felt lifeless, without passion or love put in it. Boring. It has become a routine already, finding an account - jerking off until he loses his interest and the cycle returns to browsing the site for someone new to obsess over.

Your account was like a treasure when he found it. Leon got attracted to it like a magnet, comparable to find a needle in the haystack. Sweet thing, really sweet, if he was ever to interact with you he wouldn’t be able to hide his grimace. But that was attracting, he doesn’t know how much money he has spent on your content. Your face was always hidden or cut out by the position of your camera, but there was no need to see your face when people paid to jerk off.

It was nice while it lasted.

Pink cellphone. The little pink cellphone he got his sister, after she nagged him about wanting it, that ended up left alone and not used. You have this pink cellphone, the furniture and a lot of things were identical to his little sister’s room; posters of her favorite bands or that specific blanket she had all her life, but this was quickly brushed off at first, almost all girls like cute stuff and this could be a coincidence. Also that not the first thing a guy notices when he is ready to jerk off. Leon isn’t sure why after seeing that pink cellphone it clicked so quickly, the guilt and shame fill him to the brim, coiling around his neck like a loose invisible tie knot.

This is wrong, wrong like touching his sister’s breast. Your breast. Instead, he was jerking off to your boobs for months. Imagining how they would fill his palms nicely.

The room is the same as before, but now it hits different to be here after discovering what you have been doing here all this time. It has the same smell as always, sweet and too much like you, tightening the invisible knot around his neck. He wants to throw himself out of the window, this is sick and he doesn’t understand why his legs brought him here after work, still wearing his uniform. There are plenty of almost empty and few full bottles of perfume he had bought you during one of shopping trips, while you were nagging him and begging for them. He eyes such little and useless items that in any other situations he wouldn’t notice, avoiding to look at you. His efforts were useless, he is a weak man after all and there is nothing to do other than to stare at your frame; sitting on the bed, confused at his behavior and expecting something - a reason to explain why he is acting like that, staring at you, almost fucking you with his eyes. He doesn’t need Freud to tell him that he wants to fuck his own sister. Were you preparing to do new content for your followers? The thought made his pants tighter, wanting to pull at the fabric to ease it but this would only bring your attention, wouldn’t it? Maybe he wants it.

“You look like shit.”

“Excuse me?” Did he hear that right?

“You look like shit, Leon” you repeat before raising an eyebrow “stop staring, you are going to dig holes into my face. What do you want?”

What a bitch, he would say, but,

“Uhm…” is the only sound he was able to let out, getting closer to your bed and sitting down on the edge. You scoot closer to him as you always do. A sweet habit he always liked, sometimes you even hug him. “Not lady-like, sweetheart. I wanted to talk”

You roll your eyes. “About what?”

“A friend of mine, he sent me a link of a girl, doing porn” his lies flow so fast and easily from his mouth, trying to shift this to someone non existent. “Her face isn’t visible but… her room and she had a pink cellphone, identical to yours… so I was wondering—“

“Maybe you are imagining things. Many girls have similar room to mine” you cut him, your hand lays on his shoulder. Perhaps this is hell, hell would feel like you mock him by pretending that account isn’t you, like those moans he heard weren’t yours while a guy or a dildo was pleasing you, making Leon envious and sour - why not him? The corners of your lips tug up, something good got into your head. “So you are paying for that stuff, huh? Jerking off to a girl similar to your little sister, you are so weird”

“Huh? No, I am not” Yes, he is, that’s actually his favorite hobby.

“Cut the crap, Leon. There is no friend. You probably imagined me, yeah?” He did, he won’t deny this - it would be a lie leading to another rejection, this time by his sister - and he is man, a desperate one. Also poker has never been his strong point nor he can lie well with his hard on. “Nasty, nasty boy”

His blue eyes linger on your mouth as you spoke, watching your tongue rolled sensually and slowly. Your tongue clicks, before applying more pressure on his shoulder with your hand, pushing him down. He is like a rag doll under your touch - his back hits the softness of your bed and now all he can see is your face looking down at Leon before finally sliding on his lap. Your legs straddle his hips, so nicely pressing down on his crotch and making this much harder than it should be. His cock is already painfully hard, straining against the warmth of your pussy which can be felt through thin fabric of your shorts. God bless them. He bucks up his hips, as his hands reach to hold your hips and press them harder against his aching cock while he tries to dryhump you needy - too bad that’s not on your list, slapping away his hands like it is a disturbance which makes him frown.

“Ah-ah, big bro. Don’t touch me” you purr as your head dips lower to press hot heated kiss on the skin of his neck, leaving soft bites and wet trail behind whilst your tongue traces around those bites, like a soothing touch before it starts going up down and up in torturous motions. Until you stop on his Adam’s apple to bite it softly to leave a red spot, your hands dive under his shirt, pushing it up to expose his stomach and making it easier to reach his chest - fingertips brush against his nipples, before rolling and pinch them to force more moans from him. A grown man getting already painfully hot and bothered over little touches and kisses there and then, this causes you to chuckle under your breath - don’t want to hear him complain how you hurt his ego. Man’s ego is more fragile than soap bubbles or the glass, one poke and he would not shut up and fuck your brain instead of your pussy. That won’t do. Your eyes dart up to look into his face - to see that sweet and needy expression, begging more than just teasing caresses from you. Your hips sit so well against his, sometimes creating some friction when one of you move and it feels like he is going to die if his dick won’t be buried in your pussy any time soon.

“I don’t like dirty hands on me” you add eventually with the same purring voice. What can be better than a man being submissive and shattering over nothing?

“Can you just… oh shit!” his sentence gets cut abruptly, when your lips reach to his earlobe, nibbling playfully and it would be really humiliating if he cum here cause of how his ears are sensible. Deep inhale, before speaking again, trying to keep himself at check and not to be so meek while you keep rolling his sensitive nipples in between your fingers. His next words are breathless and voice is shaky, almost at the edge to sound pathetically. Not really manly, but still your clit throbs, only now noticing how your panties are soaked now, uncomfortably clinging to your pussy lips. “…fuck me?”

You stop your assault over the skin of his neck to look down at him better, your hips press against his hard dick forcing a breathless whimper to escape. This little plea, he begs. Your clit throbs again, so uncomfortably wet, you want to dryhump him until he cum in his jeans like a virgin. Instead, he is one. If he was any other men you wouldn’t consider this good enough to comply but the sight in front of you is too much to ignore.

“Fuck.. you?” You echo his words, feigning a confusion, your eyes widen to emphasize the act. A cheap one, cause your hand already tugged down your shorts, leaving you in panties, he has seen them so many time on those videos and photos, his hips buck to press himself to your, still, clothed pussy. His attempt isn’t really successful, your hand unzips his jeans to free his cock. And finally to look at it. “you are so weird… I dunno, to ask that from me, don’t you have any shame in this body of yours, huh?”

“I don’t give a shit, just fuck me” he groans, looking down as you palm his cock, it twitches in your hand, already leaking with pre-cum and you can even notice a little stain on his boxers.

A light urge to roll your eyes arises deep down when you looked down, but it was quickly put down. Rather disappointing as a size, if someone would have asked you, but not everyone can have porno dick or customized one. You can still fuck with that. Leon swallows hard, taking a deep breath in again as he looked at you briefly - your tits are more interesting right now. He hopes you let him to suck on them. His fingers twitch, wanting to reach for your panties and tug to the side, to fuck you, but he is a gentleman. A nice guy.

Your hand pumps his dick, smearing his pre-cum along the flesh before tugging your panties to the side, your glistening pussy is fully exposed to his gaze and Leon almost choked on his saliva when you pressed your slick cunt on his cock. It is a torturous game, feeling you rub slowly along his aching length leading to drip more of pre-cum. You are so wet and warm, your slick coats his dick with every stroke of your pussy against it. This makes his eyes widen briefly at the sensation, he isn’t sure if he would be able to last long inside you. If it ever gets to that, of course.

“Please..?” Leon groans, bucking his hips to get more and press himself tighter for more friction than it is even possible right now. His sounds only encourage you to mess with him.

“What? I don’t understand” you taunt him with a light pout, another long and slow stroke, his cock’s tip was so close to slide into you. “Use your big-big words, Leon”

Your pussy kept grinding, enjoying the way his cock head bumps against your clit and making you wetter, forcing some noises from you too. Your fingers tug on his lower lip playfully - just to tease and annoy him. But he doesn’t let you withdraw your hand by grabbing hold of it. His lips catch your finger, sucking and nipping on it.

“Use me… please” like one of yours sex toys, Leon wanted to add, but, alas his dignity was still in tact, holding barely together by the tiniest thread. And as much as you want him to cum without even a penetration, to embarrass him, your own selfish urge to fuck him is much stronger.

“What a pretty face you have, right, big bro?” Also it is hard to ignore such sight in front of you, with blushed cheeks, his chest raises heavily as he let out breathless groans. “Pretty and pathetic, you would be a perfect sex doll”

Your wet slit kept rubbing, but this time savoring with the last stroke, before finally hovering over his cock - feeling his leaky tip nudging against your slick hole, begging to sink down, before his cock finally slides into you. He watched how your pussy swallowed his cock slowly inch by inch, before Leon thrusts up to meet your downward movement, forcing yours to slam against his, quickly burying himself as deep as he can right now. You moan at the rough motion, now ignoring how his hands reach to grip tightly your waist, not really caring anymore and now nothing stops him by touching you. Your slick inner walls wrap around his cock nicely, tightly clenching and he doesn’t think twice before bucking his hips again as yours started to roll against his - driving him deeper into your soaked hole. His dick hits the g-spot so sweetly, making you gasp and moan with him. His teeth catch the fabric of your shirt, trying to tug it down and expose your boobs to him - and you are nice enough to help him by pulling it aside, a clear permission to bury his face in between them. Sloppily kissing and biting on the flesh of your tits, while you are bouncing on his dick. His lips repeat your name as a prayer, catching a hard nipple into his mouth, his tongue brushes and rolls against the sensitive nub - sucking at it, nibbling messily and leaving wet marks before darting to give attention to another nipple, causing your pussy to flutter around his dick more, tightly engulfing deeper into the slick walls as the wet sounds mix with the skin slapping ones every time your hips meet after every deep and quick stroke that his cock drag against your walls.

“I-I want to fill you with my cum, please”his voice is breathless at the edge of whine even though he tries his best to not appear so desperate, but the plea behind his words is clear. His grip gets tighter, his fingers knead your ass as he grinds his dick against your cervix to intensify the pleasure for himself while his pelvis rubs against your clit as a nice touch. He really hopes you wouldn’t try to be a bitch and let him cum, if not then he is probably going to cry. “Please, please, let me cum… I need this, sis”

“You sound so fucking ridiculous” your voice is breathless too, but seeing him so needy and desperate for his release making this even better. Your hand tugs his hair, pulling away from your tits to look at his face even better - his lips are glistening with his own saliva and parted. Your clit throbs even more, aching for attention, velvety walls clench around him when you reach down to press your fingers on your clit, rubbing rough circles. “Come on, fill your little sister if you need this so much”

He whimpers disappointedly when he was pulled away from your sensitive and abused tits, but it was quickly changed into a moan when your pussy to wrap him tighter after adding your fingers in action. Your hips roll harder to meet his thrusts and wanting to see more of his stupid faces. Leon grinds up against sweet spot at every opportunity and every time it gets messier and messier as his balls tightens. His eyes slide shut briefly, now wetly meeting yours and looking more pathetic. What a freak, not like you are better than him.

Your orgasm approaches quickly as you kept rubbing your clit in rough circle motions, making your walls wrap harder around his cock. You arch as the flowing pleasure hits your body hard, having harder time to use your fingers to prolong your orgasm. Your pussy flutters at every erratic and messy thrust he kept making as he chase his own orgasm. It didn’t last long for him either, already a wonder he didn’t cum after sliding into you.

“Fuck- fuck” he slammed in to the hilt one final time, burying it deep and rubbing against your cervix before finally erupting deep inside you. Thick ropes of cum painted your insides in white, as your dripping cunt was milking his cock. Your body fell down against his chest, breathing heavily together and shivering.

“You stink like a wet dog, get out” you complain weakly, trying to push yourself away from him but it is effortless - he buries his head in the crook of your neck, again. His soft cock is still inside you, he won’t let you go. “and unsubscribe from my OnlyFans, creep”

“Later” Leon mumbles absently.

No, he is not even going to unsubscribe. In another life.

#leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #resident evil x reader #resident evil x you #resident evil smut #resident evil 2 leon #leon kennedy smut #resident evil

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