#prompt: rage against the reflection

[theherdofturtles]

Fandom: Hetalia Prompt: Rage Against The Reflection Rating: T Word Count: 5,133 Gilbert is forced to reflect on the decisions that had him dissolved and separated from Ludwig. He's determined to run into Ludwig again.

[Continuation of Mockery of the Nations and Our Flatmate Must be Dead. This will make much more sense if you've read those parts first.] @badthingshappenbingo

[urfriendlywriter]

What is emotional vulnerability? And can how can your characters show it?

(these are from my POV of what I have learnt and researched. differences in opinion are appreciated because no definition and depiction is set in stone | Credits must be given when reposted elsewhere / @urfriendlywriter ! I hope this helps all of you :D)

Tackling this with three topics:

What's vulnerability?

Actions related to vulnerability. (Actions/words that depict a person is feeling vulnerable + some dialogue prompts)

How to build trust between two people?

Vulnerability:

Emotional vulnerability is the ability to be open to and express one's feelings, even when facing the risk of rejection, criticism, or shame. Vulnerability means acknowledging your difficult emotions. Accepting overwhelming feelings, being able to express them with tender care towards yourself and others.

I'd consider myself a very openly communicative person. If I love you--as a friend, family or something else, I'll make sure you know the depth of it, the meaning behind my words, my look and my touch. I encourage vulnerability in all my relationships and it has positively reflected in their own personal growth as well. Being open, being real, being you, with all the ache, the scars, the hurt, and even the small ball of light within yourself amidst is all---that's vulnerability. And as we,

We gen z, we shelter ourselves to protect ourselves from hurt. But... if we get hurt, is it really our fault? No. If somebody hurts you intentionally, it doesn't translate to what you deserve or must go through. But if I don't get hurt... how will I learn to cope with it? Express it? Communicate through it? Learn from it? And.. importantly, how will I..

Learn how to heal myself again. Learn how to love myself far better. Learn how I want to be and what relationships I want to attract?

So, me, personally, I put myself out there. Like an open book. To read, to feel, to see--including the hurt and the parts I'm working on. Of course, i don't fully lodge it down a person's throat in one go, but u get what i mean. It is slow building of trust and can be used to your advantage as well. (lol that sounds toxic)

Harsh Truths?

Some people will use it against you, but should it hurt you if u were real to yourself? No.

Not all people u open up to may be emotionally mature. And that's okay. Move on.

It is not the end of the world if someone who saw all parts of you turned against you. It simply wasn't your person. It was neither of your faults.

Paint a character afraid to be vulnerable:

Hesitancy to open up, to speak up for themselves.

Blinking back tears, and telling themselves they'd be okay regardless.

"Atleast I don't have it worse."

"And.. If.. I tell you.. You won't look at me differently? Like.. I'm--I'm not worthy?"

doesn't ask for help. doesn't accept help easily.

doesn't think they're worthy to be seen. or to be loved. to be accepted or to even be heard.

"what i say won't make much of a difference anyway" A & "No, i want to hear it. how little, silly, stupid, serious, deep, it may be. I want to hear it. Please."

being numb to pain that they think it's normal to internalize it all.

and one day it erupts all out. into tears and rage. or raw unfiltered pain that bleeds onto everyone who loves them, hurting them too.

they freeze, momentarily surprised when they're asked for their honest opinion

or when they've to blink back tears when someone notices something and helps them without them even asking

detached during intimacy or hyperventilating after or during it

pulling away and pushing the other person away when they truly need them the most

Paint a character confident in themselves and are openly communicative:

you will not second guess what they feel about u, because u can see it in their faces or they'll openly say it

they encourage honest and deep conversations

the look of love is always there in their gaze

they love openly. they have so much love to give.

they'll hear u out no matter the time of the day and will provide a safe space for u

"I'm always here for u" in a soft, quiet voice, a gentle smile and a warm hug

"It's okay to feel that way. Hell u should feel that way. If u wanna talk about it.. here I am."

they're their own safe spaces and they can dive into their emotions, whenever and wherever needed.

they won't let u feel alone in ur misery. they'll shoulder the burden with u, but won't internalize it as their own. (i fear this is very important)

always knows the cause of why they said what they said / how they behaved or reacted

can analyze even u with one glance.

"how are you?" As a gentle caress of words & "I've-I've.. never been asked that.. not with such sincerity.." shyness of the one opening up.

^ "So, here I am.. I've got all the time of the day. Care to tell me?"

They aren't afraid of rejection. But they'll not put up with bullshit.

Building trust between two people:

Building trust is intimate. If done right. Between friends, family, lovers or anyone it may be. It's delicate, it's comforting quietness at some times and hearty loudness at some other. It's being understood, being seen, being able to communicate freely and respectfully.

Vulnerability is present where trust is.

asking help for small things without shying away from it

physical closeness. after moments of honesty or heavy emotions.

prioritizing each other

admiring every little thing they do

lots of "thank you"s being said that shows appreciation loud and clear

nervous glances, shaky hands and fluttering heartbeats as they may be help u zip up ur dress.

forehead kisses, followed up with, "I see you.. Let me help u cleanse away the day's stress."

celebrating even the smallest of their success

asking consent in every small thing!!

^ "i-i why are u asking for that? yes, of course." A & "Love.. I should always ask, even for such a thing as that." B

Being slow but steady with each other

"U don't want to do that? no rush." Immediately backing off A with a smile & B trying to understand how they aren't mad yet "A-are u sure?"

^ "We're in no rush.. We'll go at you pace. But consider my emotions too down the line, hmm?"

Lots of "And how does that make you feel?"

arguments feel less like the ones they saw growing up. and now it's more intimate, thoughtful, full of understanding and closeness. both sides are heard, understood, appreciated and both sides change.

Author's (@urfriendlywriter aka Ziya) note:

The comments are open to anything that you may wanna add :)

Thank u for reading so far! I hope this helps u write amazing, emotionally available characters.

[lilangelbuds]

Little girl showers with her dad and brother to save water and they share her in the shower while snowed in

The snowstorm was raging with such ferocity that it felt like the world had narrowed to just these four walls. The power had been out for hours, and the cold was creeping in, relentless and unyielding. The firewood was running low, and the three of them huddled together in the small living room, wrapped in blankets, their breath visible in the frosty air.

“We need to conserve heat,” the father said, his voice steady but tinged with urgency. “And water. The pipes might freeze soon. Let’s all shower together—quickly.”

The little girl looked up at him, her wide eyes reflecting the flicker of the dying fire. She wasn’t sure what to make of the idea. She had never showered with her dad and brother before. But the cold was biting, and the thought of warm water was too tempting to resist. She nodded shyly.

Her brother, older but not by much, shifted uncomfortably. “Uh, is that… okay?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

“It’s survival,” the father said firmly, though there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—something the little girl couldn’t quite place. “Come on. Let’s go before the water gets too cold.”

The bathroom was small, the air thick with the scent of cedar from the walls. The tub-shower combo was cramped, and the frozen shower curtain clung stiffly to the rod, crackling as the father pulled it aside. He turned the faucet, and the water sputtered before a thin stream of warmth began to flow. Steam rose slowly, curling into the cold air.

“Strip down,” he instructed, his voice calm but commanding. “Quickly.”

The little girl hesitated, clutching the hem of her sweater. She glanced at her brother, who was already pulling off his shirt, his face red with something that wasn’t just the cold. Her hands trembled as she unbuttoned her pants, the fabric sliding down her legs as she stepped out of them. Her brother averted his eyes, but the father watched her intently, his gaze lingering as she peeled off her last layer.

She stepped into the tub first, the water warm against her skin, the spray hitting her back and sending a shiver down her spine. Her brother followed, his lanky frame awkward as he tried to position himself in the cramped space. The father stepped in last, his broad shoulders filling the space, his body radiating a heat that seemed to push back against the cold surrounding them.

The little girl stood in the middle, feeling the press of them on either side of her. The water coursed over her body, trickling down her chest, her stomach, her thighs. Her father’s hand reached out, gently guiding her to turn around so the spray could hit her back. His fingers brushed against her skin, and she felt a strange warmth that wasn’t from the water.

“Lean back,” he said softly, his voice low and soothing.

She obeyed, her body pressing against his chest as he adjusted the showerhead to keep the water from hitting her face. His hands rested on her shoulders, massaging gently, and she felt a tension she hadn’t realized was there begin to melt away.

Her brother stood awkwardly to the side, his hands fidgeting as he tried not to look. But his eyes kept flicking toward her, his breath hitching slightly whenever they did. The father noticed, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Help me wash her,” he said, his tone casual, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

The brother’s eyes widened. “What?”

“She’s cold,” the father said, his voice firm but not unkind. “We need to warm her up. Just… use your hands. Gently.”

The brother hesitated, his hands hovering uncertainly. The little girl turned her head slightly, looking at him with innocent curiosity. She didn’t understand why he seemed so nervous, but the warmth of the water and her father’s hands on her shoulders made her feel safe.

“Go on,” the father prompted, his fingers sliding down to her upper arms, his thumbs rubbing small circles.

The brother swallowed hard, then slowly reached out, his fingers trembling as they touched her shoulder. His touch was feather-light at first, tentative, but as he felt the warmth of her skin, his confidence grew. He moved his hand down her arm, his fingers gliding over the curve of her elbow, the dip of her forearm.

“Good,” the father murmured, his approval sending a ripple of something through the air. “Now her back.”

The brother’s hand moved to her back, his palm flat against her skin as he rubbed in slow, deliberate circles. The little girl sighed softly, her body relaxing further into her father’s chest. The sensation was strange but not unpleasant—two pairs of hands moving over her skin, warming her, soothing her.

The father’s hands slid lower, skimming the curve of her waist, the soft swell of her hips. His breath was warm against her ear, his chest rising and falling against her back. “You’re doing so well,” he whispered, his voice low and intimate. “Just relax. Let us take care of you.”

The brother’s hands followed his lead, moving lower, his fingers brushing the small of her back, the curve of her bottom. The little girl shifted slightly, her breath catching as his touch lingered. She didn’t understand the heat pooling in her stomach, the way her body seemed to respond to their hands, but she didn’t want it to stop.

The water continued to pour over them, steam filling the tiny bathroom, the cold outside forgotten. The father’s hands moved to her stomach, his fingers splaying across her skin, his touch firm but gentle. The brother’s hands moved to her sides, his fingers brushing the soft skin just below her ribs.

“You’re so soft,” the brother murmured, his voice barely audible over the sound of the water.

The little girl felt a shiver run through her, her skin tingling under their touch. She leaned back against her father, her body pliant, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. His hands moved lower still, his fingers brushing the tops of her thighs, and she felt something inside her tighten, a strange, unfamiliar pressure building.

The brother’s hands followed, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, and she let out a small, involuntary whimper. The sound seemed to spur them on, their hands moving with more purpose, their touches more deliberate, more…

“Do you feel that?” the father whispered, his lips brushing her ear. “Do you feel how much we care about you?”

She nodded, her throat too tight to speak, her body responding in ways she didn’t understand. The water was hot now, almost scalding, but she barely noticed. All she could feel was their hands, their warmth, the way they were making her feel…

[ruzz9]

The Prefects' Bathroom

NSFW +18

Severus Snape x Fem!reader

Summary: In a mischievous bid to sow chaos, Peeves disturbed the dungeons with another prank, feigning urgency to provoke Snape by claiming someone was being attacked in the Prefects’ Bathroom. His shrill laughter echoed as he watched the professor storm in, wand raised, only to find his most exceptional seventh-year student, naked amidst the foam.

A/N: I had a lot of fun including Peeves, and I couldn’t resist adding a bit of humor. The emotions are so intense that even I felt truly uneasy. Enjoy!

Warnings: Smut, Student/Professor, Nakedness, Blow Job, Eating Out, Fellatio, Cunnilingus, Mature Content, Dominance & Submission, Power Struggle.

Glossary: Iridescent – Reflecting rainbowlike colors that change with the angle of light.

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Peeves floated through the hallways with his usual mischievous expression, eyes sparkling with malice and a crooked grin of pure mischief. He had seen something interesting, something juicy: the young Slytherin prefect, in her final year, sliding gracefully into the Prefects' Bathroom.

It wasn’t the first time he had noticed the strange tension between her and the harsh Potions professor. There was something in the way their gazes crossed fleetingly, in his sharp responses, and in her daring composure.

Peeves loved chaos, and this scene cried out for his intervention.

With a shrill giggle, he fluttered through the hallways until he slipped into the dungeons, where he knew he would find the feared Severus Snape. His voice echoed against the stone walls with theatrical drama.

"Professor, professor! Something terrible is happening in the Prefects' Bath!" he wailed in false anguish. "An evil spirit is attacking a poor student! Oh, what horror! What calamity!"

Snape, who was reviewing potions with an air of tedium, lifted his gaze with a grimace of annoyance. Peeves’ mere presence was a synonym for trouble, and if the specter had decided to come to him, it had to be something serious enough to bother him.

"Explain," he growled impatiently, his voice laden with suspicion.

"Blood, screams, wails! A dreadful crime, professor! You must hurry before it's too late!"

He needed no further prompting to act. With a swift movement, he grabbed his wand and advanced with long, determined strides. His cloak billowed behind him like the smoke of a snuffed-out candle as he ascended the stairs, every fiber of his being prepared to face the worst.

The door to the bath was closed, but a simple spell was enough to fling it open.

"What the hell is—?!" he began to exclaim, but the words died in his throat. And then, time seemed to freeze.

The warm steam from the perfumed water clouded the air, enveloping the room in an ethereal veil. Amidst the iridescent foam, the young student turned her face, startled, her eyes meeting his in an instant that felt eternal.

In a single blink, he saw her skin, pale and damp, the delicacy of her figure submerged in the warm water, barely covered by the foam clinging to her skin in a fragile attempt to conceal her.

The girl's breath hitched for a moment. Her arms lifted instinctively, crossing over her chest in a gesture of modesty that only accentuated her nudity.

Snape reacted immediately, turning around with a sharp motion, his cloak extending like a shield between them. His jaw clenched, and he gripped his wand so tightly that his knuckles paled.

Behind him, Peeves burst into laughter, floating in the air with a triumphant expression.

"Oh, what a charming sight, professor! Have I ruined an intimate moment? What a pity!"

Snape felt a furious heat rising up his nape.

"Peeves!" he roared with barely contained rage. "I swear I will make you disappear from this castle if you don’t leave this instant!"

The mischievous ghost twisted with laughter before retreating. He slammed the door shut with a sharp finger snap, leaving only the echo of his mockery behind.

Snape cursed under his breath, his tone rougher than usual.

"Peeves, damn it…" he turned slightly toward the door, testing it in vain. "He’s locked us in."

His fingers tensed around his wand. With a brusque movement, he attempted an unlocking spell, but the specter had done a good job. When Peeves’ prank magic was involved, it could be a nuisance even for the most skilled wizards.

He exhaled in frustration. "Get dressed. Now," he ordered, without turning around, his voice severe.

He heard the water shift as she moved, the soft splash as she emerged from the bath, and for a second, he thought she would obey. But then, instead of the rustle of fabric being put on, he caught a different sound—the distinct trickle of water sliding over her skin, drop by drop, falling onto the marble floor.

And the footsteps.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Approaching.

Snape shut his eyes tightly. He couldn't turn around. He couldn't move. His entire body tensed at the awareness of her presence behind him, the warmth of her breath mere inches away. And moisture started to seep through the fabric of his cloak, marking the contact of her bare body.

A shiver coursed through him. Not from the cold, but from the blistering awareness of what was happening.

"What are you doing?" His voice came out rougher than he intended, betraying the tension in his throat.

She didn’t answer immediately. Her hands, damp and trembling, clung softly to his back, as if afraid he might vanish if she pressed too hard.

"I don't want to get dressed." Her whisper was barely a breath of air, yet each word pierced into his back like a curse.

Snape felt his breathing grow heavier. His jaw clenched even tighter.

"This is reckless," he muttered. "You have no idea what you're doing."

She slid her fingers down his soaked cloak, letting them rest on his sides, as if trying to feel him closer, as if waiting for something.

"Maybe I do," she murmured.

He narrowed his eyes, feeling the storm of emotions raging inside him. He should push her away. He should reprimand her. He should find a way to break Peeves’ damn spell and get out of there.

But for the first time, Snape didn’t know how to escape.

A sudden pull at his wrist caught him off guard. His wand was snatched from his hand with unexpected speed, and before he could retrieve it, a splash confirmed its fate.

He turned his face just enough to avoid looking at her directly, but his sharp gaze swept across the marble floor, struggling to contain his growing irritation.

"Do you think this is a game?" His voice was a low growl, dense with warning.

Far from intimidated, the young woman let out a barely audible laugh, a playful whisper that sent an uncomfortably pleasurable shiver down his spine.

"I don't know, Professor…" her tone was soft, almost pensive. "But if it were… I'd say I'm winning."

Snape felt a violent pulse in his temple—a mix of fury and something far worse, something that made him feel out of control. His most efficient student, the one who rarely made mistakes in his class, the one who had always maintained flawless composure… was now acting with unsettling brazenness.

"Two hundred points from Slytherin if you don't put an end to this nonsense right now."

But she didn’t stop.

She pressed closer, her warm body against the drenched fabric of his cloak. Snape remained utterly still, as if every muscle in his body had forgotten how to react.

"highly doubt you'd dare to take that many points from your own house." she whispered against his ear, sending a shiver down his neck.

Snape turned his body, still without looking directly at her, respecting her decency. He intended to respond, to push her away, to curse her if necessary, but then— her palm descended, soft yet firm, pressing against the evidence of his torment.

His body reacted before his mind could catch up, a sharp exhalation escaping his lips as he felt the pressure of her fingers against the hardness he had been trying to ignore.

His self-control was hanging by a thread.

The pressure of her hand was a silent challenge, an assertion of power he hadn't expected from her. Snape remained motionless, caught between the need to put an end to this madness and the betrayal of his own body, burning under her touch.

And then he felt her lips—barely a brush, a fleeting kiss just along the line of his jaw, so close to his ear that his breath hitched.

Her breath trembled softly against his ear before her lips trailed lower, following the curve of his jaw with calculated slowness, while her fingers explored with the same boldness.

"Tell me to stop…" she whispered, her voice laced with poisonous sweetness. "And I will."

Snape opened his eyes, his gaze fixed on the empty space before him. He could do it. He could put an end to this with a single word. And yet, silence stretched between them—taut, searing.

She smiled against his skin and descended along his neck, tasting, marking him with barely-there kisses. With deft fingers, she attempted to undo the buttons of his robe… one, two… but then she realized the daunting task before her. An endless row of stubborn buttons, each one defying her with the same impassivity their owner always did.

For a moment, she wondered whether Snape dressed like this out of sheer habit or as an elaborate defense mechanism against situations like this. How long did it take him to undress each night? Was there some secret enchantment for this?

She sighed against what felt like a punishment imposed by its wearer. Her hands abandoned the impossible mission, gripping the fabric instead.

He exhaled—a sound caught between a sigh and a warning.

He had yet to dare to look at her—not her face, not her body. His gaze remained fixed elsewhere, clinging to a last vestige of control, of respect, of sanity. Even in the midst of his confusion, of his body’s betrayal, he restrained himself under his own composure.

And that irritated her. She wanted to see him break.

With an intrepidity she would never have dared in any other context, she took his chin between her fingers, forcing him to turn his face toward her. A gesture she wouldn’t have dared in a rational state—not against a man so dominant in every fiber of his being. But in that moment, her need to fracture his control outweighed her fear.

Snape’s face burned with fury. His dark, piercing gaze locked onto her with a weight that was overwhelming. His mere presence was already imposing, but now, with anger vibrating through his expression, he seemed capable of consuming her whole.

Inside, she felt a shiver of warning. She had touched a dangerous boundary. But she did not retreat.

If she had wanted to provoke him, she was succeeding—just not in the way she had imagined.

Snape knocked her hand away with a sharp, firm motion, pushing it down forcefully, forbidding her from touching him again. His fingers closed around her wrist in a tense grip, his hand trembling just slightly—a barely perceptible gesture of something she couldn’t quite decipher. Was it fear? Nerves? She didn’t know. But if it was, he masked it instantly beneath the authority that was second nature to him.

And then, without warning, he gripped her wet hair in a demanding tug, tilting her head back, forcing her to look at him.

He did not see her body. He did not see her nakedness. Only her eyes. An abyss of warning, of danger, of absolute dominance. And when he guided her head downward with an imperious gesture, the message was clear.

She obeyed with insolent grace, never looking away, as if even in submission, she insisted on defying him. And just as her face reached the right height, the professor freed himself from the unbearable constraint of his erection. Her parted lips released a warm breath over his sensitive skin before the first contact—an ethereal touch that made him exhale unsteadily.

He closed his eyes for an instant. As if he could ignore the tremor in his own hand, still tangled in her wet hair.

She was in no hurry. She traced a slow, torturous path along his cock, exploring with the devotion of someone savoring a sin, drawing shivers with each advance, with every gentle pressure of her lips and tongue.

Snape was tense. The contact was a sweet poison. Her delicate hands framing his length, while her mouth followed its own course, outlining his shape with an almost sickly devotion.

His breathing grew heavier, uneven, and for a brief moment, his grip tightened before loosening slightly—an internal battle between rejection and surrender. She sensed the conflict in every small tremor of his muscles, in the stiffness of his body, trying to stay firm, in the deep exhale he failed to contain.

Each slow caress of her tongue against his skin was a silent declaration, a deliberate exploration. She could feel the way desire and fury intertwined within him, how his body betrayed his mind, how the respect he had fought to uphold was unraveling under the weight of raw, burning need.

When her lips fully enclosed him, Snape let out a low, strangled groan, a barely restrained curse that echoed against the marble walls.

The air grew thick. She felt the authority in the way Severus guided her movements, the firm pressure of his hand in her hair, the way he tilted her, now looking eyes with her.

A ragged sigh escaped him, his other hand sliding to her nape, his fingers hesitating for an instant before gripping her—caught between necessity and resistance.

The water that had pooled on the floor rippled softly around them, accompanying the sound of his breathing, of his barely contained murmurs.

"Merlin," he muttered through clenched teeth, his voice low, torn apart by pleasure.

She, lost in the act of pleasing him, quickened her pace slightly, drawing him further, deeper, closer to the edge of no return. Their gazes met again, searching, waiting for that final surrender.

And when she saw it, when she felt him shudder, his release spilling into her mouth, It was a sight that left her stunned. His grip held her firm, forcing her to swallow every drop of him.

His breathing was still erratic when he pulled her up, grasping her waist with a firm touch that did not ask for permission. She barely had time to catch her breath before feeling her back collide against the cold marble wall. A gasp left her lips as the contrast between her fevered skin and the icy surface.

He loomed over her, his chest brushing against hers, his warm breath ghosting over her neck. His hands, large and insistent, traced her damp body, outlining the curve of her waist, descending slowly, as if he wished to memorize her through touch alone.

"Do you think this will go unpunished?" he murmured against her ear, his voice low, charged with something dark and simmering, still marked by the pleasure that had barely begun to fade.

Her eyes met his with the insolence of someone who had already tasted victory.

"And what will you do, Professor? Punish me... or keep enjoying my rebellion?"

The question barely had time to leave her lips before he claimed them in a kiss—one that was anything but gentle It was deep, consuming, a mixture of frustration and desperate need. His fingers tangled in her wet hair, tilting her head back to devour her, to demand, each breath from her lips.

His hand descended with a clear intent, trailing down between her thighs with the same slow, torturous patience with which she had unraveled him moments before.

She arched against the wall, eyes closing, trapped between the icy marble and the fire of his touch. Her breath caught in a ragged gasp as he finally touched her with the precision of someone who knew exactly how to unmake her.

His mouth found her neck, grazing it with a teasing bite before whispering with dark satisfaction:

"Now it's my turn."

And without further warning, he brought her to submission, offering no reprieve, allowing no space for another insolent provocation.

The words were still hanging in the air when his hands closed around her thighs, parting them. There was no haste in his movements.

She gasped as his lips traveled down her neck, leaving a damp trail over her skin, still glistening with water. His teeth grazed the curve of her collarbone before moving lower, tasting her with unhurried delight.

His mouth descended with precision. His firm hands held her hips in place, steadying her as he took his time, exploring her with an exactness.

The first flick of his tongue made her shudder, her fingers gripping the marble behind her in a futile attempt to remain steady.

His rough hands pressed more insistently against her flesh, a silent command to keep still.

And then, he sank into her center with the same torturous patience with which she had undone him before. Every movement was deliberate, every touch carefully placed with purpose. His tongue traced slow, teasing circles, while one of his hands traveled up her abdomen to her chest, fingers curling in a silent, possessive demand.

She arched against him with a muffled moan, her erratic breathing mingling with the soft splashes of water against the floor. He felt the tremor in her legs, the sweetness of her surrender growing with every calculated stroke of his tongue, with every breathless sigh he drew from her lips.

"Professor—" her voice broke into a pleading gasp, but he did not yield.

He held her firmly as he increased the intensity, pushing her further, deeper, to the very edge of sanity.

And when he finally felt her break—when her body tensed under his touch and his name fell from her lips in a shuddering whisper—he lingered a moment longer, savoring her, prolonging her descent until there was nothing left of her but a trembling form in his hands.

He rose slowly, his mouth still glistening with the evidence of his recklessness. His eyes burned as they met hers, still half-lidded with pleasure, her parted lips struggling to catch her breath.

"Now we're even," he murmured, his voice rough, dangerous.

But when his fingers once again traced the sensitive skin of her thigh, when his smirk darkened into something wicked and knowing, she realized—he was far from finished with her.

[jellymochii]

Stray Kids as the Seven Deadly Sins (kinky edition)

⛓️pairings: ot8 skz x fem!reader

⛓️genre: pure smut

⛓️cw: smut, bdsm, degradation, cunnulingus, p in v, unprotected s3x (please don’t), and lots of other things hehe

⛓️wc: 3k

⛓️authors note: hi im alive! pls read my previous post as to explain why I wasn’t active for such a long time. if you have a request currently pending I WILL GET TO IT before the end of my summer, im just doing this as a little hobby to keep myself busy hehe. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

**THIS IS PURELY A WORK OF FICTION AS DOES NOT REFLECT THE TRUE NATURE OF THE INDIVIDUALS MENTIONED.**

Bang Chan - Wrath

He swore the day he met you that he’d never let his rage control him and hurt you, and he still keeps his promise to this day—with its exceptions.

Once you told him that you actually loved rough sex on some occasions—biting, spanking, hair pulling and all—he still hesitated to even stoop to that level, since you were so delicate and fragile to him, but you insisted that you didn’t mind if he initiated any sort of dominance over you sexually.

His breaking point was the night he came home after work where all hell had broken loose. He had gotten into an argument with his boss over deadlines after spending hours slaving away at his laptop trying to recover his lost files, resulting in him working overtime which wasn’t too abnormal.

However, you felt a certain chill up your spine watching his car pull up—like something was wrong, and your worries seemed to come true the moment he walked into the house already fuming, only to stub his toe against the door. He let out the most frustrated and enraged scream of his life before throwing his backpack full force at the wall and storming into the bedroom, causing both you and the dog to flinch.

You crept into the bedroom and observed Chan with his hands in his hands as his fingers desperately combed through his hair to try and self regulate—until his eyes laid upon you, like a bull staring right at a red flag.

In what felt like a split second, he had you cornered against the wall as his lips crashed into yours as his grip on your hair grew tighter with each growing second. After letting out a frustrated growl, he shoved you into your knees and trembled as he undid his belt—unsheathing his veiny cock with dribbles of precum already seeping out. You’d be lying if you said that this wasn’t a heavenly sight you’d dreamed of for so many nights.

“Open. Now.” He commanded, and you obeyed as you gently wrapped your lips around his red and swollen tip—only for Chan to grab a fistful of your hair and fuck your throat as tears poured from your eyes for what felt like an eternity. When he felt as though he was close, he pulled out and watched the string of saliva connecting his dick to your mouth slowly disconnect.

“Color?”

“G-green.” You mumbled out, prompting Chan to scoop you up and carry you over to the bed and slam you down, clawing your panties away and wasting no time slamming his cock straight into your cervix. Your cries of a mixture of pleasure and pain seemed to only fueled him more as his pace quickened, his face contorting in pleasure as ungodly moans left his lips.

Maybe his wrath wasn’t so bad after all.

Lee Minho - Pride

Minho’s always had that damn stupid smirk since childhood, you swore you’d find a way to somehow wipe it off his face—but you never have.

Since the day he first took you to bed he used his fingers with such unmatched skill that you swore he must have been doing this all his life (he hasn’t, but he did a LOT of research.) You swear you’ve never cum so hard in your life, and amidst your post-climax daze you can still make out a cocky smirk on his face.

The truth is that he knows how badly you hate his attitude and lives for the feeling of pushing you straight into submission after each nasty remark you shoot his way. He gets such a kick out of you trying to hold in your moans and whimpers out of protest—only to be screaming his name in ecstasy five minutes later, begging him to let you cum.

It’s days like these where Minho is pistoning his cock into you after a bicker that you really wish he would stop laughing in your ear and mocking you for melting under his touch. Unfortunately, he prides himself too much on his ability to make you cum no matter how much you choke on your own words and sobs—so your resistance was only met with Minho abusing your sweet spot into overstimulation.

“Say it. Tell me how I’m the only one who can make you whine and slobber like a bitch, and no other man will ever fuck you as good as I do.” He whispered, his grip around your throat tightening. You protested, biting your tongue and trying your hardest to not make a sound and give him the satisfaction.

Your body though, had other plans—as you felt your gummy walls spasm on his cock as your body began to tremble.

I guess it seems in the end, he’s earned the right to be prideful.

Seo Changbin - Pride

Changbin developed incredible discipline over the years of working out ritually, and it paid off with his newly incredible physique.

It was so easy for him to boast about all his achievements in the gym to his juniors now that he was no longer the wimpy kid he thought himself to be—and now that he had you, the most gorgeous girl in the eyes of many, he was unstoppable.

Truthfully, you’d often find yourself drooling over his big strong arms and dreaming of all the ways he could suffocate you to death, and he could see it all in your eyes. Your lust towards him only boosted his ego even more, and he was more than willing to show you just how great he was for you.

Here you were, tits smashed against the window pane as Changbin pinned you like prey—gazing down at the busy traffic of your urban city. Anyone could look up and see you so vulnerable like this.

“Binnieeee….what if someone sees us?” You choked, your throat still ensnared by the deadly grip Changbin had on it.

“Awww, let them baby. Let them see how well I fuck you.” He giggled, swiftly picking your legs up and positioning his cock juuuust right.

Oh, and how the angle was indeed just right. His display of sheer strength as he pistoned his thick cock into you, making you feel so full and yet so empty and hungry for more at the same time.

“Binnie, please! I’m gonna cum if you keep this up~!” You moaned, breath fogging up the glass.

“Hehe, of course you will jagi~. No one else can fuck you like I can, right? Say it.”

You’ll be saying it all night, I promise. No amount of praise will ever be too much for his pride.

Hwang Hyunjin - Lust

Every little detail about you seems to send Hyunjin into a daze.

He can’t describe the pure lust that boils in him from just the little things about you—the way your thighs look so soft and supple from just sitting on the couch, or how your back arches ever so slightly when reaching for things. His obsession and desire for you seems to grow stronger every day.

Making love to you is his favorite form of art—an addiction he can’t bear to be without. The little squeals of pleasure you make when his fingers are buried in your cunt are music to his ears, only fueling him to make you cum over and over again.

When you came home exhausted from work just wanting to escape from it all, you were greeted by the loving arms of your boyfriend while placing gentle kisses on your temple. You can smell the warm scent of vanilla candles scattered across the room, it feels like heaven. You truly feel so safe and loved in his presence, but you always know what comes next once your hormones kick in. Seriously, it’s like he knows when you’re ovulating.

Ten minutes later you’re in a drunken state of absolute euphoria, surrounded by the smell of sex and the sounds of your lips smacking against each other. Hyunjin takes his time with you at first, but as his primal need for more takes over he quickly transitions into a rapid and feral pace of pounding in your cunt. He swears he has no idea what comes over him—he’s possessed. The only thing he needs right now is to be holding you close while buried deep in your sopping wet pussy.

“Ghh-too fast!” You cry out.

“Shhhh I know baby, but you can take it. You’ll take it all in f-for me, promise”

You’ve always put your trust in each other and you know he would never harm you, but sometimes the look in his eyes is that of a possessed man looking over you and soaking all of you in like a monster hunting its prey.

And when his orgasm finally hits him, it’s like all the lust that was building inside of him finally surrounds him in a single perfect moment—with the harmony of your combined moans making him the happiest man alive.

Truthfully, he doesn’t care that he lusts after you all the time—it’s what he thrives on.

Han Jisung - Gluttony

His friends like to tease Jisung about how obsessed he seems to be over you—how the time spent away from you seems to deflate him into a shell of his former self. Like he’s starving for something more than the hot pot wasting away on his plate.

Almost like he needs to be buried in your pussy 24/7.

The first time the two of you ever agreed to try anything sexual, he seemed somehow tempted to try eating you out. He watched countless videos on how to perfectly pleasure you to the fullest with both his cock and his mouth—so when the time finally came, he would be well prepared.

What he didn’t prepare for though, was how badly he’d crave you more after just tasting the first drop of you.

What once was a challenge to be a better man to you turned into a spiraling obsession of devouring you like a starved man every chance he could get, sometimes cumming without even the slightest touch from you because of how intoxicating the smell is. Every part of his life when he’s not slaving away at work is devoted to your pussy—and how well your greedy hole sucks him in so much that his dick becomes a prisoner inside of you. It drives him to the edge so so fast.

Just like today, when he’s barely even thrusting into you and doesn’t seem to be pulling out at all, he's just humping you desperately with his cock sitting inside while he whines.

“God, this pussy’s gone be the f-fucking end of me, babe.” He groaned, pounding your cervix rougher with each thrust. “I’m gonna cum so fucki—SHIT~!” He cries out as you begin to push back against him, creating a whole new rhythm of pure ecstasy—only amplified by the unholy and sloppy sounds of your juices squelching against him.

And when the waves of pleasure finally crash against your shaking body, who else but Han to clean up the creamy mess you two created.

It’s filthy, raw, and pure gluttony at its finest.

Lee Felix - Envy

You’d think with all the lights flashing just for Felix and all of his glory and fame, there’d be nothing for him to be jealous about, but there’s a teeensy little problem he has that he just can’t shake.

Well you, duh.

He thought you were the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen—soft and delicate hands, a smile that could light up the room, and God, your perfect body. He wishes he could have all of it—and yet, it all goes to that stupid son of a bitch of a boyfriend you have.

Tall, muscular, perfect posture, and a jawline so sharp that could slice through anything. Although Felix had the muscles, he wasn’t nearly as tall as he would’ve liked to be and his posture was like that of a shrimp with all the back pain he’d been suffering. His natural feminine beauty was enough to have millions of fan girls desperate for him, but why not you? Why couldn’t you see through that dumb hunk of meat and look at him instead?

He spent months playing the part perfectly of an innocent male friend, even faking having a girlfriend who mysteriously also dumped him when your boyfriend had dumped you. He stayed by your side and pretended to be heartbroken with you while engulfing unholy amounts of ice cream straight from the bucket—and yet—he overheard you on the phone begging your ex to come back.

He’d had enough.

Slithering up from behind your disheveled figure and wrapping you up in a warm hug and whispering in your ear. “Don’t you think it’s about time to forget about him, baby?”

You froze, not knowing how to respond to that pet name.

“W-Well how? All I think about is him, y’know.” You muttered, feeling less like you were being hugged by a teddy bear and more like being suffocated by a snake.

“I can help you. I’ll make you forgot alllll about that stupid piece of shit—if you’ll let me.” He groaned, hands wandering down to rub circles on your clothes clit earning a whimper from you.

You’d never expected your best friend to be the living embodiment of the green eyed monster himself.

Kim Seungmin - Sloth

Truthfully Seungmin isn’t lazy in the slightest, the way he’s manipulated you to please him in every way and give you an orgasm almost on command takes effort. And yet, now it seems after all that training he can’t seem to be bothered to help you out at all when you just look so cute and desperate when you’re begging for it.

He seems to always tell when you’re ovulating because of how increasingly horny and clingy you become to him—begging him for just his fingers to help you out—but it’s more fun for him to watch you try and get yourself off without his help (and failing.)

Today may just have been the worst of it. You’d been itching for a release all week to destress from work, but your fingers weren’t cutting it. It seemed like every time you asked Seungmin to touch you—even offering to be his fuckdoll for the night—he still just looked down at you with that stupid smirk on his face and replied “Hmmmm….nah. Maybe after dinner, but you’ll be fine.”

Fine? Are you kidding me? He’s been taunting and denying you all week and insists somehow you’ll just be able to tolerate it? You couldn’t decide at this point if you wanted to rip his face off or ride it into oblivion.

You tried to settle yourself down in the bed and get into a zone while he jumped in the shower, hoping that maybe the memories of being pounded into like a dumb doll would be enough to get you off until he came back.

It wasn’t, and when Seungmin stepped out to see your frustrated scrunched up face and your fingers pumping brutally into your cunt—he’d felt like the king of the earth.

“Awww, look how disgustingly desperate my little slut is.” He sneered.

“Minnie…please, I’ll do anything—just please let me cum!” You whimpered out, feeling utterly defeated at this point.

He heaved a sigh in response to taunt you. “Ffffine, I guess since I’m the only one who can make you cum, I’ll help you out a little.”

You seemed relieved at his response, but little did you know you were in for an entire night of orgasm denial to turn you further into his perfect obedient dolly.

It’s not as lazy as you’d think.

Yang Jeongin - Greed

Jeongin was used to not being someone’s first pick. Whether it was being called a monster for the way he looked, being shoved aside by his friends—or being rejected for giving his heart to someone.

And yet, you saw right through all of that and gave him the love he never had.

He’s obsessed with you, truly. The way your hair sways when you walk, your toothy grin, and your caring heart—it’s enough to make any man kneel. And that’s the problem.

You’re used to being catcalled and it seems to not bother you as much anymore, but it’s hard to distinguish whether someone is truly being friendly or trying to get into your pants. It doesn’t matter to Jeongin either way though, he’ll see red every time. Anger consumes him whenever he sees another man compliment your outfit or ask you where you’re from—after all, he’s a man too, therefore he knows what those perverts are thinking.

And thus his rage turned into greed, he was going to make it a point to both you and everyone else that you were his and only his. He didn’t care how inconsiderate or embarrassing he was in public, no one was allowed to have what was his.

Like today, the two of you were just grocery shopping when the clerk at the checkout was just too nice to you in Jeongins opinion. Who the hell did he think he was calling you pretty? Why is he smiling so much? Why won’t he just shut up and put the tomatoes in the bag?

The more the thoughts swirled in him the more he realized he had to claim you as his possession, what was rightfully his.

And so that’s how you ended up pinned against the wall, being pounded into at a torturously slow yet sharp pace while your oh so loving boyfriend whispered filth into your ear.

“Do you really think that stupid pervert could ever fuck you like this, huh? Could he hit your pretty little sweet spot—just. like. this?” He sneered, thrusting harshly into you with each word he spoke.

The hardest lesson you had to learn today was to always watch carefully what greed and sin can do to a man, and how it can fuck you oh so deliciously.

[yandere-wishes]

Hi! Hoping you’re doing well I wanted to make a request. We’ll… I don’t know if this is a request or suggestion buuut can you write something with Ifa and his s/o. Like, maybe a jealous Ifa? When someone is flirting with his darling! Thanksss

💜: Wow, didn't think Jealous Ifa would be such a popular prompt!! Oh well I'll bite into the "Ifa's a jealouse type" agenda.

˚₊‧꒰ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꒱ ‧₊˚

"Are you sure? It's a big responsibility."

Ifa still remembers the day he spoke those exact words to you.

Voice stiff leaking with doubt, cadence demurral. It was Doctor Ifa speaking to you that day, trying to convince you not to go through with such a big commitment while also memorizing the adorable scintillate when the sun's rays reflected through your eyes just so.

"I'm sure" you reply, juvenile saurian tucked between your arms as you awkwardly shift from one foot to the other. There's commendation in such an act, Ifa would know, he's taken on a similar responsibility. But still, he couldn't help the uncertainty pricking at his bones.

The little runt was born sick. It likely wouldn't make it to teenhood let alone adulthood. Nevertheless, you seemed all so adamant about this. So determined that this broken little ill thing would be your companion.

Your responsibility.

"Alrighty then, let's take a look at 'em..."

That had been several years ago.

And yet Ifa still clings to the memory, replaying your words and savoring your resolve upon his tongue.

"Lucky lil guy"

he murmurs with all the acrimony of a curse.

Funny he can't quite remember when this disdain took root.

When the way you'd hug and cuddle your Saurian would send bullets through his heart.

There's a painful throbbing in Ifa's veins whenever you're around. A dull needle jabbed awkwardly into his heart. It's all so hard to see you walking around the tribe grounds, smiling and waving at everyone you see. It's custom he should know this, he's been raised amongst these people much like yourself, and yet...

He can't help wishing everyone was dead.

It's a bitter thought, one that shouldn't grant him as much ease as it does. But he can't help picturing you threading through the corpses, in desperate search of someone to quench your loneliness.

He wants to hold you close, cradle you in his arms, and feel your smooth skin squish against his cheek. Fingers entwined as you snake your legs around his. Together forever, only his forever.

But then you leave and the throbbing turns into a lacerations gouged bone deep. Too painful to abide. He can't see you, nor can he see who you talk to. The worries start to seep out, overflowing until he drowns. What if the smiles aren't so friendly anymore, flirtish, lustbound, loving even. What if you return such sentiments? What if you slip out from between his fingers?

Like sand in the wind.

Ifa still remembers the day you got a vision. Remembers how the blood in his veins felt hot and his heart beat in envy.

How dare an archon get to lay claim to you.

Be with you wherever you went.

How dare someone who wasn't him always remain by your side.

Ifa had never thought himself religious, never thought himself irreverent either. But in that moment, sacrilege claws at his throat as he watched your new powers bloom from your fingertips. Smiling at him with all the beauty in the world. He should feel happy for you, proud even. Crack a joke at how you and your saurian "match now" make you laugh, and reveal in the melodious chime.

But Ifa's voice cracks when he mutters a "congratulation" his body filled to the brim with emerald rage. Under his breath, he swears war upon Celestia.

"Ifa?"

You come to him in the dead of night. When he's doing his rounds in the infirmary making sure his inpatients are still asleep. Ifa can't help the dreamy sign that escapes his lips. It's as if the stars and the moon and the low muggy fog all pitched together to create this sort of fragile beauty. Something a little too hard to explain and a little too overwhelming to love.

"I was wondering if you'd like to come to Fontaine with me?" You step closer letting the door swing close behind you. The gentle thump making a little Tatankasaurus stir in its sleep. Ifa breathes in a sharp intake. Filling himself with your sweet perfume. His mouth is dry trying to find a way to differ. "Why Fontaine?" is all that comes out.

Why water? Why not Mondstadt, why not somewhere where the breeze runs free? Far away from everyone but him?

You shrug rigidly, kicking at the floorboards. "There's a film festival I've heard of and well...it's different you know? Something so unlike..." you wave your hands and Ifa can't help but wince at the message.

"All this?" he finishes. Are you trying to tell him something? Are you trying to say you're tired of home? Of the battles that never really seem to end? Of the victories that have grown practically hollow?

"Yeah," You chirp a hint of lassitude tainting your voice "Just a change of pace you know? It'll be good for you and Cacucu too."

The sentiment is there, Ifa's sure of it. But he can't shake the nervous tremors that sprout across his body. He's tried all so long to keep you to himself, to gently pry you away from everyone else. And now? Now you want to escape entirely, leave Natlan, and explore the world. But what choice does he have? He knows he has to go with you, maybe there'll be some merit to it, maybe you'll start to see things from his point of view...

Ifa doesn't like Fontaine.

There's something so mechanical about it all. Like the entire nation has been scrubbed of life and replaced with perfect porcelain. Like they've forgotten how to breathe. But maybe the worst of it all is the way you seem to be enjoying yourself. The radiant smile you give the curious natives who flock around you. The little tales you tell about Natlan as the journalists all scribble down notes.

But the most insufferable has got to be that man.

That man.

The tall duke-wardon that invites you for tea in the afternoons and walks you around the court, laughing at your mundane misadventures in Natlan. Ifa can't stand it, the way that man - No Wriothesley as he insists to be called- always has a hand on your body. The way he beams at you and rushes to your side. Heck, Ifa can't even stand when Wriothesley plays with your little saurian. The little runt that had plagued him up until now has suddenly become yet another point of envy. After all these years that saurian is practically an extension of you. So why should Ifa love it any less?

He imagines his ameno bullets piercing Wriothesley's skull. Imagine Cacucu pecking out his eyeballs. Anything to make him stay away from you.

His heart can't take it anymore. Ifa's blocking the door of your shared hotel room. Bags packed insisting you head back now. You're stubborn adamant about staying and he knows it won't be easy. His fingers wring the syringe hidden behind his back. Pads of his fingers scraping against the fine tip as he listens to your tantrum, screaming about how he's being so unreasonable.

Funny, Ifa thinks he's actually doing the logical thing for once.

He can't let anyone else have you. Can't let anyone keep you away from him any longer.

He waits until you're closer before pushing himself off the door and wrapping his arms around you in a sheathlike embrace. You calm in his touch hugging back. That's when he gently pushes the needle into your skin. Pushing the tranquilizing liquid into your bloodstream.

Drastic? Maybe.

But he's really had enough.

Ifa's lips peck at your temples, slowly trailing longer hungrier kisses down your neck and shoulders. There's a ship heading for Natlan soon, you'll be home safe once more. Your saurian walks over nuzzling between you and Ifa. And the doctor can't help but smile, his eyes dart up to Cacucu, lips breaking into a serene smile. He finally has everyone he loves in his embrace, tucked away safe from the cruel world.

Finally, he's happy after all so long.

And once you're home, Ifa has plans of keeping you locked away with him. Forever his, and only his.

Enjoy this rushed little thing that took me 1700 years to write😭😭

[st4r-th0ughts]

I’m breaking down, I’m sorry.

masterlist

(platonic) corrupted? Ancient GN! reader cookie x Ancient Heros

Clotted cream Cookie x reader (+implied very very slight one sided Ancients x reader)

BAKENOHANA (NAKISO) ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:31

ׂ╰┈➤

tw/cw: Reader’s a bit of an asshole so be warned, thier also a flirty one. The Beast Cookie is my own OC (personally I don’t want to just refer to them as beast, they and whatnot bc it would be confusing) and some of the cookies in flashbacks are as well. Reader also has anger issues and probably an identity crisis so yay, written before Beast Yeast Ep.8

note(s): not proofread! this takes place in a slightly altered version of the crk timeline. Golden Cheese is present during the Cookie Odessey story, and the request of Reader’s strength is during Cookie Odessey right after Day 4, instead of Golden Cheese’s kingdom being located after the whole Cookie Odessey instead. This doesn’t affect any lore much tbh

special thanks: this entire fic was kickstarted by @brittle-doughie based on thier Virtue of Compassion! Reader. While the story is completely different, your fics are the ones that gave me the motivation to write this.

summary: O Light of Gaiety, tell me so, how do I let go of the sorrows of the future?

ׂ╰┈➤

gaiety, /ˈɡeɪ.ə.t̬i/ happiness and excitement.

sorrow, /sor·​row/ deep distress, sadness, or regret especially for the loss of someone or something loved

——

A gasp escapes you as you stare ahead of you, your soul jam glowing brighter in your scarf accessory, your hand moving close to grip it unconsciously, looking around at the walls, as if they were melting by the second and closing in on your form.

“This again? I’ve been seeing these halls for the last few nights.”

You murmur quietly, your throat feeling dry as you stare at the overwhelming melancholic feeling of the stale air around you, the environment making you feel dulled and sorrowful by the minute.

This wasn’t the first time you’ve come across the place. Ever since you helped Pure Vanilla regain his soul after being corrupted by the Beast of Lies and Deception’s powers, you’ve been having similarly resounding nightmares he’d described in one of your late night talks.

Only this time, there was no one here. And the loneliness of the silence was making you go nuts. You place a hesitant foot forward, and immediately, the abyss shifts to form a hallway. Cracked, paint peeling from its thin, greyed wafer walls, the icing that held the place together slowly melting into puddles, the sounds of soft, despaired whispers echoing through your mind.

You slowly walk through the hallways, and you stop at a turn, and gazing down it, showed you a collection of mirrors, and curiously prompted you to turn and walk down there instead, almost as if you were supposed to.

The reflections were not of you, but of your memories. Cheerful. Happy. Just like your Virtue. Despite the overwhelming feeling of sorrow enveloping you like a cold hug, a smile forms on your face as your hands fondly press against the glass.

The first memory you could set your eyes upon was your ascension as your kingdom’s ruler. You had pledged your oath, swearing that all cookies who inhabited the land of Gaiety and Joy, would be the most joyful, well taken care of cookies in EarthBread. Kneeling down, you had felt the crown settling neatly on your head, fitting perfectly.

Your friends were proud as ever. Pure Vanilla and White Lily were smiling tenderly in joy at your coronation, Dark Cacao, stern as ever, had the slightest hint of whatever he could call a smile on his face. Hollyberry was hosting the widest grin you think a cookie could make, and Golden Cheese was the first to give you a proud speech of you sharing your riches with her, though it was with sheer fondness and no malice.

The next frame housing a mirror was your regaining of your souljam. After the Dark Flour War, your efforts to try and hold your friends together failed, and in a fit of rage at feeling inadequate, and the despair that as the Virtue of Gaiety, you failed to keep your friend’s spirits up and keep them together in dark times, you smashed your souljam into fragments, leaving them to be scattered by the harsh winds of the Sugar Powder Desert as your heart and Virtue chilled to the core.

You ruled your kingdom with the same grace you had before, smiling during public walks and appearances. But within your walls, where only your soldiers and confidants remained, your heart was as cold as stone, mind as scrambled as cookie crumbs on a battle field. Gingerbrave and his friends entered your kingdom to try and speak to you, convince you to return to the Ancient Cookies’ sides to fight Dark Enchantress Cookie, and they’d brought to you your souljam fragments. The sight of it had made you snap, recalling all those terrible memories you had tried so hard to repress, and you’d taken the souljam and smashed it again, sending the group out of the palace with threats of imprisonment and execution.

It was only after Dark Cacao, Golden Cheese’s and Hollyberry forcefully pushed past your guards and Pure Vanilla had pleaded with you to listen to them, to your life old friends. They made you face them head on, even if your weapons did clash in your fury, even as you accused them of turning their backs onto you even as you tried to help them, and on their own citizens. Your soul jam had called out to you, just as gentle and as joyful as it was when you destroyed it.

“Reader Cookie, come. It is time… you open your heart, to your loyal subjects, to your friends. To become the kind, gentle ruler you once were.”

You remember the overwhelming guilt that swallowed you whole at once as the Light of Gaiety spoke to you, hearing your voice in its gentle and tender state that you hadn’t used in centuries made you stumble as you held the cracked gem in your hands, and you recall Pure Vanilla and Golden Cheese’s hands holding you upright as Hollyberry and Dark Cacao stood in front of you to offer support if needed.

“O Light of Gaiety, forgive me. I have made… so many grave errors in my pain and grief. I am not worthy of being one of the Ancient Heroes.”

You had murmured softly, cradling the gem in your hands as the cracks slowly started to heal, and you witness through the mirror at how the Ancients, the cookies you called your closest friends, had such heartbroken expressions on their faces. It made your heart ache as well, though it had been a few months since that event as a quiet sigh left your lips.

“For years, pain has ebbed away at your joy, wearing and chipping you down into a cold and closed off cookie whose hurt is unable to be shared with anyone.”

“Your pain will not go away even if you accept me into your life again, Reader Cookie. But you should trust in the cookies around you. To help you regain your values and virtues of Gaiety, to be the cookie your subjects, your friends, need again.”

The image fades from the mirror as it cracks, your hand jerking away as you sigh quietly. On your scarf’s ribbon, your souljam starts to shake, your eyes darting as you come face to face with another mirror, its corners cracked and some shards even missing, compared to the other pristine and intact mirror that had housed the last two memories.

The imaging was grim. It was the time of when you felt your friends were slowly becoming distant. Shells of the strong, powerful warriors you once knew. In the mirror, it simply reflected your form, hunched over and weeping softly as your souljam laid dark in front of you.

Voices of your friends filled your mind, words not of care and kindness, but of spite and malice you knew they could never direct towards any cookie, much less to you, and you recoil as the glass breaks, your mirror self’s cries echoing faintly throughout the warped hallways.

The weeps slowly ebb away as you realize it was no longer your sobs, but it was of another cookie. Soft, grief filled sobs that would have filled a normal cookie with so much despair and sorrow they could have burst into tears on the spot, unable to move. But you weren’t ordinary. At least, not anymore.

So your step into the room where you could locate the weeping, and your heart stops for a beat. A hunched figure, exactly how you saw yourself in that mirror, crying into their palms as they face away from your form, their front facing the window that cast a dim light over them.

Your souljam starts to shake uncontrollably, and you hold it down with a firm hand as you stepped cautiously to the cookie, their head turning abruptly to face you as tears streaked their sorrowful face, and you jump back.

“Oh Reader Cookie… my last missing piece of my sorrowful soul…”

The mysterious cookie reached out, standing up as their hands reach out to you, stopping as you stepped back, and they tilt their head, a curious but sad look in their eyes.

“You… you seem… familiar. Like we’ve met before.”

You uttered softly, in both subtle awe and disbelief, and the cookie’s voice is soft and grief filled as they reach for your soul jam, which you held firmly as it trembled violently, trying to break free.

“Of course we’ve met before. You… Reader Cookie, are my Virtue.”

Your eyebrow raises in confusion as your ever so faint awed smile disappearing as the cookie stepped towards you, their hands finding your face, feeling you, as if you were their greatest masterpiece.

“Your… Virtue? I don’t understand…”

Your eyes widened in realization. As your eyes meet the mysterious cookie’s, a gasp erupted from your throat as their pale, cream colored eyes gaze sadly into yours.

After the events of Pure Vanilla’s corruption, you had buried yourself in books dedicated to the Beast Cookies, determined to know as much as you could about them to make sure your friends didn’t suffer further tragedies. Nights spent combing through books, skipping meals and locking yourself in your personal study.

Sleepless nights led you to a book that described a cookie from the ones graced with the power of the souljam. That sixth cookie blessed with divine power was the Virtue of Feeling, and was the only one to not be corrupted like the rest of the Beast Cookies, but instead, disappeared off the face of EarthBread after witnessing their friends be corrupted and sealed away.

Dawn Extract Cookie. The cookie described to possess the sweetest and glossiest cream colored eyes in all of EarthBread. One look into them made the cookie feel the emotions of them, whether negative or positive. It was said Dawn Extract Cookie’s souljam had splintered into many pieces as opposed to their beast cookies’ souljams being split into two.

“Of all my souljam fragments, you are the only one that manifested a physical form without my input, and the only that could astray from that fragment without much repercussions.”

Dawn Extract murmured softly, their hands finding your face as they slowly felt every faint crack from battle, every small wrinkle from your joyous smiles, and their hand pulls away as they step back. You finally caught a glimpse of their soul jam. It was identical to yours, but its cracks were visible, it looked like someone had badly glued them together. And its middle was missing.

“No. No. No, this can’t be-”

You stutter as your hand runs through your hair, staring down at the mirror that had appeared at your feet, watching the ripples of the glass contort as your features distort into swirls.

“I have- I have parents! Siblings, i grew up from a freshly baked doughball into a cookie! How could i- be your souljam?”

Your voice trails off into silence, and since entering this nightmare, you feel the sorrow that has been weighing you down start to chip away at your spirit.

“My souljam has given you false memories to pacify the need for knowing your past, your origin. You are my souljam. You are the last of my Virtue.”

Dawn Extract Cookie’s voice is soft, it would be comforting if it was not for the fact that your life as you knew it, as you thought you knew it, was completely shattered.

“Give in to your heart’s sorrow. Give in and allow your grief to become one with mine. You feel guilt. You feel sadness. Let them consume you.”

The Beast murmured, tears trickling slowly down their face in translucent, thin streaks, making them look almost comforting as their hand reached for you, the aura of despair growing stronger.

You snap out of your sorry state. You wouldn’t. You won’t give in. You didn’t fight for your kingdom, against Dark Enchantress Cookie, cry and scream as your friends walked away from you one by one, allowed them to come back into your life, and took back the Light of Gaiety that you’d shattered into pieces.

“No. I am Reader Cookie. I am the Virtue of Gaiety, and my desire to see cookies smile across EarthBread.”

You can’t tell if your affirming yourself, or if your trying to push back against Dawn Extract’s calm words, stepping back as they stepped closer to you, though their steps were slow and calculated, they were not menacing.

“Resisting is futile, Reader. You may hold the Light of Gaiety in your hands, but you are a part of my own powers. You hold Sorrow in your heart, and it will eventually consume you as it did me.”

Dawn Extract’s voice echoed in your mind, ringing in your ears as you recoiled violently, the Beast’s form towering over your crouched figure as you winced as their cold hands gripped your chin, forcing you to gaze into their grief consumed eyes, chilling you to the core.

“Witness, how your Sorrow will consume. Witness how your friends will all perish and become just as twisted as the Beasts whom I called friends.”

You feel yourself fall backwards as visions flash through your mind, and your heart sinks into your chest, your souljam falling into Dawn Extract’s hand as it slowly retracted into the final piece in the Beast’s own gem, your hands reaching blindly as you screamed for your soul jam to return, to not leave like your friends once did.

Hollyberry was first to fall. You watched as her Passion start to slowly waver and finally break, her strong love for her kingdom, her friends, her family, crumbled entirely, and she became indifferent to them, indifferent to the suffering she started to cause.

Dark Cacao fell next. His Resolution was strong and took longer than Hollyberry’s Passion to fade out, but eventually, his determination to keep his kingdom safe, his unwavering care for his subjects, became half hearted, second guessing and delaying both his advisor’s and his decisions, and his kingdom soon crumbled.

Golden Cheese’s Greed soon became corrupted, her need for gold, riches, land and resources making the loyalty and care for her subjects and friends she had placed above all treasures become nothing, meaningless to the Golden Sovereign as they had no monetary value.

White Lily’s Virtue of Freedom soon became a value akin to her dark counterpart, the wretched Dark Enchantress Cookie, but perhaps even worse. She ended up capturing the Faerie Kingdom who once saw her as a hero, under the guise and illusion she was keeping them ‘safe’, and when they rebelled and eventually perished at her hand, she sought to do the same for the rest of Crispia.

Pure Vanilla stood strongest, though his heart broke completely at watching all his friends save for you turn to the dark side, and in his heroic stricken heart, he immersed himself in a world of lies, where none of the bad things that had befallen upon all of you ever took place. His deceitful world, however, ended with corrupted whatever remained untainted of Crispia, causing the whole world to fall and be destroyed in chaos.

You hit solid ground, but you made no move to get up, slowly getting into a half kneel position, tears streaming gently down your face in thin rivulets as the visions plague your mind. You feel your heart slowly breaking, as you desperately tried to deny it.

“No… no… they.. they would never…”

Dawn Extract slowly stepped in front of you, their footsteps light as they came to a halt, and you could hear the sorrow, the pity and sympathy in thier voice as you feel your tears stream faster, their cold hands wiping them away from you in a masked attempt at comfort.

“But they will. It is inevitable. Your friend, White Lily Cookie, has fallen once, though not to her souljam.”

The Beast bends down in front of you, thier glossy cream eyes gazing into your deeply as you feel your heart slowly be wretched further into the depths of inexplicable sadness, your determination that was oh so strong, crumbling further by the second.

“Who is to say your other friends won’t be next? You saw it with your own eyes.

You tried so hard to deny that reality. But this Beast was one who had witnessed thier own friends be corrupted and turn into amalgamations of monstrous, almost demonic beings. This… this was your fate as well. To see all the cookies you loved with your heart be crumbled and destroyed.

“I… what was the point of fighting at all? If we… if we were all simply going to become just as corrupted as the Beasts we battle against?”

You mutter softly, your knees making contact with the ground as you quietly weep into your hands, the tears blurring your vision as you feel your form be swallowed by the darkness of the abyss of despair.

“Is this… how sorrow feels like?”

You whisper to yourself as the coldness of the dark consumes you into its depths, your vision fading to black as you mindlessly reach your hand out to the light that was fading faster by the second, your tears never ending as the abyss embraces you.

—— (Pure Vanilla POV Centric)

Pure Vanilla quickly strode through the hallways of the winding and curling hallways of an unfamiliar place that his souljam was guiding him and his friends through. He’d woken up from a sweet dream where he could fantasize about a world and life where him and his friends never experienced the tragedies and hardships that befell them.

His friends strode quickly behind in equal speed, the Consul of the Creme Republic having the most worried air surrounding him, despite the plainly calm though slightly stressed out expression on Clotted Cream Cookie’s face.

The Ancients have each other glances as he pulled on his sleeve slightly every so often as he gazed around the twisting hallways. They didn’t blame Clotted Cream. After all, he and you, despite the short amount of time you had known each other, had gathered some sweet affection.

It was a rather heartwarming thing to see, honestly. After seeing you break down in their arms after seething at them, regain back your souljam, helping you recover from years of isolation despite being in a kingdom that was built and thriving on your endless love and grace, despite being surrounded by citizen cookies who adored you with all thier hearts.

Pure Vanilla sighed softly as he tapped his staff on the uneven mirrored floors gently, his closed eyes fixating upon a large, ornate mirror with gold plated markings, his Light Of Truth shining and wavering more rapidly than before, and he felt his friend’s soul jams doing the exact same.

The group gathered in the front of the mirror, watching the milky glass swirl before them as their reflection faded and out came the memory that, save for White Lily Cookie and Clotted Cream Cookie, could recognize almost immediately. The day Gingerbrave had came to the other four Ancients in a despaired state, saying that you had smashed your souljam into pieces and sent it to be thrown into the fireplace.

You were pacing around the throne room, muttering angrily to yourself as you gave the Ancients a harsh glare, silencing any words they had tried to get out, your footsteps quick and rapid, your eyes almost staring through them.

“So, you all- come back to your senses only now? Only after decades, only after I establish a beautiful kingdom, where cookies are prospering, running on the streets, and have the best military and political party at my side, you want me to risk it all for a war you don’t even know you can win?!”

You slam your fist into a wall, your generals flinching back at your fury, your closest advisors slowly making their way to your side to calm you down, though you push their hands away with as much controlled rage to get your point across.

“Reader Cookie, you may not like what I’m going to say…”

HollyBerry’s voice rings out, her voice muffled through the mirror’s reflection, White Lily and Clotted Cream’s faces the only ones visibly surprised as the other four winced slightly as they recalled you, the Virtue of Gaiety, loose their temper so quickly.

“…but we are all just as responsible for Dark Enchantress Cookie’s return to EarthBread! After the Dark Flour War, we had done nothing to prevent her return!”

Your form stops in the mirror, and only then, did they all manage to get a vision of your face. Your once graceful and kind face contorted in pure bitter fury and rage as your voice chuckled bitterly.

“We? WE?! We are responsible? Tell me, my DEAR friends, who was the one who tried to keep our crumbling friendship together, and it was STILL futile?! ME! It was only ME, who tried!”

Your voice was shaking, filled with so much hate, rage and sorrow that your advisors themselves stepped back entirely, as you storm towards the Ancients who were standing at the base of your throne steps, gazing at your enraged form with shock.

“You do not- get to lump me with your- your foolish mistakes, when I did everything, EVERYTHING in my power, to keep us together! As friends!”

Your gaze, so piercing, and so fierce that even through the mirror’s glossy reflection, the cookies surrounding them shudder slightly at how your eyes, blazing with fury, if looks could kill, they would drop crumbling two times over.

“Hollyberry cookie, you- left your kingdom, abandoned your Light of Passion, all for exploration, abandoning your kingdom, leaving them vulnerable to attacks, and allowed a dragon- of all things! To take over your kingdom you were once so proud of.”

“Dark Cacao, you allowed yourself to become a- a useless king! You left tribes to fend for themselves, to rely solely on themselves against the terrifying monsters of the kingdom! All for a wall that crumbled the moment the threat you worked oh so hard to keep at bay rose up!”

“Golden Cheese Cookie, you decided instead of accepting your losses, and trying to find your still living subjects, you let yourself be lost in a world of digital bliss where your citizens were stopped in time, suffering the loss of the outside life, of being able to grow. Is that the Golden Sovereign’s Greed?”

“And Pure Vanilla Cookie. Had you not decided to be a- coward, and simply faced your fears head on, we would not be in this situation. And you are all here, asking me to give up all I have left for a war? You don’t even the decent to bring White Lily with you to change my mind. See yourselves out.”

The words were sneered, jeering, almost, as if the very intent was not to make them see the errors of their ways, but to hurt them as much as possible, and make their heart twist and clench in their dough. Even as the imaging fades from the mirror and the soul jams glow, subtly prompting them to move forward, the silence hung over them like a heavy cloud.

It had been a few months since that whole fiasco occurred. Even though, the four eventually did get you to join their side, the tension was still palpable. You refused HollyBerry’s invitations for drinks, avoided Dark Cacao and Golden Cheese’s attempts at talks and discussion like the plague, and Pure Vanilla’s effort were just as fruitless even as he knocked on your door during your stay in the Vanilla Kingdom. During meetings, you barely gave your input, only making the effort to speak and let your old self shine through most when flirting relentlessly with the Consul, much to your old friends’ chagrin. Meals was without your presence, and from what they could gather, you’d only eaten after everyone had been cleared of the hall.

White Lily was no different, even after you had met and reunited in the Faerie Kingdom, you were distant. Barely spoke a word to White Lily or Pure Vanilla, even words exchanged between Gingerbrave and his friends were short and rather cold. They understood, it was evident that while guilt plagued your heart, anger and the feeling of betrayal ran just as deep. Shadow Milk even poked fun at your obvious resentment and behavior, which only served for your negativity to fester deeper.

It was evident your icy exterior was starting to melt away, as Pure Vanilla recalled quietly to himself about his own corruption into the Truthless Recluse, how you had used your own dough as a shield between Gingerbrave, Strawberry and Wizard Cookie, your body cracking as you tried to reach through the Virtue of Truth’s heart to locate the cookie you knew was the kindest out of all of you.

Pure Vanilla had almost broke down after coming back to his senses, seeing how he’d failed to protect his friend again, apologizing repeatedly as he healed your broken wounds, and you’d simply smiled and patted his back reassuringly. The same smile the ruler of the Vanilla Kingdom remembered all so well when he first met you, during better times.

He wonders whether those times will ever come back. Whether the times when the group would get together around a campfire, laughing and smiling, before the burden of being a leader, before the burden of having the purest powers in the whole of EarthBread was entrusted upon you all. Your smile, he was sure, brought just a bit more joy to the Ancient’s faces.

He is snapped out of his thoughts as they come across another mirror, the surface rippling and wobbling as a low hum emitted from it when they tried to move closer to it, prompting the group to step back. The milky white surface cleared, showing you hunched over in your chamber rooms of your castle, they presumed, soft sobs wracking your form in the mirror.

“I- oh Witches, what have I done?”

Your cracked voice echoed in their ears, broken and defeated, and Pure Vanilla immediately recognized the regal clothes you wore, it was the same day that you had torn them apart, ripped their esteem and hope to shreds and thrown them out without a second thought that day.

“I feel so much… anger. I thought I would feel liberated, I felt all my hate drive me to say such terrible things…”

“But I feel empty.”

The imaging fades as the mirror cracks, perhaps to keep your dignity before it is completely wrecked, or a twisted game by the Beast that resides here to infiltrate the cookies’ hearts with sorrow. The only sound that the hallways echoed around them was the subtle weeping that made their hearts fill with an odd melancholy.

fin.

© st4r-th0ughts 2025, I don’t allow reposts, reuploads, translations, or copies.

[writingforstraykids]

Missed Calls

Pairing: Changbin x gn!Reader (short mention of Chan/Jisung)

Word Count: 1232

Summary: Changbin overdoes it before the upcoming tour and ends up in hospital. You're busy and miss the many notifications blowing up your phone until you finally realize you should get going.

Warnings/Tags: angst, fluff, comfort, fainting, very short mention of blood, shitty communication skills, happy ending

A/N: Thank you, my love @zehina for helping me out with a prompt for this fic🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

The sound of your ringtone is muffled beneath the blanket of music pouring from your headphones, bass-heavy and loud enough to match the mood clawing at your insides. You’re three hours into a long-overdue deep clean of your apartment- more rage-scrubbing than actual tidying, if you’re being honest - and your phone is buried somewhere under a pile of laundry and passive-aggressive to-do lists.

It’s been a day.

Actually, it’s been a week. Maybe a month. Too many deadlines, too many people asking for too many things. And on top of all that, the emotional whiplash of being half in a relationship with someone who belongs to the world and barely has time to belong to himself, let alone you.

Changbin.

Your thumb scrapes a smear of dried toothpaste off the bathroom mirror, and you glare at your reflection like it’s responsible for everything unraveling. You hadn’t meant to ignore him, not really. You’d just… needed a break. From the constant notifications, the packed schedule reminders he kept sharing, the tension you felt in every message that sounded like a goodbye disguised as a status update.

Still, you probably should’ve picked up.

The music cuts out suddenly, a faint vibration making your heart lurch in your chest. You yank the headphones off and fumble for your phone, finally digging it out from under your sweatshirt. The screen lights up with missed calls—fourteen of them. Nine messages. One from Jisung. Two from Felix. The rest are all Chan.

And then the most recent one: "Call me when you see this. It’s urgent."

Time slows. Your pulse pounds in your ears.

You swipe through the notifications with trembling fingers until you find the one that matters.

Chan [4:12 p.m.]: He collapsed at the gym. Hit his head. He's in the hospital. They're running tests now.

You don't remember grabbing your keys, or your jacket, or locking the door behind you. The world outside feels like a dream - sharp, unreal, smeared with the smog of city life and the blur of regret.

-

The hospital smells like antiseptic and stress. Bright lights buzz overhead as you make your way to the reception desk, barely managing to say Changbin’s name before someone’s guiding you down a too-white hallway.

Jisung’s waiting in the corridor, slumped in one of the plastic chairs, phone clutched in both hands like it’s the only thing tethering him to Earth. His eyes widen when he sees you. “You made it.”

“What happened?” Your voice is hoarse, breathless.

He stands, eyes flicking over you, and then pulls you into a hug you don’t realize you need until you’re already in it.

“He was at the gym. He overdid it, I guess. Barely ate, hadn’t slept. You know how he gets before tours. He just—” Jisung breaks off, swallowing hard. “He fainted. Hit the back of his head. There was blood. He wasn’t waking up for a while. Scared the hell out of us.”

“Is he—” You can’t finish the question. Your throat tightens around the words.

“He’s awake now. Groggy. Still in the ER while they check for a concussion or worse. You can go in.”

Your legs carry you down the corridor before your mind catches up. Your heart is pounding so hard it’s painful. The moment you push through the curtain, everything stops.

Changbin is lying on the bed, pale against the stark white sheets, a bandage wrapped around the back of his head. There’s a bruise forming just above his ear. His eyes are half-open, unfocused, but when they land on you, something shifts in them. He tries to sit up. “You’re here.”

You rush to his side. “God, Binnie—stay down, you shouldn’t—don’t move.”

His smile is weak. “You finally checked your phone.”

“I-” Your voice breaks. You clasp his hand, fingers trembling. “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. I was… cleaning. And angry. And ignoring everything. I should’ve-”

“It’s okay.” He squeezes your hand. “You’re here now.”

Tears burn at the corners of your eyes, and you don’t know if it’s guilt or relief or both. Probably both.

-

The nurse tells you he’ll need monitoring overnight. That the scans look okay, but concussions can be tricky. That he’s lucky.

You don’t feel lucky. You feel like you’ve failed him.

Later, when the nurse steps out and it’s just the two of you again, you sit by his bed, still holding his hand. His eyes keep drifting shut.

“You scared me,” you whisper. “So much.”

“I didn’t mean to.” His voice is soft, laced with exhaustion. “Just… wanted to be ready for tour. Felt like everything was on me, and I had to push harder. Guess I pushed too far.”

“You always do.” You say it gently, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. “You carry too much.”

He exhales a shaky breath. “I thought maybe you were done. With me. You didn’t reply, and I figured… maybe I pushed you too far too.”

Your heart cracks wide open. “No. I was just tired. Frustrated. I thought you were shutting me out, again. I didn’t think - God, Binnie, I didn’t think something like this would happen.”

“Guess we both suck at talking,” he murmurs.

You nod. “Yeah. But we can get better. If you let me in. If you stop trying to do everything alone.”

Silence stretches between you, not heavy, but full.

“Will you stay tonight?” he asks, voice small.

You nod, already pulling the blanket up around his shoulders. “Always.”

-

That night, you don’t sleep. You sit in the hospital chair with your hand in his, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, listening to the quiet beeping of machines. Your phone buzzes again - Chan checking in this time. You reply briefly, letting him know Changbin’s resting, and then turn your phone over.

You think about how easily you could’ve lost him. How close you came to not getting this second chance.

The tour’s still happening, and you know the pressure won’t go away. But maybe, just maybe, the two of you can start showing up for each other in the moments that matter most.

One Week Later

Changbin’s better. He’s not cleared for full rehearsals yet, and it’s driving him up the wall. You catch him trying to sneak in push-ups in the living room, and you threaten to hide all the dumbbells.

“You know,” you say, leaning in the doorway with crossed arms, “if you pass out again, I’m not taking you to the hospital. I’ll just duct tape you to the couch.”

He laughs, the sound bright and welcome. “I’m fine.”

“You weren’t. And I don’t want you to forget that just because you’re stubborn.”

He looks up at you, serious now. “I haven’t forgotten. Trust me.”

You walk over and sit beside him, grabbing his hand. “Next time something’s wrong - anything - I want you to tell me. Even if it’s just a bad day. Even if it’s small. Deal?”

He links your pinkies together. “Deal.”

-

The night before the tour, you help him pack. You find yourself lingering in the hallway as he zips up his suitcase, your stomach twisting. “Promise me you’ll take care of yourself on tour.”

He walks over and cups your cheek.“Promise me you’ll pick up your phone next time.”

You nod, cheeks flushing. “Deal.”

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

His lips brush your forehead, soft and grounding. “Then we’ll both be okay.”

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@jinnie-ret @atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @justawetsock @palindrome969 @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @kazuuuaaa @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves @minh0scat @dis-trict9

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiebingo.

Novel Movements

Countdown to Midnight Prompt: Eddie Munson | Word Count: 2684 | Rating: T | CW: Medical Emergency (Not Steddie), Language | POV: Eddie | Tags: Gym AU, Modern AU, One-Sided Enemies to Lovers, Misconceived Notions, Platonic Stobin, Steve's Flirting, But Eddie Doesn't Know That, Oblivious Eddie Munson

"Eddie Munson."

His name is said with such sarcasm that Eddie turns his head to look.

Of course.

Just what he needed today.

"Steve Harrington," Eddie mimics in the same mocking tone. He doesn't know very many names in this place, but Steve Harrington has made sure Eddie knew his, even if it was totally against Eddie's will.

Now, Steve's standing there, grinning at him.

He's not going to put up with him. Not today. 

Eddie hates this dude more than anyone else at the gym. And there are lots of gym bros here to choose to loathe. He honestly barely knows him. But Steve Harrington is always prancing around in his little shorts, with his hair stretching towards the sky, like he's not preparing to teach a workout. Eddie isn't even sure what class he teaches. All Eddie knows is that he never seems to work up a sweat during them, as far as he's ever seen.

If he's not standing around taunting Eddie, he's leaning over the front desk, harassing Robin. She's a lesbian, Eddie is sure of it, and if Steve Harrington can't see that and know to leave her alone, he needs his eyes checked. He's always just a step too close to her, and about two steps too close to Eddie.

It's frustrating, infuriating, and Eddie hates him.

He might not sign a second contract with this place. He was asked, as a favor, to take over some classes short-term, and he's enjoyed the extra cash. But it clearly comes with a cost. 

He's gonna kill Gareth for assuring him this was a cool place to work. It's not cool. Well, it's cool. Except for Steve Harrington.

There were more than enough Steve Harringtons in his high school that he doesn't need to work alongside any more of them now.

Eddie looks away, and watches as his own kickboxing students filter in. When he was younger he needed an outlet for his teenage rage, Wayne signed him up for a kickboxing class at the local gym. At first, he hated the idea. Exercise? A sport? No fucking thanks. But he gave it a try. For Wayne. 

It was just him and some weird older dude that really preferred karate in that first class, but Eddie quickly learned to love it. The release. The pounding of his heart. How the stress would seemingly just melt away, one kick, one elbow, at a time. How the resistance, heavy and thick, would ground him. 

It was a good idea. But Wayne's ideas usually are, Eddie damn well knows that. 

And now, years later, he's the one teaching the classes to help others maybe find their love of it, too. Eddie's no sports guy. Not at all. Kickboxing is his main form of exercise. Sure, he'll use the rest of the gym every so often, since it's a perk of working here, but overall, this is his only thing. 

Nothing else has ever appealed to him in this same way. 

Steve saunters down the catwalk, the sun reflecting through the huge pane glass windows, illuminating him as he's bouncing with every step. The motherfucker always gives off main character energy, and that's true today as he glows while Eddie watches him go.

He'd much rather see him going, then coming, that's for fucking sure. He's too goddamn chipper.  

Eddie's already soaked, hair clinging to his neck, so he just as well run for a bit. It's not his favorite thing, not by a long shot, but it's necessary evil sometimes. 

The wall of treadmills is blissfully empty, and he picks one, and gets to work. Feet hitting, over and over, as he counts down the time he needs to spend on this thing. He doesn't enjoy it, but he'll do it. Occasionally.

Then he catches movement beside him.

Jesus H. Christ. 

The place is a ghost town and Steve Harrington still feels the need to set up camp right next to him. 

Eddie ignores him. Pretends he doesn't even realize he's got unwanted company, and pounds along the belt. Eddie can see him in the mirror though, unfortunately, and Steve smiles. He looks graceful while running, of course he does, especially compared to Eddie's heavy stride. 

When Eddie's cooldown begins, Eddie's grateful. He's ready to hit the showers and get the hell out of here.

Steve's still running, like it's easy as can be, even after Eddie's showered and dressed, bag slung over his shoulder. 

He's gotta get home. Tomorrow is his early class day. He's not a morning person, but he conceded to having at least one class a week before nine.

Eddie rolls in, coffee cup in hand. He hears the commotion, the frantic buzz of something is happening echoing through the open gym, bouncing down the catwalk, from room to room, like it's seeking help it just can't quite find.

"Okay, everybody, give me a second. Get a drink, stretch, I'll be back and we'll get started then," Eddie says, telling his class. They are all huddled in groups discussing what might be going on. 

He jogs down the catwalk, then peeks into every class on the other side of the split structure as he passes by, looking for the right one. Most of them are empty. When he turns the corner, he sees a crowd gathered at the end of the hall, and jogs that way. Someone's on the phone with 911, thankfully, because inside Steve Harrington is performing CPR on an older man, while everybody is just standing around watching. 

Eddie ushers them away from the door, and then starts gathering up the rest of the class Steve was teaching. A room filled with senior citizens, all in their matching sweatsuits and white New Balance shoes. Standing around, looking lost.

He's not sure where to move them. He could just send them home, but thinks they need time to unwind, process what they've witnessed, and maybe that's better done here than off somewhere else, possibly alone. He sees Gareth down the hall, and snaps his fingers, waving him over, getting Gareth to take all of the now shaken students to his classroom. No, they probably aren't gonna join in on his cardio drumming class, though Eddie knows he's offered one for seniors in the past.

Then Eddie runs back in, and it's just Steve Harrington, working his ass off on this poor guy.

Eddie counts for him, like he's been trained. 1, 2, 3, over and over and Steve follows the beat of Eddie's cadence until he looks worn out.

He's sweating now. Bangs clinging damp and limp to his forehead, and Eddie hates it. It looks unnatural.

"We'll switch, in 3, 2, 1," Eddie says, and Steve lifts his hands and Eddie takes over. 

"I got…I started, fast. I think, I think, maybe," Steve breathes out in short bursts, clearly exhausted. Out of breath and shaken.

Then, Steve counts for him, while Eddie listens for sirens.

It doesn't take long before he hears them, screaming up the road, and they switch off again as Eddie runs to the main stairs to guide them in. 

The professionals take over, and Eddie stands next to Steve, watching as they shock the guy back into a normal rhythm. Maybe they did it. Maybe Steve did it. Time is the most important thing, and Steve started right away. There's a chance.

Steve gave him a chance.

Hopefully, the guy will be okay.

Hopefully, Steve will be okay.

After they wheel him out, Steve looks around, "My class."

"They're fine. Gareth's got 'em. Probably turning them into the next Ringo's as we speak."

Steve cracks a grin, but it's small, and not all there.

"C'mon," Eddie says, "you can watch me teach my beginner class, if you want, and then we'll go get something to eat. You look like you need it."

After checking in with his class first, Steve agrees, and that's how Steve Harrington, enemy number one, ends up sitting on a fitness ball, watching Eddie prepare to teach his kickboxing for beginners class.

There's an empty bag, and Steve nods towards it when Eddie circles past, "Can I?"

Eddie grins, "You want to?"

Steve nods, and Eddie nods back, helping him get set up. 

He's a natural, Eddie thinks, as he helps him make small adjustments, and then just lets him follow along. 

Maybe he's never done any kickboxing before, but he's clearly athletic. He follows Eddie's instructions well, is very flexible, and definitely not afraid to get to work. For a beginner his kicks are high, strong and confident. He's comfortable behind the bag, as he seems to be getting all his frustrations from the day out on the bag. Good. That's what he's supposed to do in here.

When the hour is up, he's dripping sweat, exhausted.

Steve's wiping his brow with the tail of his shirt, letting Eddie get a glimpse of his hairy belly. Not the right time, not the right person, Eddie has to remind himself. 

"Still want that breakfast?" Eddie asks.

"Hell, yes. I'm starving. That was a workout."

Eddie laughs, and follows him down the stairs and towards the locker room. 

They both shower, and today Eddie's not annoyed that he's in the stall next to him, not like he was on the treadmill. 

It's funny how a moment or two can change your whole perspective that you just assumed was set in stone.

They pass the front desk, scanning their keycards to sign out, and Robin stands, looking at Steve, clearly concerned. She's fidgeting, worrying her hands. 

"Are you okay? Chrissy said–"

"I'm good," he says, interrupting, reassuring her, and Eddie watches them interact. She comes around the desk and throws her arms around his neck, squeezing him tight. 

He hugs her back, "Thanks, Rob. I needed that."

"You sure you're okay? Do you want me to find someone to cover–"

"Eddie's taking me to breakfast," Steve says, and Eddie does not miss the little widening her eyes do before she schools her face back to neutral. 

"Well, that's nice of you, Eddie," she says, and Eddie realizes he's been very, very wrong about whatever their dynamic is. She adores him, obviously. 

They hit the sidewalk, "So, Robin. Is she your…"

"Best friend. She's my best friend."

Eddie nods. That checks out. Steve was annoying her, but on purpose, mutually agreed upon nuisances, without a doubt.

They're best friends. He wasn't trying to pick her up against her will.

That's interesting.

Very interesting.

"Functional fitness," Steve says, sitting across from Eddie in the booth at the diner down the street from the gym, "it's for anybody, but I mainly teach seniors. It helps keep them mobile longer, and that makes me feel like I'm making a difference, you know?"

Eddie didn't know. Eddie had no idea what Steve was doing across the building, and had clearly assumed the worst, instead of the best of him.

He was wrong about Steve Harrington, he's pretty sure.

Steve keeps talking, "It helps them with everyday tasks, you know? Push, pull, carry. That kind of thing. So, I'll get younger participants that are rehabbing injuries, or that have chronic illnesses. But it mainly skews older, for sure. I never expected one of them to go down. I don't have them do novel movements over their hearts or anything, I swear."

Eddie nods. He's not sure what a novel movement is, not really.

"What a novel movement?" he asks.

"Well," Steve says, "it's like, something that you don't do everyday. A change. Shoveling snow. Shoveling snow is a novel movement, and that's why so many people unexpectedly die doing it."

Steve makes the motion for slinging a shovel full of snow over his shoulder, "So, like, I'm not making them do things like that."

"No shoveling snow in the gym, got it," Eddie says, teasing him a little, and Steve chuckles.

"You know what I mean," Steve says.

"I do," Eddie agrees. 

"I've never had that happen before," Steve then says quietly.

"And hopefully never again," Eddie comments. "It's not your fault. It's probably lucky for him he was with you. Best possible outcome if it had to happen."

Steve runs both of his hands down his face.

"Maybe."

Steve Harrington really isn't so bad, he supposes. He clearly cares a whole lot about what happened today.

The server puts down their plates, and they eat in silence, but it isn't uncomfortable.

Then Steve speaks again, "Thanks for helping, I was surprised to see you."

"Why?"

"You always seem so annoyed when I try to chat you up," Steve says.

Eddie can't really deny it. He has been annoyed. 

Wait.

Wait.

Was Steve trying to chat him up, chat him up? Like, flirting? Eddie wasn't reading flirting from him, that's for damn sure. 

Maybe he needs to pay better attention. That's been a common theme in his life, but usually about school, not attractive men that may or may not be interested in him.

"My bark is worse than my bite," Eddie settles on, and offers him a smile.

Steve laughs, his mood finally lifting, just a little, "Well, I hope not."

Holy shit. 

Eddie is such a goddamn idiot.

He's being flirted with. He's been being flirted with, for all the time he's known Steve Harrington.

Steve sits there for a minute, stirring his drink with his straw, knocking the ice around, "Do you think any of them will show up again?"

It takes Eddie a minute to parse his meaning, "Your class? Of course they will."

Steve rolls his shoulders in a non-convinced way.

"Steve. They know how old they are. You didn't do anything wrong."

Eddie doesn't know that. Not for sure. But he believes it to be true. He's just not sure how to prove it to him. Steve clearly cares too much to have done anything risky. 

Instead, Eddie asks, "When's your next class?" 

"Tomorrow."

"For the same people?"

"Some of them. Not everybody comes everyday."

"But some do?" Eddie asks.

"Some do," he confirms. "Usually, anyway. I have regulars. Vincent was a regular."

"Well," Eddie says, "I'll come. Then we'll know at least one person will be there. You took my class, so I should take yours. It's only fair."

Steve laughs, "It's not gonna be nearly as exciting as kickboxing."

Well, Steve's gonna be there. So, that sounds pretty exciting to Eddie.

The next day the class is as full as ever, Eddie suspects. And they're all kind to Steve, patting him on the back for saving their fellow classmate. He's stable in the ICU, and things are looking positive. Steve did good. He did real good.

The only discourse is a few of them trying to figure out how they're going to figure out the scheduling to take both Steve's functional fitness class and Gareth's cardio drumming. Eddie's pretty sure the kid is gonna have to add a senior class to his schedule again now that everyone got a preview of something they may have never tried on their own.

Eddie sidles up to their conversation, "I know Gareth. I'll make sure he schedules it so you can do both."

And just like that, he's won them over as well.

Steve gets started, and Eddie follows along with the routine Steve's leading. There are chairs for some of the less stable to hang onto, when needed, and it's just a thoughtful experience, honestly. Steve's kind, and funny, and they very clearly adore him.

He might not break a sweat, but he's really doing something special here. 

Eddie really hopes he'll get to tell him that later, over dinner, or drinks. Anything he wants, as long as Eddie can make up for lost time and for being a judgmental asshole for no good reason.

Steve grins, and Eddie smiles back as they get in place for the next rep in the set.  

Now, Eddie is certain that he wants to get outside of his comfort zone, outside of the box, when it comes to Steve Harrington.

Novel movements, indeed.

If you want to sign up for a future bingo event or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiebingo and follow along with the fun!

Notes: I didn't know where this was going, but I knew I wanted to use "Eddie Munson" the prompt as his name being said by Steve. So I got as far as, "Eddie hates this dude more than anyone else at the _."

Where? Where are they? I wondered if I could find a randomizer for jobs, and just...see if that would produce an idea. I did, right here, and spun the wheel and got "personal trainer" which isn't exactly where this led, but it got them in the gym, and the rest of the story fleshed itself out from there.

[redbird-tf]

dear to me

Dean x little sister

Summary; Following John's reckless behavior and a familiar fire, Dean find himself caring for a baby yet again. Despite the chaos he finds solace in his new role.

Prompt inspo “a boy would be the son of france, but you will be mine” (slightly tweaked to fit the story)

Notes: baby/ toddler age. Based around season 1-2

Word count: 514 (lily short emotional roller coaster)

Warning: foul language, mention of death, argueing

Screames echoed throughout the half-charred house, but the screaming was very justifiable. “HOW COULD YOU BE SO SELFISH!” Sam yelled in John's face, that bastard. It turned out that hunting wasn't the only activity John had been engaged with after abandoning his sons. It seemed sleeping with women and irresponsibly getting one pregnant had become his pastime. “Sam, Take a breath” Dean demanded as he pushed him off John. “Take a breath?” Sam scoffed, his tongue pressed against his cheek before rebottling “Why aren’t you as mad!? He knew what happened last time and now a woman is dead, a-and that baby!” Sam stuttered, a mix of rage and remorse filling his body. “Of course I'm mad!” Dean shouted back. “Listen to your brother Sam” John spoke up in that all-to-military tone. “Screw you!” Sam and John began shouting again.

Dean pushed his hand through his hair in frustration as he retreated to the hallway in an attempt to escape their arguing. The little refugee the hallway provided from the screams allowed him to hear wailing that had been drowned out by John and Sam. He followed the cries into a small room, with a crib in the middle. Dean peered into the night sky where a ceiling used to be, cringing at the scene. Dean now stood in front of the crib staring down at the baby who had been crying for so long her tears had dried up.

“Poor little girl…” Dean muttered, he lifted the girl into his arms holding her close while he grabbed the small blanket off the armchair, the only two things the fire hadn’t consumed. He wrapped her shivering body in the blanket, as the gap in the ceiling allowed the freezing wing to attack her skin. He slowly sat down in the chair, beginning to rock back and forth, like he had done with Sam many years ago. He let out a heavy sigh. Of course, Dean was mad, furious even but he couldn’t argue with his father like Sam could. John hid this away until it was too late, and now when he has to step up as a father, he dumps it-you-onto him, again.

His fingers fiddled with the blanket until he saw the small name sewn into it, y/n. He looked back up at you as you let out a half cry half giggle. The longer he stared at you, the more he saw reflections of both himself and Sam. He couldn’t help but smile when your small hand reached up at him, he let you wrap your hand around his finger. “You are not what was desired, but you are becoming very dear to me” Dean whispered while you continued to play with his hand.

“It's not like i wanted her!” John's scream could be heard through the wall. You were too distracted to notice and remained in your happy state. Dean moved you so he now held you under your arms facing him straight on “A boy would have belonged to dad, but you…” he brought you closer pressing a kiss on your forehead then pulled away as you giggled, putting a smile across his face. “You y/n will be mine” and just like that, any anger or resentment he held had faded far from him.

[scoutswritingcorner]

Despite Everything

Alastor x GN! Reader

A/n: I’ve been seeing too many angst prompts on tiktok- ANYWAYS I WORKED ON THIS BETWEEN REQUESTS SO ENJOY

TW: Angst, Flashback to when you were alive, drinking, talk of murder, secret marriage.

Part 2: It's Still You

Alastor sent a glare towards Mimzy as she sat at the bar. Why was she telling all his dirty secrets but what made him let out a growl was she mentioned something that shocked everyone into silence around her. One of his best kept secrets is now out in the open. He wanted to kill her right there but he couldn’t, he was stuck where he stood staring her down as loud static echoed around everyone in the hotel. Even Husk had quickly made an exit.

“Oh yeah! I saw your little songbird wanderin’ around Cannibal Town, Alastor.” She hummed ignoring his glare as his smile threatened to fall, ears flickering in annoyance. “Songbird?” Angel asked unfazed from Alastor’s angry sulking, “Oh Alastor don’t tell me you haven’t told them about your spouse!” She hummed out taking a sip from whatever Husk had given her. Everyone abrupt into questions at that, only falling silent when Alastor sent them a glare. His cane tapped on the ground in annoyance before he stormed out of the hotel, feet automatically taking him towards Cannibal Town he needed to find out if what Mimzy was saying was true or was she just trying to get under his skin. They shouldn’t be down here- they should be up in Heaven, especially after what he had done.

~~

Your hands gripped the ceramic sink as you glared at your reflection in the mirror. You were tired, so tired from constantly being around people that it drained you before you could even get onto the stage and sing your heart out. Was this what fame felt like? Even if it wasn’t the finer Hollywood fame people have talked about, but the fame that came with being a known singer around where you lived. 

A knock on the door made you jump out of your skin before you let out a soft sigh walking towards the door, “Mr. Deverick give me a few more moments-” You stopped mid sentence as you gazed upon the famous radio host standing in front of you, a soft smile on his lips as he held out your favorite flowers. “Now I’m not Mr. Deverick but I will generously give you a moment alone if needed.” He hummed stepping inside your personal room after you had let him in, the flowers still in his hand. Closing the door you let a small smile grace your lips, seeing your husband fix his suit in the vanity that was located in the corner of the room.

“What do I owe the pleasure, Alastor?” You asked as you also fixed your clothes making sure to hide the wedding ring under your favorite pair of gloves, you’ve had to hide your marriage with Alastor for years, why was it bothering you now? “Well I wanted to come see you, Dear! Especially before your show.” He hummed out watching as you turned your back towards him to fix some things up, watching as the smile you wore turned into a frown. He walked over to you carefully placing his chin on your shoulder, “You should smile more, Dear.” He whispered, watching as you nodded and glanced at the wall, your mind was somewhere else. 

But before he could comment on it, the faraway look in your eyes disappeared and you smiled at him. Leaning your head against his and he hummed before allowing a lulling silence to captivate you both. A comfortable silence. Everything he did, it was for you. Only you.

~~~

He walked into Rosie’s Emporium, his eyes snapping onto her tall frame as she was talking to someone.  Which had made him stop in his tracks. It..It was you. You looked as beautiful as the day he married you and then the day he..he had killed you in a blind rage. You were no longer under that horrid man’s thumb.

You were here down in hell..why were you in hell? Why weren’t you in Heaven enjoying your afterlife carefree? He was snapped out of his trance as Rosie finally noticed him standing in the doorway. But he couldn’t hear her as he stared at you, seeing how you looked at him- his own spouse was scared. His songbird was terrified of him. He deserved it after all, he was the one who ripped you from the life you were living.

But deep down despite everything he had done to end up down here. He knew it was still you. You were his driving force, he did everything for you. His little Songbird.

[fanaticsnail]

Mommy: Charlotte Cracker

Birthday Celebration Masterlist

Word count: 2,200+

Themes: Cracker x f!reader, gendered terms used, mdni, NSFW, 18+, smut, kink, Mommy x Baby (not related, just a kink), breast sucking, male masturbation, pre-established relationship, not much plot, feelings if you squint.

Notes: Just a 40+yo man needing some TLC from his partner.

Thump, thump, thump.

Heavy were the footfalls of the brass-buckled boots that stomped throughout the lengthy corridor. Each rhythmic clunk impacting the floor began to arrive all the nearer to your office door, prompting you to lull your head back on your shoulders and draw up your thumb and index fingers to massage your temples.

The energy radiating from beyond the door was already chock full of anxiety and agitation, hints of rage and anger simmering within their giant body. Fumes would be seeping from his ears if it could, that you were sure of. As soon as your door swung wide, you were greeted to the sight you had come to expect at least once a week within your office: an office not suited for the purpose you utilized it for.

Anger and rage weeped from his every pore, his face contorted in a gruff grimace and curling his scar up to a tight coil. Immediately as you made eye contact with him, he slammed the office door shut behind him with his lips curled back to bare his teeth at you.

Waiting in that thick silence, fury radiating from the crown of his purple hair and almost weeping smoke from his ears as he continued to bear his eyes into your own. All was halted at the extension of your arms stretched either side of your body and a single word spoken from your lips.

“Baby.”

His shoulders immediately dropped, head hung low as he dredged over to you like a man in mourning. Meeting your smaller frame with his thick thighs, he slunk to the ground on his knees and curled inwards of himself while burying his head against your stomach.

“Mommy.”

As your hand drew up to card through his purple locks, you reflected on how this relationship truly occurred between you and the larger man. Unsure of whether it truly began while you brought him an itinerary from your office regarding where his persons was to be required, or the way he sought out your touch while you served the Charlotte generals and children their evening meals, or some fantasy come to life when he whispered that name while expressing his gratitude for you aiding him in removing his armor and laying down his arms: that was your title to him.

No longer an au pair or an aid for Charlotte Linlin in caring for her many children in this situation, you were Charlotte Cracker’s mommy. Not mother, not mom, simply a larger man feeling comfortable enough in himself to need your nurture and care to shepherd him through his rage.

“What happened, baby?” you ask him softly, soothing his larger head as he nestled himself further into your embrace. “Want to tell mommy about it?” He shook his head, sniffling against your waist and whimpering into your touch. You clicked your tongue, backing away towards the corner of the room closest to the hexagonal bay window.

Several large pillows littered this space, often a corner of the room you made available for you to peer over the edge of the grounds while working away at scheduling education. As you slumped back onto the ground, Cracker draped himself over your body and buried his head in the chasms of your breasts.

“Alright, baby. Why don’t you just put your head in my lap, hm?” you cooed down at the ten foot giant. He nodded his head and leaned into your touch as you turned him to face upwards on your lap. As he turned, the large belt of biscuits rolled with several crumbs falling onto the plush pillows below him. This had you click your tongue in disappointment, which prompted Cracker’s eyes to follow your gaze.

“Sorry, mommy,” he whispered hurriedly, sheepishly removing his belt and brushing down the pillows to scatter the crumbs beside the pillows. You hummed at him, slowly sitting back with your legs flat in front of you. Patting your thighs once more, you couldn’t help as Cracker eagerly placed his head and the tops of his shoulders within your lap.

Your hands immediately went back to soothe over his purple hair, rolling it back to reveal his forehead. Gently soothing over his scar, you felt him wince at your touch. His oversensitivity upon receiving such a gentle expression never ceased to amaze you, no matter how often you and he would enjoy time together.

“Want me to stop, baby?” Your question caused his eyes to round innocently up at you while tilting his head back to meet your gaze further. His pouty protest had you purse your lips in empathetic sorrow.

Leaning down and pressing your lips to his forehead, you felt him whimper and shudder beneath your touch. Humming down at him, you remove your lips and un-arch yourself while gazing down at him.

“C-Can I-...? Can we-...?” Cracker stuttered, attempting to catch himself as he hoped you would fill in the rest of his statement. You smile down at him, nodding as you raised your hands and reached for your shirt.

As your hands began to unclasp each of the front buttons on your shirt, he unbuttoned the waistband of his pants and began shimmying them down to reveal his half-mast cock. As soon as you popped the remaining clasp, you reached into your shirt and cupped your breasts, rolling them over the front of the uniform to spill out in front of him.

With a small bounce to the mounds of flesh, you chuckled as Cracker’s cock immediately sprung completely to life. Shimmying up a little further, he looked up through his lengthy eyelashes and asked permission with his gaze to touch your breasts. With no more than a soft smile and a nod, he slowly reached with one hand towards your breast as the other reached down to stroke his cock.

Starting at the tip, he rolled the velvety skin back and forth while applying more pressure as he raised it back to his tip. His cock twitched and pulsed in his hand, the pink tip leaking with precum as he molded the flesh of your breasts beneath his palm.

“So pretty, baby,” you coo down at him, moving down to cradle his head on your lap and draw him closer to your chest. “Doing so good for me. Open your mouth?”

Cracker maintained eye contact and parted his lips, lulling out his tongue and moving his lips closer to your areola. Giving a tentative flick of his tongue over your pebbled bud, he moved to fully latch his lips against your breast while molding the other in his hand.

“Oh, good boy,” you praised him, holding his head firmer against your chest and pushing more of your breast into his mouth. “I didn't even have to ask, and you just knew what to do. So good, baby.”

He whimpered into your embrace, closing his eyes and furrowing his brows while bucking up into his hand. Moving from long and languid strokes to heavier pumps, he whined and groaned into your breasts while swirling his tongue over your nipple.

Your breath caught in your throat as he flattened his tongue and ground the porous surface against the center of your nipple. He released your nipple from his firm latch with a pop, spreading his saliva over your bud by flicking and kissing the pert bud.

“Oh, so good, baby,” you whine at him as you feel the pleasure electrify from your nipple straight to your abdomen. “Doing so good for Mommy. Keep stroking that cock for me?”

“Yes, Mommy,” Cracker whined, thumbing over the cock head and collecting his precum on the pad of his digit. You reached down, clasping his forearm and aiding him in setting the pace to pump his shaft.

“Little bit slower, baby. We don't want you to make a mess too quickly, do we?” Your warm voice poured from your lips like honey, Cracker whining into your chest before relatching against your nipple while rolling the other in your nipple in his thumb and forefingers.

His voice choked out a groan, feeling closer to the edge than he truly wanted to be in your arms presently. He always wanted to make you proud. He couldn't truly put a reason as to why.

Charlotte Cracker always felt in control. He used his ability to make his sweet biscuits fight for him, wore armor to protect his body from harm, and learned battle prowess from his older siblings. With you, the au pair for his younger siblings and the aid in daily routine for him and the others, he felt safe enough to relinquish that control over to you.

He felt safe with you.

He felt secure with you.

He felt loved with you.

Each time he spoke his woes onto you, your ear and smile would always be warm and welcoming for him. You were that nurture he never felt from his mother, his father, his step parents, and his advisors. You were that security blanket engulfing him in a secure embrace of ultimate care.

Your love is what had him fucking his fist to your memory. Your love was what had him muffling his moans with the back of his hand while he reached that pinnacle of abandon and threw himself off of it. Your love was what had him sheepishly approach you for the first time and had him seek out this arrangement, should you find yourself willing.

Your love is what had him beginning to hone in on that precipice of pleasure as you guided his fist up and down on his cock. The first bubbles of cum began falling from the slit at the tip of his cock. Everything was so warm, so caring, and so extremely filled with love, Cracker couldn't hold himself back from that edge any longer.

Moaning freely on your breast, he choked back a hefty mewl as his belly tensed in a clenched ball. His heavy balls sucked up into his abdomen as he began to feel the first waves of his bliss crash over him.

“M-Mommy-!” he shouted out as he fully succumbed to that edge.

“-I’m right here, baby,” you reassured him, aiding him in continuing the tempo he set as he pushed past that edge and toppled over. “You're safe, you're good, and you're doing so well, baby. Cum for me?”

“Mgnhmnm-! F-fuck-... Aaah-, cumming-!” Cracker whimpered out. Hot bursts of his release sprouted from his slit and coated his stomach with his bliss. His muscles tensed and his fist clenched around his cock, but his lips were only always soft and gentle against your breasts.

Hot coils of bliss shot over his dewy skin, staining his bare abs and the top of his shirt with his seed. His back arched as he rode through that high to the end, almost forcing himself through that painted overstimulation if not to do you proud. He moaned out each soft moan to coincide with his release, unclenching his eyes to seek out your own as he championed his way through it.

Stilling his hips and his motions, he flopped his body lazily within your cradle and panted up at you. You smiled down, leaning over and pressing your lips to his brow in a sweet gesture of acceptance and support.

“Baby,” you whisper down at him, prompting him to whimper in response, “Let's get you cleaned up, and I'll brush your hair for you while you tell me about your day.”

In his vulnerable state, Cracker felt like he could cry at that thought. Stiffing his upper lip, he forced back that sob that bubbled in his throat while nodding his head.

“That sounds good, right, baby?” you reaffirmed down at him, gently moving your hand from his forearm to cup his cheek. He furrowed his brows and leaned into your touch, closing his eyes as his lip quivered.

“You…” he began, his words catching behind his lips as he struggled with the boiling emotions ever growing, “...You’d do that for me?”

“Baby, of course I will,” you hummed at him with all of the emotion you could muster for him, “Consider my schedule clear, and my entire attention yours. Whatever you need of me, from me, or with me,” you raise his head up to you and cradle his face within your palms.

“I'm yours,” you affirm him, pressing your head against his and closing your eyes, “You can use me for anything you need.”

“Even if I just want to sit with you?” Cracker asked, turning to lean on his side and searching your eyes with his own. “Even to just hear about your day and listen to your voice.”

“Of course, baby,” you hum towards Cracker and gently brush your nose against his. “Anything you need, I'm yours.”

After cleaning up his former release and redressing yourselves, Cracker continued to sit and half doze off the longer you spoke. He was so comfortable with you, he could barely tolerate the prospect of fleeing from your side and returning to his duties.

For now, he could hear the hum in your tone, the warmth in your fable, and your heart carved in the corner of the universe meant just for him.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @jadeddangel @ane5e

🎶Happy Birthday to Me 🎶

If you would like to celebrate by indulging my caffeine and bubble tea addiction, my Kofi link is here.

[doumadono]

Warnings: smut w/o plot, rough p in v, oral (f & m receiving), wry & dom Dabi, f!reader, a lot of cursing and names calling, slapping, a little degradation, hate s*x Synopsis: arranging a birthday celebration for Dabi proved to be a mistake. It ignited his anger, driving him to his room in a fit of rage. When anger transformed into desire, Dabi insisted on celebrating in his own way, marking the first intimate encounter between the two of you A/N: the prompt was Dabi's first time with his girlfriend is on his birthday This marks the last story crafted in celebration of Dabi's birthday 💜

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST DABI'S BIRTHDAY EVENT

"You little cunt!" Dabi's voice thundered, a venomous edge cutting through the air. He didn't bother casting a glance in your direction.

In response to the verbal assault, you jerked your hand free from his grip. "What's the matter this time, Mr. Know-It-All? I merely intended to throw you a pleasant birthday celebration, and you act as though I threatened to annihilate your entire family!"

Dabi scoffed dismissively, striding purposefully toward his room. "Do you think I'd give a damn fuck if you did? Of course not. And I thought I made myself crystal clear — I want no bloody celebrations. I detest my birthday. I despise the very notion of being born. What is so challenging for your tiny, stupid brain to comprehend?"

A disbelieving sigh escaped your lips. While you were well aware of his aversion to birthdays, the magnitude of his anger caught you off guard. Baking him a cake and orchestrating a modest gathering with the assistance of Toga and Shigaraki seemed like a harmless gesture to celebrate his existence, yet it had evidently ignited an unexpected fury.

Dabi came to an abrupt halt and glanced back at you, seizing your wrist and pulling you closer to him. "No response, huh?" he sneered. "Fine, little cunt. So, you're keen on celebrating the day this damn pathetic villain, murderer, and arsonist was born? Well, we'll celebrate it, but we'll do it my damn way."

He forcibly pulled you behind him, and despite your inner desire to break free from his grip, the futility of any attempt was evident – he wielded a strength far surpassing your own.

Dabi swung open the door to his room and shoved you inside, the harsh sound of the door slamming shut resonating through the air as he entered, sealing the room in an oppressive silence.

In the midst of the heated altercation, the details of the argument eluded your memory. A palpable anger still hung in the air, the exchange of words escalating to a fever pitch.

Your gaze shifted toward Dabi, poised to retort, but the intensity in his turquoise eyes arrested your words. The pulsating vein in the black-haired man's neck became a focal point, a magnetic force compelling your desire to quell its frenetic rhythm with a kiss.

His recognition of the unspoken yearning reflected in your face halted his verbal assault, leaving his mouth slightly ajar.

In that suspended moment, the impulse to crush your lips against his neck overwhelmed you. You yearned to soothe the frenetic heartbeat beneath the surface.

As if reading your intentions, Dabi seized you abruptly, drawing you into the circle of his robust arms. It was as if he had glimpsed into the depths of your desires, a skill he wielded with uncanny accuracy. In that instant, he kissed you with the intensity you had yearned for, the clash of tongues mirroring the earlier verbal sparring. The taste of anger mingled with a surprising sweetness, and your body ignited with a white-hot desire, a fervor that only Dabi could unleash. The searing sensation surged from your chest down to your thighs, awakening every inch of your being.

You had sensed the fire kindling in Dabi's loins, the hardness growing almost instantly, and his whole body turning super hot due to his quirk.

Dabi grasped a handful of your hair, yanking your head back, and engaged in a fervent exchange of kisses, licks, and nips, each touch eliciting moans of pleasure from your slightly bruised, parted lips.

The yearning became unbearable, compelling you to crave the feel of Dabi's skin against yours. Almost as if he had divined your thoughts, he leaned back, swiftly discarding his shirt through his hair. His hands reached for your blouse, and with a forceful yank, he tore it open, sending buttons scattering across the tiny room. Despite the intimidating aura that surrounded Dabi, you harbored no fear.

Even though you were aware of his desires, the topic about sex was returning like a boomerang, resurfacing every few days. It had been over half a year since you both became a thing, yet you had not crossed the threshold into a physical relationship, and this restraint was gradually driving Dabi to the brink of madness. You suspected that today's outbursts were fueled, in part, by the previous night's rejection when, amidst a heated make-out session, you had declined his advances as his hand ventured into your shorts, teasing your folds through the fabric of your knickers.

Yet now, a curious mixture of emotions surged within you. Somehow, you found yourself yearning for him with an intensity that defied explanation. Despite no longer being a virgin, a concern lingered about the potential discomfort of engaging in sex with Dabi.

Dabi's lips sought yours once more as he simultaneously released the front clasp of your sheer bra. He took one of your nipples into his mouth, the exquisite pain of his teeth on your flesh intensifying the smoldering embers between your legs into a searing white-hot flame of desire.

"Dabi..." you whined loudly, rolling your head back, resting it against the wall, slipping one of your hands into his hair.

His impatient hands slipped under your skirt in a quest to discover your most sensitive spot. The intensity of his anger and desire surged as his hand encountered obstacles on its journey - your panties. Finally, locating the waistband, Dabi forcefully burnt your panties away, being careful enough to not hurt you. Free from the hindrance, his hungry fingers found what they sought.

Dabi inserted a finger into your wetness, gliding it upward over your swollen clit after finger fucking you for a moment, eliciting moans of ecstasy from you. Simultaneously, his lips continued their exploration, savoring the taste of yours, tracing a path from your lips to your earlobes and down to your neck. "Fucking little cunt," he sneered. "I'll certainly educate you on how I desire my birthday to be celebrated. Perhaps it will penetrate that thick, stupid skull of yours at last, you little whore."

Your moans of pleasure intensified, your hands exploring the contours of Dabi's body. His skin felt sensuous and super warm beneath your fingertips. Before long, your hands discovered his pierced nipple. Gently, you pinched it, coaxing a primal sound from Dabi's lips as he worked diligently on marking your neck, signaling to the world that you belonged to him.

The heightened arousal compelled you to push him away slightly. You replaced your fingers with your mouth after leaning forward, nipping and licking his chest. The tip of your tongue traced along his tensed muscles, whether concealed beneath healthy skin or adorned with scars and purple patches, relishing the taste that was undeniably manly and salty, yet sweet as nectar to your senses.

Dabi's fingers fucked you more, and had rendered you incredibly wet, your clitoris throbbing with anticipation, swollen with both pleasure and need. Seizing your chin in his hand, Dabi kissed you roughly, propelling you back against the wall. He then descended to his knees, lifting your skirt, and trailed his tongue up one thigh and then the other, savoring the juices that had escaped during the fervor of his fingers' endeavors.

Dabi's warm tongue resumed its task, leisurely stroking your sweet, swollen spot. He inserted a finger, moving in and out, synchronizing the motion with the skilled strokes of his tongue. His tongue circled around your sticky clit, while his finger worked diligently to pleasure your pussy. Suddenly, he sucked on it with a hunger reminiscent of a baby latching onto its mother's breast. Your moans grew louder, the sensation of his sucking propelling you closer to the edge, teetering on the brink of no return.

"Yes, Dabi, oh! Just like that!" you gasped, attempting to keep him in the spot to grind your pussy against his face, but Dabi swatted your hands away and rose to meet your gaze.

His eyes mirrored yours, smoky with unbridled lust. "Oh, no, no, little dirty slut. Not yet. No matter how you beg, you'll come when I say," he declared, denying you the release you sought as he asserted control over your pleasure. "Suck me off like a good slut and I'll think of rewarding you."

The overwhelming urge to taste the most manly of flavors had consumed you, leading your hands to fumble with Dabi's thick, white belt. Finally releasing it, the snap and zipper undone, you descended to your knees in front of him, pushing down his dark pants. Dabi's hardened member sprung free, pulsating with the burning lust, a little pearl of precum adorned the slit of its tip. Your cheeks reddened upon noticing the piercing just beneath the tip. Your tongue explored his shaft, moving around and under, tracing the prominent vein, finally reaching the head and swirling around it. It was moist, and the salty flavor was a delightful sensation, spilling all over your tongue. Unable to contain yourself any longer, you took him between your swollen lips, bobbing your head back and forth eagerly, moaning around him.

Dabi's sharp intake of breath signaled the pleasure coursing through him as he felt your lips on his dick. "That's it, dirty whore, suck that fat cock."

You sucked and licked, the intensity of his moans guiding the rhythm of your movements. The sweet labor of tasting your boyfriend drove you into a state of pure ecstasy.

With a resounding pop sound, you withdrew his dick from your mouth, using one hand to jerk it, spreading your saliva across the length of his shaft. Pressing the erect member against his abdomen, you then lowered your head to cradle his heavy balls in your mouth, delicately pressing on them with your tongue.

"Fuck," he growled, closing his eyes for a moment. "You're a fucking whore. My private fuck toy. You're nothing more than a whore, spreading your legs so willingly f'me right now. Look at you. And two days ago you were whining that you're not ready to let me fuck you just yet. Pathetic."

His lewd words elicited a moan from you as you resumed the task of sucking his cock. Ensuring to swirl your tongue around the head, you then proceeded to kiss along the vein running beneath the shaft before you pushed his dick back into your mouth, bobbing your head eagerly.

Suddenly, Dabi reached down, seizing your arm and pulling you up. "Enough, cunt. Time to fuck that pretty, little cunt, yeah?"

"I am so ready for you to fill my belly with your fat cock, daddy," your words quivered with desire.

Dabi grinned wryly. "You're a pathetic bitch, princess. You think with your fucking cunt. So disappointing."

Pressed against the wall, Dabi gripped one of your legs, lifting it up. In one fluid motion, he drove his cock deep inside you, easily bottoming out in your pussy.

"Dabi!" Your scream of pleasure echoed long and loud as the painful stretch overwhelmed your mind.

He lifted your other leg, picking you off the floor, impaling you against the wall, never losing the rhythmic, frantic thrusts.

One of your hands glided down from Dabi's shoulder to your wet clit, skillfully massaging it as he thrust into your pussy. He felt like a white-hot spear inside your pussy. You and Dabi stared into each other's eyes. Both your hands now rested on Dabi's shoulders. You arched your back, rolling your hips in his embrace to synchronize with each of his strokes. "More, more, more!" you begged, your tone pathetic.

Dabi encircled his arm around your ass, using his free hand to deliver a sharp slap to your face. "Look at me, bitch! Look at me!"

It proved challenging for you to maintain focus on his face, especially with every forceful thrust causing the aggressive tip of his cock to brush and nudge all the right spots deep within you. "I… I can't, D… Da…"

He didn't allow you to finish your sentence, responding by slapping your other cheek. "I. Said. Look. At. Me!"

Moaning unabashedly, like a cheap whore you apparently were in that moment, you gazed at him through teary eyes. The singular thought that occupied your mind was the anticipation of his cum, filling you to the brim.

Dabi intensified his rhythm, his buttocks flexing with each forceful thrust. He nibbled on the column of your neck, emitting guttural grunts. "Fucking bitch. Your cunt belongs to me. You belong to me. You fucking naughty whore."

In the final few thrusts, as Dabi's movements became increasingly erratic, he reached the peak of his release within the warmth of your pussy. "Take it, bitch, take it, take it," he growled through gritted teeth. The temperature of his skin soared, accompanied by wisps of dark smoke and the faint scent of burning flesh as he briefly lost the grip on his Blueflame quirk.

His hot seed spilled into your pussy, intensifying your own climax as your pussy clenched tightly around his throbbing shaft. "Dabi!!!" you screamed, the overwhelming sensations pushing you to the brink of consciousness, making it difficult to catch your breath.

Dabi lowered one of your legs, and then the other. Clinging to each other, you leaned against the wall, neither trusting your legs to support you. Dabi's semen mixed with your juices slowly traced down your shaking legs, leaving a trail of slickness in its wake.

Dabi cradled your chin between his thumb and forefinger, planting a tender kiss on your lips. "Now, you've been the good girl you are, princess. Satisfied with the fucking celebration?"

You trailed a series of soft kisses along the contours of his sharp jawline. "Yes, but… are you still upset with me, Dabi?"

Dabi scoffed, theatrically rolling his eyes. "No. I fucked away all the stress, yeah?"

"You burned my favorite panties," you complained, making a sad face.

He leaned down to hoist his pants back up, tucking his flaccid cock back into its confines and adjusting them before fastening the belt. "I'll buy you a new pair, just stop whining."

Dabi flopped onto his bed, sliding both hands under his head as he gazed up at the cracks on the ceiling.

Climbing onto the bed, you curled into a ball by his side, resting your head on his chest, attuning yourself to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "I'm sorry for riling you up."

"It's fine," he grumbled. "Let's not talk about that, doll."

A few moments of silence hung in the air before you whispered, "I just want you to know that I genuinely love you, every fiber of your being."

Dabi remained unresponsive initially, but after a prolonged and piercing silence, he wrapped his arm around you, leisurely stroking your shoulder. "Thanks, doll face. I love you too."

[iridescentxstars]

ofc girlie !!!! yknow the one wink wonk

Mafia!AU + They told you that they would kill for you but you didn't think that they were serious... or did you? + Knife play + Blood play

mafia!bangchan x fem!reader || prompt: they told you that they would kill for you but you didn't think that they were serious... or did you? || kinks: knife play, blood play, free use, orgasm denial || warnings: implied killing, possessive ownership, kind of borderline dark themes || wc: 830~

please remember this is all fictional. this work is NSFW and contains SMUT, if you are under 18+ DO NOT INTERACT

The blade shines, catching the kitchen lights, as Chan walks towards you, shoes dragging in mud and leaving a trail of evidence in his wake. The storm rages outside, amplifying the tension in the air as the lightning brightens the dark sky. A large hand lands heavy next to you, his firm body pressing against your back and pushing your stomach harshly against the counter, while the knife is gently laid against your collarbone.

One wrong move and your blood will stain the freshly cleaned blade.

“Tell me,” his deep baritone voice speaks directly against your ear, lips brushing lightly against the shell as they move. “Who do you belong to?” You swallow, careful not to shiver at the possessive tone in his voice lest you got nicked. “Tell me, who said you could leave the house?”

You know not to answer, you know that any answer would result in him deciding that you’re more trouble than you're worth so you stay quiet.

“What did I tell you when I claimed you that night? When I had you spread before me and screaming my name?” Bloodied fingertips trail up your wrist, along your forearm and bicep before gripping your jaw and holding it tightly. It’s fresh, sticky, marking your skin as he makes you stare at your distorted reflection in the window. Flecks of blood dirty his devilishly handsome features, red stains his blonde locks where he had run his fingers through them, and even though you cannot clearly see his suit – you know the jacket discarded earlier when he entered the room would be coated in it. “What did I say would happen if you dared to entertain another man?”

He waits, his tightening grip on your jaw bordering on pain as he waits for you to answer. “You’d kill him. You’d kill anyone who touched what belonged to you.”

A pleased hum vibrates through his broad chest and Chan carefully moves the knife up, the sharp blade pressing against your neck hard enough to break skin. “And yet, you decided to test me?” Chan drags the blade down your chest, hand still keeping your head in place so you can watch the blade pop open every button on the shirt you’re wearing with practised ease. It should not be that attractive, it should be terrifying to know he has a knife so close to your heart, and yet, you clench your thighs together like a desperate whore waiting for the sharp pain that comes with Chan marking your skin.

Never scarring, oh no, he knows better than to leave permanent scars on the body he worships daily but he always loves to leave marks that proves his ownership. His claim. Reminders that what he does to you is for pleasure, not pain.

Beads of blood bloom from each fresh cut, each one causing the heat between your legs to burn with such a need that you push your ass against the bulge growing in his tight slacks. He’s fucked you against every surface of his house, he’s taken you in every position whenever he’s in the mood and he’s reminded you every single time that he’ll do it again – he’ll do it as many times as he wants, when he wants.

And you’ll let him.

Every fucking time, without question, you’ll spread your legs and let him have whatever he wants.

“Spread for me,” his feet tap at your ankles and you follow his command as Chan finishes ridding your shirt of all the buttons and leaving it open, body easily accessible for his needs. The knife clatters to the ground before Chan turns you around to face him and he lifts you up so your ass can sit on the cold surface of the counter, soaked cunt on display as his hand returns to your throat and keeps you in place while the other traces every cut. You hiss slightly as he drags calloused fingers over every fresh cut, spreading the blood over your chest, your stomach, like an artist painting a fresh canvas. “Next time,” Chan says, a threatening tone contradicting the teasing trail his fingers are making down to your core, “you decide to test whether I’ll kill anyone who touches you,” he pushes two fingers in without resistance but it’s still enough to make you gasp. “I’ll fucking kill you, understood?”

You nod, nod furiously as he fucks his fingers into your needy cunt so harshly that you can feel your climax building quickly. Fuck, you’ll do anything, absolutely anything he wants as long as he keeps you feeling this good. So good…

Just before you cum, right as you feel yourself tipping over the edge, Chan’s hands are removed from your hole and wiped on his slacks, a cruel grin gracing his lips as he listens to your whine and beg. “Behave and maybe I’ll finish you off later.”

Oh, you’ll behave. There’s no doubt about that. None at all.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumpuary Day 9-10

Prompt: “Stay. Please.”

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Wife!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of injuries

A/N: This one is just a drabble. I was not in a great mood when I wrote it and it probably reflects that. I’m sorry for the subpar work. I hope you still love me.😭

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

“Daryl, she needs you.” Carol implored, blocking the infirmary exit. The archer tried to side-step but the woman just knew him too well and moved with him. 

“Damnit, move!” Daryl all but roared at his best friend. He knew she meant well, he did. But he had to stop them. He couldn’t let them hurt anyone else. He’d failed enough by allowing them to get to you. It was eating him alive. He didn’t know how else to deal with the guilt. It was fueling his rage like gasoline on a fire. 

“You’re not thinking straight!”

“M’thinkin’ jus’ fine! Move, Carol!”

“You can’t go out there like this!”

“I can’ believe this! Ya saw wha’ they did ta ‘er!”

“And that’s why you need to stay!”

“Nah, tha’s why I gotta—”

“Daryl.” Your voice was low, strained. It was weak. But he heard it. Of course he heard it. The archer didn’t give Carol a second glance when he crossed the space to you in two long strides. The silver-haired woman walked behind him with her arms crossed, eyes rolled. She knew all it would take was your specific persuasion to calm Daryl down. She was only hoping to hold him off long enough for you to awaken. 

“Hey, m’right here.” He sat down on the edge of your bed in the infirmary, his hip pressed against yours. You looked so small, fragile in the large bed. Pale and bruised with stitched lacerations and butterfly sutures. “Yer gon’ be okay, ya hear me?”

Your smile was tired and small but it was genuine. “I know I am.” You opened your hand and he took it immediately, pressing his lips to your busted knuckles. “I know I am because you’ll be here to protect me, won’t you?” You blinked slowly and watched his expression fall. 

“Ya know I gotta—”

“You don’t gotta do anything.” He looked like he might start to argue so you began to sit up, wincing with an arm around your middle to brace your broken ribs. Daryl was all don’ do that and stay still but you showed him what it felt like for your pleas to be ignored. Finally upright, you panted while Carol rushed to lift the head of the bed for you. You could breathe easier sitting up. You could also look your husband in the eye properly. “All you need to do is be here with me until a plan can be made.”

Carol smirked, seeing the very moment Daryl’s resolve began to crumble. When he glanced at her, most likely for backup he knew he’d never get, she was quick to turn her head, her smile hidden behind her hand. 

He sighed, deeply but not yet resigned. “I can’ jus’—”

“Stay.” You whispered, bringing the hand that was still holding yours to your cheek. “Stay. Please.” 

And that was that. 

Carol closed the door behind her just as Daryl situated himself on the bed with you so you could settle against his chest. When it came to Daryl Dixon, there was nothing anyone could say or do once he had set his mind on something. Except she now had a secret weapon. 

You. 

Taglist:

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[spxllcxstxr]

Protected • R.S

(Gif not mine)

Request: Hi!! Can I request a angst/fluff with robb stark & the prompt: I’m going to protect you. Thank you so much :))) — anon

Summary: The aftermath of Ned Stark’s death

Warnings: canon character death sprinkled with a wee bit of canon divergence?, grieving, reader wears a dress and is referred to as wife (no pronouns used)

Word Count: 769 (i'm so sorry for the short length lmao)

A.N: first time writing Robb! i actually really like this ngl, hope you enjoy!

•

“That boy is going to ruin his sword.” Lady Catelyn mutters from beside you, her eyes trained on her eldest son on the edge of the tree line. Her hands fidget with the end of her braid.

Your own eyes gaze out to see your betrothed, hacking away at a tree stump, his grunts echoing throughout the silent camp.

News of Ned Stark’s horrid death spread through the camp quickly only hours prior, and the men had hid in their tents to mourn the Lord of Winterfell. It was a gloomy day, appropriately reflecting the mood of the solemn North. The clouds were heavy and grey, the air still smelling of the earlier rain.

Sighing, you watch Robb hit anything within arms reach. His moves are erratic, it's obvious even from this distance. Your teeth tease your bottom lip uneasily.

“I should go to him…” Lady Catelyn sighs, her lips tilted down into a frown.

Your hand rests on her shoulder, stopping the older woman from moving. “My Lady, you just lost your husband…go grieve. I will talk to Robb.”

Lady Catelyn nods, her eyes vacant as she turns towards her own tent. You watch her leave, making sure she gets to her destination safely before trudging through the mud to your betrothed.

The mud clings to your nice shoes, and at this point you don’t bother hiking your skirts up to avoid the filth below you. Your eyes stay trained on Robb, his forceful movement never ceasing.

A few feet away from him, you hear his grunts of anguish and frustration, his tunic dotted with sweat. You let his take one more swing at the rotting stump before you cough to gain his attention.

“Robb, I think that is enough…”

Robb freezes before slowly turning to face you. His auburn curls untamed and his blue eyes burning brighter with rage. You’ve never seen him like this at all, not when he first heard his father was taken prisoner in King’s Landing, nor when he discovered that someone had sent assassins to kill Bran. Your eyes widen at the state of your betrothed, fidgeting in place. He pants heavily as he looks at you.

“I’ll kill them! I swear to every god out there, I will kill the Lannisters for what they have done!” Robb seethes, his face red with anger. “It is only what those murderous pricks deserve.”

He flings his sword down, taking deep ragged breaths. You don’t flinch at his uncharacteristic anger, instead you inch closer to your betrothed.

All at once, as if the adrenaline drains out of him, Robb falls to his knees, his blue eyes trained on the mud beneath your feet as they glimmer with tears.

You drop down with him, taking his head in your hands, leaning your forehead against your lover’s.

“Oh darling…” You whisper, watching the grief take over his features. Your heart breaks seeing him so vulnerable.

“My father is dead,” He sobs, tears finally spilling down his cheeks. “They have to pay for what they have done.”

“They will, Robb, they will suffer for their cruelty towards the North," You tell him softly, lifting your head to place a delicate kiss on his forehead.

Robb glances up as well, his tears subsiding. “And I will protect you, my dearest. No Lannister will ever harm you,” There is a quick burst of fire behind those usually cool eyes. “they would not dare.”

“Robb—“ Your fingertips brush over his stubble.

“They have taken my sisters hostage and they have killed my father, but they will not take my wife from me.”

Heat creeps up your neck at his passionate words. You and Robb had not yet been wed but hearing his call you his wife causes you to shiver.

“I swear it to you, my love,” Robb continues, taking your hands in his rough hands, squeezing them tightly between your two closely crouched bodies. “They will not touch you.”

“I believe you, darling, I do.” You reply lightly, squeezing back, attempting to convey how much trust and love you’re filled with for him.

The sky seems to lighten, clouds parting ever so slightly to let the sun peek through enough to shine down on your camp. The moist air of the Riverlands clings onto your skin as the few rays of sun beats down on your exposed skin making your position unbearable.

Wordlessly, you and Robb rise, chins up despite the situation that just occurred. Your hands hold onto his arm as the two of you, side by side, walk back into the center of camp, ready for war.

•