#silver wire pull

[treskoff]

Contemporary Bathroom in Los Angeles Example of a large trendy master white tile and stone slab marble floor bathroom design with flat-panel cabinets, dark wood cabinets, white walls, marble countertops, an integrated sink and a hinged shower door

[blieve-bactive-bhealthy]

Los Angeles Bathroom

An illustration of a sizable, modern master bathroom with white stone slab flooring and marble countertops, flat-panel cabinets, dark wood cabinets, white walls, an integrated sink, and a hinged shower door.

[stabknives]

If i dont finish that art piece of gortash all tangled up in Vykrum's stupid floor length hair soon i swear

[simplycrazyhunter]

Master Bath Miami Mid-sized contemporary master alcove shower idea with gray walls and porcelain tile, a hinged shower door, flat-panel cabinets, an undermount sink, quartz countertops, dark wood cabinets, and flat-panel cabinets.

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 5; ghoap x reader) masterlist

-

Give him blood and he’ll give you something new to chew on.

Except that isn’t the way it goes. Not this time at least.

He tries to talk Ghost out of it, but it falls on deaf ears. Blatantly ignored. The car barrels down the motorway under the cloak of night, a swell of stars overhead as the city falls farther behind. Radio shut off. Johnny thinks if Ghost had his way, the radio would’ve been pulled out entirely, just wires and an empty, black cavity in the dashboard, but it’s a rental. 

And no one wants to deal with the paperwork involved in damaging military property. Not even Ghost.

Ghost won’t so much as glance over at him. Unaffected as ever, as if they didn’t just fuck. Johnny’s stomach hurts when he thinks about it. Even without her knowing, he’s broken his girl’s trust. Not for the first time; maybe not even the last. His guilt echoes not only that he let Ghost make him come, but that he liked it—that the buzz in his bones says do it again, please god, again, please let me come, I need to come, touch me, please—

He thinks about his girl, then turns to Ghost again.

In the pit of his stomach, Johnny knows this is wrong. In his rational mind, he knows it. If he were in a better place, he wants to think that he’d make a real attempt to change Ghost’s mind, maybe get him to turn around at the next gas station, but he can’t deny the excitement bubbling in his belly at the prospect of seeing his girl again after a week of nothing. 

The silence has been eating away at him. Bits of his brain flaking away, moth-eaten. Checking his phone again and again to no new messages, getting the same voicemail message whenever he calls. Something flutters high in his chest, an itch he can’t scratch; it tells him to take off in the middle of the night, drive all the way back home and pound on her door until she’s forced to answer it, forced to talk to him face to face.

Again and again, he tries looking at it from her perspective—tries to empathize with her. What he would’ve done in her shoes had she allowed a coworker to grab his dick in front of a crowd of strangers. It’s more than fair, he thinks. His own shame leaks out of his pores in the middle of the night, sleeping on top of the covers because he sweats right through the sheets. 

And yet, he keeps butting up against his own anger. Talk it out with me, yell at me, he growls into her voicemail, anger growing as the days pass one by one. 

It’s the road that alerts him to their arrival into the city more than anything. More cracks in the asphalt, the car rattling over sewer depressions and potholes in a way that says home sweet home. Usually it’s a source of comfort, like seeing the silver lining on grey clouds or the iridescence in an oil spill, purples and greens catching the light. Not now. Now the road winds like descending into the underworld, each turn coming with a sinking feeling. 

They park down the road from the flower shop, tucked just out of sight. A cool breeze wafts over his hot face when he steps out of the car. It nearly rocks him back. When he glances up, his heart stutters at the sight of her bedroom window, sealed tight now. Only cracked open during their sleepovers, when Johnny runs a bit too hot at night for them to sleep comfortably with the window closed. 

“Should I…do ye want me to give her a call to wake her up?” Johnny asks tentatively, shutting the car door softly so as not to make a noise. 

Ghost shakes his head. “We’ll let ourselves in.”

Johnny’s picked hundreds of locks in his time; he’s jimmied open doors with crowbars, set up explosive charges, used a good old fashioned ram from time to time—no stranger to the trade—but it feels decidedly uncomfortable with Ghost at his back, staring down at him as he breaks into his own girlfriend’s apartment. 

“This is a bad idea,” he grumbles, turning the pick in the lock until he hears a familiar click inside. 

Ghost doesn’t answer, just raps his knuckles against the back of Johnny’s head. A silent get a move on. 

Her apartment looks the same but different when they enter it. His muscles remember the layout though. The pink couch in the living room with two dimpled pillows on either side, the footstool by the door, the stand with her shoes all piled in neat little rows, the vase on her kitchen island with a fresh new bundle of flowers, fragrant when he dips his head to take a whiff. He’s loved flowers ever since meeting his girl. 

Ghost doesn’t try to muffle his footsteps for once. He rummages through her cabinets and drawers with all the finesse of a first time burglar looking to get caught. It smacks of intentionality. Johnny’s worked with him too many times in the field to know that if Ghost wanted to disappear into the darkness, he would. He’d be the thing creeping silently through the shadows, tread lighter than air, close enough to touch but never see. 

So it’s more than deliberate when he noisily shuts a drawer. Baiting her out. 

It’s no surprise when Johnny hears her creep around the corner from out of her bedroom. He’s tucked in the shadows of the living room, just out of the light, so he sees her first when she comes silently down the hall, whole body trembling with fear, the bat she keeps beside her bed drawn over a shoulder. Even her hands shake around the grip.

Of course she yelps when Johnny says her name, stepping out of the shadows, swinging wild. He winces when the bat smashes into a lamp, shattering it on impact. 

“Fuck!” she screams, scurrying backwards into the wall behind her. Several framed pictures rattle against the wall, nearly knocked off their hooks. 

“Noisy, isn’t she?” Ghost grumbles from the kitchen, tossing a bored glance over, unbothered by the commotion. He undoubtedly heard her creeping down the hall as well. 

“What the fuck?” she gasps, chest heaving when she breathes. Her eyes dart from Johnny to Ghost’s massive form in the other room. Poor nervous thing. She must recognize Johnny’s voice saying her name even through the panic because her lips droop in a frown, more confused than petrified.

“Hen, it’s jus’ us—nothing to worry about,” Johnny coos, hands stretched out in front of him to show he means no harm. 

It gets her to lower the bat, but only just, the slightest dip that has him darting forward to pry it gently from her hands. The ceramic shards on the floor will have to be swept up later, but he’s relieved that at least she didn’t step on any of them. 

Up close, she’s just as pretty as he remembers. Pretty as pie. How could she not be? In the glow of youth still, not like it's been a decade since they last spoke face to face—only a little over a week. A sight for sore eyes, even though Johnny’s narrow when he stares down at her and thinks about the week of his texts and calls going unanswered. His jaw undulates, rage held back by the thin thread of her scent that wafts under his nose, making him lean into her. 

Breathe in and out. 

“Us?” she repeats, brow furrowing.

She glances over at Ghost again, the man still ambling around the kitchen, at home in her little one bedroom apartment like he visits her frequently. Like it’s his as well. 

“Aye…Ghost wanted to come—Simon wanted to apologize…for the other day,” Johnny explains. 

“You broke into my apartment in the middle of the night…so Simon could apologize for sexually harassing me?” she says, the disbelief smacking in her words. 

“Hen, it's no' nice to say it like that—” 

“No time like the present,” Ghost says, not ashamed in the slightest. “Heard you weren’t taking Johnny’s calls. Might not’ve had to do this if you’d picked up.” 

Johnny doesn’t believe a word of that, but there’s no reason to call him out on it now. 

He can see her wrestle with a trifecta of emotions competing for first place. Anger, embarrassment, and then, a smidge of worry holding up the rear. Aware of the fact that she woke up to two grown men, one practically a stranger, breaking into her apartment under the guise of having a conversation. His heart aches at the thought. The lion’s share of the blame rests with him, but still it’s her that suffers for it. 

“You…you shouldn’t be here,” she rasps, flinching when Johnny lays a hand on her waist, towering over where she’s still cowered against the wall. Bat gone now, defenceless. Her pupils narrow to a pinprick. He almost tuts, poor thing. Scared out of her wits. 

It feels so good to touch her though. Soft and yielding. 

“‘Was Simon’s idea, hen, but, ah—” his breathing picks up when his fingers tighten on her waist and she squirms “—I was goin’ crazy thinkin’ ye were pissed for what happened last week. Couldnae get a wink of sleep—kept closin’ my eyes and seein’ your face. Nearly broke me.”

“I am pissed at you,” she snaps, temper getting the better of her.

“I ken, I ken,” Johnny coos, ducking his head until his lips graze her temple. “Simon’s sorry—we came all the way here so he could tell ye to your face, but fuck, hen, I’m sorry too—shoulda said something instead of standin’ there like a fuckin’ dolt—”

“You should’ve,” she interrupts, still fuming mad, an iceberg melting right in front of them. It makes his cock pulse.

“—Aye, hen, I’ve no excuse, none at all. Shoulda told Simon to fuck off and keep his hands to himself—”

“Careful, Johnny,” Ghost says warningly, finally stepping into the living room. He fills out the archway imposingly, almost forced to twist his body on an angle to step in. 

Her eyes cut over to Ghost, narrowing, lips pursing. Johnny’s heart jumps in his chest. It’s one thing to see his girl again in the flesh, but to see her all righteous and on the verge of an argument—he could bend her over the back of the couch now, sink into the plush, delicate folds of her pussy, reacquaint himself with deep, languid thrusts. Heaven after not getting his cock wet in a week.

He flinches when he thinks about the last person to touch his dick. 

“So you’re sorry?” she says to Ghost, her disbelief clear. Difficult to see why she wouldn’t find it hard to believe that the man that shamelessly grabbed her ass in broad daylight in front of a group of his colleagues and her boyfriend would now choose to apologize. 

Johnny knows the answer is no when he sees the way Ghost’s eyes rove over her body, taking stock of her little cotton pajamas and her bare feet curling against the cold floor. Ghost tilts his head to the side, eyes travelling back up to meet hers. “Sure I am, bird. Don’t I look sorry?”

Neither of them answer that. Arguing with Ghost feels different, like inviting in danger. Moving too suddenly in front of a hungry dog, jowls loose and salivating for a bite. 

He takes a step closer. “Complete pillock, wasn’t I? And now Johnny’s getting the silent treatment ‘cause of it. Just couldn’t bear another second of him moping around base on the verge of tears.” 

Johnny frowns at that. His girl frowns too, but there’s something more to it. He wouldn’t blame her for not accepting Simon’s apology, if he could even call it that—nothing about it rings sincere, more like words spoken softly to call a kitty over—but questioning it feels worse somehow. Like detonating a bomb at two thousand feet above ground. 

“…Okay,” she says instead, voice trembling a little. “Apology accepted. You guys can go home now.”

“Bird’s forgiving, huh, Johnny?” 

Johnny preens despite himself. “Aye. She’s a good girl, Lt. Told ye so.”

Ghost nods. “That’s right. A good girl who’s gonna let us make it up to her ‘til we have to report back in forty-eight hours.”

“Wait, you can’t—” she starts, then cuts herself off when Ghost’s eyes flash.

He can’t help the way he shudders at the helpless look on her face. Downturned eyebrows, pretty lips slack with disbelief, just the slightest hint of a whine building in her throat that dies when it dawns on her that nothing short of calling the cops will make the two of them leave. 

And she’s a good girl—would never call the cops on him. His perfect girl. Sweet as pie. 

Johnny falls in love a little bit more when she presses her squeezed fists against her eyes and exhales. “Fine. I’m too—I’m going back to bed. We can talk about this in the morning.”

Ghost doesn’t react to her acceptance. It’s taken as a simple fact of nature—he says something and it happens. He speaks the world into being. 

“I’ll take the couch,” he grunts, finally sitting down to unlace his boots. He looks comically large on her little couch—it’s more than likely that his feet will hang off the end, if not everything from the knee down. 

Johnny already figured as much. No point in them driving all the way back to base when they both have the next two days off duty and there’s a perfectly serviceable couch for Ghost and the other half of her bed for him. He thought they’d have to convince her a bit more or strong arm her into it (a putrid thought; he’d rather have sweet talked her into the idea), but his girl always manages to surprise him in the best way. 

On that thought, he looks over his shoulder towards the bedroom door, cock throbbing again at the thought of getting to hold his girl’s body against his. Touch starved dog. Mangy mutt, tongue lolling out at even the possibility of a pet. 

Ghost must notice the object of his gaze because he sets him straight. “You can take the floor, Johnny.” 

His tone brooks no argument. When Johnny whirls around, the words already on his tongue, she’s my girl, I’ve already slept in that bed ten times over, the sight of Ghost’s bare face, the mask now off, dangling in his hand like some scrap of fabric, makes him lose his train of thought. It’s not often he’s granted the luxury of seeing Ghost’s face—wide, clean shaven jaw, buzzed blond hair, old burn marks like a half-moon around his eye, nasty old scar slicing through his lips—and to see it now, here, makes something in him give. 

Saturnine man with a wolf’s appetite. Ravenous. 

It burns him that his girl looks slightly relieved at having the bed to herself. Irks him. Makes his jaw clench on a mean remark, half tempted to spit out something cross. Just because things have gotten complicated, now he’s not welcome in her bed? After the week he’s spent toiling, trying to make amends? Pleading desperately over the phone, stewing in guilt and heartache—Johnny knows she’s a good girl, but if he finds out that she’s replaced him with someone else in the week since they last saw each other—

Even the thought makes him see red.

He watches her as she turns around to retreat back to bed, more than a little displeased. 

“Give Johnny a little kiss before bed, why don’t you, bird?” Ghost lightly suggests. Not a suggestion. 

She freezes mid-turn. His expression dares her to put up a fuss. Johnny again nearly clucks his tongue, troubled on her behalf. Her spitfire nature is snuffed out easily under that stare. Grown men with experience in the field wither under Ghost’s stare. It’s no weakness of hers that she acquiesces time and again to his demands, glancing up at Johnny from under her eyelashes before shuffling over, pressing the lightest of kisses to his cheek. 

“Better than that,” Ghost grunts, unimpressed. 

His poor darling. Humiliated now. No skin off his back though. Johnny’s heart pumps double time when she presses her lips to his; soft petals that spread when he slips his tongue into her mouth, too eager after a week of nothing. Touch starved. Desperate to sink into her, lap his tongue over her lips and the roof of her mouth and press her jaw open to spit messily in her mouth. Take it, hen, every piece of me.

She rips her lips from his and dances away when he tries to get his hands on her, eyes wide, casting one last glance over at Ghost before hightailing it back to her room. 

He barely resists going after her. Only Ghost’s stare roots him in place; his voice in Johnny’s head that rumbles, heel. I’ll tell you when to go.

He still doesn’t know what it says about him that he angles himself towards it. Bows his head to it. Moth to a flame that shocks him to the bone when he touches it.

Ghost tosses him the second pillow from the other end of the couch and takes the only blanket for himself. No matter. Johnny’s bivouacked on snowy cliff sides, chilblains blistering his toes for weeks; nights spent camped in torrential downpours, his tent on the verge of collapsing; windswept baysides chilling him to the bone. He can handle a pillow on a hardwood floor. 

The ebb and flux of an ocean in his ear, and then Ghost’s voice from the couch: “I’ll take first watch.”

Whole body falling loose as if snipping a cord tethering him to the world. 

“I’ll clean up the lamp in the morning,” he mumbles, vision already blurring. Ghost hums low in his throat.

He falls asleep with Ghost’s voice in his head, his girl’s taste still in his mouth.

[osamucide]

WHAT THEIR LOVE FEELS LIKE . . .

. . . ft. BSD men

⊹ ATSUSHI NAKAJIMA . . . freshly steamed rice, sherpa blankets, the moon in the sky during the day, well-loved dirt paths, comfortable sweatpants, clean kitchens, perfectly made lemonade, finding a dollar in your pocket, gentle cat paws, scratching a lover's back.

⊹ OSAMU DAZAI . . . used books with vigilant annotations in them, jazz music, charm bracelets, quiet and steady streams, lined leather journals, light rain, flickering flourescent light, cracking the spine of a new novel, knowing looks, linking pinkies while walking, caramel drizzle.

⊹ CHUUYA NAKAHARA . . . boozy chocolate-covered cherries, leather car interior, red sangria, gold jewelry, peeled clementines, extinguished matches, the peaceful room next door to a party, counting a lover's freckles, cupping your hands around a flame, divine geometry.

⊹ AKUTAGAWA RYUUNOSUKE . . . star anise, black lace, fig jam, perfect puddles of rainwater, vanilla ice cream, soft distant thunder, silver jewelry, blackberry-stained lips and fingertips, tracing sweet words into a lover's palm, the moment of silence and peace when you pass beneath a bridge while it rains.

⊹ RANPO EDOGAWA . . . shortbread cookies, wool socks, poppies, stray eyelashes, strawberry jam, argyle and pastels, candied fruit, chess matches, foil-wrapped chocolates with sweet sayings inside, when a dog at a party likes you best, collections of old keys, shooting stars.

⊹ DOPPO KUNIKIDA . . . peonies, perfectly pulled shots of espresso, letters with broken wax seals, comfortable routines, toffee and brown sugar, freshly ironed clothes, finding something that's been lost, completed to-do lists, cats sleeping atop stacks of books.

⊹ YUKICHI FUKUZAWA . . . photo albums hidden in plain sight, flickering candles, the breeze on a cloudy beach, stars on a clear night, perfectly steeped tea, crackling fireplaces, a safety net, clean sheets and pillowcases, crisp mountain air, packing a lover's lunch in the morning.

⊹ SAKUNOSUKE ODA . . . steam from a bath, soft and implacable floral scents, typewriter font, concentric tree circles, fallen bird feathers, uplifting newspaper headlines, children's laughter, protective hugs from behind, stratus clouds like blankets over the sky, dreams that make you want to sleep longer.

⊹ ANGO SAKAGUCHI . . . brown italian leather, vintage cameras, subtle gemstone details, warm french bread, fancy bookmarks, polaroids in your wallet, tying a lover's shoes, laughing at everything when you've drank a bit too much, dried rosemary and blood orange and pomegranate.

⊹ FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY . . . frost-covered cranberries, string music, coffee table books on classical art, accidental halos of light, perfectly toasted marshmallows, the crunch of fresh snow beneath your boot, coconut and dark chocolate, a stray cat trusting you to pet it.

⊹ NIKOLAI GOGOL . . . pistachio ice cream, mourning doves on a wire, strands of pearls, opalescence, sitting side by side at a piano, salt water taffy, blowing a perfect bubble with your gum, the television flickering as you sleep, cradling a lover's face, banana pudding trifle.

⊹ SIGMA . . . fresh linen smell, rose gardens, pressed flowers, sleek dress shoes, swan necks in the shape of a heart, satin and silk, bouquets in translucent cellophane, sleeves wide enough to fit someone else's arms in, lace folding fans, white chocolate truffles.

[misswynters]

𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞

Leon S Kennedy x reader

warnings. slight nsfw themes, teasing, leon being hot

Seemingly enough, the night air was thick with the scent of rain and smoke as you and Leon found a momentary refuge in the shelter of an old warehouse. You'd only stopped for a quick break, yet here he was, shirtless, bent over his gear bag to check the supplies, every muscle in his back flexing with each movement. A faint glint of silver caught your eye, a thick silver chain hanging around his neck.

You didn't mean to stare, but your eyes were drawn to him: the way the low moonlight outside spilled in through the broken windows, casting shadows over his bare shoulders and collarbone, highlighting the fine sheen of sweat on his skin. He straightened, his focus on the gear, oblivious to the way your gaze lingered.

A mischievous thought crossed your mind, and without a second guess, you stepped closer, reaching out to catch the necklace between your fingers, giving it a gentle tug. Leon's head turned, his blue eyes locking onto yours with a spark of surprise, but also something darker, more dangerous. You let your fingers brush the chain where it lay against his chest, and with a smirk, you looked up at him, your voice low and teasing.

"You know, this would look good above me," you murmured, not missing the flicker in his gaze as the implication sank in.

For a moment, he was silent, his breath hitching ever so slightly. Then a slow smile spread across his lips, a look of confidence settling in his eyes. "Is that right?" he asked, voice smooth, filled with a heat that made your stomach flip. His hand came up to yours, his fingers brushing your wrist before he held it, his grip both firm and careful.

"You sound awfully sure of yourself," he continued, his voice dropping as he stepped closer, closing the space between you until there was barely a breath of air separating your bodies. His free hand slid along your waist, fingers tracing your side, his thumb brushing a small circle against your hip, sending shivers through you. "But l've gotta warn you-I don't like teasing."

"Oh, I'm counting on it," you shot back, lips curving into a smirk as you leaned in, letting your mouth hover near his ear, close enough to feel his pulse spike under your hand. His fingers tightened on your waist, and you could feel his breath quicken, the tension building between you like a live wire.

He didn't hold back, his hands moving to your waist, pulling you flush against him, his eyes dark as they flickered over your face. "You really want to find out what that necklace looks like up close?" His words were barely a whisper, warm against your skin as he traced a path down your arm, his touch sending a thrill through you.

Your heart raced, but you didn't look away, didn't falter under the intensity in his gaze. "Maybe l'd like a demonstration," you replied, your fingers trailing along his chest, lingering just enough to feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your touch.

That was all the encouragement he needed. His hands roamed up your arms, his touch lingering at your shoulders before sliding to cup the back of your neck. He held you there, close enough that his breath brushed your lips. The necklace glinted in the moonlight as it shifted, resting between you as if waiting to make good on your challenge.

Leon's hand traced down your arm, guiding your fingers up to rest against his chest, just above where the pendant lay. "You know... you're pretty bold for someone who's not supposed to be tempting me out here," he murmured, eyes flickering to your mouth.

"Is it working?" you asked, barely able to keep the teasing note in your voice.

His response was a low chuckle, rich and deep, vibrating against your hand.

"More than you know." And with that, he closed the remaining space between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle. His fingers tangled in your hair, his grip possessive as he pulled you closer, his other hand slipping to the small of your back, guiding you firmly against him.

You could feel the rough metal of the pendant pressing against your collarbone, a constant reminder of your earlier words, and it only fueled the heat building between you. His kisses were demanding, as if he'd been holding back for far too long and had finally decided to let go.

His hands began to roam, sliding over your sides, fingers tracing the lines of your body with a kind of reverent intensity that made your breath hitch.

Every touch was deliberate, unhurried, as if he was savoring each second, each inch of skin. His mouth moved along your jaw, his breath warm against your skin as he left a trail of soft, burning kisses down to your collarbone, right where the necklace lay. He paused, smirking against your skin as he whispered, "Still think this would look good above you?"

You couldn't stop the soft gasp that escaped you, his words sending a shiver down your spine. Your fingers curled into his hair as you tugged him closer, your voice breathless but filled with determination. "I think it's perfect," you murmured, your lips brushing his as you spoke.

The thrill of being here, in this dark, forgotten place, only heightened the tension between you both. His hands returned to your waist, guiding you down as he followed, his gaze never breaking from yours, filled with an intensity that left you breathless.

He leaned in, his lips finding yours again, the kisses growing deeper, more heated, as if nothing in the world existed outside of this moment. His fingers laced through yours, pinning your hands beside you as he kissed you with a passion that sent sparks through your veins. The necklace brushed against your chest, cool against your flushed skin, each sensation heightened by the danger lurking just beyond the walls.

"Leon..." His name escaped in a breathless whisper, and he met your gaze with a smile, his hands gently trailing up your arms, sending a rush of warmth through you. He pressed his forehead to yours, his breathing heavy, as he murmured, "I love you."

With a teasing smirk, you whispered, "Prove it." His answering smile was filled with promise, and as he leaned down, the rest of the world faded away, leaving only the two of you and the heat building between.

taglist: @444fernz @writingwisterias

banner: @cafekitsune

[schoenpepper]

Hi! I’ve got a rq but it’s kind of elaborate and might be sensitive to u so if u don’t wanna do it that’s fine!

But can I have some hcs of Deuce, Jack, Leona, Vil, Epel, Malleus, Silver, and Lilia with a reader who lived with a single parent all their life (whom they were very close with) who passed away not long before they came to TW, but they never said anything about it. So as a way to grieve they wear their parent’s shirts/jackets, accessories and fragrances because they’re all they have of said parent.

Vil sees that some of their clothes doesn’t quite fit their size or style, Jack and Leona can smell a very faint lingering scent of another on their shirts, Deuce notices them playing with their necklace frequently, etc.

I Still Feel You, I Still See You, I Still Hear You

Warnings: bad grammar, awful writing, not proofread, sad things, dead parents ig, platonic-ish, short

A/N: No need to be considerate nonnie my parents are fine haha. Finished this while trying to review for my accounting quiz tomorrow...uh, later this afternoon...?

Masterlist

Deuce might be a little...denser, regarding the situation.

However, he's not that tactless.

Ahaha he so is

Forgive him, he always means well. That sentence doesn't make it any better when he brings up the necklace you can never seem to stop fiddling with.

"My mom gave it to me before she died."

Mmh baby gets shut up realll quick.

Do you...want to share his mom?

Pardon the wording. He really means well.

So do you want to come home with him for the holidays?

Jack has a good sense of smell, so it's a bit jarring when the usual scent you have on you is replaced by a musky sort of cologne that you were unlikely to ever wear.

He asks an innocent question.

You give an innocent answer.

"It was my dad's cologne. It's his death anniversary today."

He pats your shoulder to express his condolences.

He doesn't usually do this but, do you want ice cream? His treat.

If you insist really hard, he'll let you cuddle his tail as an apology for his "insensitive" question (it wasn't really but ok)

Leona is very emotionally and socially sensitive, so he'll have a few guesses in mind already.

Your leather jacket always smells faintly of smoke.

He doesn't ask about it. Actively wards off people who makes comments about it, too.

You'll be the one to bring it up when you trust him enough.

"It was my dad's. The only thing salvaged from the fire."

Awkward.

Tsk, you're so troublesome.

Pulls you under his blanket for lots of grumpy cuddles.

He's not good with sappy comforting stuff, so you'll have to make do with his presence. He'll sit by you and listen, 'kay?

Vil is a lot of things, but he's not inconsiderate, and he's certainly not stupid.

When he first sees you wearing that ungodly sweater, soft and knitted and in such a drab color that it completely washed you out, he does get a little curious.

You have better fashion sense than that, potato.

But he notices the way you seem to sink into the fabric, eyes dazed and looking out into the distance.

"It was my mom's."

Oh. Alright.

Now he's a bit embarrassed.

Hm, maybe if you pair the sweatshirt with these pants... and do your hair like this...

You can mourn and look gorgeous while doing it, darling.

Still, he won't force anything if you don't want to.

Epel thinks the ring on your finger is really neat. He's not really one for girly things, but to be honest, he does find it a little bit cute.

Not that...he likes cute things...

Anyway, where did you get it from? Gee, you sure do stare at it a lot.

"My mom left it for me when she died."

Grim topic, but alright.

Likely the type to try and steer the conversation away to some other topic after apologizing for bringing it up.

Says your eyes are pretty. Accidentally.

He'll blush and deny it and apologize for saying weird things.

Idia accidentally snagged your watch on some cable wires while you were in the bathroom.

Total whoops. No problem, he got it out ez

Ugh, why are you panicking, dude? The watch is fine, y'know?

"Sorry, it's just, it's the last thing I have of my dad."

Okaaaay he'll go die in a ditch now tnx

He definitely feels like crap. Not to mention, he's also someone who lost someone super important to him, who was his world and best friend.

Buries himself in his bed and dies.

Silver isn't one to pry, so at normal times, he's unlikely to mention anything about your rather gaudy earrings that don't seem to fit your persona.

It's your choice, anyway. He won't judge.

Still, he has to mention something about it when it catches onto a tablecloth you were napping on. (he won't judge your napping choices either don't worry)

"Is it broken?! No, it was my mom's, I can't..."

He pauses a little bit and helps you untangle it from the tablecloth.

Assures you it's not broken.

He won't ask unless you want him to.

Lilia is all too aware of loss and everything it entails. Call it intuition, or maybe something connected to his UM.

He knows that keychain of yours has a story behind it.

Some punks snatch it off your bag as a prank when you're not looking, and Lilia gets some exercise.

"Thank you so much! It's something my dad gave before..."

There's no need, really.

Everyone has a story, and he won't pry into yours.

Taglist:

@yummyyummyinmytumny @fsh1 @lemon-koii

[arcanefeelings]

(continuation of this)

thinking about ta!nanami again...

the second you laid eyes on him, you knew you were done for. he looked perfect. too perfect.

because the moment you first see ta!nanami, you know you want to ruin that perfect image of him, pull that stupid, godforsaken tie of his loose, and pluck those delicate silver wire rimmed glasses off his face.

and finally, finally, after nearly a month of your fantasizing, you catch him one evening in the library, papers scattered over a table in the corner, those broad shoulders hunched over as he scribbles on the papers he's marking.

you linger behind a shelf, pretending to browse the books, but your eyes are stuck on ta!nanami. not for the first time, your gaze lingers on those thick, corded forearms of his, fully exposed thanks to the way the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows. your gaze follows him as he pushes his glasses up with those slender fingers still gripping the red pen and you wonder how they'd feel buried deep in your cunt.

his fingers were long, thick. they would surely reach the spots you struggled to with your own. as if realizing the direction of your thoughts, you avert your gaze back to the books on the shelf, cheeks warm. it wasn't the first time, but it had never happened outside the four walls of your dorm.

but as hard as you tried to focus on the books on the shelf, you couldn't stop thinking about it.

would he bend you over that table he was working at? hold you down by the back of your neck and thrust his fingers into your squelching, dripping pussy?

would he lean over you, whispering filthy praises into your ear till your knees buckled - your g-spot hit consistently one too many times? would he make sure your legs stayed open for him by standing between them, keeping your dripping cunt accessible to his fingers?

would he - no. you shut your eyes, shaking the thoughts away and hurry past him to another aisle of books, forcing yourself to forget the warm musk of his cologne that wafts into your nose when you pass his table.

the days pass, and when you see him next, you're receiving your previous assignment back. as you sit at your desk, reading through the crit, your eyes linger on a note in the margin, gaze flicking up. he's already looking at you.

you can't help the way your breath hitches in your throat, swallowing subconsciously as you see the way his pupils flare, before nodding your way politely, as if to acknowledge you read his remarks. your eyes shift back to your paper, heart skipping a beat at the neat cursive.

"good points, come to meet me after hours for further discussion."

[uglypastels]

Halo of the Highest Grade / Logan Howlett x Reader

People tried to warn you about him, but you loved the risk and danger of it all. They prayed for you, but God already knew exactly the type of men you’ve had your spare share of fun with. And the Wolverine was exactly what you had been looking for all this time.

word count: 5.5.k

warnings: SMUT. 18+ Only. MDNI. afab!reader. p in v. no protection [wrap it before you tap it, folks]. cunnilingus. sadomasochistic tendencies: spanking. choking. biting. scratching. hair pulling. face slapping. mutual degradation. makeshift restrain. violence: cage fighting. blood. alcohol. smoking. cursing. not proofread.

gif from banner sourced online but couldn't find the op, all credits to them.

Shoutout to @deceptive-daydreams for helping me come up with all of this.

Masterlist - Requests are Open

They shake their heads

Saying, "God help her" when I

Tell 'em he's my man.

But your good Lord doesn't need to

Lift a finger, I can fix him

No, really, I can.

The shouts and vulgarities of the drunken crowd could be heard from outside the building. Inside, smoke and alcohol overwhelmed the senses whilst the lights shined through the slits in the high ceiling, practically guiding you towards the silver-lit halo that was the cage at the centre of the room. As if in a trance, each element was calling for you to move closer, so closer you came.

The bell indicating the end of the fight rang but was barely heard through the commotion of the spectators. Two men dragged the barely conscious body of the defeated, his red shirt camouflaging his spilt blood.

‘Hey pretty—’

‘Fuck off.’ You hissed at the pitiful man who had appeared by your side, not even sparing him a glance when you walked off, leaving him behind, stunned and confused. Maybe he tried to call after you or spit some expletives your way, but you were too focused on what was happening inside the cage to notice.  

‘Gentlemen.’ The host called for the next challenger. ‘In all my years, I’ve never seen anything like it. Are you gonna let this man walk away with your money?’ With an antagonising finger, he pointed to the individual you had already been unable to look away from. His back glistened with sweat from the hot lights above his head. Each calm breath accentuated his shoulder blades. He barely reacted to the scream from the crowd as yet another loser came forward. While the other man approached the stage, you watched the champion take a long drag from his cigar, the smoke billowing around him in long ribbons.

‘Our Savior!’ the host exclaimed, and he exchanged some words of grace with the new fighter. Meanwhile, you kept a watchful eye on the other as he drained his glass of his last drops of golden spirit. With each second until the starting bell ticking by, you found yourself wishing him to turn around and face his opponent. But the bell came and went, and he didn’t move. 

The “savior” lunged forward with a kick, pushing your object of interest into the metal wiring. It clattered at impact, and so his grunt was barely audible. Bend over, a dog tag hanging from his neck; he didn’t even attempt to block the punches thrown his way. Unable to look away from fascination, you winced at each hit. In everyone else’s eyes, it was a lost fight. One too many, he should have quit while he was ahead. Surely, he couldn’t take it anymore. But something in you saw the moments ahead. How he got up, fists and teeth clenched. 

It was over before you could even blink. 

Three punches were all it took. All punctuated with a dull metal sound no one could place but claimed to be the barriers of the fighting stage as the “savior” unconsciously fell to the floor.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, tonight’s winner and still king of the Cage–’ the crowd booed to the harmony of the bell calling the Knock Out, and you quickly sought your escape from the eye of the storm before it formed. From the sound of it, things were gonna get ugly very quickly, and that ain’t the show you had come for. 

‘The Wolverine!’ The announcer finished, and you made sure to remember that little nickname as you walked off. 

With the majority of the crowd leaving, their losses very much at the forefront of their minds, you settled down at the bar. 

‘Give me two of whatever he was having back there.’ You told the barman, cocking your head back to the Cage, and turned on the stool to face the room, a plan already forming in your head. You heard behind you how the man poured the drinks and placed one next to the other at your side. 

‘You don’t wanna do this.’ The man chuckled through his warning, fully aware of your intentions. So, subtlety had never exactly been your strong suit, but in this case, you felt it would probably be a great advantage.

‘Now, what makes you say that?’ You reached for the nearest glass and took a gentle sip. The alcohol practically seared your throat as it went down. ‘He’s just like any other man, no?’

‘Lady, that ain’t no man.’, the older man said in a hushed tone, scared as he would be heard by the wrong people, despite of the chaos around you. ‘That’s a monster.’

Those words only sparked more interest inside you. A flash of ruffled dark hair caught your attention between the crowd, and like a shock had gone through your spine, you sat up straight. 

Realising he was fighting a lost beetle, the barman simply sighed. ‘May God help you.’ 

Oh, God knew exactly the type of men you’ve had your spare share of fun with before. Leading the kind of life you had it was the only way to still make things a little bit interesting. And he, the Wolverine, was precisely what you were looking for. 

His steps were heavy on the floorboards. The crowd, while still angry, parted like the Red Sea at his proximity, looking away as if scared to be petrified if they got caught catching a glimpse of him. But you didn’t even try and hide your stare as he walked up to the bar. A fact that did not go unnoticed. And neither did the manner in which his eyes glazed over your body, moving up and down across your frame, hovering in particular over a few places.

Although plenty of seats were vacant, he sat down at your immediate right. His mouth had already slipped open with the request for a drink, but you were quicker with your generous gesture.

He looked at it with a mix of surprise and amusement, but didn’t say a word. The liquor disappeared with one heavy swig, and the glass clashed with the counter. Without needing to hear anything, the helpful bartender brought out the bottle and poured him another.

‘Can I help you?’ The Wolverine muttered, looking at you from the corner of his eye when you had not stopped looking him over since he had sat down. 

Isn’t he a charmer, you thought, but you also could not deny that his attitude and harsh tone were doing things to you. 

‘Just wanted to congratulate you on the fight.’ As subtle as anything else you had done that night, you came closer, leaning towards him. You caught the glance he gave you as you moved, specifically how his eyes once more lingered on your breast. God, how you loved the ones that just didn’t give a shit. Those who were just as blunt as you were in these matters. It made things so much easier.

‘It wasn’t much of a fight.’ He replied, unphased by anything that happened that night.

‘I suppose you’re right.’ You shrugged, twirling the drink in your hand, ‘though I did think you were kind of soft on that last guy. Why let him get you like that?’ Your mind flashed to the fight, to the grunts he had made as his opponent’s fist met his stomach. ‘Surely, you could have knocked him out cold as soon as he stepped into the ring.’

‘Where’s the fun in that?’ With those words, he finally turned to you, and for the first time that night, your eyes met, and that’s when you saw it. That glint in his eye that told you everything you needed to know about him. How he didn’t get in that ring because he needed to. Maybe the money was a bonus, but that is all it was. He got in there because he wanted to. He let those other guys get in a punch or two before knocking the shit and wind out of them. 

He enjoyed it.

The next remarkable thing about his face, aside from the apparent perfect angles of his features, was how truly perfect it was. For someone so eager to brawl, there were no indications of his hobby. No bruises, scars, and even long-term, his nose looked perfectly straight, as did his jaw, never broken or battered. 

He just kept getting more fascinating by the second.

‘So you’re one of those thrill junkies, huh?’ you asked ordinarily, certainly not as if you had just lost yourself while looking at his face.

‘Sure, if you wanna call it that.’ He scoffed. He was holding back; that much was clear. The constant glances he threw your way were more than enough of a tell. He took another sip of his drink. Fuck it, now was a better chance than never. You let your leg slowly climb up and down his calf, gently pressing into him. Something in his posture stiffened, his jaw tensed up at your touch, and you revelled in it.

‘I can imagine it’s quite a rush, getting out there, getting the adrenaline pumping all through you.’ Your voice danced around him, only clear mischief at its core. ‘Makes you wonder…’ You leaned in so close you could nearly whisper the word directly in his ear. ‘If there is anything else that would have that effect on a man.’

‘Don’t start playing games you can’t finish, bub,’ he pushed out.

‘Oh, I’m planning on finishing.’ You smiled sweetly. ‘Don’t you worry ‘bout me, big boy.’

‘Is that right?’ He leaned in to fill the gap you could not match from your position. You had caught his full attention, his empty glass forgotten on the countertop bar.

Though he faught with a bare chest, he had layered up since and now wore a wifebeater tanktop, covered mainly by a blue button-up and a dark brown leather jacket. As he looked at you, he saw a little black dress that fits you like a glove and just called for attention, and that matched with some knee-high boots and your hair all done up just like the boys like it. You had the intention of getting out of this shithole with someone, and you had set your target. Now, you were so close to catching him, too. 

‘Mmm,’ you took the final sip of your drink. ‘So what’you say we get out of here?’

He chuckled at your suggestion, turning back to look at his hands. You noticed how even his knuckles did not have a shadow of a blush on them. ‘You sure you wanna do this, honey?’

‘I know what I’m doing, honey.’ You got up from your stool, placing your hand on his thigh. He immediately tensed up, but only momentarily, as he relaxed once your slowed down the graze of your nails against the inner seam of his jeans. ‘C’mon, let’s have some fun.’ 

Your hand moved across him to reach for his, and the simple touch was enough for you to know you had won. At least this round. As soon as your fingers touched, his entire body gave in. Not that he would have admitted it, nor was it that obvious at first glance. You, however, picked up on those things. How he leaned into your touch and practically let you walk him out of the bar. But you didn’t have to do or say anything for him to place his other hand over your hip, let it fall comfortably over your ass. 

As soon as your body was greeted with the cool winter air, you spun around, pressing yourself against him until his back hit the brick wall. From then on, everything turned to instincts. Like the bartender knew to refill his glass without a word or glance, this man knew how to kiss you. His hands found their positions on you, keeping you steady as his lips explored yours. You could feel the scruff of his beard, the taste of it all: the alcohol, the cigar. None of it should have had any appeal to you, but mixed with his touch, it simply made you melt away. The kiss kept going until your lungs ran out of breath, and even then, you leeched onto him until you couldn’t any longer, not-so-gently pulling his bottom lip between your teeth as you pulled apart.

‘Got a name, gorgeous?’ He asked, almost innocently, lip pink and plump, though mostly exhilarated through your actions, and so you told him, to which he replied: ‘Logan.’ He kissed you once more, deeper, harsher, before continuing his introduction. ‘Just so you know, I’m not one to hold back.’

‘What, like you did with that guy back there?’ You teased, letting your fingers brush through his hair.

‘That was just a warm-up.’ Was it meant as a threat? A warning? Whatever it was, it made your knees weak. ‘So don’t get scared if I get a bit wild.’

‘Trust me, I can handle me a dangerous man.’ You moved your hand down, brushing over the side of his face, down his collarbone to trace the silver chain that peaked from underneath his shirt.

‘Just be careful what you wish for.’ He nearly growled before pressing his lips back onto yours.

⦻

You had rented a motel room nearly across the street from The Cage bar and though fairly short, your journey back had turned into one big blur. All you remembered was Logan nearly throwing you into his car, a somewhat sluggish and overrun pick-up with an even older caravan attachment, and pulling you out with as much force. He had practically carried you up to your room, and if it wasn’t for the sake of the other motel visitants, you had a feeling he would have taken you right there and then, up against the green door with a steel 28 hammered into it.

But ever the gentleman, he pulled himself back, only slightly hurdling your attempts at unlocking the door as he let his hands roam all over your body. You threw your head back into the crook of his neck, your hand returning to its place in his messy hair. At the feeling of his lips on you, peppered kisses on the side of your neck, you couldn’t help but tug at his roots. Unintentional, but in hindsight, a revolutionary advance as Logan’s moan heated up your skin, and the thrust of his hips could only be described as untamed.

There really was a monster inside of him. And for one, you couldn’t wait until it got out.

The key finally clicked in its lock, and Logan was the one to push the door open. You spun on the tips of your toes to face him, unable to hide the playful grin on your face. He leaned in for a kiss, but you quickly avoided it with a step back. He stepped forward, kicking the door shut behind him. Just like that, the room fell into darkness, with the exception of the neon sign peaking through the curtains, illuminating your surroundings in glowing streaks of blue.

With a gentleness you had not shown before, you reached for a kiss. A feathery touch that left Logan needing more, the yearning visible in how his body followed you once you let go. And you let him. In fact, as you made your way to the bed, you hooked one finger through one of his belt loops, pulling him along with you. You took small steps backwards until your shins hit the edge of the bed and sat down with a squeak of the mattress springs. Standing in front of you, Logan towered over you. 

A perfectly placed streak of light hit him, showing you just how dark his eyes had turned with need. How his chest was rising heavily as he shook his jacket off, throwing it aside. You watched it pile under the button-up he threw along with it, followed by your coat. Once you looked back at him, the sight of his bare arms had your mind wandering off into the most dark and corrupt places. No thoughts, just pure need pushed your legs open, so far the most inviting of places to Logan.

He wasted no time falling to his knees. You pulled him by the hair for another kiss. Everything got messier by the moment, hungrier, filthier. His hands settled on your thighs, spreading your legs further, then pulling one of them up over his shoulder, giving him space to do whatever he wanted with you. Admittedly, you could have kept kissing him forever, but when his lips attached themselves to your inner thigh, you let yourself fall back on the bed in bliss.

Logan moved closer with each peck. Closer and closer until he reached your panties—the arousal evident from the moment you had revealed yourself to him. You didn’t think the two of you could get any closer until, with a harsh tug, he pulled you up against his face, the bridge of his nose tracing over the soaked material. A shaky moan escaped past your lips, and the hold you kept on his hair tightened. Putting the underwear on started to feel like your biggest regret that day as Logan got comfortable placing sloppy kisses over them, sending shock after shock of elation through your core. 

Your back arched at the sensation of his cold hand on your hot skin, climbing up to the spot where your bodies connected. Still, through that damned lace, he pushed a finger over your slit. The pleasure slowly began to form into agony as you couldn’t take it much longer. But perhaps neither could he, as not long after he had started those teasing strokes, he grabbed at your panties and, with a pull, ripped them to shreds. The sound of the material ripping was harsh and startling but not half as much as the feeling of his hot breath against your pussy, or his tongue finally pressing against it. 

‘Fuck,’ you cursed, to which he responded with a muffled moan, of which the vibrations only added to your pleasure. Logan was undeniably in his element at your feet. The intensity of his movements was proof enough that he enjoyed every single moment of it. The taste of your juices was like ambrosia, and he couldn’t get enough. 

Your hips bucked up in a moment of his more expressive movements. The broken record in your mouth was stuck on a mix of profanities and his name. You couldn’t stop thinking about the feeling of his fingers on you, how you wished he would have done more than just tease you, but it wasn’t needed for you to feel the tight twist in your stomach. Your whole body began to tense, including your thighs. It took the sound of Logan’s deep groans for you to realise that, in your desperate state, you had started to squeeze your thighs together, practically locking his head in between. 

But, unlike your first thought that had made you want to pull away, his groans had not been worrisome. It was full-on pleasure that he was displaying. To set aside any of your doubt in the case, he held on to your leg, keeping it exactly where it was, and when he glanced up, your eyes met that same exact spark you had seen in the bar. That same hunger and insanity of a man in despair. 

Immediately, an idea bubbled in your mind. How you had still been able to form any coherent thought was a mystery, and even more, how you had managed to execute it. It was most likely not possible without his help, as you were sure if he was steadfast in his current position, there would be no way of you getting him to move a slight inch, but with a swift manoeuvre, you pulled yourself off the bed, and flipped yourself, as well as Logan, for you to position yourself on top of his lips.

‘You readin’ my mind now, princess?’ the nickname alone brought back the tightness in your stomach, accentuated by the nick of his teeth against your inner thigh after his remark. There was a moment of slightly awkward shuffling as he pushed himself and you up onto the centre of the bed, but once set, there was no going back. 

Instincts took over once more as his tongue moved over your folds. For that extra friction, you began to move in tandem over his features, grinding into him in a heat of need. Now, you had been with a number of guys, each freakier than the other, but none of them had ever let you ride their face like a fuck pillow. He would have been obsolete if not for the fact that he was getting off on sucking your clit.

‘So fucking desperate,’ you moaned between thrusts, and since his mouth was a bit preoccupied, Logan’s response came in the form of his hand firmly smacking across your ass. The lingering sting burnt through the rest of you just long enough for you to start missing it and that’s when he struck the sensitive skin again. Your moans turned higher in pitch with each time he did, and the actions of his tongue got more ferocious. Without saying a word, the message was clear: who’s the desperate one now?

And the answer was very simple. You both were. That’s the only reason you had walked into that room together to begin with. Both of you had urges that had gone unkept for too long. Urges where just sex wasn’t enough. There was always something missing. Until now.

All this time he had made sure you stayed right on top of him. Long and tight enough to make you wonder if he had actually had a death wish and was planning to go out in style. But evertime you looked at him, he seemed to almost be at peace, completely focused in the delicious task at hand. When he did finally pull you up from his lips, it was only to introduce the last puzzle piece into the game. 

The curses rolled of your tongue as he pushed his fingers into you. Long and thick, already stretching you out. He left kisses up on your clit, sloppy and wet just to keep toying with the nerves. You could feel the callouses on his thumb as he traced and pressed over it. 

His other hand was again on your ass, this time digging into the soft flesh to keep you at bay. You were stuck in the rapturous stance, ready to burst at any time. 

‘C’mon, baby, fucking cum on my tongue,’ he growled before placing himself right back where his demand would be met and this time, as the tightness pulled at your body, you couldn’t control it. Not a minute later, were you gasping out his name as you let the pleasure take over all of you.

You rode your high out to the final moment where he kissed your thigh again, eyes heavy and faint smile adorned his lips. While both your breaths were evening out, you slipped down over his body to see the full picture. Even in the barely-lit room, you could see how his face was glistening with your juices, and it just kept going down his neck, drenching the top of his tanktop. It was a sight for sore eyes—and legs. What you would do to see it over and over again. 

With a soft laugh that only spelled out “trouble”, you started to softly trace the lines of his beard. He looked up at you with furrowed brows, awaiting an explanation to your actions. 

‘Told you I could handle it,’ you smiled, smacking his cheek. Not viciously or even that hard, but firmly enough to wake him up from his pussy-drunk state. 

And wake him up, you did. 

‘They call it foreplay for a reason, sugar.’ He smirked and suddenly you grew very aware of his hold on you. The next second, you felt yourself move through the air as he took his turn in flipping you over. You nearly got the wind blown out of your lungs as your back hit the mattress for the second time that night, this time with his weight on top of you. 

There was the sound of a belt unbuckling. Your eyes automatically searched for the source, ready to see what he had been packing below, but Logan was quicker, cupping your face in his hand, squeezing your cheeks so you’d have no choice to look up at him. 

‘Eyes on me.’ His voice was as soft as limestone, fine and effervescent in the most rigid fashion. Then his hand moved down, pushing you by the throat into the soft pillow underneath. He leaned forward, placing his mouth over your ear to whisper: ‘Gonna be a good girl for me?’

You nodded as best as you could with the stiff hold he had on you.

‘Use your words,’ he growled and squeezed. 

‘Yes,’ you choked out weakly, exactly like he had wanted you to. 

The release of his hand reopened the next floodgates in your body. You could still taste the result of the last time on his lips and tongue when he kissed you. But it wasn’t enough. You needed more. And the most painful part of it all was that you knew just how close you were to getting what you wanted. You could feel the loose belt buckle against your thigh.

‘Logan,’ you gasped as an ending to the kiss. ‘Please.’

‘What did I just tell you, hmm?’ And yet, he still pulled at your dress to push it up over your hips. ‘Use your fucking words.’

‘Fuck me.’ You tried to reach for the top of his jeans, but there was no moving from the position he had you in. ‘Need you inside me.’

‘But yeah, I’m the desperate one,’ he mocked before sitting up. You watched with anticipation at how he unzipped his trousers, and pulled his dick out from his boxers. There was no surprise that he was completely hard by now, and even the size, considering the rest of him, was not a revelation. This had been exactly what you had been counting on when you saw him in that cage. Seeing him stroke himself in front of you was nothing but validation. 

‘Just look at you,’ he said as he kept his hand on his cock, ‘Opened your legs up for me the moment you saw me.’ His other hand reached for the top of your dress, stretching it down to reveal your breast. ‘Bet you would have let me fuck you in that cage, huh?’

‘Can’t deny, the thought had crossed my mind.’ You admitted, letting yourself think back to how attractive he looked back in there. Drenched in sweat under those cold lights. That animalistic glint in his eyes. Not much different from now, truth be told.

That had been all Logan needed to hear. You hadn’t realised you were holding your breath in expectation until the feeling of him entering you finally took over. Your lips formed a perfectly blissful O as he stretched you out. 

‘That’s right,’ he beamed, ‘gonna fill you up. Nice and tight.’ And he didn’t waste any time, pulling back right after he had reached your depths. In seconds, he had a pace going that left you shaking underneath him, the grunts that accompanied his thrusts recoiling through your nerves. You hands clutched around for a something to grab onto as you started to feel like you were going to sink into the bed from the power at which he fucked you—for that’s what it was, nothing but a brutal and rough fuck.

You searched the sheets for grip, but Logan had other ideas. Taking you by the wrists, he pulled your arms up over your head, holding them against the paneling of the bed. The dull banging on the wall could have very well been your own headboard or the angry fists of your neighbours from the other side, but either way, you were too preoccupied to pay them any mind. 

This had been what you were waiting for. What he had promised. The untamed animal that worked off of nothing but impulses. Anything to suffice that pure need for pleasure. 

His grip on your wrists was tight, and to say it didn’t turn you on even more than anything else he had done before would be a blatant lie, but your urge to touch him was stronger. You tried to wiggle your hands free, but there was no way of doing so. Not with a man like Logan in control, that much he had made clear.

‘This not good for ya?’ he huffed out, but before you could respond, he pulled you up by your arms until you straddled his thighs, chest to chest, an angle which pulled him in even deeper. 

‘Oh my god,’ your eyes rolled back at the sensation.

‘No god will help you now,’ he said against your lips before bringing you in for another kiss. You wrapped yourself around him, finding comfort in the softness of his hair once more while he began to guide your hips into a steady motion to fit the pace at which he moved. Testing the waters again, you pulled at the hairs on the nape of his neck. The smile on his face as his head rolled back was unmistakable even in the dark of the room. 

You pulled harder and there it was. That pure moan you had been waiting for and once you got a taste of it, you couldn’t get enough. 

And neither could he.

With the goal set, you dragged your nails over his shoulders as you let your hips roll over his.

‘Fuck yeah,’ he moaned in ecstasy, ‘use me, baby.’ The words came out airy and made your head spin at their contrast. How could he be acting like your little plaything while still taking full control of you? It made you feel grand and tiny in his arms at the same time, but mostly, it was so incredibly hot.

He hissed at the feeling of your nails digging into his skin. ‘Don’t you dare fucking stop.’ He stressed each word with a thrust, dotting it with a sharp kiss. And so, you did as you told, pushing yourself onto him in all ways you could. You didn’t know if you had it in you to draw blood, but it sure felt close to it. You were waiting for Logan to scream out, pull you off of him, but it only seemed to rile him up more.

That’s a monster. That’s what the man in the bar had called him. Monster. And there was a sense of truth to it. There was a beast hiding inside him, ready to attack. Maybe he thought he had found a victim when he saw you, but as you clenched around his length, you were quite the opposite. 

You were no victim. No damsel in distress. No princess. 

You were a hunter, and you had just caught your grand prize.

‘I’m gonna—’ you were unable to finish the sentence before the rapture. You screamed his name in elation as the second flush satisfaction washed over you that night but it wasn’t enough for Logan. He kept on rutting into you, his grunts filled the room, until you felt it all spill out of you.

Once he had caught his breathing under control, he sighed out a contented “fuck,” which you wholeheartedly agreed with as you pulled yourself off him. The emptiness you immediately began to feel was disquieting, and you could feel that need for him bubbling up in your stomach again. The only thing that slightly helped was the sight of him when you returned from the bathroom, jeans on the floor next to the pile of clothes you had formed through the night. 

You took all of him in with wonder as you slipped your dress off your body.

They shook their heads

Saying, "God help her" when I

Told 'em he's my man.

But your good Lord didn't need to

Lift a finger, I can fix him

No, really, I can.

Woah- Maybe I can't.

You awoke to the sunbeams bursting through the curtains. Sore all over, you tried to stretch across the bed, mindful of the presence next to you. 

Except, when you stretched out your hand, you were only met with the soft material of the bedsheets. The mattress had gone cold and reformed back to its natural state, having forgotten any weight that might have laid there the night before. If you had looked outside, you would have seen an empty parking spot beside yours. The only sign of there ever having been someone in that bed with you was the ghostly presence of the smell of cigars and aftershave. 

You smiled to yourself, nails digging into the sheets as you let your mind wander back to the realm of dreams.

the end.

thank you for reading 💗

if you enjoyed the fic, please consider reblogging and leaving a comment. or send a message via my inbox with your thoughts. I'd love to hear what you thought of it. requests are also more than welcome. 💗

[yaniluvs]

the way it used to be ⠀日 : surprising your old friend whom you spent your whole childhood with.

𓍯 idol!chan ʚଓ fem!reader ：（ 𝒾 ）0.8k── ༯ DRABBLE, fluff, childhood bsfs, reminiscing, platonic, short, very demure very cutesy, req. by anon . ⸝⸝𓂃 LiBRARY . /ᐠ.ꞈ.ᐟ\ྀིྀི

yani's note ˖˙ ᰋ hihi <3 another request fulfilled! youth mv is coming in a few minutes, railway is 3 days away, christmas eve is tomorrow! everything's going so quick. well, enough of my yap!! thanks to anon for the request, hope you like it! comments, requests, asks, likes and reblogs are always appreciated ! comment/ask if you want to be added to my mastertag ! happy reading <3

the studio hummed softly with the rhythm of creation. neon lights bathed the room in a faint blue hue, illuminating scattered notepads, empty coffee cups, and tangled wires. chris sat hunched over the mixer, his headphones cocooning him in a world of melody and beats. his fingers danced across the keyboard, and his lips moved silently to lyrics only he could hear.

the door creaked open, but he didn’t notice at first. not until a voice, familiar and warm like a memory, broke through his concentration.

“still drowning in wires and caffeine, i see.”

chris's head snapped up, his eyes widening as they landed on her. she stood there, arms crossed with a smirk playing on her lips, her figure outlined by the hallway light. y/n. his childhood best friend. the one he hadn’t seen in what felt like forever.

��y/n?” he exclaimed, pulling off his headphones and rising to his feet so quickly the chair nearly toppled. “what are you doing here?”

“surprising you, obviously,” she replied, stepping into the room. “thought you might’ve forgotten me with how busy you are, bangchan.”

“forget you?” chris shook his head, a grin spreading across his face. “impossible. you just stopped answering my texts!”

“oh, sure, blame me,” she teased, rolling her eyes before pulling him into a quick hug. “you’ve been busy saving the world with your music. i figured you didn’t need little ol’ me bothering you.”

“y/n, you’re ridiculous,” he laughed, though his voice softened with genuine fondness. “i could never be too busy for you. plus how'd you even find me here- and how did they let you in?”

“it took me a few calls with hannah to get to your little lair here, call me a stalker, but here i am. and as far as the security is concerned, felix helped.”

she laughed, glancing around the room. “this place screams ‘chris’ it’s chaotic, intense, and somehow cozy all at once.”

he rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling. “yeah, it’s a mess. you caught me in the middle of a session.”

“am i interrupting genius at work?”

“not genius, just me,” he quipped, leaning against the desk.

“but since you’re here, let’s catch up. it’s been too long.”

“chop chop, i've got coffees and chips, just like before.”

minutes later, they were strolling along the quiet streets. the city lights shimmered like stars brought to earth, casting reflections on the river they walked beside. the chill of the night nipped at their cheeks, but the warmth of shared laughter kept them moving.

“so,” y/n began, nudging him playfully. “remember when we tried to start a band in high school?”

he groaned, covering his face with his hands. “please don’t remind me. we were terrible.”

“terrible?” y/n gasped, dramatically, her eyes crinkling with amusement. “we were iconic. with our small studio at your place, my guitar, your vocals and oh so dear macbook. ”

“if anything, we were trendsetters.” she said dramatically, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

the two dissolved into laughter, the kind that made their sides ache. the city seemed to fade away, leaving only the echo of their voices and the gentle ripple of the river.

they found a spot by the water’s edge, sitting side by side on a bench. the moon hung high above them, casting silver light across their faces.

“it’s crazy, isn’t it?” y/n said softly, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “how much has changed.”

“yeah,” he murmured, resting his elbows on his knees. “feels like another lifetime sometimes.”

they fell into a comfortable silence, the kind only lifelong friends could share. the memories of childhood seemed to hover between them—lazy afternoons, endless chatter, and dreams that felt too big for their small hands to hold.

“you’ve done it, though,” y/n said suddenly, turning to him. “you’ve made those dreams come true.”

“i guess,” chris replied, his voice tinged with humility. “but it’s not the same without having people like you around.”

y/n’s smile softened. “you’re still you, though. the same chris who spent hours perfecting a two-minute song. the same chris who stayed up with me when i was scared of the dark.”

“and you’re still the same y/n who annoyed the hell out of me,” chan said, nudging her shoulder. “oh, AND the one who always believed in you, when you were busy being sappy with berry!” she countered.

they looked at each other, and for a moment, the weight of time lifted. they weren’t idol and friend, or two people living vastly different lives. they were just chris and y/n—two kids who had grown up but never apart.

as the night deepened, their laughter and stories carried on, intertwining with the wind. by the time they walked back to the studio, they felt lighter, as if they’d bottled a piece of the past to keep with them always.

mastertag ୨୧ @cosmicalily thank you luvie <3

[cherrynflowergarden]

જ⁀➴ chicago || loser!chris x dreamgirl!reader

sturniolo masterlist taglist

· · ─ ·˚⊱𓇼˖°🪷° ִֶָ☾.⊰˚· ─ · ·

· · ─ ·˚⊱𓇼˖°🪷° ִֶָ☾.⊰˚· ─ · ·

as chris leaned back against the wall, his hands shoved into his baggy pants pockets, he was lost in the music playing through his wired earphones. it was just another day for him; hanging out near the skatepark, taking in the scene, and scrolling through random memes on his phone. he didn’t notice her at first, but the sound of her heels clicking on the pavement immediately made him glance up.

she was breathtaking.

the kind of girl you’d see on magazine covers or at glamorous parties, a total dream with the magnetic aura that pulled everyone’s eyes to her. her blue sundress flowed elegantly through the air, jewelry catching the afternoon light, and a flower clipped perfectly in her hair, giving her that signature floral touch.

as if in a dream, she looked directly at him, and their eyes met. for a second, chris thought he was mistaken. there was no way a girl like that would be interested in a guy like him—a goofy, clumsy skateboarder with a bucket hat and a pepsi addiction. but she smiled, her lips curving with a playful charm and to his utter disbelief, she winked.

chris’ heart stuttered. he blinked, utterly dumbfounded, as a blush crept up his cheeks. did she just…? he felt his stomach flip, his mind racing to process what just happened.

she held his gaze a moment longer, her smile widening as if amused by his reaction, and then turned to walk away, leaving a faint floral scent lingering in the air.

chris was frozen, his hand instinctively reaching for the silver chain hanging down his neck; a habit he’d picked up for no real reason other than it made him feel less nervous about things. but for once, he was anything but not nervous.

“she… she smiled and looked at me,” he muttered, still staring after her, hardly daring to believe his own words. “i was surprised to see that a woman like that was really into… me?”

he’d never felt this way before, and as the shock melted into a grin, he knew one thing for certain: he’d never forget the girl who made him feel like the only guy in the world, even if it was just for a moment.

· · ─ ·˚⊱𓇼˖°🪷° ִֶָ☾.⊰˚· ─ · ·

an; hehehehehe i'm giggling so much 🤭 loser!chris is so loser i love him bless y'all are not ready for them hehehe SEND ASKS ABOUT MY POOKIES Y'ALL also i'm posting dad!matt blurb like in an hour y'all are well fed heh<3 tell me why do i have the most amazingly amazing fanfic ideas in the middle of my exams😕

i'll be making a separate taglist for all my !readers trust i have so many ideas rn it's insane so let me know if you'd like to tagged for loser!chris and dreamgirl!reader :)

[lirotation]

Astarion in Cyberpunk AU

POV: How you met him in Night City =P

You’re just another low-tier merc in Night City's meat grinder, same as any other. Sure, you smoke, you chug whatever synthalcohol gets your synapses sparking, maybe pop a little Black Lace now and then for kicks. But one thing you don’t do? Pick up joytoys from Jig-Jig. Nah, choom. Not your scene.

Until tonight's clusterfuck.

You were on a gig, dressed to fool the corpo crowd—chrome hidden under slick, expensive synth-leather. Playing at being one of Night City's untouchables. Then your optics lock onto him.

A joytoy, but not just any joytoy. Lux-grade. The kind of beauty that made your targeting systems glitch and your tits perk up. Picking him up wasn’t the plan—never the plan—but here you are, trying to blend in, figuring if all these suits are doing it, maybe you should too.

Preem bastard had a silver tongue worth more than his chrome, smooth like pre-War whiskey. He leaned in close, casually dropped the very intel you need - an exclusive corpo mixer, one hosting Kong Tao mid-level procurement officer - your target - fresh from Guangzhou. The two of you hit it off, chatting over overpriced drinks at the bar, and one thing led to another. His place.

Then you wake up.

Your choom on the other end of the link, screaming. Your brain feels like it’s been through a shredder. You’re sprawled out on some piss-stained mattress, butt naked, weapons gone.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

You’ve been played. Conned. During a job, no less. Just your fucking luck.

Gotta escape before they rip you open, gotta figure out where the hell you are. But one thing’s for sure—you’re gonna find that pretty bastard, and when you do, he’s got a world of hurt coming his way. _______

Your head’s pounding, but you’ve been in tighter spots before. You force a reboot, running a quick scan. Typical corpo blacksite flophouse—The stink of blood, sweat, and bad decisions clings to the walls.

You find a rusted shard of metal and grip it tight. Better than nothing. You rigged the lock and slipped out of the room, the sound of your bare feet drowned out by the buzz of cheap fluorescents overhead.

The hall’s empty. Nobody watching the cams—amateurs. You find a storage room with your gear dumped in a corner like garbage. Your Militech pistol? Check. punknife? Check. Even your boots. Slipping them on feels like hugging an old friend.

Now clothed and armed, you should be bailing, cutting your losses. But the faint sound of muffled screams crawls under your skin, pulling you back into the fray.

You creep closer, the door half-open. Inside, him.

The joytoy. Astarion.

Strapped down like a Maelstrom test subject, neural wires spiderwebbing from his temples into some black-market brain-dance rig. The machine's whining like a dying cat, each pulse making him scream. Some chrome-headed ganger's working the controls, grinning like he's watching prime-time BD entertainment.

“Picked yourself a zero, didn't ya? No creds, no dirt—just a fucking merc with nothin’ to give. You are lucky boss is not in town.” the ganger sneers, twisting a dial, “What good’s a pretty face if it doesn’t deliver?”

Astarion convulses, tears streaking his otherwise flawless face, “I—tried,” he whispers.  "Please, give me another chance.”

Something snaps in your gut. You’ve seen people broken, but this guy? He’s built to endure. Still, this is next-level fucked.

Your blade whispers through the air, clean and silent. The ganger drops, and you catch the falling remote and cut the power to the rig.

Astarion slumps, breathing shallow. You free him, pulling the wires from his skin. He flinches but doesn’t resist.

“Can you walk?” you ask, dragging him to his feet.

He groans but nods. “I’ve had worse.”

The two of you fight your way out, bullets and curses flying. By the time you hit the street, you’re out of breath and out of ammo, but alive. Barely.

You lean against a wall, wiping blood off your hands. “I should fucking gut you for this,” you say, leveling him with a glare.

Astarion chuckles, though it’s more pained than amused. “I’m flattered. But I was under orders, if that softens the blow.”

“Doesn’t,” you snap.

Still, you don’t hurt him. Just turn to leave, figuring he’ll disappear back into whatever pit he crawled out of. But when you glance back, he’s trailing behind you.

“What are you doing?” you snap again, tired and still on edge.

“I have nowhere else to go,” he says softly, eyes downcast, his voice a quiet plea.

“Not my problem,” you grumble, turning to keep walking.

“Wait,” he calls out, stepping closer. When you face him again, the vulnerability in his posture is tinged with a familiar, deliberate charm. His lips curve into the barest hint of a smile. “I could… make it up to you.  I’m quite skilled at certain things”

You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. “That so? You think I’m just gonna take you in because you bat your lashes?”

“Not just because of that,” he murmurs, tilting his head just enough to catch the faint light. “I can be useful. I wasn't lying before, you know? the mixer? I can get you in.”

You pause, damn it he is beautiful. He shifts closer, his voice dipping into something silkier. “Let me stay, just for a while. I’ll keep out of your way. Or,” he adds, his smile sharpening ever so slightly, “if you’d rather, I could be very in your way. Whatever you prefer.”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Fine. One screw-up, though, and you’re out. Got it?”

“Crystal clear,” he purrs, bowing his head slightly. “You won’t regret this. I promise.”

As he falls into step beside you, you mutter under your breath. “Already regretting it.”

His soft chuckle is barely audible, but it lingers all the way home.

[biibini]

nsfw ghostface!mizu

“what’s the matter sidney? you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

tags: mdni , 18+ , modern!mizu with ghostface twist , fem! reader, ghostface!mizu , eating out for a hot moment, death , kisses, alternative motives , so bad yet so hot typa moment

a/n: am i late to this? yes. did this come to me during class? yes. happy late halloween and welcome back to mizu brain rot town ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊˚

ghostface!mizu would easily find your place since silly you picked up the phone every time it rang and answering with a sweet “hello”.

ghostface!mizu quietly crawls into your bedroom without a single creak while you were busy talking to her on the hallway phone downstairs.

ghostface!mizu finds it cute how you’re blindly answering her questions about yourself, what you were doing tonight, what you liked to do, favorite color, etc. she knew you were lying through your teeth, but man, did it sound so pathetic and cute to hear your lies.

ghostface!mizu hums to every response with a “mhm” while watching your every move from your bedroom upstairs, gauging your reaction every time she hummed in response,.

ghostface!mizu sees your finger twirl around the phone line, playing with the wire, smiling down on the floor when you continue to go on and on about yourself.

“It’s such a boring color, I know, but it’s my favorite!”, you state, continuing to play with the phone line. You teasingly accuse her, “You’re asking all these questions about me, yet I don’t even know who you are!”,

Mizu watches you talk into the phone, hearing your playful voice tease her, practically begging for a sliver of her.

“You wanna know about me?”, she coos back, mirroring your energy.

“Mmhm”, you answer, nodding in response, “Who is my mysterious caller?”

“Someone who’s interested in you.”

She gauges your reaction from above. You swing your leg back and forth, grinning at the floor again. You look up from the hallway tile floor, blush spreading across your cheeks.

“You’re…”, you lower you voice, almost whispering, “interested in me?”

Mizu hums again. Deep. Almost sweet as honey.

A little curious, she pushed for more.

“Why? You got a boyfriend waiting for your call?”, Mizu teases, pulling out her weapon, sharp and ready for murder.

“No, no girlfriend or anything.”

Oh.

Mizu freezes in place, completely taken aback by that response.

“Didn’t think I was into girls?”

Your voice rings in her head. Mizu snaps out of it, sheathing the blade as she peeks to see your reaction. You’re still standing in the empty hallway, smiling and continuing to twiddle with the phone, just waiting to be caught.

ghostface!mizu now even more interested in you, continues to toy and tease you over the phone, overwhelming you with interest.

ghostface!mizu positions herself by your window, ready to knock at your window as you continued to stick by the hallway phone.

“No, I just wanted to get to know who I’m looking at.”, she answers in a snarky tone.

Mizu looks down at you, squinting to get a closer look as your eyes widen, quickly darting around to find a sign of a living being. You grip the hallway phone for safety, scanning your surroundings before you speak into the device again.

“What did… you say?”

A shiver crawls up your spine. You heard that correctly, right?

Covered by the mask, a devilish smile spreads across Mizu’s face.

“I just wanted to get to know who I’m talking to.”

Deep down, your gut instantly knew that was not what she originally said.

“You... you didn’t say that.”, you point out as you double check your surroundings.

"You sure?"

From a late-night call to a creepy conversation, you were freaked out. It was all fun and games lying about your "favorite" activities, but this was getting a little too real. Being alone didn’t help your case, as you were now talking to a random stranger turned stalker.

On the other hand, Mizu stayed silent, watching you go crazy from above for the past 15 minutes. Mizu unsheathes her weapon, a silver blade that glistened a blue tint against the moonlight.

As fun as toying with you was, playtime’s over.

You hear a tap to the rhythm of "shave and a haircut" come from upstairs. You look up as you watch a door hang ajar, slightly swaying to the wind, its whistle now clear to you.

That was your bedroom. Your bedroom window to be exact.

"Your girlfriend is calling you.", you hear through the phone, teasing you. It's a much lower tone than the teasing voice you were talking to only 5 minutes ago.

You quickly smash the phone down, hoping it was just a prank call trying to creep random people out.

ghostface!mizu awaits in her hiding spot, waiting for your next move, as the whisper of the wind fills the silence.

ghostface!mizu rings your home phone once again, hearing the rings echo throughout the house. she takes another peek on you again to find you staring at the phone, ringing and ringing in front of you.

ghostface!mizu grins to watch you slowly reach for the phone, hesitating to pick it up and hear her voice again.

"Your girlfriend is waiting for your call."

You feel that same shiver crawl down your spine. Your gut is screaming one thing to your head: You're not alone.

You feel a pair of eyes watching you behind your back. Turning around, you only find darkness in your empty house.

Just put down the phone. Just put that shit down.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you.", the voice orders through the speaker.

You slowly pull the phone away, regardless of the warning, your eyes carefully watching outlines of the outside through the glass of the front door.

"I said don't hang up on me."

"And why should I listen?", you yell back.

Enough of these stupid games. Kids need fucking hobbies-

"Because I'm right behind you."

What.

ghostface!mizu is careful and quiet. so quiet that while you were distracted by the front door, you failed to check your blindspot: the staircase hidden in the dark.

ghostface!mizu holds the knife to your neck, letting the warmth of your body borderline bleed against the silver blade. smiling at her capture, she locks your right shoulder in place.

ghostface!mizu gets a closer look at you through the hallway mirror. not bad looking at all... maybe even one of the better-looking prey she's caught. it also helped you were wearing a little slip dress. you might as well have been wearing nothing.

"What do you want from me?"

"We can figure that out upstairs, pretty girl."

ghostface!mizu pushes you upstairs, step by step, the blade's tip teasing against the thin silk fabric, waiting for you to disobey her at every step you take

ghostface!mizu roughly pushes you onto your bed, her hands burning up in her glove as you look up in fear, maybe even in awe. Geez, you had prettier eyes than most she's seen this night.

"I'll do anything, just let me go to bed, please.", you beg.

It's sick, really. First, this random stranger talks and lowkey flirts with you, practically terrorizing you, and now they've locked the door and blocked the only exit, all the while calling you a pretty girl. You shouldn't even be remotely attracted to this person.

You feel their gloved hand, cruelly squeezing your burning cheeks. It's nasty how your stomach twists in fear... and attraction to their touch. Forced to look up at Mizu, you see a glimpse of their eyes through the mask.

Alluring ocean blue shining in the moonlight, focused, steady, patiently waiting for one wrong move from you.

"Anything?", Mizu coos, tilting her head as the blade presses down on your neck, letting go of your face as she forces you to lay down. Staring up, you let the moonlight help you assess your supposed killer.

Black from top to bottom, compression shirt emphasizing her lean body, prominent muscles down to the hips, and black baggy sweatpants to match.

You feel a knee in between your legs, pushing them apart. The mask inching so close to your face that you feel her breath.

"Be a good girl, will you?"

Deep down, you know you should be running away, planning to jump out the window, anything to escape. Yet the way their gloved hands caressed your cheeks, as the other hand rested the blade on your neck, made your stomach twist in a despicably good way.

You couldn't deny that her voice was enticing earlier, teasing you and playing along during your time on the phone together. You knew that was the core reason you kept up the act.

Well, that and the fact that she called you pretty.

Your body turning cold, you hummed in response.

"I w-will.", you say as you feel her knee gently hit your entrance.

It didn't help that you weren't wearing anything underneath that slip of yours.

You watched the masked figure slowly go down your body, one hand gently caressing your side, cupping your boob and squeezing it in pleasure, while the other dragged along your side, reminding you of the consequences of disobedience. They stop at your entrance, warm and dripping wet.

"You promise?", she teases, her knee further pushing against your dripping cavern.

Nodding profusely, Mizu hid the knife under the bed, as she pulled your body closer to her in hopes of getting all of your juices.

"I promise- ah..."

ghostface!mizu is glad you're such a pretty victim, obeying her every order as she scrunched up the lower half of your slip, gaining access to your dripping entrance, lapping in hopes of not leaving a single drop go to waste.

ghostface!mizu gauges your reaction as she enters one finger inside, and then two, and then three. every time, you always surprise her with how loud you get with every new digit entering your gummy walls. she gets even excited when you yelp at every time your fingers curl.

ghostface!mizu patiently waits for your hips to start acting out against your twisted, messed-up mind. with every squeeze of your hips, you feel them move on their own against her tongue, reaching deeper with every thrust in and out as she strategically placed her hands on your hips, guiding them along the way.

ghostface!mizu pulls back from the grinding to blow against your clit, making your cries 10x louder, before going back to face grinding

ghostface!mizu goes back for seconds, forgetting about her victim's death as her tongue swirled around your stimulated clit, making your head confuse itself in the chaos, fear, and pleasure of it all.

ghostface!mizu looks above to watch your chest fall up and down with every flick of her tongue, further pushing her to bring you close to your orgasm. she feels your entrance continue to pour out liquid, lubricating your burning hot entrance as your hips rode the lower half of her face. her upper half manages to keep the mask on.

ghostface!mizu feels your hips slow down, thus moving you back down on the bed. what she doesn't realize is you kissing her in the process, sharing the stickiness with you.

ghostface!mizu pauses in front of you, cursing to herself how pretty you are, before tearing off the mask completely and going back for another kiss, needy for your touch as the knife dances down your spine.

"You're being so good for me, angel.", Mizu coos, deepening the kiss with you.

Pulling away from the kiss, you feel the sharp point of the dagger poking your back.

"What a shame, you're just so delicious pretty girl."

The sharp pain of something entering behind you takes over, distracting you from the sweet talk you witnessed in front of you. As you push forward, your lips lock with hers one last time, before you feel a gush of liquid run outside your back.

You pull away one last time, getting a glimpse of her devilish smile sprawled across her face, and her eyes glowing in the midnight, before blacking out to your death.

[parad-ice-lostandfound]

Prompt: "I don't care that you're hanging up lights, get off the roof!"

Pairing: Malleus Draconia x Gn!Reader/Prefect/Yuu

Genre: Fluff, Slight hurt/comfort

TW: Reader falls off a roof (but they're okay, don't worry)

You were a brave human.

Malleus had made this assumption on your second meeting, when you graced him with that silly nickname that he now held so dear. The casual way you interacted with him may have stemmed from your ignorance regarding his true identity, but to see you continue to use it even after learning he was the heir apparent to Briar Valley had left him with a pleasant warmth in his chest and his cheeks.

He adored every part of you, including that bravery of yours that made him fall for you in the first place.

But dear Sevens, that bravery would be the death of him one day.

"Child of man," he called out to you, a mix of puzzlement and concern in his eyes, "what are you doing up on the roof?"

"Hornton!" You visibly brightened as you noticed him, waving your arm so vigorously at him that he feared you would fall from your place on top of Ramshackle's roof. Malleus took a step ahead, worry flashing in his eyes as he looked up at you.

"I'm hanging up some lights for the winter holidays! Ramshackle's gonna look nice and festive this winter," you spoke, showing him the bundle of wires with lights on them that you had next to you.

"Is it truly necessary?" He asked, acutely aware of the pain in his neck from looking up at you. Was this how you felt when you had to look up at him? Now, that would not do; he would have to find a way to make it so that you wouldn't feel any pain in your neck while looking up-

His train of thought was derailed by the sight of you leaning forward almost dangerously. "I'm gonna be fine, don't worry," you told him, a carefree smile on your face.

"Child of man, Ramshackle has no need to be decorated. It is beautiful just the way it is," and so are you, went unsaid. Malleus took a step closer, talking softly and gently, trying to coax you to come down. "Please, come down before you hurt yourself."

"You worry too much Mal-Mal, I'll be fiNE-"

In your attempt to reassure him, you had taken a step ahead on the roof, slipping and getting your leg tangled in the wire.

Malleus' heart nearly stopped as he saw you fall. He casted a spell almost immediately, catching you mid-air with his magic before letting you down onto the ground carefully.

Your legs gave out beneath you from almost falling to your death, and you sat heavily on the ground. Malleus rushed to you, quickly kneeling to check you for any injuries, even though he had saved you with his magic. You rested your hands on his biceps, trembling slightly due to the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you allowed him to look you over.

After making sure you were alright, he pulled you into a hug, his larger frame hiding you from view as he held you close to his chest. You held onto him just as tightly, and for the next few minutes you both just sat in silence, holding onto each other and thinking of what could have happened had he not been there.

"Now I understand what Lilia meant when he used to say that Silver and I would shave years off his lifespan whenever we went off into the forest without letting him know," he said after a few tense moments, voice slightly shaky. Your hands held on tighter at his words, feeling guilty. One of his hands curled protectively over your head, while the other rested on your back.

"I-" your throat felt dry, tight. You couldn't get your words out, even as Malleus waited for you to finish your reply. So you settled on squeezing him tight, trying to make him feel your apology for scaring him when you couldn't put it in words.

"Next time, please allow me to do this sort of thing for you, my dear. Even with how long my life is sure to be, I would rather not deal with such stress ever again," he told you gently, smiling when you nodded, your face hidden against him.

He picked you up, and took you inside Ramshackle, your plans of decorating the roof left for another day.

Back to Masterlist...

[sleepytoycollection]

One Way to Repair a Broken Doll Arm

Today I'll be walking you through how I repaired this Ever After High Lizzie Hearts doll's broken arm. While I wouldn't call this a fool-proof method, and I'm not sure that this repair would hold up to being played with, if you've got a beloved doll you want to repair, this should be just fine for a doll that's mostly going to be displayed.

The best part is, this will retain the articulation of the arm and/or knee (this method will technically also work for knee joints, though knees are harder than arms to work with). So let's jump in.

Tools required: Craft Knife, Jewelry pliers, Wire (gauge depends on size of joint), Super Glue, Hot Glue, Patience.

Let's start with our patient.

I thrifted this Lizzie doll a few days ago, along with a Venus McFlytrap, as shown in the above image. As soon as I saw the taped up arm, I knew the joint was broken, but hey, she was like 80c USD. I can apply some elbow grease for that cheap. Plus it gives me an excuse to finally make this tutorial.

They went a little overkill with that much tape, but whatever works?

I cut the tape off carefully with a craft knife. I didn't take a pic of that, but I think you can image what a broken doll arm looks like. Unless you have aphantasia I guess, but that's getting off topic.

First thing I did was use the craft knife to slice along the seam lines, then pried the upper arm open (slowly. seriously go slow.) with a pair of jewelry pliers. It will leave marks on the plastic, but I can buff those out later.

Why am I doing this if the arm's already broken? I want to remove what's left of the peg that's in there. You could also drill it out if you have a dremel, but I wanted to avoid this tutorial needing power tools.

So here's the arm, pried open, with the peg removed.

To close it back up, I used a tiny bit of acetone to melt the plastic at the seams, then held it together until it hardened enough to stay in place. Leave it for a few hours to make sure it's all fully cured, then you can sand the area smooth.

And here's the arm with the broken peg.

So what now? We need to remove the peg piece that's attached to the elbow. I couldn't get a photo of that since it's a delicate process and I only have 2 hands, but here's an artist rendering that would give you the idea.

Take a craft knife, and SLOWLY. CAREFULLY. cut into the ring that surrounds the elbow joint. YOU DO NOT WANT TO GO TOO DEEP, TOO QUICKLY. YOU DO NOT WANT TO ACCIDENTALLY CUT THROUGH THE ELBOW POST. Just go nice and slow. Just chip a little out at a time until you get to the center.

Use pliers as well to pull out the rest of the bits, though you might have to cut a good bit out before you can pull the rest out.

As for my doll, the operation went successfully.

This is what the elbow looks like with the joint peg removed.

Now we've gotten past the hard part, we'll cut off a few inches of wire and string that though the elbow joint. Once through, we'll twist it until it's reasonably tight to the joint. If that makes sense.

It should look like this. Give it a test fit and cut the wire shorter as needed so there's no gap in the joint.

My test fit. Yep, I recycled this for the top photo as well. The blue is just painter's tape.

If you find you can't get it tight enough, and it feels too loose, I'd add a drop a super glue in there. Just keep moving the joint as the glue dries, and it'll add some friction so your arm will hold a pose.

Speaking of glue, I also add a dab of hot glue to the top of our new peg. The coating will add thickness that will help it stay in the upper arm. Tape works too, but hot glue holds up better.

Here's our newly repaired arm back on the doll. Aside from a slight glimmer of silver, the repair is not very obvious I think.

Lizzie can now enjoy having two functional arms again. Whoo-hoo.

While not 100% a beginner repair, it's not particularly difficult either. Just takes some patience and a reasonably steady hand.

Before I go though, some disclaimers/notes: Some wires can rust overtime, so keep an eye on your doll to make sure the wire isn't degrading and discoloring them.

Also, if you do a repair like this, then sell the doll, do let the buyer know. I feel like I shouldn't have to say that, but don't be one of those sellers okay?

This same method can be used for knees, but thighs tend to be made of a harder plastic, and it can be more difficult to pry them open to take the old, broken peg out with out major damage to the upper leg.

Good luck with your repairs! Love y'all. c: