#so when they shake their wrists around you get the rattle sound

[chai-en-kaadhale]

what if undead monster such that their teeth look like snake teeth that hinge back into their mouths and their entire jaw unhinges to let them fold out and they like being warm bc theyre undead and they cant be warm-blooded so if you befriend one you get a lot of hugs?

[cameronsbabydoll]

can we get ex husband!rafe and the one time he isn’t being arrogant and it’s because he is comforting reader (she has big fear of storms) and their son during a really severe storm

ex!husband!rafe comforting you and your son during a loud storm

wc: 428 — a/n: this gif sorta matched the vibe of the fic but the coloring doesn’t match my blog aesthetic so that’s really annoying

the power went out five minutes ago.

the storm was loud enough to rattle the cheap little windows of your rental house — a far cry from the estate you used to live in with rafe, where storms sounded distant, muted by money and insulation and walls thick enough to keep the world out.

here…it was right there.

rain lashed against glass. Thunder cracked sharp enough to shake picture frames. and you — curled on the living room floor with your son tucked tight against you — couldn’t hide how badly you were shaking.

and then — a pounding knock at the door.

followed by his voice.

"open up, baby. it’s me."

rafe.

of course it was him.

you didn’t even remember texting him, but your call log showed a missed message.

storm’s bad. stay put. i’m comin’ to you.

you opened the door and nearly collapsed into him. he was soaked through — shirt clinging to his chest, hair dripping into his eyes — but his hands cupped your face like none of that mattered.

"jesus," he muttered, like he hated how small and scared you looked. "you should’ve called me sooner."

your son’s little voice piped up from behind you — nervous, scared in that way kids get when their mom is scared too.

"daddy…"

rafe was inside in two steps, scooping him up like nothing else in the world mattered.

"i got you, buddy. ain’t nothin’ gonna hurt you, yeah?"

and for once — for once — there was no arrogance. no teasing. no possessive bite in his words.

just rafe. just home. just safe.

he set your son down on the couch, tugged blankets around him, then turned to you — peeling off his soaked jacket and tugging you gently by the wrist.

"c’mere, sweetheart," he said quietly, voice so soft it barely sounded like him.

you resisted for half a second — pride, distance, divorce papers still fresh in your mind — but the next crash of thunder had you practically in his chest.

and rafe just held you.

not like he owned you.

not like you owed him.

just like he was scared too — but would never, ever let you or his son feel it.

his hand rubbed slow over your back. his chin rested on your head.

"storm’s gonna pass," he promised, voice rumbling against your cheek. "always does."

and maybe later, when the lights flickered back on and the world felt normal again, you'd remember why you left him.

but right now — wrapped up with him, your son snoring softly between you — it was heartbreakingly easy to remember why you ever stayed.

[imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul]

Safe and Sound - Jacaerys Velaryon

A/N: Hi, hi! The hotd brain rot is REAL. All I can think about is this beautiful prince above. I'm working on a longer story for him, but in the meantime, enjoy is blurb. This was jointly inspired by a genuine bad dream I had (the brain rot!!), and the Taylor Swift song that was playing when I was writing this at work. Hope you enjoy!

TS Prompt #7: Safe and Sound

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader Word Count: 1.3k Synopsis: Jace comforts the reader after they wake up from a terrible nightmare.

Warning: This does not follow the canon, but I do base the nightmare off of real events that have yet to happen in the show. Do not read if you don't want spoilers.

Sweat drenches your brow. Swords clash, arrows whistle through the air, and dragon fire paints the sky orange.

Your heart thuds as you spin around amid the chaos, searching for a green dragon or for a head of dark, curly hair. For any trace of Jace.

An ear-splitting scream rattles the sky, and before you can make sense of what you are seeing, Vermax's body crashes into the water, sending up a raucous wave.

Panic flows through your body. Searching, searching, searching. You need to see any sign that he made it, that he is alive. The water is riotous, making it impossible to figure out where he landed.

You nearly fall to your knees in relief when you see him crawl up onto floating wreckage, injured badly, but still breathing. You know you need to get to him, need to do whatever it takes to get him out of enemy-infested water.

As you move towards the coast, you have no plan in mind. Out of the corner of your eye, you see an approaching ship, making its way towards Jace. You run, wanting to scream his name, but also not wanting to give away his location.

You reach the shoreline and the water laps at your feet. Jace spots you the moment the approaching ship spots him.

You know he won't be able to get to the shore in time. You wade into the water, watching as he struggles to swim towards you. He's too far away, too weak, and you're not strong enough to pull him back.

The sound of a crossbow trigger pierces through the crash of waves. Jace's eyes widen - looking into yours - as the arrow speeds towards his chest.

"Jace!" you scream.

You tear out of your dream in a cold sweat, waking to your dark bedroom.

Jace wakes when you scream, crying out his name. His eyes adjust too slowly to the darkness, so he grabs for you blindly. He needs to know you're alright, needs to feel your warmth, your pulse. It thunders beneath his thumb as his hand wraps around your wrist.

His eyes finally adjust and he sees you sitting up in bed, your night gown wet with sweat.

"What is it?" he asks, sitting up next to you. "What happened?" He does a quick scan of the room, confirming his first guess. The room is unchanged from the evening before. There is no danger within its walls, just within your head.

You've had another nightmare.

He brushes the hair off your forehead as you put a hand to your pounding heart, clearly coming to the same realization. Jace leans closer and kisses your shoulder gently.

"It was just a dream," he says lowly, his lips still pressed to your skin. You take deep breaths as you try to relax. You have yet to look at him.

"Y/N," he says, "It was just a dream." He tugs on your arm and finally, you look at him. Even in the dark room, he can tell your skin has paled.

"It didn't feel like just a dream," you say. He frowns and rubs soft circles on your back.

This has become your miserable routine. You wake up in the middle of the night, screaming, and he sits next to you, feeling useless to change anything.

"Tell me about it," he says quietly.

"It's the same dream I always have," you say, looking at him sadly, trembling. He pulls you into his arms, holding your shaking hands in his. His gaze focuses on the Valyrian steel ring he put on your finger a year ago. The promises he made to you that day flash in his mind.

"The Battle of the Gullet," he says in response.

"Yes."

"I regret ever telling you about that day," he says with a shake of his head. The movement jostles his hair, and you tuck it behind his ear gently, your hand linger on his face. "I'm fine, Y/N."

"I watched you die."

"What do you see now?" he asks, taking the hand cupping his cheek, pressing a loving kiss to the palm. He moves it down to his bare chest, to the beating heart beneath his warm skin. "I am alive and well."

You continue to frown at him, but your hand presses to his chest. You take a few more deep breaths.

"I'm sorry," you say, tears forming in your eyes as you look up at him. He shakes his head, his heart hurting that you would ever think that your pain was an inconvenience to him.

"Hey," he says, pulling you into his chest, your tears falling onto his skin. "You don't ever have to be sorry."

"I know that we are safe now. That war is over. But I am still so scared," you say, and on the last word your voice breaks. Jace holds you tighter.

"I know. I am, too, sometimes."

"Really?"

"Really," he says, "You think I don't have nightmares about that day? Or any from the past year."

"You don't ever tell me about them," you say, pulling away to look him in the eye.

"That's because I don't want to worry you," he says, smiling shyly, playing with your hands. "There are memories I have that I wouldn't dream of sharing with you, that I don't want you to carry."

"That doesn't seem fair," you say, "You get to worry about me but I don't get to worry about you?"

"It's hard," he says, his eyes still focused on your hands. "Sometimes I still see the dying dragons. Still remember when I'd look outside and see everything on fire. Still see the war raging."

"But you don't seem like any of it haunts you," you say, leaning in so he'll look at you. He gives you a soft smile, his thumb tracing circles on your hand.

"Guess I've gotten good at hiding it."

"Tell me how," you say quietly. He hates that he can hear the longing in your voice. He notices the dark circles under your eyes. How many nights in a row have you woken from your sleep like this?

"I just try to remember everything good that I still have. Vermax is alive. My mother is alive. You are alive," he says. "Safe and sound."

"Safe and sound," you say disbelievingly.

"You are, I swear it. I won't let anything happen to you," he says. "Ever again."

"I know," you say, touching his cheek softly. "I love you."

"I love you," he says. He draws you in close and kisses your lips slowly, his movements languid, like he's got all the time in the world. He hopes you feel it. Hopes you realize that this is what the rest of your existence together looks like. No wars, no death, just the pair of you in this room, reminding each other what you fought for.

"Let's get some sleep," he says as he lays the two of you down. He adjusts the sheets around you, keeping you close to his body. You run a hand over his chest, humming softly.

"I'm not sure I'll be able to," you say.

"Just close your eyes," he says, kissing your forehead, feeling the pull of sleep wash over him. "You're alright, Y/N. No one can hurt you or I now."

"Promise?" you ask.

"I do."

"You'll never leave me here alone," you say. It's not a question.

"I'll never let you go," he says, tucking you in tighter. "You and I are safe and sound."

"Safe and sound," you mumble. Jace waits a few moments for your breathing to fall into a slow rhythm. When he knows you're asleep he lets himself close his eyes. He vows to himself that he'll do whatever it takes to make sure you never feel so scared again. He vows that you'll never feel ashamed to talk to him when you do. And he vows to have more moments like this, with you asleep on his chest, his hand in your hair, and less like the one he jerked out of sleep to.

[kunareads]

heavy angst not a lot of comfort!! + wc: 0.7k

masterlist

choso hasn’t breathed right in months.

he tries sometimes. draws in a deep breath, holds it, waits for his ribs to expand the way they used to when you were curled up beside him, murmuring something soft in your sleep.

but every inhale is shallow, every exhale unfinished. he can’t get enough air in his lungs without you.

he thinks about the phone call often. shoko’s trembling voice on the other end. the way his blood turned to ice when she said they found a body.

they never let him see it. too much damage, they said. better to remember you as you were. so he had nothing to hold, nothing to bury. just a handful of ashes and the suffocating knowledge that you were gone.

he never got rid of your things. your shoes are still by the door. your toothbrush still sits next to his. your clothes still take up too much space in the closet. your blanket—your favorite, the one you used to throw over him when you thought he looked cold—still rests on the couch, untouched. he picked it up once, buried his face in it to see if it still smelled like you. it didn’t. it just smelled like dust.

and now—

now you’re standing in front of him.

but it can’t be you.

his body locks up, frozen in place, because this can’t be real. it’s another cruel trick of his exhausted mind, another dream that will end the moment he dares to reach for you.

he should know. he’s had so many of those dreams, where you’re warm in his arms again, where he gets to say all the things he never did. sometimes, you forget your keys at home and come back for them. sometimes, you whisper his name from the other side of the bed, voice so soft he almost believes it. sometimes, you just look at him, silent and hollow-eyed, before fading into nothing. he wakes up gasping every time, drenched in sweat, grief choking him like a curse he can’t break.

this is just another dream. another hallucination.

but you take a step forward, and he sees the way you move—slow, hesitant, your hands shaking. there’s an old cut on your cheek, bruises along your jaw, faint lines on your wrists like you were bound. your clothes are torn, dirt and dried blood staining the fabric. your lips are cracked, your eyes hollowed by exhaustion.

you look like you fought your way back to him.

“…choso.” your voice is hoarse. he barely hears you, but it devastates him.

he doesn’t realize he’s moving until his legs give out beneath him. his knees hit the floor hard, but he barely feels it. his breath stutters out in a sharp, broken sound, and it’s only then that he realizes he’s crying.

you walk forward, kneeling in front of him, hands ghosting over his shoulders, his face, his hair. “i’m here,” you whisper. “i—i tried—“ your voice cracks, and something snaps.

“where the fuck were you?”

it rips out of him, raw and jagged. his hands clutch at your arms, desperate, terrified, fingers digging in like he’s afraid you’ll slip through them again.

“do you have any idea—“ his voice breaks, and his grip moves to cup your face like he needs proof. “i scattered your ashes. i mourned you. i—i—“ his breath falters, his forehead pressing against yours, a sob rattling through his chest. “i thought i lost you.”

your hands slide up to cradle his face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “i know,” you whisper. “i know, i—“

a short inhale, your fingers curling against his skin. “i thought i was gonna die there.”

choso swallows hard, his throat thick with grief and relief and something darker, something furious. his fingers hover, barely grazing your bruises, as he presses his palm to your ribs to physically confirm you’re real.

who did this to you?

the question burns in his mind, but he can’t bring himself to ask you that yet. not when you’re here, not when he’s barely holding himself together.

he pulls you in, arms locking so tightly around you that you gasp. but you don’t pull away. you clutch at his back, holding him just as desperately, needing this just as much.

his breaths are uneven, shaky, but for the first time in months, he actually breathes.

[firelilyfox]

I´m afraid of this darkness that sleeps in me

Thunderbolts: Bob x female reader

Summary: Bob is having a terrible nightmare & you comfort him

Warnings: fluff/angst/mention of mental illness/ bruising/choking

Words: ~1,2k

english isn’t my first language so … sorry for all the mistakes :') leave a comment if you like or a heart or some ideas … I’m thankful for everything!!!

____________________________

His scream woke you up and you are instantly wide awake. 

Your room lays across the hall and it takes you no longer than a few seconds to get over to his door. As you enter his bedroom, Bob was still laying between the sheets shivering. His whole body was tense in cause of the horrors he must’ve seen in his nightmares. 

„Bob?“, you whispered and came closer to the edge of his bed. He didn’t respond, so you put one knee on the soft mattress and gently touching his bare shoulder. His skin was sweaty and all heated up. You begin to shake and try to wake him up. 

„Bob? All is good. You are safe.“ 

Suddenly his hand snapped forward, grabbing your wrist and you find yourself laying on your back. You hold your breath, starring directly into two dark eyes only a few inches away from yours. Bob was still holding your wrist tightly above your head. His other hand was wrapped around your throat. 

For a moment you were scarred. His gaze was full of rage and his body language made clear that he was ready to fight for his life. Bob was still trapped in the horrors of his nightmare. You knew it was bad because you’ve seen it before. You’ve seen how the Void creeps up in his nightmares, trying to break free … trying to take over. 

A high pitched squeak escaped your throat but it's no more than a whisper thanks to his fingers continuing to squeeze a little tighter by each passing moment. Your right hand settles against his heated skin on his bare chest, feeling the rattling heartbeat. 

„It’s me - I’m … I am here …“ you whisper. The world around you - his room which is only touched by the soft moonlight - began to blur. But staying calm is the only safe way to get out of this unpleasant situation. „Bob. L..Look at me.“ 

Your hand finds it way up his neck, cupping his cheek with your palm. When his tears starting to ran down his face, you know he could hear you and the Void is going to loose his deadly grip around Bobs consciousness. 

„Y/N?“ His raspy voice sound so broken that your eyes filled with tears immediately. The darkness around his beautiful warm brown eyes started to disappear and they widened in shock when he looks down on his own hand, still holding you hostage. His fingers giving you free, he gets up on his knees to get some space between the two of you. Eyes full of shame and regret. Self-loathing forces him to avoid your gaze and he makes an effort to stand up but before he gets the chance to flee and hide, you take action and quickly sit up to cup is face with both of your hands. With his eyes still closed you manage to get close enough to feel his uneven breath on your lips. 

„Please look at me“, you ask again silently. He flinches by the sound of the little crack in your voice. Guilt is practically written all over him. 

Your heart skips a painful beat but finally he opens his eyes. Slowly finding yours, shimmering with tears in it. „I’m so … so sorry. Y/N … I wouldn’t … I-I…“ he stutters and starting to shake beneath your touch. 

Your heart breaks with each and every tear that escapes. Without anymore hesitation you get up on your knees, stabilizing your movement with holding onto his strong shoulders and managing to kneel down on his lap, each leg folded beside his waist and wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling Bob in a big and calming hug. At first his entire body stiffens. Never has he been this close to you. He does not even breath for a few seconds but then … he collapses against you. Strong arms wrapped around your waist and back, holding you in place. A heavy head buried in the curve between your neck and shoulder. Skin touched by silent tears. His body was all lean and strong, unbreakable but his soul shattered just in this moment he felt real comfort for the first time in … ever. 

„I know you would never hurt me.“ Your hand moves slowly through his thick dark hair and the other drawing a little circle on his back to calm him down. „I’m not afraid of you.“ 

Bob leans back to meet your gaze again. „But I did hurt you. Y/N … I did that.“ 

His eyes dart down to your throat, where a mark of bruises begins to show. Slowly he brushes your hair over your shoulder to get a better look at it and a shadow darts across his face. You decide to put an end to it. 

„That wasn’t you. It was an accident. This isn’t your fault.“ With demanding fierce in your voice and a soft grip around his chin you force him to make eye contact again. „I will not let you punish yourself for that.“ 

He swallows hard. „I make everything worse… I should not be here … especially not near you.“ Bob trying to push you gently off his lap but you press your legs tighter against his to keep yourself in place. 

„Bullshit“, you hiss at him. „You are exactly where you belong. This is your family now! Yelena, Bucky, Ava and even the Red Guardian and the fake Captain America… they all love you.“ 

He looks away, but finally stops trying to push you away. Suddenly you become very aware that you are still sitting on his lap, holding him hostage between your knees. The upcoming heat crawls up your neck right in your face to lit your cheeks on fire. You try to shake the feeling and focus on what’s important: comforting Bob. 

„But I’m dangerous“, he says before you could catch a breath. „I can’t stay here … if I’m even able to hurt you than I can’t be trusted.“ His words swing with so much intensity that you could feel the muscles under his sweaty skin vibrating. 

Now its your turn to hide your face in the curve of his shoulder, so he would not see the fear in your face. You are not scarred of him, you don’t fear his power or the loss of control over it. You fear for him to leave. You fear to never see him again. The fear of loosing him, make you shake and he notices. He presses your body tighter against his. Skin agains skin. The thin fabric of your nightgown makes barely a difference. And that’s when you get an idea … 

„Take a look.“ 

He turns his head and you can feel his lips agains the soft spot right beneath your ear as he speaks. „What do you mean?“ 

„Take a look. I’ll give you permission to look inside my head.“ 

The importance of this is clear for both of you. After Bob found out he could invade the highest privacy a person can have - their memories - he swore to the Thunderbolts to never use it ever again. „No, Y/N. It changes nothing. It won’t change that I’m way to unstable to be this close to yo-…“ 

„Oh for fucks sake would you please just do what I say …“ the words sound rough but the sobbing from you gives it more desperateness you wanted to show. 

Bob holds your look for a few stretched seconds and then softly nods. His palms cup your face to build a physical connection - that is not at all needed because you were still sitting on him practically half naked - but you don’t say a word about it. Instead you focus on the psychic bridge that is now connecting your consciousness with his and you throw everything you have at him. All the memories of him working with the team to be a part of the new not-so-heroic-heroes. The way you watch him making breakfast for everyone so early in the morning that not a soul is even awake yet. How he smiles when you crack a joke and the way it makes you feel seeing him laugh. You show him how much you miss him when he isn’t around and the excitement when he gets back. The deep wish to touch him in moments nobody is watching and to be touched by him. And most of all - you let him know that he will never be alone … because you see him. You really and truly see him. 

He gasps and his hands fly off from your face, breaking the mental bridge between you two. His chest is moving quickly as he breathes flat and fast. New tears fill his eyes and for a horrible moment a thought manifests in your head. You overstepped. Scarred the shit out of him. You fucked up so bad. 

You try to apologize but the unformed words get caught off from you lips as he crashes into them. The kiss surprised you but you quickly adapt. His lips are moving slowly into yours and make you part them so that he could fully claim them. A relieved sigh escapes your mouth and the tension in your whole body vanishes. His hands cupping your face again, worshipping you in the softest and gentlest way possible. Your fingertips finds a way to his muscled back to dig into it. He groans against your lips and you stop for a moment. 

„I’m sorry did that hurt“, you ask alarmed. 

He looks at you in disbelieve and chuckles. „Are you really asking me if that hurt?“ His eyes darken in guilt. “You are the one with bruises on your neck.“ 

„Next time just don’t squeeze that hard and we can use it for pleasure“, you say with a husky voice. Something lits up in his eyes and you feel a hot knot deep in you stomach that makes you want to go much further than you should right now. 

„That’s not funny. I could’ve killed you“, Bob says in a serious tone. 

You gently tug his hair on the back of his head and smile. „But you didn’t. You stopped. You didn’t let it control you.“ 

„For a moment I did …“ Bob thumb brushes softly over your bottom lip and watches it lost in thought. „The things that could’ve happened … the things I could’ve done to you …“ 

You slap his hand away and kiss him again. This time its light as a feather and your lips barely even touch. „Promise me you stay. Promise you you will fight.“ You whisper. 

„I’m terrified by this dark thing that sleeps in me, Y/N.“ 

„You will never have to face it alone, ever again.“ 

„Promise?“ 

„Promise.“ 

[cod-bin]

when the walls crumble down

simon riley x reader

genre: angst to fluff

a/n: reqs are open! no smut yet but im bored so pls put in one if you want 💋

The door slammed shut behind Simon, rattling the picture frames on the wall. You flinched at the sound, your heart already fragile from the weight of his words. The fight had been coming for days—bubbling under the surface like a storm just waiting to break.

And now it had.

“You don’t get it,” Simon growled, pacing the room like a man caged in his own mind. His voice was rough, raw, laced with something dangerously close to desperation. His hands trembled at his sides, clenched into fists as if trying to contain something inside himself. “You sit here, safe, while I’m out there, watchin’ mates drop left and right, wonderin’ if I’ll be next. And I come back, and it’s like—it’s like you don’t even realize what could happen!”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. “I realize, Simon,” you shot back, voice shaking. “Every time you leave, I don’t sleep. I don’t breathe right until I hear from you. You think I don’t know what could happen?”

His eyes were wild, dark with something deeper than anger—fear. “Then why do you stay?” His voice cracked on the last word. “Why do you put yourself through this?”

You stared at him, chest tight, nails digging into your palms. “Because I love you, you idiot.”

Silence.

For the first time, Simon was still. His breath came in ragged pulls, shoulders rising and falling like he’d just taken a hit. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, eyes darting away like he couldn’t bear to look at you.

“Love me,” he scoffed, voice hollow. “You love a ghost, then. ’Cause that’s all that’s left.”

Your throat tightened. “Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true, innit?” His voice was barely above a whisper now, something broken clawing its way out. “You don’t know what I’ve done. The blood on my hands. If you did, you wouldn’t—” He stopped, sucking in a sharp breath. “Shouldn’t love me.”

The air between you was thick, suffocating. You took a step forward, but he flinched—like you might burn him if you got too close.

“Simon,” you whispered, heart aching. “Look at me.”

He didn’t. His jaw was locked tight, fists still shaking at his sides. The man before you—this wasn’t Ghost, the hardened soldier, the unshakable force. This was Simon. A man so used to losing people that he’d rather push you away than watch you be another name etched into the gravestones of his past.

But you weren’t going anywhere.

Slowly, cautiously, you reached out, fingers brushing against his wrist. He tensed—but didn’t pull away.

“I know who you are,” you said, voice steady now, because if he couldn’t believe in himself, then you’d do it for him. “And I know you think you don’t deserve this. Don’t deserve me. But you do.”

His breath hitched.

“You are not just what you’ve done, Simon,” you continued, stepping closer. “You’re the man who makes me coffee even though you hate the smell. You’re the man who tugs me closer in his sleep, even when he doesn’t realize it. You’re the man who comes back to me, every time, no matter how much it hurts.”

A sharp inhale. His fingers twitched beneath yours.

“You think you’re a ghost?” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper now. “Then why can I feel you?”

Simon finally—finally—looked at you. And for the first time, the walls cracked.

His face crumpled, and before you could say another word, he broke. His body folded into yours, arms coming around you like a man gripping onto his last tether to life. His breaths were shaky, uneven, his forehead pressed to your shoulder as if he was trying to hide.

You held him, fingers threading through his hair, murmuring soft reassurances into his skin. “I’ve got you,” you whispered. “I’ve always got you.”

And in that moment, Simon Riley—Ghost, the legend, the soldier who never faltered—let himself be held. Let himself believe, just for a second, that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t lost.

That maybe he was finally home.

[dyaz-stories]

a house, not a home || Cha Hyun-Su x Reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings & tags: canon typical violence, hurt/comfort, hyun-su needs a hug, unresolved tension, mentions of blood

a/n: okay so, for context, this takes place during season 2. reader and hyun-su know each other from high school and reader runs into hyun-su after the events of the first three episodes. reader also doesn't know that he is a monster/neohuman though if people are interested i could definitely write that 👀 I hope you'll like it! Please let me know your thoughts and if you'd like me to write more, and consider reblogging!

next part

The hardest thing to get used to, after what others called the Monsterization Outbreak but you labelled, more simply, the Apocalypse, was the silence. You were the type of person to always have music playing, back when you were a high schooler studying hard to get into your college of choice. Now, music was wasted electricity and, worse, could be a death sentence if anyone — anything — heard it play, or if it dulled your senses and got you killed.

At the beginning, there had been lots of sounds. Screams. Cars colliding. Stores’ alarms, blaring when the looters broke in. Sobs. In your house, for a while, there had been your father, humming quietly as he worked.

Then he’d gotten a nosebleed, left the house, and never returned.

Now it was just you, and you’d learned not to make a sound. So when there’s a knock on your door, it echoes through the rooms and rattles you to your core. For a second, you clench your trusty baseball bat. You took hours and cut your fingers planting nails into it, but it’s worth it, if only for the feeling of confidence it gives you. Truth is, you rarely had to use it. Your strategy relies on avoiding confrontation at all costs.

You release it when you realize that there are very few people who can come knocking at your door.

After all, monsters don’t knock.

You rush to the door without letting go of the bat. Your habits are ingrained in you well enough that you still check the peephole — and when you do, your heart somersaults in your chest.

You keep the hinges well-oiled and the door doesn’t make a sound when you open it.

“Come in,” you whisper, not daring to break the silence with actual words.

Cha Hyun-Su stares at you, looks like he hesitates. He always does, looks like he wants to give you a chance to slam the door back in his face. He’s covered in blood now — ‘not mine’, you know he’d say if you asked —, clutching his wrist, lips chapped, eyes hollow.

“Come on,” you say again, and this time he does, walking by you without a word. Then he goes still once more, there in your entrance, while you close the door behind him. He always does that, until you give him explicit permission.

“Are you okay?” you ask when you turn around, hands reaching for his arms, his torso, trying to check on him, though you cannot see whether or not he is hurt.

“I’m fine,” he replies with that deep voice of his, catching your wrists before you can feel for yourself. “It’s not my blood.”

It never is.

“But are you hurt?” you press, still.

He frowns, and confusion sparks in his eyes.

“I told you. I’m fine.”

You shake your head.

“No, I mean— Does it hurt? Does anything hurt?”

Hyun-Su’s lips part. He closes his eyes. His body sways towards yours, and you freeze. You feel his breath against your cheek, and his grip on your wrist becomes lighter— a caress, at most. You just stay there, not wanting to scare him away, but not wanting to leave him to himself either. You feel a pull towards him, the urge to wrap your arms around him, and you resist it, knowing that he’d flee.

Finally, he snaps out of it, lets go of you, takes a step back.

“I’m fine,” he repeats for a third time.

You don’t push it.

“Do you want to take a bath?”

Clean water isn’t easy to come by these days. Fortunately for you, you have a complex system designed to retain rain water as well as morning dew, put in place by your father, when he was still around. It’s rained recently, and with the help of solar panels you’d stolen with him what feels like a lifetime ago, you’ll be able to have hot water. Showers, you haven’t mastered — though you’re sure your dad would have figured it out by now — but you can at least offer him a warm bath.

Hyun-Su’s eyes are on you, wide and focused.

They’re ever so slightly warmer than they were when he came in.

“I would like that.”

Hyun-Su comes out of the bathroom some thirty minutes later, clean and looking more like himself. He’s wearing clothes he’d left there on one of his other visits, which you’d washed by hand among some of your stuff.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice firmer than it had been earlier.

“It’s not a problem,” you reply, and you have to stop yourself from grimacing at how fake your nonchalance sounds to your ears.

If he notices, he doesn’t comment on it.

“Have you been okay here?” he asks instead.

You bite the inside of your cheek. The answer is complicated. You’ve been safe, physically that is. You have barely caught sight of a monster since he’s last been here — nine days ago. You can’t say you’re bored, either. There’s always things to do, to fix, to figure out around here.

What you are, is alone.

And, though you don’t want to admit it, lonely.

It might be the kind of answer he’s looking for, yet you can’t bring yourself to say it out loud. It’s not even that you don’t want him to know.

It’s that you’re scared that if you did, if you asked him to stay or to take you with him, he would still leave you behind.

“I make do,” you reply, which at least isn’t a lie. “I keep myself busy.”

It’s your turn to freeze when Hyun-Su leans forward, trying to meet your eyes.

“Are you hurt?”

A smile escapes you at his cautious tone as he repeats your words at you. You look up, and there he is, inches away from your face, checking on you in the very same way you’d checked on him when he’d arrived — now that he’s had the time and space to collect himself. For half a second, the corner of his lips lifts clumsily to form a smile in response to yours, and then it’s gone, as he, too, realizes how close he is.

You see him sucking in a breath, then swallowing, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Your heart beats so loud in your ears, you can’t even hear the silence anymore.

“I’m not hurt,” you say, and it is true for now, at least.

Hyun-Su nods without moving away. There’s an intensity in his eyes that you’re not used to, a spark, a craving.

His eyes drop to your lips.

Your whole body is tingling with anticipation, yet you don’t move, no matter how badly you want to close the gap between you. You can’t rush him. You’d never forgive yourself, if he didn’t come back.

He leans forward, just by an inch, then closer again, so close and—

He turns his head at the last moment, late enough that his cheek brushes against yours, before he pulls himself back.

That hurts. It makes your heart ache more than you’ve let yourself hurt in forever.

“Sorry,” Hyun-Su mumbles, stumbling back. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You’re not sure if he’s apologizing for trying to kiss you, or for not doing it.

“I’ve brought you food,” he says in a rush, picking up his backpack by the entrance door.

You watch him as he does, and you can’t help but note the many wounds on his body. Most of them are half-closed, and you know that they’ll be gone by the next time he comes back, but that new ones will have had the time to open and heal halfway.

He hands you his offering of food, without meeting your eyes this time, and you take it from him. Your fingers brush against him, and he moves his hand away like you’ve just burned him.

“It’s late,” you say, your voice quiet even to your own ears, even now that you’re so accustomed to the lack of noise. You don’t want him to go, not just yet. “You should sleep here.”

But, just like you expected, Hyun-Su shakes his head and closes his backpack with shaky hands.

“I need to go,” he says. Then, when you don’t answer — can he tell you’re fighting back tears? —, he adds “I’ll come back. I promise.”

You nod. It’s your turn to avoid his eyes.

“I’ll be waiting,” you say.

You open the door for him, and you force yourself to look at him as he steps back outside, into the unknown, into the danger, and away from you.

He looks back, right before disappearing in the night.

“Stay safe,” you say, though you know he won’t.

“You too,” he says, knowing you will.

And then he’s gone, and you’re alone with the silence again.

next part

[k1ng-ej]

Leon Kennedy comfort ♡

Note: hi, lets ignore that I disappeared for a year, lots happened. I'm trying to get back into the swing of writing and my latest obsession is Leon.

You had just ended things with your boyfriend in person, at his dorm. Needless to say, he had a bit of a meltdown, screaming at you and becoming violent. You left with a few bruises and went back to your dorm to calm down. You made sure the door was locked and blocked him on everything.

To say that man scared you would be an understatement. He was downright horrifying. You had a purple ring on your wrist from when he grabbed you, and another was forming on your neck. As the adrenaline wore off, you noticed your hands were shaking and tears forming in your eyes. Your heart was racing, and you slowly fell onto your knees. You had to act like you weren't scared when he was squeezing your wrist with a strength you thought would break it, and choking you until the edges of your vision started turning black. You were lucky he let go. You thought you were going to die in that room at the hands of someone who said they loved you.

You grasped your shirt, your breathing was becoming more difficult, and your vision was blurry from the tears. 

You heard the knob rattle, and your mind immediately thought it was your ex, returning to finish what he started earlier. The door opened, and Leon, your dorm mate, stepped inside. He stopped short, caught off guard by your appearance. You were basically just friends. You'd chat about what's for dinner and discuss classes, but that was about it. You didn't get to interact with him much since he worked right after finishing his classes. By the time he came back, you were asleep.

As he stood there and saw the tears streaming down your face, the noticeable bruising on your neck and wrist, and how panicked you seemed, he did the first thing that came to mind. 

He quickly closed the door behind him, setting down the items in his hands and kneeling in front of you, his hand reaching to wipe the tears from your cheek.

"Hey, you're okay. Breathe deeply for a moment." He spoke softly, his other hand rubbing up and down your arm. His touch was warm and comforting, and the way he spoke to you gave you goosebumps. The way he looked at you with those blue eyes, with a gentleness you hadn't seen from your ex, made your heart flutter.

You managed to nod and took a few slow, deep breaths. Leon kept wiping your tears with his thumb. His touch was so gentle and warm that you couldn't help but lean into it. You managed to calm the panic attack that came on, but you were still on the verge of tears.

"Let's get you on the bed." Leon helped you up by taking hold of your arms gently and guiding you over to your bed.

He sits next to you, putting his arm around your shoulder. Leon didn't want to pry, not wanting to make you remember and cry again, so he sat silently, his finger absentmindedly rubbing circles on your upper arm. He was unaware that his actions were providing you with assistance. His touch was light and soothing, and you found yourself longing for more of it.

You sniffled, wiping your eyes, and turned your head to Leon.

"Thanks for helping me calm down. I'm sorry you had to see me like that." You spoke, your voice sounding a little nasal.

"Don't worry, it's okay. I'm here for you." He gave you a reassuring squeeze, pulling you closer. You could smell his cologne, which had a hint of vanilla and something stronger, crispier, in it. You'd never been this close to Leon before, so you started to notice the little things you hadn't before. The way his muscles felt against your back, his smell, the little freckles on his face, how soft his hair looked up close—you wanted to run your fingers through it. You had to push those thoughts out of your mind. You'd just gotten out of a toxic relationship, so you couldn't be throwing yourself at someone new. You and Leon were just friends, roommates.

He noticed you were looking at him and started taking in your features as well. Your eyes were a bit puffy and red from crying, and the bruise on your neck was more noticeable than before. It bothered him that someone would do such a thing to a person, but he couldn't do anything about it. Before this, your eyes seemed empty, and you often looked like you were at the end of your rope. But now, as you sat next to him, looking into his eyes, he noticed a sparkle that he hadn't seen before. He wanted to pull your head into his chest and tell you everything would be okay, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

The two of you were engaged in a long staring contest, but it felt like only minutes. You went back and forth with yourself for a while, but finally mustered up the courage to rest your head on his shoulder. You stayed there for a moment, then you felt his hand cup the back of your head and pull your face into his chest. The scent of his cologne was more pronounced here, and you felt a bit warmer. His hand stroked your head gently, and he rested his chin on top of your head.

You closed your eyes and let your body relax. You put your arm around Leon's waist, returning the hug he'd given you. You weren't expecting such comfort from Leon, given how little you two had spoken and how distant you were. You found yourself silently thanking him in your head. Part of you was afraid that you were being an inconvenience to Leon, and that this night would make things awkward between you two, but you didn't realize that both of you needed this physical closeness. 

Leon often kept his distance from others, not because he wanted to, but because he was a little socially awkward and could never find time to interact with people even if he wanted to. You were the person he talked to the most, even if The conversations were short and about simple things.

"Thanks again. You really helped me out." You said, managing a small smile.

Leon returned the smile, and you felt heat rise to your face. You didn't often see him smile, but wow, he has such a beautiful smile.

[loganbcrnes]

hi would you mind writing a imagine of logan and f!reader cuddling on the couch watching horror movies? 🥺

oh my.. this has been in my inbox since 2021 LOL so uh enjoy sjjsjs ----------------------------------------------

Safe in his arms - Logan Howlett x female!reader no warnings.

The wind howled outside, rattling the windows of the small cabin, but inside, the crackling fireplace cast a warm glow over the living room. The couch, worn but comfortable, had been claimed by Logan Howlett and you, tangled together under a thick, knitted blanket. The TV flickered, casting eerie shadows as the horror movie played, filling the room with tension.

Logan shifted slightly, his arm draped over your shoulders, pulling you closer. His body was solid, radiating warmth, and despite the gruesome sights on screen, you felt safe tucked against him. You had both gone back and forth about what to watch tonight—he had rolled his eyes at your suggestion of a horror film, but you had caught the slight smirk he tried to hide.

“You sure you wanna watch this, sweetheart?” he murmured, voice gruff but teasing as a bloodcurdling scream echoed through the speakers. His fingers absentmindedly traced circles along your arm, the roughness of his calloused hands contrasting with your skin.

You nodded, gripping the blanket a little tighter. “I can handle it. Besides, you’re here to protect me, right?”

Logan huffed a chuckle, shaking his head. “Damn right I am.”

Another jump scare sent you flinching into his chest, and he exhaled through his nose, amused. “Maybe we should’ve gone with somethin’ else,” he mused, but his other hand settled on your hip, grounding you.

You tilted your head up, catching the smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Are you saying you’re scared?”

He scoffed. “Of this?” He nodded toward the screen, where the protagonist was making a predictably bad decision. “Nah. Seen worse.”

That much was true. Logan had been through more real horror than any film could conjure, but here, in this moment, he was just a man lounging with his girl, watching something ridiculous.

At the foot of the couch, your two cats, Shadow and Whiskers, were curled up together, their tails twitching occasionally in response to the sounds from the TV. Shadow, the more curious of the two, would occasionally flick an ear toward the screen, while Whiskers remained blissfully unaware, purring softly in his sleep.

The movie progressed, each scene growing darker, the tension coiling tight in your stomach. Another scare sent you nearly jumping off the couch, but Logan’s arm tightened around you, keeping you in place.

“Easy, darlin’,” he murmured, his lips ghosting your temple. “Ain’t nothin’ gonna get you while I’m here.”

You burrowed further into his chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing soothing against the eerie silence of the movie’s buildup. “I know,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

For a while, the two of you just sat there, entwined, his fingers running absentmindedly along your arm, your waist. Every once in a while, he’d make a low sound of disapproval when a character made a dumb choice, and you’d giggle, feeling lighter despite the sinister atmosphere onscreen.

When the credits finally rolled, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Logan shifted beneath you, stretching his legs out with a satisfied groan. “Well, that was somethin’,” he muttered.

You tilted your head up to look at him. “Did you like it?”

He smirked, thumb brushing lazily against your side. “Eh. I liked watchin’ you react more.”

You playfully smacked his chest, and he let out a deep chuckle, catching your wrist and pulling you back in. His lips found your forehead, pressing a slow, lingering kiss there before he mumbled, “You tired?”

You hummed, already feeling drowsy against his warmth. Shadow stretched out lazily before curling back into a tighter ball, while Whiskers twitched his paws in his dreams.

Logan adjusted, shifting so you were even more comfortably nestled against him. “Get some sleep, sweetheart,” he said, voice softer now. “I got you.”

And with the fire crackling low and the storm still whispering outside, you let yourself drift off in his arms, safe in the warmth of his embrace, the gentle purring of your cats filling the cozy silence.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

In Sickness and in Health

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Sick Reader, Caretaking

Author’s Note: Hope you enjoy! I wrote this because I’m still sick right now sooooooo enjoy :)

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

Winter had settled over the city, its icy grip rattling the windows and sending cold drafts through the cracks of the old flat you and Simon shared. Inside, the warmth of home was dampened by the harsh reality of your illness. You were wrapped in layers of blankets on the couch, shivering despite the heat Simon had cranked up earlier.

Simon “Ghost” Riley stood in the kitchen, preparing a tray with tea and your favorite biscuits. He moved quietly, his bulky frame somehow graceful as he focused on the task. Even when he was home, he carried himself like he was on a mission—steady, deliberate, and meticulous.

When he returned to the living room and saw you curled up, pale and trembling, his heart clenched. The dark circles under your eyes and the flushed hue of your cheeks told him everything he needed to know: you were miserable.

He placed the tray down carefully on the coffee table and crouched beside you. His gloved hand—a habit he never quite broke, even in the safety of home—brushed damp strands of hair off your forehead.

“Hey, love,” he murmured, his deep voice soft with concern. “Brought you some tea. Think you can manage a sip?”

You opened your eyes, squinting against the dim light. “I don’t think so,” you rasped, your voice raw from nausea and dehydration. “I’ll just throw it up.”

Simon frowned, his sharp blue eyes scanning your face. He didn’t push, instead gently cupping your cheek with his warm hand. The gold band on his ring finger gleamed in the low light, a subtle reminder of the vows you’d shared.

“Alright,” he murmured. “We’ll try something else, yeah? But you need to get something in you, Mrs. Riley. Can’t have my wife wasting away on me.”

Your lips twitched faintly at his teasing tone, but the moment was cut short as another wave of nausea overtook you. Your eyes squeezed shut, and you instinctively grabbed Simon’s wrist as if he could anchor you through the storm.

“Easy,” Simon soothed, shifting closer. He slipped an arm around your back, his hand rubbing slow, steady circles. “Breathe, love. In and out. That’s it. I’ve got you.”

The warmth of his presence and the sound of his voice grounded you. Slowly, the nausea ebbed, leaving you exhausted and shaking.

“I feel like I got hit by a truck,” you muttered, your voice barely audible.

Simon’s lips quirked in a faint smile. “If a truck even thought about hitting you, I’d teach it a lesson.”

A weak laugh escaped you, but it quickly turned into a groan as the motion made your head throb. Simon adjusted the blankets around you, tucking them securely under your chin.

“Stay put,” he said gently but firmly. “I’m getting you something for that headache. Don’t argue.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you murmured, too tired to do anything else.

Simon disappeared for a moment, returning with a cool washcloth, a glass of water, and your migraine medication. He knelt beside you again, his hand brushing over your cheek.

“Let’s start slow,” he said, holding up a sleeve of crackers. “Think you can manage one of these?”

“Only because it’s you,” you whispered, taking the cracker gingerly.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, watching intently as you nibbled at the cracker. When you’d managed a few bites, he held the glass of water to your lips.

“Just a sip,” he encouraged. “That’s it. You’re doing so well.”

His praise brought a faint smile to your lips, even as exhaustion weighed heavily on you. You took the migraine pills under his watchful gaze, and Simon set the glass down before carefully placing the cool washcloth on your forehead.

Without a word, he scooped you up into his arms, cradling you against his chest as he sat down on the couch.

“Too bright?” he asked, nodding toward the lamps.

“Yeah,” you murmured, burying your face in his chest.

“Alright, love. Hold on.”

With one arm securely around you, Simon leaned over and turned off the lamps, plunging the room into soft shadows. He wrapped the blankets tighter around you and settled back, his arms a protective cocoon.

“You don’t have to stay,” you mumbled, though you made no effort to move away from him.

Simon pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering. “Where else would I be?” he murmured. “You’re my wife, love. I’ll always be here.”

The weight of his words wrapped around you like another layer of warmth. Despite the throbbing in your head and the lingering nausea, Simon’s steady presence made everything a little more bearable.

“Thanks, Si,” you whispered, your voice thick with sleep.

“Don’t mention it, Mrs. Riley,” he said softly, resting his chin on the top of your head. “Now get some rest. I’ll be right here.”

Safe in his arms, the discomfort faded into the background. His heartbeat was a soothing rhythm, and the warmth of his embrace lulled you into a deep, dreamless sleep, knowing you were loved and cared for.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[kingtomura]

Tough love

summary: Back and forth banter with a world class villain is all fun and games until he’s gotten you undressed and underneath him, begging for anything and everything he can give you.  cw: tomura shigaraki x female reader, virginity loss, virginity kink, creampie, piv, dacryphilia, very smitten tomura, just smut tbh, drabble wc: 1k | crossposted to ao3

Tomura Shigaraki knows he has a way with words. 

He’s had to learn, especially if he would be the one to rule the underworld, you know. 

It always catches you off guard and it always leaves you wanting a little more — so when you’ve found yourself beneath him in the dark covers of his bed, you slowly realize just how cunning a mastermind villain could really be. 

And it drives you crazy. 

The way he eases into you with promises and whispers of going slow and taking it easy because in his eyes you’re just so fragile he wouldn’t want to break you.

But God, it’s so hard to keep his word because you’re so tight and your little moans and whimpers are driving him crazy.

His thick cock tears through your hymen as he pushes on. Inch by inch, Tomura slides in through the slick, tight walls of your cunt. He’s so deep, the head of it kisses your cervix. 

He gives you a second to adjust — he promised he would go easy on you, but your pretty cunt just takes him so well and you’re being so good for him, he can’t help himself. It’s impossible to keep still and he can’t take the stagnation anymore. 

Your little cries sound like music to his ears and he knows it should make him feel a little more ashamed, but Tomura Shigaraki is not one to feel shame. He adores your cries and wants to hear more of them. 

Tomura wants you to break for him, but he won’t let you know that. 

No, instead he tells you how well you’re doing and relishes in the way you whine as he gets faster — the pain getting a little worse but the pleasure getting a little closer.

And oh it hits just the right spot for him because he’s losing himself more and more into your soft, addictive walls. He knows that if he goes a little harder he may even see those pretty tears trail down your cheeks.

You tell him to slow down, that you don’t think you can take it if he keeps this up, but that’s just what he wants, isn’t it?

He wants you broken and crying for his cock.

He wants you to cum around him as he goes deeper and deeper inside of you with each thrust, cock brushing that sensitive spot inside of you and making you cry out.

You’re such a good girl for him, so good and so sweet — you give him everything he asks for.

You look up at him with those pretty eyes of yours, your long lashes wet with unshed tears and you beg.

The pain has fizzled away and now you're begging him to go faster, harder — to give you more, and he does!

He does with a fever he didn’t know he had as those tears finally, finally make their way down your soft cheeks and he just can’t help himself when he leans down, tongue darting out to catch the salty drops before they trail further and fall onto his dark bedsheets. 

It would be too much of a waste to let them go. Not when he’s worked this hard for them.

You’re close.

He can tell from the way you tighten around his cock and by the way your moans are rising by an octave. 

Tomura decides he loves this part.

He loves to see you come undone completely and surrender yourself to him in a way you’ve never conceded before. He loves to see your expression as he holds your hands above your head, grip tight on your wrists, but careful finger lifted for your protection.

It’s hard not to get carried away. 

There’s the rattling of the headboard as it slams against the walls of his bedroom, the bed is shaking with the force of his thrusts. It should be a sign that he should try to keep it down — that he should be more thoughtful of those who may be within the building, but all it takes is a glossy eyed look from you and he knows it doesn’t matter.

No, none of it matters as he doubles down, his forever careful hands moving to get a better grip on you. Tomura settles for one hand gripping your waist as he leans down onto his elbow of the other. The close proximity is intoxicating as he now has the leverage to really fuck into you without a care.

He watches on as you bring a hand to his cheek, eyes lost in pleasure, but still seeking the intimate affection from him.

He loves the way your eyes close and your brows furrow as you get closer and closer and—

“Fuck..” his own breathy moan catches him off guard, too lost in his own pleasure and watching you that he let himself go along with your release. 

The way your pussy grips him, so tight and so wet, makes his hips stutter and his vision blur as the white ropes of his cum fill your insides. 

You were so pretty, but especially now in the afterglow of it all — sweat clinging to your skin as you tried so desperately to catch your breath. 

Tomura loved it. He loved all of it. 

It’s not enough to let you just lie there so he leans down, capturing your soft lips into a kiss and dipping his tongue into your mouth. 

You moan softly at the intrusion and Tomura drinks it up with a groan of his own. 

You taste so sweet to him, like a fruit he just cannot get enough of — a cold drink on a hot day. 

Tomura finally pulls away to admire his work of your kiss swollen lips and drunkenly pleased smile and it makes his chest clench. 

It’s such a sight that he just can’t help himself when his hips start moving again, steadily going in and out as his already sensitive cock hardened again.

He hopes you’re ready for round two because he’s only getting started.

[graphedpaper]

Renter Problems 2

yandere!celebrity x fem!reader

Synopsis: You're trying to find a place near your university to stay, and you've managed to find a mansion owned by a celebrity to live in. His name is Jacob, and you've known him since middle school, living in the same city as him. He's blown up as the new, hot celebrity thanks to the movie he's starred in, though, while you're just struggling to pass by. But he's been acting strange, and you're determined to .move out Details: Physical and verbal abuse, manipulation, gender neutral reader, kidnapping

Your head pounds with throbbing pressure from sudden exposure to the singular light of a fluorescent fixture overhead, unsure what happened that lead you to here.

Here, a foggy room of hard gray walls and cold gray floors, it's simplicity unnerves you, a human instinct, maybe.

Your eyes squint from the brightness and you're unable to open them.

Your mouth feels dry, your throat needs water now. You feel sick and nauseous, like almost a fever. Your right arm is sore and bruised, like you had a very bad work out.

It must be earlier in the morning, or maybe it's the afternoon...

You feel a cool, cold, but tight sensation on your wrists and realize your arms are hung up and stretched out individually to thick pipes with handcuffs and chains.

Your screams start to form, an instinctual, guttural, screech of terror that comes rushing out of your mouth with no hesitation.

"Help!" You scream, but your dry throat and dizziness restricts you from yelling loud enough.

Your heavy, tired head droops over and creates a resemblance to a crucification, only this time your raw knees press on the concrete that pushes against your slumped figure.

If not for the handcuffs holding you up, you would fall face flat and crack your forehead.

All you can do is gasp for air into your dry throat, the air stinging your channel that begged for hydration, all sense of a functioning brain and body is gone. Your arms feel numb, all blood rushing to your core. You start to yank your wrists away from the pipe in vain. The heavy metal around your wrists press and brings you another source of pain, the marks all red.

You force your neck up to look at this strange room again. Last thing you can make out before passing out was telling Jacob you were leaving.

What had happened exactly? You forced yourself to dig through your shattered memories.

He had slapped and tossed you across the living room, then he-

Your eyes droop closed. Even with the fear pounding your heart, something is still slowing your thinking. It softens your movements like walking in deep water, fluid, yet thick and weighted.

"Oh. You're up. Couldn't tell from all the screaming." A sarcastic sound hits your ears.

A clear voice calls down to you from the stairs leading up to a now open door that you had not been able to see before.

He looks so satisfied, up on the staircase, hands stuffed in his sweatpants and looking down at you. While you were kneeled on raw ground, face red and puffy from yesterday's event, his face was neat,  hair tousled gently, and smelled of aired cotton sheets, he was superior.

"What did you do- What did you do Jacob? What did you do to me?" You rasp out, no energy in your body. "Don't say that precious, I did nothing. You did this." He replies approaching you.

Your eyes widen in panic and you pull on your restraints once again. The metal shakes and rattles, making unpleasant sounds that echo throughout the deep basement. "Don't come near me! I swear, don't take another step!" You don't order, you don't ask, but beg. Beg him to stop.

You cry out screaming when he doesn't stop and calmly descends the stairs, hands still in pockets. "God, shut up! Shut your fucking mouth y/n." He snaps.

He crouches down to my level and he stares at me, like he's studying an animal he hunted down.

"If you want to get out of..."

He pauses.

"...Out of those then keep still and behave."

He hesitates to say handcuffs, like he's avoiding shattering his little dream world where we're apparently a couple. Because even he knows couples don't do this.

"Let me go please. Let me go!" You beg him, using your strength to rattle the chains connecting to your bondage.

Jacob scoffs at your behaviour. You're so pathetic, begging him to let you go. Let you go where? You'd be begging on the streets then. Better him than random strangers, right?

"Y/n stop it." He grabs your chin and pulls it upwards with his right hand. "You're acting like a fucking bitch right now." His eyes stare right into yours, it's dark. The back of your neck feels strained from the awkward angle.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-" You jump to apologize. It's obvious this is someone unlike anyone you'd meet around town. Inhuman.

A sharp kick to your side pushes you back. It leaves you unable to think, or speak. The impact was unexpected.

He laughs at your shock. "Are you ready now?" Jacob's lips pout slightly, speaking in a mocking tone.

You can only stare at a corner of this room, mouth gaping like a suffocating fish. Still, you manage to nod slightly.

What bad luck.

What horrible luck that your friend recommended you the house of a psycho.

In this moment, you curse your parents and your friends slightly.

Jacob kneels down fully to the ground and slips out a key from his back pocket of his jeans. He swiftly unlocks the segments that connect the individual handcuffs to the chains.

What a joke, of course he wouldn't take the handcuffs off like you thought, he's only separating you from the pillars-

He takes out a second key and takes his time to release your sore wrists from the 2 metal bracelets.

You remain as confused and fearful as ever. What did he have planned now?

"Jacob, why did you do this, why did you put me in these handcuffs?" You ask him, in a raspy voice. It's hoarse from the screaming.

You observe his facial expressions carefully, like a small rabbit may to a lion. He's unpredictable.

He ignores your questions and continues to work at the handcuffs.

"You know y/n, I think you don't remember how terrible of a person you were to me all throughout our teenage years. How much of a bully you were. And that hurts me."

No. No, you were never once a bully to him. But he was to you, spreading rumours, getting his friends to gang up on you. What was he on about? He was insane. You wanted to ask him what he meant, you deeply wanted to argue against this statement. But that wouldn't save you, would it?

"I'm so sorry Jacob, I'm sorry for hurting you like that in the past, but like you said, we can all change." You bite your tongue and hope for the best.

Silence fills the room up to the ceiling, and he pauses working on the last handcuff around your wrist.

"You refused to go out with me, y/n." He stared at you.

What could you say except sorry to this psycho?

"I'm so sorry Jacob." You reply.

"You thought I was a stupid idiot, huh! You thought you could just walk all over me and I would accept it?" He yells.

"Jacob, please, I'm not sure what I did to you, I'm sorry!" You cry out, terrified. Your body starts to shake reactively towards his agression.

His move star face contorts into one of an ugly monster.

"You... you don't even know? You don't even care?" He stands up with a look of angry disbelief.

"No, no, Jacob, please, please, let me out of this place and we can talk it over, okay?" You beg.

He checks his watch then glares at you.

"You're lucky I need to go and do an interview to promote the new movie."

He kneels back down, and before he unlocks the final handcuff, he puts the other set between your two wrists like how it normally would have been used, then takes off the first handcuff that was connected to the chains on the pillar and one of your hands.

He grabs onto your handcuff and drags you up behind him to the first floor. The stairs are long and high, like the architect knew a rich person would need to have somewhere to take out their sick desires.

When he opens the locked door and tosses you to the floor of the other room, you realize its the big, airy living room from last night's dinner. You look around and see no traces of yesterday's fight. Did he get a cleaner in?

Jacob locks the door behind him, and then turns around to look at you.

His facial expression changes from stressed fury to a calmer, serene face.

"Oh y/n, you're too gorgeous to act this way, why can't you just be my perfect partner, huh? Why did you have to try and leave? Weren't we building a connection? We even had a dinner date." He rambles his thoughts to you, like you're a stuffed rabbit toy.

He grabs your hand and leads you up to his bedroom. You've never been in it.

While he's approaching his bedroom door, you decide to attempt to get out of this horror.

You'll ask him to unlock your cuffs and then you'll call the police...

Jacob pushes you onto his bed.

"Y/n, stay in my room and don't have even think about leaving until I'm back from work. There's alarms."

"Jacob, please can you get me out of these handcuffs? Let me go please, I won't ever tell anyone, I wouldn't dare ruin your career, " You try.

Jacob stops moving at your audacity to beg. You're daring, he'll admit that. Begging for him to let you go? His girlfriend?

"I'm not worried about you ruining my career, you'd just be another crazy bitch out for a young man's growing success."

You're stunned by the bluntness of his words and your face finds its way into a grimace.

"Aww. Poor baby didn't like that, huh?" He asks with a sarcastic tone.

You stare at him not sure what to say.

"I'm going to go now, but you have to be a good girlfriend while I'm away." Jacob tells you.

He forces you to kiss him on the cheek in an awkward position and leaves you on his grand bed with the door locked.

You collapse and begin to sob.

Hi, this short text is part of a larger story you can find on Wattpad, @graphedpaper, if you liked this, you should check it out there.

[muffinsin]

Could u write about someone/a villager getting caught by the sisters and tied up in chains in the basement? Similar to what happened to Ethan but in the basement instead. Then Cassandra comes down alone to have some fun with the prisoner...💉😏

Absolutely ;P made this a fem! reader for this purpose

Let’s get into it🙌

Masterlists

You groan groggily as you attempt to open your eyes, your head swimming and throbbing in pain. You don’t remember much, can only whine softly beneath your breath as pain and darkness greets you. Your entire body feels heavy and drained, as if even the act of opening your eyes is no small task now. Your wrists burn, a tight ache and painful sensation you can’t yet pinpoint the source of until you finally muster the energy and courage to open your eyes.

And as you do, panic immediately rushes through you when you realise you’re bound in the dark, surrounded by empty, but bloodied cells and tools, the area barely lit by a few lit torches along the walls. Almost, you hope this is nothing but a nightmare, but the throbbing pain you’re in easily reminds you that it isn’t. You’re tied up, the pain at your wrists stemming from thick rope and chains wrapped around them and forcing you to stay still. Your bare toes manage to reach the cold stone floor, but only barely so. You attempt to choke back the damp, suffocating, thick air in the cellars, but your lungs fill with it no matter how hard you try not to breathe it in, and it only makes you feel dizzier than before.

A scent lingers in it; the coppery, heavy scent of blood, of death, of oppression and cruelty. Around you, you spot what you can only assume are tools of torture, blades and saws, tongs and chains all covered in old and fresh blood alike. You don’t dare try to imagine what has been done with them, but whimper at the idea that you might be next.

You swallow, your tongue darting out to lick across dry lips. Briefly, you part them, but when realisation hits you, you decide it’s best to be quiet.

After all, you know where you are.

You know whose domain this is.

You know what that means.

And you know who you are trapped with.

Your heart pounds fast, so fast you feel your pulse jump at your throat and feel your body heat up. You almost think you will lose consciousness, left to dangle by the chains again for an unknown amount of time.

“Careful…”

You flinch violently at the seductive murmur in the dark, your head turning wildly, hoping to find the source of the voice.

In return, a low, amused chuckle echoes through the dark dungeons.

“Or you might…hurt yourself…”, the voice drawls out with fake concern, and you feel yourself shiver- from fear, you claim in your head, but the deep ache between your legs, triggered easily by the low sound of her voice, tells a different story.

You shake your head, whimpering softly.

She's enjoying this.

You hear more chuckles and dark hums slither through the dark basement, your eyes wide and heart racing, terror and worry filling you as you turn your head. You squirm harshly, hoping to free yourself, but it only has her tsk in the dark, the sound low and playful against the one of the chains rattling.

Then, she steps forward at last, and you feel your heart beat just a little faster and your pulse jump. As she moves into the dim light of a nearby torch, her golden eyes gleam with something predatory, hungry. You shiver, almost feeling her overwhelming excitement, amusement, and her hunger for pain.

The woman in front of you is beautiful, and beyond that.

Her brunette hair looks soft, but the blood by it and her chin immediately captures your attention. She laughs, her head thrown back a little, her sharp teeth glistening with blood in the shine of the torch. Her lips are thick, bloodied and painted dark, but utterly soft looking, much like her skin. She looks almost graceful as she stalks towards you, despite the blood sticking to her.

She wears a tight, black dress with a deep V-Cut, and you briefly have to resist the urge to let your eyes fall to her large chest and slim hips.

It’s like your fear and arousal play all in one, your heart beating wildly upon being- for once- this close to a woman this beautiful. The village doesn’t quite allow much for expressing yourself or finding happiness in another person, and you’ve never dared look at a woman too long, afraid what the others will think of and do to you.

Now, you’re right in front of one as beautiful as a blood moon.

You feel tears brimming at your eyes as she hums again as if this reminds you of your situation, catching how her gloved fingers twitch by her side already, as though she can just barely contain herself and hold back. What from? You don’t dare think about it, but are certain it can’t be good.

Cassandra Dimitrescu; you have only heard of her before, believed her to almost be a myth the village has come up with to help manage all the pain all feel.

Someone to blame. Someone to turn into a monster and fault for everything going wrong. Seeing her now, you know- unmistakably- it's her.

Oh, and how real she is, indeed...

She moves slowly, her golden eyes set on you. You squirm when her gloved fingertip taps against one of the sharp blades on the table by your side, as though to tease you. Seeing your reaction, she smirks.

"Don't exhaust yourself yet, morsel", she drawls out, playful, almost a pitiful pout as though she still has plans for you. You whimper quietly.

She moves closer again, and you gasp when she's suddenly in front of you, surrounded by a swarm of flies that easily connects to her skin, her hand harsh by your face, her gloved fingers digging into your flesh as she grabs at your lower face half. Like this you notice how tall she is, easily towering above you, her hand large and fingers strong. You whimper, your face flushing an embarrassing shade of pink when she leans down and her tongue peeks from her thick, black painted lips to lick over them and collect the coppery blood lingering there.

Again, you want to curse yourself for your thoughts when heat pools in your lower stomach.

You almost want to beg for mercy, while another part of yours so desperate wants to feel the soft lips and tongue in your mouth.

"My my....look at what Bela dragged in...", she hums then, and only now do you remember the woman strikingly similar to Cassandra slicing at you, a single hit with her sickle enough for your vision to swim, your body dragged off. Is that how you ended up here? With her?

She laughs again, the voice low and dark and promising something to come. You shiver, not daring to imagine what she has in mind with you.

"I can hear your heart jump for me, little mouse", she whispers by your face. "Are you scared, morsel?", she coos cruelly, her fingers squeezing at your face a little harder when she notices you try to hold back, your breath held, eyes squeezed shut, your terror just barely held back. But no; that won't do at all; she won’t have it. She wants your terror, and when your eyes open, you see just how greedy she is to see your fear.

You can only hope she doesn’t see the need you feel, too.

She drinks you in, humming darkly, her eyes widening and a twisted smile forming by her lips as you sob and cry, your heart racing, your body twitching from delicious fear, shivers running down your spine. And still, with her so close, your mind races with the thought of kissing her. You don’t know why, don’t want to admit. Instead you insist to yourself- you’re just curious about her. You just don’t want to die without having kissed a woman.

You feel your face heat up when she glances down, finding the hard nipples push against the slim, worn fabric of your shirt. You want to argue it's because of the cold dungeon, not the proximity in which she stands to you, not her hot breath against your face, not her harsh grip on you, not her rich, coppery, sick scent, not how greedily her eyes take you in, not how she just so easily makes you feel like helpless little prey for her.

She lets go of your face just as suddenly as she had grabbed it, and you tremble in fear when she instead offers her hand to you, the tips of her gloved fingertips brushing against your dry lips.

"Off, pet", she commands easily, her voice so sure and strong you almost do as she says without a single thought or any further input at all. Then, trembling, you lean forwards, your eyes teary and stinging as you bite down on the very tip of her glove and pull your head back. Your cheeks burn with humiliation, but her satisfied smirk has your stomach flutter and body heat up. You try not to let your arousal show, but like this, it feels like she knows everything and every little thought and feeling of yours already. She hums, as though happy with your obedience, and for a slim, foolish little moment you believe it might spare you whatever pain the woman- devil, as the villagers call her- is about to force on you.

Maybe, so long as you are good, she will spare you pain.

What a silly thought.

Maybe, if you’re really good, she will touch you, you can’t help but think instead.

She draws back, her bare fingers dragging against your hot cheek. You cry out against her glove, feeling her sharp, claw-like nails scratch at you when her touch turns a little harsher. She isn't forceful, not yet, isn't fast. She enjoys this, enjoys you.

She takes her time, and even through a vision blurry with tears, you catch her hold her breath, golden eyes wide as she watches the blood slowly be drawn to the surface at your cheek. She’s panting hungrily, swaying slightly, eying you like dessert.

Only when there are four cuts by your cheek, all the way down to your jaw, created by her nails, does she stop and draw her hand back and lick seductively at her fingers.

You tremble, your hands weakly twitching against the chains. You shiver and cry, begging please for her, the glove dropping from your mouth. She only scoffs at you, partly annoyed at how easy it is to drain humans.

"Now, don't get tired yet, morsel! I barely even touched you! Give me something fun!", she complains, her expression hardening as she sets her hands to her hips. You feel her fingers drag down again, gasp when she moves her arm so fast you barely even notice. When you hear something tear and feel pain, you almost think this is the end, that your chest is spilled open and your guts drop to the floor, that you too have died at the hands of Cassandra Dimitrescu.

Instead, you watch and feel her tear the flimsy, dirty shirt from you, her sharp nails having only dug forth enough to create another slash at your chest. Not too deep, nor too severe. Barely more than a scratch, but enough for you to tremble and cry out for her, knowing what she expects from you at last.

You feel hot now, being almost fully revealed to her and at her mercy. You so desperately need her touch, shamefully.

Your core throbs even as you try to will it to stop, your head spinning. Your bra, a deep brown, just barely clings to you, and your oversized, poorly crafted pants must have dropped in the time you were made to hang unconscious, leaving you only in flimsy underwear that just barely still clings to you.

You gasp when she presses her fingers flatly to your chest, a low groan tumbling from her lips.

"I can taste your fear, little mouse!", she laughs, her fingers pressing a little tighter against your skin. She growls lowly, her eyes fluttering shut as she moans.

You're certain, like this, she can perfectly feel how your heart jumps from terror and- to your embarrassment and shame- arousal alike.

Again, this close to her, you whimper and can’t help but imagine her leaning in just a little more. A tiny bit more, a mere inch, enough for her lips to brush against yours.

The villagers always rumored and claimed her to be a monster, of monstruous size and appearance. Not a woman, as strikingly beautiful as she is deadly, as seductive as she is sadistic. Not a woman like this, a woman so stunning and seductive, a woman capable of making your knees feel weak and pussy drool at her touch. And it certainly doesn't help that you feel as though she wants to eat you right up.

You flinch when she moves her other hand, her gloved fingers grabbing what seems like a razor-sharp dagger or knife, and whimper pitifully as it's brought to your chest. You shiver, crying out when it sets against your chest, but she only laughs again, as though from pure delight.

When she pushes the tip of the blade inside, you scream, trashing and whimpering, her free hand grabbing your throat and forcing you to be still. Your vision is blurry as screams are torn from you- screams, mixed with moans when you notice her thigh slip between yours. You hope she doesn't notice how embarrassingly wet you are, how easily she can grind her knee between your legs, up against your warm, wet panties, up against your barely clothed pussy.

Her filthy moans, growls, and smirks tell a different story as she grinds her knee against your hot core.

She licks at your tears, her tongue leaving bloody marks behind, and she moans in delight at your screams and cries. Each bit of pain is met with pleasure, each time she curves the blade she also pushes her knee back up against your pussy and grinds against you, until your panties cling to you and she slowly builds up your orgasm, edging you closer and closer only for you to lose it in the pain of the knife twisting at you.

And then, just when you think you can’t take it anymore- she does lean in.

You moan loudly when her lips connect with yours, soft, plump, bloodied. You taste the coppery blood and it makes your stomach turn, but you taste the lingering sweetness and bitter taste that is her of, too.

You cry against her lips as she moves the blade again, all your sobs and moans swallowed by her lips. You can’t help but lean in closer, even as this means more pain.

And when she slips her tongue inside your mouth; you’re sure you’re in heaven.

She dominates you easily, kissing you hungrily as she carves something into you. The pain fades away among the pleasure and you instead find yourself eagerly pushing forwards and rolling your hips, your clit rubbing against her leg.

And when she steps away a few moments after, panting, her pupils blown and hands shaking with lust and satisfaction, your head falls forwards. You spot letters carved in your flesh, making up her name, each bloodier than the last as though she became more and more feral and hungrier for your screams after each one.

She drops the blade and moves forward again, her teeth scraping against your skin and drawing whines, screams, cries and moans from you as she sucks at your chest, just above the bra, where the bloody letters stand out. You feel her hands all over you, plead for more and for her to stop at the same time, to stop the pain and touch you again, but she only laughs against you, as though it's a silly little idea and nothing more.

You shake when she rips your sopping wet panties and your flimsy bra from you, your nipples immediately hardening even more, your pussy drooling against your inner thigh. She groans against you, drinking you in, her grip on your hip harsh as the other hand slides between your legs.

You don't even notice yourself spreading them for her, clinging to the chains as you part yourself for her, not until she laughs against you, the sound and vibrations reverberating against your chest and the dungeon.

"Pahetic little thing", she muses, her tongue hot and wet against you.

You squeal when she kisses her way lower, until her sharp teeth graze your hard nipples. Your entire body betrays you, reacting to the pain as though it's pleasure, driving you closer and closer to an orgasm and making you needier than you thought you could get.

"You should be begging me to stop, filthy little prisoner...beg for me instead, little mouse", she coos, and when she looks up and you see just how hungry she is for you, you feel your pussy clench and feel heat and arousal pool in your stomach.

You need her.

And she knows it, and for some reason yet unknown to you, has decided to keep you, rather than kill you.

Maybe, she just wants to devour you in an entirely different way, after all.

Her humiliating words have your cheeks burn up, but another moan and cry is already torn from you when she wraps her lips around your nipple and moves her hand lower, her fingertip pressing flatly against your clit. You squeal breathlessly, tugging at your chains, but find yourself helpless, much like a bunny trapped in a snare for her.

You're sure, she knows.

You cry out and moan breathily as she toys with you, her sharp teeth cutting into your skin at your breast, her gloved fingertips hard against your clit. She's rough with you, but your body submits to her still, yearning and trembling in the chains, your chest heaving, aching with every breath. You feel the blood run down from the letters carved into you, feel her lick broadly across your breast whenever it drips near her, groaning lowly and moaning hotly against you at the taste of your blood.

Fast, too fast for you to cling to even the tiniest shred of dignity still, you feel yourself getting close to your orgasm again, your cries turning to screams and moans instead, your head thrown back and bloodied body learning into her.

You feel the bruises on you from when she gripped you a little too hard, but can't bring yourself to care, and even find yourself clenching and whining in need as you feel the painful ache and the trickling, light sensation of the bloody letters at your chest.

She moans around your breast, her tongue far too good for you to even mind the sharp pain of her teeth anymore. Instead, you lean into her as much as your position allows, your wrists aching and burning, your body heavy and tired. Your legs shake already, but you keep them spread for her still.

"Mhmm, that's right, pet", she husks against your nipple, giving it one more lick before licking some of the blood from your chest again.

You feel her moan against you, her fingers moving faster between your legs, almost matching your fast heartbeat.

And when you cum and your body shakes, you feel your vision blur and darken and cry out one last time when she bites down on you, you know you're all hers, know she won't let go of you or release you.

Maybe, you don't want her to.

She grabs your face roughly, but affectionately as you slump against the chains, your eyes just barely open, your body spent.

She tsks at you in disapproval and disappointment, but there's no real heat behind the sounds.

Instead, she merely licks some leftover tears from you and licks her gloved fingertip clean, sending you one last, dirty smirk before all goes dark.

[maybanksbaby]

warning .ᐟ fem!reader, rough mirror sex, strap-on, hair pulling, spanking, degradation + praise, filthy talk, possessive. basically making her a mess, ugh... that should be me 😢

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

You drag her inside like she’s yours.

Because she is.

Bruised thighs, kiss-swollen lips, her hair a mess from your grip—every inch of her marked by you already. But it’s not enough. Not when you can still see that damn smirk she gave the touron earlier.

You want her ruined.

You want her to remember.

“Upstairs,” you growl, your hand on the small of her back. “Now.”

She stumbles a little on her heels, breath hitching, but she obeys—because she knows. Knows exactly what you’re about to do to her.

The bedroom door slams behind you.

You grab her by the wrist, spin her to face the mirror. Her reflection stares back, wide-eyed, pupils blown. Her dress is still bunched around her hips, panties hanging from one ankle. She looks fucked-out and perfect.

“You see that?” you murmur against her ear, pressing your chest to her back. “That’s my girl. Not his.”

She doesn’t say a word—just moans when your hand grips her jaw and tilts her head toward her own reflection.

“Keep looking.”

You shove her forward—hands flat on the dresser, legs spread wide. She gasps when you kick her ankles farther apart.

Then—you’re there.

You slide inside her in one hard thrust.

She didn't even realized when you pulled away to adjust the strap on yourself.

She screams, her head snapping back, but you grab her throat and push her forward again.

“Uh-uh, baby. Eyes on yourself. Watch what I do to you.”

She trembles under you, panting as your hips begin to roll—deep, punishing strokes that make her entire body jerk with each thrust. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room.

“You wanna act like a slut?” you growl. “Then you’ll be fucked like one.”

You slam into her again, and her breath stutters.

“You flirt with someone else again,” you hiss, “and next time, I’m bending you over in front of them. Let them watch how you moan for me."

She whimpers, the threat making her clench around you.

“Fuck—you like that, don’t you?” you snarl, gripping her hips tighter. “You want people to know this pussy’s mine.”

“Y-Yes—fuck—yes, I’m yours!”

Your hand slides from her hip to her throat again, squeezing lightly—not to scare her, just enough to make her eyes flutter and her moans go ragged.

“That’s right,” you whisper darkly, voice husky. “Now cum for me. I wanna see how pretty you look falling apart. Fake cock and all. I bet it's better than his real one”

She does as you ask. She shatters—legs shaking, mouth open in a silent cry as her body goes limp beneath your hold. You don’t stop. You don’t let her stop.

You fuck her through it.

Then bend low, mouth against her ear.

“We’re not done.”

The shower is steaming when you pull her in.

She’s still shaking when your hand slides up her spine. You press her chest to the fogged glass, kiss along her jaw, and slide your hand between her thighs again.

“So sensitive already,” you murmur, teasing her folds. “You’re just made to be fucked, huh?”

She nods, barely able to stand—but that’s fine.

Because you’ve got her.

You lift her thigh and sink inside again, one hand on her hip, the other yanking her hair back to expose her throat.

Your pace is slow now—but deep. Hard. Every thrust makes the glass rattle. Her hands scrabble at the slick surface, nails leaving trails through the fog.

“You feel that?” you breathe into her ear. “That’s what jealousy gets you. My cock so deep you’ll feel me tomorrow.”

She cries out, voice bouncing off the walls.

You reach around to rub her clit—hard and fast—and she bucks, gasping, thighs twitching.

“Cum again,” you order. “Now.”

She does, and this time she screams your name.

You finish with a low groan, holding her tight, filling her up, grinding your hips into her until there’s nothing left but the sound of ragged breathing and hot water.

And when her knees give out, you catch her.

Always.

She’s already bent over the edge of the bed right after—hands braced on the sheets, back arched perfectly, her ass bare and dripping for you. You grab her hair, twist it into a fist, and yank her head up to face the mirror.

“Eyes up,” you growl against her ear. “You wanted it rough, right? Then watch what I fucking do to you.”

And then you slam your strap inside her—all at once.

She screams.

Her knees nearly give out but you hold her there, your hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. The mirror shows everything—your hips snapping forward, her mouth open in a silent moan, the slap of skin on skin.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” you groan. “So fucking wet for me.”

She whines—high and broken.

“You like being used like this?” You spank her once, hard, her ass jiggling under your grip. “Like my little toy? Bent over and stuffed full of cock?”

“Yes—yes—please don’t stop—”

You don’t.

You fuck her harder. Rougher. Your hips pistoning into her, her tits bouncing with every thrust, eyes glassy as she watches herself get destroyed. You lean over, spit on her lower back, and let it drip between her cheeks as your cock slams deeper, deeper—

She’s gushing.

Your name is a chant—louder, needier, filthier by the second.

“Touch yourself,” you command. “Rub that pretty little clit while I ruin your pussy.”

She obeys immediately—hand slipping between her legs, back arching deeper as you pound her from behind.

“That’s it. Show me how dirty you are. Show me how you come while getting wrecked.”

She shatters.

Loud. Messy. Hips jerking back onto your cock as her orgasm crashes through her—slick splashing down her thighs, moaning into the sheets, body going limp.

You grab her jaw, force her to look up.

“Don’t look away,” you whisper. “That’s what mine looks like."

She’s trembling—legs barely holding her up, mascara smudged, thighs soaked, pussy still fluttering around nothing after you wrecked her. But you’re not done. Not even close.

You slide your strap out, dripping and still hard, and push her onto her back. She tries to sit up, but you grab her wrists and pin her down with a snarl.

“Don’t fucking move. I’m not done with you yet.”

She’s spread out beneath you now, legs wide, eyes dazed and full of tears. Her cunt’s still twitching from the last orgasm, but your hand wraps around her throat and your strap slides back in deep.

She screams.

“Too much—baby, please—”

You don’t stop.

“You said you wanted it rough.” Your voice is pure venom against her neck. “So now you’re gonna fucking take it.”

You start thrusting hard—slow at first, deep—grinding into that spot that makes her sob. Her legs shake around your hips, nails clawing the sheets, back arching off the bed.

Her hands reach for you and you grab both, pinning them above her head with one hand, the other wrapping tight around her throat.

You tilt her head to the side, making her face the mirror.

“Look,” you growl. “Look what you fucking look like when I break you.”

She does—and the whimper that escapes her lips is almost enough to make you come. Her mascara is smeared, her lips red and bitten, tits bouncing as you fuck her into the mattress like she’s made for it.

“You’re gonna come again,” you hiss. “I don’t care if it hurts. I don’t care if you cry. You’re gonna soak this cock one more time, or I’ll keep fucking you until you do.”

And fuck—she does.

She comes so hard she chokes on a sob, whole body convulsing under you, mouth open, moaning your name over and over like a prayer.

You finally slow down—but don’t pull out yet.

You kiss her throat, her cheek, her tears. Let her breathe. Let her feel safe.

Then you whisper, soft and dark in her ear:

“You still with me, baby?”

She nods, barely.

“Good,” you smile, wicked. “Then turn around. I wanna see that pretty mouth wrapped around my cock next.”

[kayleeofcamelot]

Kiss?

Steddie NSFW thread for @domeddieweek

Late submission for Soft Dom Eddie

Including: praise, sensation play, teasing, edging, blowjob & aftercare

Divider by @strangergraphics

"Eddie, please," Steve's voice sounds positively wrecked and they're barely fifteen minutes into their scene.

Pearly precum dribbles from his cock. When Eddie uses the sharp edge of his fingernail to gather it up, the hard length twitches.

He withdraws his hand and replaces it with the soft feather he used before. Lightly running it along Steve's shaft, down his balls and over his left thigh before circling back. It's more of a teasing tickle than actual stimulation, but Steve tries to buck his hips anyway, seeking any friction he can get.

Eddie flicks his tongue as a warning, chastising Steve for wiggling around. With a strong grip, he pushes Steve back to the bed, who moans wantonly when his ass hits the mattress just right. Eddie smirks, fully aware of what spurred on the strong reaction. He listens to the faint buzz coming from the vibrating buttplug, nearly drowned out by Steve's sweet sounds and pleas. It must have hit a good spot when Eddie manhandled him.

He keeps pressure on Steve's hips to keep him in place, exchanging the feather for his fingernails again to run them along Steve's thighs and sides and over his lower abdomen.

The chains from the wrist cuffs rattle when Steve tries to shy away from the light sting. He's whipping his head around so much, Eddie is afraid his blindfold will slip.

"Stop that, baby", he reprimands again and brings a hand up to grab Steve's chin.

"Please, give me more. Wanna come."

It's cute how Steve thinks, even after multiple months together, that begging will get him anywhere.

He pinches Steve's nipple as small punishment, making the Sub yelp, more by surprise than pain.

"You get to come when I say so," Eddie growls and Steve nods along dumbly. Without eye contact it's hard to tell how far under Steve is, so Eddie runs soothing circles across his pec, asking Steve to give him a colour.

"Green."

"Thank you baby. I'm so proud of you using your words."

Eddie leans in and lightly brushes his lips against Steve's. When he pulls back, Steve whines low in this throat. It's one of Eddie's favourite sounds he can coax from the Sub. He basks in the feeling of fondness and love for a moment and then continues where he left off.

With precision, Eddie tickles the feather around the sensitive head of Steve's cock, pleased with himself when his Sub moans helplessly. Eddie increases the intensity and rapidity, gauging Steve's reaction with sharp eyes. The man's gorgeous brown locks fly when he tilts his head back in a silent moan, overwhelmed by the onslaught of different sensations. Subconsciously, Steve tries to get his hands forward to stop Eddie, but can't when the wrist cuffs pull tight.

Under his fingers, Eddie can feel the slight pulsation of Steve's cock, a telltale sign he's about to spill. Before he can do so, Eddie stops his tracks and puts the feather aside. He taps the control quickly, effectively shutting off the plug.

"No! Eddie please. No. Please."

Steve helplessly bucks his hips and trashes around. The chains of the cuffs rattle against the frame. Steve's red cock gives a small kick and twitch, some more precum dribbles from it.

"Shhhh, baby, it's okay."

Eddie soothes his Sub by running his hands along the upper thighs and over the chest, trying to ground him without adding stimulation where Steve craves it.

"You did so well, Stevie. Promise this was the last one. You wanna come?"

Steve nods eagerly, his shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

Knowing fully well Eddie wants verbal confirmation, Steve chokes out a watery, "yes please."

"So good for me, baby. You earned this."

Eddie reaches for the remote and slowly dials up the vibration of the plug. When he's happy with the setting, he sets it aside within reach and shuffles down the bed a bit.

Steve's covered eyes try to track him through sounds, but he stays quiet.

With skilled movement, Eddie dips down and takes as much of Steve's cock in his mouth as he can.

Above him, Steve moans and gasps and Eddie has to fight a smirk when the chains clink again, knowing fully well how hard Steve is fighting to hold on right now, given how close he was to coming before.

He wraps one hand around Steve's length, the part he cannot reach without gagging. Extra spit and a pool of precum serve as lubricant as Eddie flicks his wrist up and down as he simultaneously sucks around Steve's head. He soldiers past the salty tinge in his mouth. A taste he can never get used to. But he's rewarded by the wonderful moans Steve lets out uninhibitedly. Spurred on, he brings his other hand under Steve's ass and sneaks his fingers forward to the plug.

With vigor, Eddie sucks at Steve's cock while he presses the buttplug further in with his fingers. The intense double sensation has Steve coming with a scream. His load spills in Eddie's mouth, who pulls back with a slight cough and spits it into his hand. He quickly wraps his fingers back around Steve's twitching cock and strokes him through the rest of his orgasm. Only when Steve's sweet mewls slowly get a pained undertone, Eddie eases up. He reaches over for the remote and switches off the plug.

After cleaning his hands and Steve's cock, he crawls back up so he's face to face with his Sub.

"I'm gonna get the blindfold off, okay?"

Steve gives a small hum as affirmation. During a scene, Eddie would demand more, but it's sufficient for aftercare.

He carefully removes the fabric and Steve blinks up at him with bleary eyes.

"There you are, baby."

Eddie tenderly caresses a thumb over Steve's red cheeks, stained with tear tracks. He nuzzles into Eddie's soft touch.

They stay like that for a moment and then Eddie reaches up to the headboard to get the cuffs off. He dutifully checks for any bruising or irritated skin, pleased to find none.

When he tries to move down to take out the plug, Steve's fingers catch his wrist. He turns back to his partner. "Something wrong, Stevie?"

The man shakes his head but tugs Eddie closer anyway. He tilts his head slightly and taps his lips. "Kiss?"

And how is Eddie supposed to say no to such a sweet request?

(Steve refuses to take out the plug and demands cuddles. When Eddie notices his Sub is getting restless again, he takes the toy out anyway and fucks Steve deep and slow)

[lingerina]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝓡𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐃 // kim minjeong

➛ gp prisoner!minjeong x prison warden fem!reader ➛ pwp, g!p, panty gagging, hair pulling, use of handcuffs, mating press, implied multiple orgasms, squirting, creampie ➛ 1k words ➛ you’re shown who’s the real prisoner here.

💬 a belated birthday present for the most deranged beloved winter stan @wintersera ♡

Nightfall has long shrouded the city in darkness, but what’s the difference between night and day when your work environment is darker than midnight woes?

You aspire to be like your aunt: authoritative, firm on her feet, and can rattle fear in even the toughest men.

Because unlike her, you’re soft. You fall apart when someone raises their voice at you. You may have gotten slightly better at keeping your chin up but you’re nowhere near your aunt’s level. A part-time job you worked in high school improved your social skills, so a challenging job where you may deal with some hardheaded individuals—like being a prison warden—should be able to toughen you up even a little bit, right?

You amble down the cell hall with a flashlight in hand. Most of the prisoners have fallen asleep, but you have a specific cell to visit.

Not that you need to.

Your eardrums almost vibrate from the deafening thumps of your racing heart, your clammy hand squeezing the flashlight to your chest as you come close to your destination.

Once you reach her cell, you shine the light directly into it and find her, Kim Minjeong, sitting in a chair in the middle of the small enclosure. Slouched, legs crossed and outstretched, and arms folded over her chest as she arches her brow, she smirks.

She has you wrapped around her finger, and you make no opposition.

“I thought you’d never come,” she chuckles.

The clank of the cell door locking reverberates. Maybe the cellmates several doors down can hear it, but you still wince due to how loud it is in your head. Not only does the pin-drop silence amplify every little sound, but you’re concerned that the prisoner you deliberately locked yourself in with may hear your heart threatening to leap out of your chest, and take advantage of your fear.

And excitement.

“Don’t be shy now. Come take a seat.”

It’s shameful. 

You acknowledge your weakness, but you didn’t realize just how low it can go. There’s no excuse for you to engage in relations with a prisoner, but something about Minjeong draws you in.

She’s gorgeous. She shows no sign of inflicting violence on you and doesn’t look down on you as some ‘little girl posing as a guard’. Though she’s heavily flirtatious, she still treats you like a human.

Except in this very moment where your own cuffs are around your wrist and your mouth is stuffed with your soiled panties. She was quick to get rid of your clothes, which have been thrown aside, but she still has her uniform on. You had taken a seat on her lap when she offered and now you’re bouncing on her cock. She’s occupied by your chest, curious hands squeezing your tits together while her lips are latched onto a nipple, sucking and tugging and flicking it with her tongue. Whenever you started slowing down, she’d tangle her fingers through your hair and tug.

Hard.

“Come on, baby.” She pouts. “You can do better.”

Except you can’t.

You’re certain you can’t. Your thighs are shaking—burning—and you can’t control your hands. You can’t balance properly, and you can’t rest for a second. Your pleas and grunts are muffled by the fabric gag. You look utterly pathetic, but Minjeong doesn’t sympathize. She only utilizes the power she has over you.

When you don’t improve, she carries you to her bed and tosses you down. Landing on your cuffed wrists is not ideal but you don’t dwell on it for too long when she presses your legs up to your chest. The pressure of your thighs being crushed against your abdomen nearly folds you in half. A new angle is offered and your eyes immediately roll back as she fucks you.

Her hips don’t slack. You feel the force of every thrust stretching you open and hitting all the right spots. You practically feel her in the pit of your belly from how hard she’s pounding you. Fortunately, the darkness masks your late night rendezvous because you know that one look into her piercing eyes would have you falling apart. To be looked at like prey is to experience a swift downfall.

You like being her prey.

You didn’t get to recuperate after your previous orgasm, so your next one quickly hits you. It crashes over you in waves and you gush around her cock, creaming her with a messy release. She groans as she’s forced out of your squirting pussy, the ample wetness soaking the edge of the mattress and spilling to the floor. You were certain you didn’t have that much to give, but she always proves you wrong.

She will always get as much as she wants.

You’re spent. Shaking. But never mind that. Minjeong is quick to slide back into you, courtesy of your overflowing slick, and your cunt is subjected to another round. You feel so close to breaking. You try to escape her grip but what use is there when you’re cuffed and possess only half the strength that she does?

Who’s the real prisoner here?

“Oh fuck,” she grunts between gritted teeth. “Oh fuck, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna fucking come, and you’re gonna take it all.”

Fulfilling her promise, she bottoms out. You’re beyond full of her dick, and now the warmth of her release floods your insides, filling you up in ways that no one else can. She draws back, then shoves back in, pushing her cum deeper into you. Slow and steady thrusts like that leaves your head spinning.

She slowly removes her softened cock with a delighted sigh, and you feel her cum dribble out of you. It pools onto the sheet beneath you and you lay there lifelessly, trembling and panting.

You hear the sound of a zipper. Minjeong didn’t step out of her uniform so it should be easy for her to fix herself up. You, on the other hand, have been completely unraveled. It will take much longer for you to get yourself together.

“You can rest a little more, but don’t stay in here for too long.”

She gathers your clothes and gently sets them at the edge of the bed. “Don’t wanna get caught fucking your prisoner, do ya?”

You laugh once you catch your breath. 

“… When do you get out again?”