#tagging in order of left to right sobs

[hershelwidget]

I think you all deserve to see this image

I don’t think I could possibly explain the emotions and thoughts that ran through my brain as I was making this

All I truly remember is that this was for Film & Animation class. the rest is lost in the image. go find it

[nomaishuttle]

the way i balance staying true to my tumblrina nature while also having a job and bills and rent is that at work while cleaning a room ill think of something id like to post and then repeat it over and over in my head and refine it until it sounds right and then i either post it as soon as i get a second to Or i forget it bc i think of anew post to make. and they always get 0 notes but its ok

[joelsdagger]

walk the line || one shot

joel miller x f!reader

masterlist | ao3

pairing: boston qz!joel x f!reader summary: you and joel have a deal: sex in exchange for supplies. no questions asked. so what happens when you do? or joel fucks you while you’re in a headlock. that’s pretty much it. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: boston qz era, undefined relationship, mentions of sexual favors, choking, rough unprotected p in v sex, dark!joel, mean!joel [in the sense that he doesn’t let her come oops :( ], dubcon [reader tries to loosen his grip], noncon [i’m putting this here just in case], no aftercare. think that’s it. word count: 1.2k

a/n: just….don’t ask. i don’t know what this is. thank you to @papurgaatika for holding a gun to my head so i would post this looking this over, love you schmooks <3 

please heed the tags. protect your peace if this isn’t for you.

He’s being rough. Rougher than the countless times he’s fucked you before. 

In the time since you and Joel started this whole arrangement, you never needed to tell him to fuck you at a blistering pace. He just did it. 

Because you and him are the same. He told you that once. He said that you and him are two sides of the same coin. Both of you are always keeping your walls up and people out. Always keeping everyone at arm’s length. It made this arrangement easy, simple. 

There was just one rule: Nothing personal. A rule you happily got on board with. Getting personal is not really your thing. You learned that it was easier to survive at the end of the world without having someone to care about. Staying detached worked for you. You didn’t care enough about Joel Miller to even bother giving him a second thought. 

At least, that’s what you wanted to believe. 

A few minutes ago, you made the mistake of doing just that. 

You got personal. Flicked open the glass casing and pushed the big red button. Nobody gets personal with Joel Miller. Most importantly, you don’t. No. Never you. And now he’s punishing you. Maybe he’s punishing himself too, because he didn’t stop you. Didn’t stop this.

He’s being brutal, intense, and mean. And usually you could handle it because, like plenty of times before, you wanted him to.

But this time, you didn’t.

Your cunt is sensitive, and it hurts; it burns more and more with every rough snap of his hips; warm liquid pricks at your eyes in discontent. Your swollen cunt betrays you, squeezes around his wide girth, and he grunts against the shell of your ear in response. You’re sure he thinks you're begging him for more. To him, the swift flutter of your cunt is a silent tell to pick up the pace. 

And he does. Relentlessly. 

With every unforgiving thrust of his hips, knocking the wind out of your lungs, and the firm hold of his forearm against your neck, compressing your throat, you were barely hanging on. Black spots spatter across your vision, and your eyes slip closed; tears of anguish streak down your cheeks.

It’s too much. You choke on a sob, and your hand comes up to his left arm, weakly tugging at it, attempting to make space between the crook of his elbow and your neck to suck in an ephemeral breath of air. 

Instead, he tightens his grip on you; his left arm pulls you into his chest, and his right hand moves heavily to the top of your head as he brutally fucks up into your throbbing hole. Your head dips back beneath his chin, and the crown of your skull stings as the plastic clip hanging out at the bottom of the valve of his gas mask digs into your scalp.

Your failure to follow his rule — his only rule — had pissed him off so immensely that he didn’t even waste a second to remove his mask.

His muffled voice cuts through the thick haze that took over your mind. “Stay,” he orders through gritted teeth, and you obey.

Because he’s teaching you a lesson.

With him, you mind your tongue.

With him, you do as you're told. 

With him, you don’t ask questions.

With him, you don’t get fucking personal. 

And with your head locked between both of his strong arms and his fat cock hammering your cunt, punching at your cervix — forcing himself in — he makes certain of that. Makes your mind go fucking blank. Because when your sloppy cunt is stuffed full of his cock, your mind goes fuzzy, and your body goes limp in his hold, you are in no position to question him. To pry. To challenge him. To fight him. A brutal, shattering reminder that Joel Miller calls the shots.

And Joel doesn’t say a word. Not this time. Not when he’s using your body as a way to cope with his anger — to get himself off. It’s all breathless groans and grunts that tell you your holes are enough to satisfy him. And for a moment, you can’t help but wonder if this is how he always saw you — a means to an end.

Maybe you felt the same way about him.

You don’t have time to dwell on it because then you feel it — he twitches inside your aching cunt, signaling his rapid release. He hisses as he pulls out of your wasted hole, his length bobs against the crease beneath your ass, smearing your sweaty skin with your mixed wet. His cock throbs against you as his seed spills onto your quivering legs, coating your inner thighs, and leaking onto the tattered, moth-eaten mattress. 

You whimper pathetically as his arms release you, and your shuddering form falls forward, crashing into the dusty mattress beneath you. Your chest heaves as your hand comes up to the column of your neck, your weak fingers pressing at the sharp, searing pang there. You don’t doubt your skin has already begun to smart. You cough profusely as your lungs fill with air, a humiliating attempt at catching your breath. 

Joel’s left hand comes down beside your head on the mattress, cushioning his fall as he hovers over you. He groans as his other hand replaces your cunt, and with every fast, wet pump of his fist, the pulsing tip bumps against your skin; his release now paints the small of your back.

A first. 

And in the back of your mind, you try telling yourself it’s his way of claiming you — that he still wants you after you stepped out of line. Your stomach lurches at the same time your cunt flutters at the thought. You’re not sure how you feel about it, but you do know you feel empty without him inside you. And other than what happened here, he typically makes you feel good. Leaves you satisfied before he chases his own release.

Today, he didn’t. He used your body as a means for punishment, and you let him. A penance. For crossing the line he told — you both agreed not to overstep. 

A few moments later, you’re pulling your distressed jeans over your cum-coated thighs while your glassy eyes watch Joel as he zips up his own, his eyes fixed on the molded wooden floor in front. “Joel,” your voice hoarse and raw. 

He peers up at you beneath his lashes, the sunlight clawing through the taped-up window catches on his eyes; the amber in his hazel irises glowering in the light. 

“It won’t happen again,” you whisper.

“No,” he leans forward, grabs his gas mask you didn’t notice he pulled off, and the orange pill bottle you were meant to deliver to him without sticking your nose where it didn’t belong, and he grunts while he moves to stand, “it won’t.” 

And only when his heavy footsteps fade down the dark hallway of the abandoned building on the outskirts of the QZ, leaving you alone to stare back at the pale, rotten wallpaper with a painful and pleading ache between your trembling legs, do you realize exactly why no one defies Joel fucking Miller.

[kykyonthemoon]

Comforting

When he comforts a reader who is so stressed and upset that she bursts into tears.

── .✦ Character x Female Reader (MC)

Included parts in order: Sylus, Caleb

This is the second part of the same prompt, for the two said characters, after my first one - "Soothing" for Rafayel, Xavier and Zayne.

── .✦ Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, comfort, long-distance relationship (Caleb's)

── .✦ Word count: 1k3

── .✦ Requested by Lightbook Aki

── .✦ Masterlist ♡ Request a fic - closed for the time being.

Sylus

"Let's go." Sylus tossed you the key to one of the two motorcycles parking in front of the flat. You were puzzled:

“To where?”

“Anywhere you want. Just ride.”

After he finished speaking, he started his motorcycle. Its scream seemed like both an invitation and an urging to you. 

You put on the helmet. Even though you constantly mentioned that you wished to ride about the city with him at night, Sylus's arrival at your door so late at night seemed odd. Particularly since you were in such a bad mood. And was it Luke and Kieran that you had just seen earlier nearby?

The motorbike that Sylus chose for you was a bit smaller than his, and matched your physique well. You did not object anymore. And so your night out began. 

A cool night wind blew. You kept on riding, not knowing where you were heading. Sylus rode safely away from you while keeping you in sight. He would sometimes approach you, as if to remind you that he had always been by your side on this journey.

Away from the noise of the city, you chose to stop on a hill on the outskirts. Sylus pulled up behind you when you got off the motorcycle and removed your helmet.

Nobody uttered a thing. Sylus waited close, watching you go around, your feet stepping on the dirt and rocks below in discomfort. After a while, when he realized he had no way of keeping you like that, Sylus approached you and gently seized your elbow, drawing you back to look at him.

"If the ride wasn't so enjoyable, we can go further."

"No... I just..." You halted because you were unsure if you should tell him or not. Was it appropriate to share such private emotions given that the two of you had just recently met?

"How do you know that I need a change of scenery? Was it Mephisto again?"

Sylus grinned. His index finger curled, and he swiped it over your nose. "Your thoughts are all reflected on your face like that. You haven't left your flat in days. Even without Mephisto, I suspect that something is wrong with you. Say it out. I am here to listen to you."

You took a brief glance at Sylus. The wind blew, ruffling the curls of hair on his forehead. You paused for a moment before telling him about how you ended up ending someone's life before they turned completely into a Wanderer on the last mission. That tormented you to no end.

When you finished the story, Sylus said: "You did what needed to be done. It wasn't your fault." He gently inclined his chin towards the gracefully illuminated city of Linkon on the horizon and continued, "This place is calm, thanks to you. You did very well."

That alone was enough to make you cry. You attempted to fight back your burning tears, but just as you were going to wipe them away and turn everywhere, Sylus grasped your hand tightly. His other hand caressed your cheek in a tender gesture, but did not wipe away your tears. He told you:

"Just let it all out."

And so you wept. You failed to recall the last time you ever sobbed like this. You had always believed that you were capable and powerful enough to battle Wanderers and defend others. But, in the end, you sought someone to tell you that you did the right thing by eliminating a soul's suffering, or that you did not have to bear it all on your own.

Sylus, resting on his motorcycle, softly raised your hand. His lips almost brushed it as he muttered, "Sometimes we have no option. Sometimes we have to deal with worse things than Wanderers. You just need to choose what is most important to you and do your best to protect it..."

Sylus halted and softly stroked your hand. His crimson eyes fixed on you, giving you an odd sense of reliability.

"Just like what I'm doing right now, protecting the most important person who is right in front of me."

Caleb

With a pleasant box of ice cream in hand, you sat on the porch of a closed business. It was dark, yet you refused to go home. You had been strolling the streets of Linkon all evening.

You did not have dinner yet. Both eyes were swollen. Your hair was a disaster. Everyone knew you had a rough day based on your look, and it was best for them to stay away from you. You searched for the phone in your coat pocket. A name displayed on the screen; it was Caleb's account.

But you sighed and put your phone away. These insignificant concerns were not worth his attention. You could manage it entirely on your own. You hoped that the next day, despite your current situation, you would return to your cheerful, active self. 

Opening the ice cream box, you began eating little spoonfuls. If Caleb was here, would it not be great? You would tell you about how you were bullied at work, unfairly accused, and how people turned their backs on you without knowing the whole story. But in the end, nothing was important anymore. Everything you could do to salvage the situation had been done. What you needed at that moment was a little consolation from someone, but that person was a long way from here.

You had learnt to handle challenges on your own when Caleb enrolled at the Academy in Skyhaven. You had always proven that you were mature and responsible enough not to disturb him. When you started this long-distance relationship, you knew he could not always come racing to you when you needed him, and there would be moments when you were entirely alone like this.

The ice cream box was about half-empty. The lightly inhabited street became even quieter. Perhaps you should go home. Still, tears went on falling. As the world faded away in weeping, you noticed that person's silhouette growing more and more apparent. Then a large hand rested on your head.

"You're all grown up, yet you're sobbing while eating ice cream here. Aren't you worried that others will laugh at you, pip-squeak?"

That voice belonged to Caleb. You rubbed your eyes. He instantly squatted in front of you, his mouth beaming and his hand aiding you in wiping away the tears.

"Caleb?"

He replied, "I'm here. Tell me. Who bullied my pipsqueak?"

You sniffled. Seeing him like that was a genuinely unexpected blessing. Of course, your spirit was also much lifted. You said:

"Who would dare to bully me? I just... wanted to eat ice cream. But how did you find me?"

"I received a call from Tara. She updated me on what occurred at work and then mentioned she could no longer contact you. She was concerned about something happening to you and asked me to reach out to you."

"Then… why did you come here instead of giving me a call?"

Caleb lightly squeezed your cheek. "If I called, you'd act as if nothing happened, right? You always go here for a box of ice cream when you're feeling low. That habit has not changed."

You had to confess that Caleb knew you too well. When you were depressed and didn't want to do anything else, he went out and bought you a box of ice cream from this store. He also said that as long as you had it, you would become happier. Since then, the ice cream here had served as your spiritual comfort whenever you started to feel down.

Caleb closed the ice cream box and held it in his free hand. He stood up and extended another hand towards you, saying: 

"Let's go home."

You felt instantly at ease. When Caleb helped you up, you grabbed his hand and leaped into his arms, hugging him by the neck hard. Perhaps as long as you had him, it did not matter anymore if the entire world turned against you.

Banner photos from Ghibli and screenshots by LittleBunnyCC

[heartfullofleeches]

Yan Zombie + Restoration Hobbyist Reader Blurb

-

"Blink once if you can hear me."

It calls to them from the darkness - a voice melancholic yet strangely robotic in its application. It's familiar - like something they've heard in a dream. They can't move. Their arms feel as though they're pinned beneath boulders. Their legs feel weightless. The place in their mouth were their tongue sat felt dry and... exposed. Left with no other choice, their eyelids flicker upwards. The flesh over their right eye feels to be constructed of foreign tissue - metal scrapping over the weight in the socket where their eye once was. The image of the figure standing over them is fleeting, lips pulled thin in an expression of approval.

"Blink twice."

Their eyes flutter open for a second time - remaining there as two finger pry apart the lids of their still functioning eye.

"Good. It's fortunate that you are still able to hear. At the moment, my fixes are merely cosmetic so I'm afraid you won't be able to see out of that eye of yours for some time. If you are like other patients I've had the issue will work out on its own."

Their eye rolls idly in their head - struggling to make out any features of the person through the blazing lights overhead.

"You must have questions. Forgive me- I wasn't expecting you to wake up before I had time to work on your jaw. Please use this to communicate if you wish, you can ask me anything."

Function to their left hand returns - their wrist raw and lacking the binding weight shacking it in place. Restraints? Smooth plastic rolls beneath their fingertip as they flex the stiff joints of their digits. Their fingers trace out the rectangular shape of the keyboard's space bar. Gliding gracelessly over the keys, a hand helps stabilize their moments as they begin to type. A computer monitor awakens from its sleep as words pop up on its screen.

"Where am I?"

A common question. "You are in my workplace. I repair things from time to time to keep myself busy. I found you in a creek nearby during a stroll the other night. Thankfully, you hadn't been in there long or I would've had to replace more than the skin of your eye."

Their hand draws up to their eye, feeling the odd texture over their eye. It's felt.

"I hate to bring up any bad memories from the past, but I need to ask in order to provide you with the care you require. Do you remember anything from the day you died?"

Died?... That's... honestly not the most surprising thing about this ordeal. A stabbing pain blisters at the back of their mind as they try to remember. A boat. A shotgun. Laughter. Tears. Please, no. It's not funny just put it down. Please. please-

"Boating trip. They said if I tagged along I could finally be apart of their group. I thought I could trust them. They said they were my friends. They said"

Their body lurches forward - fighting against the bite of their bonds. It hurts. It hurts so much. Why are they still here? Garbble wails ricochet off the bedroom walls. In their time of misery, another memory rushes to the forefront of their mind. Their body convulsing on an operating table. The gentle hushes of another as they pet back their hair - drying blackened tears from the corners of their eyes. A compassionate hand from the world that had abandoned them when they needed someone most.

"Hold me."

"What?"

"I remember.. Arms around me. A voice calling out to me. Promising me everything would be okay. That was you - right? Hold me. I don't want to be alone. Please, don't let me be alone anymore."

The hobbyist removes the glove from their dominant hand, wiping the leathery flesh were thick, congealing tears pool. You pull your newest patient closer - mindful of their stitches as you rub small circles along their spine.

"You can stay here as long as you like. While I'm not the most social person, I can't turn away someone who needs my assistance."

Their sobs are reduced to small whimpers as they cling into you - dying your apron in various fluids as their arm locks around your midsection in a vice grip. You grab onto their other wrist, preventing them from wrestling it out of their chains leaving you with more work in the future if their skin were to tear.

"I know this is a lot for you, but please try not to damage yourself further."

Their arm drops from your waist - fingers flying over the keyboard on a flurry.

"What's your name?"

"My name?... You can just call me Y/n."

[killerpancakeburger]

Breaking point (2/2)

SUMMARY: Civilian!Reader, who works as Price's assistant, has a breakdown at work. Soap+Ghost help the best they can. Hurt/comfort. Can be read as platonic or romantic. Gender Neutral Reader.

PAIRINGS: Soap x GN!Reader

Ghost's version (1/2) Soap's part 2. Soap's part 3.

TAGS: Hurt/comfort. Military inaccuracies (I make shit up for the sake of the plot). Soap is tooth-rotting sweet.

WARNINGS: Mention of relative in the hospital, suicide ideation, depressive thoughts, swearing.

WORD COUNT: 4.3k

A/N: Very self-indulgent, Reader is going through it and so am I. 🙃Soap is Prince Fucking Charming (very cliché romance tropes). Yours truly suggest to listen to "Strong For Somebody Else" by Citizen Soldier to set the mood. (Song includes suicide ideation and depressive thoughts too, so listen at your own risk).

This bad good boy gave me a harder time than expected lol.

After ending the call, you put down your phone on your desk in a daze, hand shaking.

The news you’ve just been told cannot be real. Life could not possibly be that cruel. What did I do to deserve this? you wonder helplessly. It’s like every time you get back up, life knocks you down again, sending you tumbling on the cold, hard ground.

Clenching your fists, you stare into space, a thousand thoughts disorderly swirling inside your brain, all bursting with anguish, until a burning tear running down your cheek brings you back to the present. You’re at work, your boss is in the next room; a breakdown is a luxury you cannot afford right now. Better bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood than be caught sobbing. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, you take your head between your hands, shoving your fingers into your hair, trying to convince yourself to postpone your nervous collapse. Only one hour left, and you’ll be free to cry your eyes out at your flat. Or on the way home, even. It’s not like the other passengers ever paid you attention the other times you’ve cried on the bus.

But somehow your attempts have the opposite effect, and more tears roll down your face, staining the papers beneath it. As you furiously wipe your face with your sleeve, with a blend of frustration and despair, pissed at yourself, and wanting to get rid of the evidence of your fragile state as fast as possible, the unmistakable sound of your office’s door opening makes you look up.

Of freaking course of all bloody people that could have walked in on you, it had to be Soap fucking Mactavish. Only the most gorgeous man on base - according to you, that is.

You weren't proud of it, but you had a crush on him since you arrived, six months ago. His piercing cerulean eyes, rugged good looks and outgoing personality wouldn’t let you know peace. The mere sight of him was enough to bring a goofy smile to your face, and every conversation between the two of you left you blushing and elated.

You initially thought that this silly, juvenile infatuation would fade away soon enough. Ok, he was beautiful, and he had eyes to damn yourself for, so what? Surely with enough time and exposure, he'd feel mundane. But things didn’t go that way at all.

On top of looking stunning, he just had to be friendly. He made you feel welcome when you arrived. He made efforts to include you in conversations, asking questions to get to know you. He relieved you of the burden of small talk, appeasing your social anxiety, by happily keeping the conversation going on his own, never taking offense when you had nothing to say. He chose to spend some of his free time with you, escorting you back from the archives or dropping by your office.

He was even flirty at times. Flirty. With you.

You could have still disregarded all this; tell yourself he was like this with everyone, that it was just his personality; imagining things would only end up with you hurt in the end.

But then, during a meeting, you witnessed his sincere concern for civilian lives. His righteous anger against unjust orders, when you had fully expected a soldier to obey mindlessly.

This had been your undoing; the moment you knew you were a goner. A severe fondness for him had sunk its claws deep inside your chest and had no intent to let go. It didn’t mean you had any intention to declare your feelings though; you never entertained the thought that he could return them, therefore there was no need for any confession.

For him to be the one to have caught you in this state, it was downright humiliating. Especially since his good heart would make him feel obligated to care.

He was still wearing his leather, fingerless gloves, and some dirt lingered on the contour of his face, like he tossed his weapons and his flak jacket to the side right out of the heli bringing him back to base, and rushed here.

“Hiya hen, brought you the- Shite, what happened?”

His booming voice and cheerful tone fade away as his eyes widen with concern. He briefly freezes at the door in shock before closing the distance to your desk with great strides. You lower your eyes in shame, avoiding his gaze.

“Nothing. Nothing happened. Everything's fine.”

“No offense, bonnie, but yer not very good at lying.”

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to look at him. Staring at your own lap is only going to make you seem more suspicious.

You grit your teeth and lie some more, trying to sound carefree.

“It's nothing, really. I'm just being a crybaby.”

Crybaby.

Soap turns the word over in his mind, unconvinced.

He still remembers that one time when you showed up thirty minutes late to a meeting with the Task Force, panting, leaning on the threshold, the front of your clothes soaked in blood.

 “Sorry I’m late,” you started.

“‘Sorry’ isn’t going to cut it,” Price interrupted before laying eyes on you. “Bloody hell, what happened to you?”

You explained how Private what's-his-name bled out in the break room after carelessly reopening his stitches and you had to stop the hemorrhage with your bare hands and a bunch of paper towels while shouting yourself hoarse for help. Yet when Price ordered you to take the rest of the day off, you insisted on going on as usual, forcing their captain to make it clear that it wasn’t a mere suggestion.

You and him had a different definition of “crybaby”.

Clinging to what's familiar, you focus on the stack of papers under his arm.

“You have the latest reports? Give it here.”

You hold out your hand expectantly. Instead of giving them to you, he sets them down on the opposite side of your desk, out of your reach.

“Paperwork can wait.”

You blink in astonishment at him.

“No it cannot…?”

You roll your eyes at his behavior and get up to seize the reports, but he snatches them from you. You can feel your composure snap like a twig.

“Johnny, what the hell?!” you yell, throwing your hands in the air.

You could remember exactly the first time you called him Johnny, only because it had been such an embarrassment. You couldn’t get used to his alias; sure you had been warned beforehand that some of them were… original, but somehow "Soap" was the one that stood out as the most ridiculous. You briefly entertained the idea of using his first name, except that for you “John” already referred to Captain Price. Only once you tried to call him Mr Mactavish, and as a result Gaz and him guffawed so hard they almost fell off their chairs. Even Ghost let out a cough that was most definitely a concealed laugh. You were running out of options until you heard the lieutenant call him Johnny; you instantly liked it. It just… fitted him. 

From that moment on you used the nickname, but only in your mind. You didn’t have any of the liberties Ghost had and you wouldn’t take them, out of respect, and shyness. Or at least this had been the plan until you fumbled and called him that to his face. The ensuing silence felt deafening as you were realizing what you’ve just done, and you apologized immediately, mortified. 

He just laughed it off; said you could keep calling him that. True, he had appeared more surprised than irritated, but you didn’t want to take the risk of him simply being polite. This too, had been your plan, until he ruined it merily. 

Somehow he must have noticed your efforts to not slip up again because he teased you about it. 

“Not Johnny today? Did ah dae something wrong?”

You went back to “Johnny” quickly - anything to put an end to the mischievous glint in his eye and the rascally smirk on his lips aimed at you. Being the target of his undivided attention sent a pang in your chest and knots in your stomach. Those sensations weren't exactly unpleasant, but it led to an ominous feeling that this was too good to be true, and that at any second this vision would shatter to reveal the cruel reality; so you'd just grant him a timid smile to confirm he did amuse you, but then proceed to look away.

It's the first time you’re pronouncing “Johnny” with anger; real, raw annoyance, as well as animosity, instead of the fond frustration you usually display when he messes around.

To your utter disbelief, he smiles in response to your outburst. 

“There we go, talk tae me. Even if it’s just tae scream at me.”

The remark pacifies you instantly; you lower your arms, defeated.

“I'm not gonna… I don't want to scream at you.”

You sigh and sit back, setting down your elbows on your desk to take your head between your hands, overburdened.

“The hell you want me to tell you? That my mom's on the brink of death out of nowhere? That when she's gone I'll be all alone in this world?”

You swear, aggravated, as tears sting your eyes again, and this time you ignore if you'll be capable of holding back the flood.

Nevertheless you can still hear Soap curse under his breath, Scottish accent growing thicker, before moving to get on your side of the desk, to reach you, dispensing soft-spoken, soothing words along the way. You pivot to face him, your burning eyes and the sensation of dried tears on your face making you painfully aware that you must look as pathetic as you feel.

Your eyes widen in surprise when you see him kneeling at your feet. His hands reach for your face, slowly enough to give you time to back away if you wanted to.

“A'm sorry, ah didnae mean tae mak' ye cry, a'm a bloody eejit. …Can I?”

His fingers stopped a breath away from your tear-stained cheeks. 

At that exact moment you can’t quite believe what he's about to do, yet you nod your head in agreement - not trusting your voice to not break - all the same, the gaping void in your chest aching for any kind of contact he'd be willing to provide.

His warm fingers cup your cheeks as the pad of his thumbs gently, almost reverently, wipe the underside of your eyes.

“There we go,” he cajoles, meticulously drying any wet spot on your skin.

“A'm ‘ere whether ye want tae talk or not, aye? A'm not going anywhere.”

You stare at him in silence, thunderstruck by the scene unfolding in front of you. Never in your wildest dreams you would have expected to have this man at your feet. He sets his hands down on your knees, squeezing them softly, and is looking right at you, encouraging smile and tender gaze, reassurance radiating from his expression. The position allows you to greedily take in every little detail: the white line of the scar on his chin, the breathtaking shades of blue in his eyes, the gap in his left eyebrow.

As you lose yourself into the work of art that are his features, he keeps conversing.

“We should take yer mind aff things. We could play board games in tha rec room. Or ye could let aff some steam wi’ tha punching bag in tha training room! Ah could teach ye how tae shoot on tha shooting range-”

You open your eyes wide as his suggestions turn progressively more violent.

“I have a bus to catch, and that's overlooking the fact that I haven't done anything in my last hour of work today…”

“If anyone gives you trouble, just say ah forced you.”

You chuckle at the idea.

“You'd never compel me to do anything.”

You can’t repress a loving smile. Johnny just feels that safe to you.

He smirks mischievously at that.

“Na, but they'll believe ah dragged ye intae mah evil schemes.”

He punctuates his statement by a roguish wink that wrests a laughter from you.

“You should take my bed,” he declares suddenly, serious again.

As the silence between you two stretches and your smile is replaced by a mix of shock, confusion, and worry, he realizes how this may sound. Flustered, he starts rambling to defuse the situation.

“Wait, no- steamin’ jesus - Ah didnae mean it like that! I’d take the couch in the rec room, ‘f course. Ye shouldn't go through tonight alone.” 

“Oh my god, Johnny, I could never take your bed from you. You must already sleep on the floor so often for missions…” 

“Exactly, hen. This is nothing for me. The couch is a hotel compared to that.”

You open your mouth to argue more, but then he makes an expression that can only be described as sad puppy eyes, even going as far as slightly tilting his head to the side to perfect the impression. You gulp in response, stricken straight through the heart, and knowing pertinently that you could already hardly refuse him anything, so if he begins to gaze at you like that… 

“Pretty please?” 

Oh no. Not that line.

He's now excessively batting his eyelashes at you, which, while not exactly alluring, is both comical and endearing. Hell, who are you even kidding? You’re so smitten with this blue-eyed creature, is there any act from him you wouldn’t find endearing?

“Are you… pouting?” 

“Depends. Is it working?”

You sigh, aware it's a losing battle, and look away, a futile attempt to hide the ridiculously potent effect he has on you, or to at least shield yourself from his influence, if only momentarily.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“Maybe ah just wantae hear ye say aye tae me.”

Your cheeks catch fire at the suggestiveness of the words. As if the regular rasp of his voice, that felt like an exquisite caress along your spine, wasn’t already making it incredibly difficult to keep your face at a reasonnable temperature.

“You're gonna get me fired, Johnny.”

“Over my dead body,” he retorted with surprising determination, solemnly pressing a hand over his heart.

You scoff indulgently. Coming from anyone else, the hastily taken oath would be preposterous, but Soap has always proved himself trustworthy.

“Let's go. Your knees must be sore,” you mumble, trying to sound casual.

“Wanna make a joke aboot mah stamina when kneeling but ah will keep it fur next time,” he slips as he stands up, way too smugly for your own good, so you pretend you didn’t hear anything. As if you needed any more incitement into picturing him on his knees in a different context. 

You get up quickly after, but he does not get out of your way. You rise a quizzical eyebrow, his close proximity triggering alarm bells inside your head. If he remains near enough for you to feel his body heat, you’re going to get dizzy.

He simply grins.

“Want a hug?”

You blink at the unexpected question. Yes, implores your touchstarved mind. YES, cries out your sensitive, enamored heart. 

No way, rebuffs your cautious brain. It will only hurt more knowing what you  can’t have.

He opens his muscled arms, smile genuine, almost blinding, like a tacit invitation, and all your reluctance seems to evaporate with that simple gesture. Before you can linger any more on the harmful consequences this lack of restraint will eventually cause, you throw yourself into his embrace. It feels like falling and flying all at once.

Your hands close on the back of his shirt, near his shoulder blades, and, pressing your face into his shoulder to make the world disappear for a moment, you cling to him like he could rescue you from the sinking ship that was your sick mind. One of his arms close around your waist while his free hand rubs your back, leaving trails of fire in its wake, but bringing you much-appreciated comfort nonetheless.

“You're too nice to me. I feel like I'm taking advantage of your kindness.”

He remains silent a drawn-out second, and you're terrified you just screwed everything up.

“Yer givin me too much credit, lass “ he finally says. “Ah don't go ‘round base comforting every person I find.”

His tone isn’t angry, per se, but it lacks its previous joviality.

Soap tilts his head back, biting his lips, thanking the universe that with your face laying against his chest, you can’t perceive his embarrassment.

He can’t tell you. Not yet. Not now.

He can’t tell you that he used to consider writing reports as the worst part of the job until you came along; until you awarded him a heartfelt, radiant smile when he gave you his; that he noticed how little you smiled outside of artificial ones you fabricate for work purposes; that when he manages to make you smile or laugh genuinely, it feels like a prize, that only he is privy to.

Months ago, he took the resolve to make you smile more; for a while now he started doing his reports more seriously, or even did the ones of Gaz and Ghost, just to have an excuse to see you, to behold the way your face lightens up when he brings you necessary paperwork before you even demand it.

And he certainly can’t tell you about that one time where he handed over his reports in advance, but you weren't there, so he left, heart heavy with disappointment, dragging his feet, until he heard your voice coming from the room he just left.

“What are those?” you questionned your coworker.

“Soap just dropped them.”

“But… I didn't even ask him to yet?”

Perplexity combines with glee in your voice.

“He's a good boy, isn’t he?” prompted your colleague.

You let out a fond, wistful sigh, before responding, half-joking.

“I know! Such a good boy for me.”

Getting to hear you beaming over his benevolent action was already a treat, but witnessing that compromising exchange? To be called a “good boy” by you short-circuited him. He swore - “Steamin jesus” -, ears burning, face on fire, covering it with one hand. He needed to leave badly. Seek refuge in his room, where he could be free to replay that tantalizing line on loop in his mind. “Such a good boy for me.”

Your heart beats a bit faster than usual as you obediently follow Soap through corridors you’ve never been in before. You trust him with all your heart, but that doesn't change the fact that what you’re doing is against the rules; and those rules aren't high school's, but the ones of a military base.

You flinch hard as a familiar voice screams in your direction.

“SERGEANT MACTAVISH!”

Oops, you think. That's Captain Price, your supervisor, and he sounds pissed. You never witnessed him calling Soap by his last name before, but that being said, you never saw him deal with a kidnapped assistant either.

You've been caught red-handed. 

Your mind begins to come up with plans to lessen the punishments that are without doubt about to descend upon you two, but Johnny grabbing your hand brings you back to reality. 

You lift your gaze to him. He doesn't seem worried at all, if anything… is that a spark of delight in his eye?

He only pronounces one word.

“Run.”

So you run, carried away half by adrenaline, and half by the sergeant dragging you. Thankfully Soap is aware that there's no way you can keep up with him and his training, so he comes to a halt a minute later.

Panting hard, you double over, hands clenching your knees for support, heart thumping in your chest, blood throbbing in your ears.

“Why… are we… running…!?” you manage to exhale. “It's only… gonna make… things worse…”

By your side, he's standing fresh as a daisy, barely ruffled by your flight. The sight would be infuriating if his eyes weren't glinting with amusement and he wasn’t offering you a dazzling smile.

“Because it's fun,” he affirms like it's evident.

Little by little, you catch your breath, throwing Johnny a look that's half in earnest, half in jest.

“More fun for you than for me.”

He doesn't get flustered by your moderate reprimand.

“Is it selfish o' me tae wantae spend more time wi' ye? Didnae want us tae git interrupted yet.”

The line feels like a punch to the chest, stealing the breath you just recovered and leaving you agape.

He takes your hand again with the natural of a well earned habit.

“C'm'on, ah have more than one trick up mah sleeve.”

You're unsure which of the views unfurling under your eyes is the most magnificent; the sunset in front of you that's painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, or the striking man by your side whose eyes could rival the most astounding sights.

Nibbling on the dinner Soap smuggled out of the cafeteria with too much ease for it to be his first time, you regularly sneak glances at him as he fills the silence with tales of his adventures - the parts that aren't top secret, at least. You two totally did not break onto the roof moments ago, no sir.

Goosebumps travel along your arms and any exposed skin as the night falls and the sun takes away the warmth with him. You furiously brush the outside of your arms for heat, and you're about to suggest finishing this inside, when a jacket lands on your shoulders.

It is still warm with his owner's bodyheat, deliciously so. You curl up and drag it closer, your face on fire. Realizing that Soap gave you his jacket without you even having to ask or complain about the cold… you’re conflicted between obsessing over this like a giggling schoolgirl, and feeling apologetic.

Once you more or less got your blushing under control, you turn to him, displaying a contrite expression.

“I don't want to take your jacket on top of your bed, Johnny.” you pout.

“A'm a bloody furnace. Wanna check?”

He asks, cheekily, even adding a wink for good measure. As if there was any more artifice needed to make you putty in his hands.

He presents you his bare arm for the taking, all golden skin, bulging muscles and a constellation of white scars.

You indulge him and lay a hand on his bicep, knowing he won't relent otherwise; that is definitly the only reason; it has absolutely nothing to do with your own desires.

Indeed, he's burning. As you envy and bask in the heat provided by his body, forgetting that your touch is lingering too long for someone who is just a coworker, he chooses that moment to flex shamelessly, showing off the impressive circumference of his muscle. You feel obligated to squeeze it in response, a way to finally meet him head-on instead of passively enduring his quips, and it feels like reinforced concrete under your fingers.

You fail to hold back your laughter at his facetious demeanor. 

“You're ridiculous.”

The comment holds no bite, a smile brimming with tenderness stretching your lips.

“I'll be the most ridiculous man on the planet if it makes you laugh.”

He's leaning back, hands propped on the ground behind him, head slightly tilted to gaze at you, and the earnestness on his face could almost make you believe his words.

Almost.

But instead a sharp pang pierces your chest, right between your lungs, at heart's level. The smile you return him in spite of yourself oscillates between content and heartbroken, before opting for the latter. 

Tomorrow you will ask him, maybe even plead; tomorrow you'll ask him to put an end to the flirting. You cannot bear it. 

But just tonight, you'll indulge it. You'll pretend to be normal, a well-adjusted human being, instead of a broken shell; you'll act like an adult for who flirting is a regular event and not the mental equivalent of a nuclear bomb.

You abruptly stand up, dusting yourself off, purposely ignoring the newfound lack of understanding on Soap's face and how his mouth opened for a question.

“It's getting late,” you state, not nearly as casually as you'd like. “I'm beat!”

You're running away and you know it; but you never claimed to be brave. Really, it is the best solution for everyone involved, or at least it's how it has always seemed to be your whole life.

He escorts you to his room - of course he does. Even if he already picked up his things earlier to crash on the couch, already showed the place to you.

As you awkwardly face him on the doorstep after saying your goodbyes and your thanks, unable to look away yet incapable of making eye contact, pain flares in your torso thinking of him, somehow intertwined with joy and gratefulness for his existence. Maybe your inner struggle shows on your face because next thing you know, he cups your cheek, forcing you to look up, but as the deranged idea that he's about to kiss you manifests in a remote corner of your mind, your brain swiftly shuts off as his lips make contact with your forehead.

The touch is light yet your entire being seems gathered on that point of contact.

“G'night, bonnie,” he half-whispers, as if to make sure his words exist only for you.

He grants you one last smile, small but so sweet you feel your heart tightens.

“Good night, Johnny,” you manage to articulate before sheltering in his bedroom. The room smells like him.

The moment the door shuts behind you, you rest against it, tilting your head back, letting out a deep sigh. Morbid curiosity pushes you to glance in the adjacent bathroom's mirror, if only to see what you look after this evening. A flustered mess? A sorrowful wreck?

Catching your reflection's eye makes you grimace as you realize an incriminating detail.

You forgot to give Soap his jacket back.

[ccwpidsblog]

untitled — a.artlet

content warning: incel!armin artlet, male masterbation, slightt mommy kink, panty thief!minie, slut shaming, lmk if i missed anything i lit suck at tagging

cwpids notes: if this looks familiar it's from my old Wattpad account, this was originally a shiggy fanfiction but im not into mha anymore and wattpad deleted that book SAURRR just enjoy 😁🏹

armin artlet hated you with a passion. you came into his house and bothered him with your dumb staring and weak attempts to seduce him. his discord server and online friend knew everything about women like you. you'd try to take everything from him knowing his family was wealthy. that's exactly why you bothered him just like every other woman that approached him did. they didn't see armin they saw his money. he hated your stupid face when you batted your more than likely fake lashes at him and smiled at him with your fake smile, he hated the way your smell lingers when you leave a room, he hated the outfits you wore it was like you were begging for attention, he hated everything that has to do with you

his shirt was in between his teeth, left hand rubbing the soft cotton of your panties onto his cock,, his right was gripped onto the wall steadying himself. "fuck, y/n..." armin bit down onto his shirt harder, throwing his head back closing his eyes.

he was hot and bothered often, masterbating was something he did daily; he even had his fair share of toys. but this was his first time ever taking someone's underwear. he just couldn't help himself. sneaking into the guest bedroom while you were busy decorating the house for some shitty party his sister was throwing. he'd took the first pair he saw from the hamper. he felt gross not in the way he usually did while he stroked one out but in the best way. this didn't mean he did not hate you anymore; it was more of a lust thing he told himself.

he just lusted you.

"ah, faster..." he demanded of himself, his hands obeying his orders. the pace gradually picked up, using the same hand that gripped your panties tightly wrapping around his cock, while the other slowly smoothed up the skin of his stomach, feeling himself in ways he wished you could . armins hips bucked upwards into his hand, his quiet moans now turning into grunts of rapture with every thrust.

he imagined you on your knees in front of him allowing him to thrust himself into your mouth. begging for him to touch you in ways no one could "gonna cum, gonna fucking cum...ohh my god, more."

armin whined as he tightened his fist around his fat length, vigorously jerking himself off. his eyes flutter open to look down at how red and swollen his mushroom tip was, and how your panties were covered in his pre-cum, roughly biting down on his chapped bottom lip as he kept fucking into your panties, veins protruding with his grip tightening even further. "so tight, so tight."

"oh fuck, fuck mommy!" he cried out, voice breaking into a sob when his orgasm gushed out of him in hot spurts. placing his forehead on the cool tile he breathed heavily gaining his composure again. washing his hands and cleaning himself off his stuffed spoiled into his pocket. opening the door he came face to face with you.

his stomach twisted into knots as he stared down at you. your face scrunched and eyes watery like your were on the verge of crying, the braids you originally had in a bun were now down your back, it was your outfit that ticked him off. all these people here and you're walking around in a skimpy bathing suit. he didn't want to be mean or make you cry but it couldn't help himself.

"prancing around like an attention whore. not surprised since it's you."

[kana-daydreams]

𝐦𝐫𝐬. 𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧

summary: a day in which you get mistaken for the general's wife.

𝐏𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Omg!! What a cute couple?!

I’ll tap that.

Is that their kid?

Goals.

Your left eye twitches and your face contorts into an embarrassed scowl as your ears are subjected to listen to the irking, hushed comments of strangers being hurled—left, right and centre— in your direction.

Were those people visually impaired?

Why in the world did they think you and this...this abomination were a coup—

“Ooo, ice cream! Can we, can we?!” A bubbly voice chirps from beside you and you glance down at the young child, a boy no older than seven, whose hands grip both yours and Warumono's in a tight grasp as the three of you amble along a sidewalk, like a cute happy family — a reality very, very far from the truth.

The only reason you were a part of this 'family' was due to the boy. And only the boy. A poor soul you'd happened to chance upon during your usual patrol, cuddled in the arms of the abomination, lost, and refusing to part ways with him. And his stubbornness, in turn, leading you to tag along, concerned about leaving his welfare in the hands of evil.

Your gaze follows the boy's across at the ice cream truck stationed to your right.

“Don’t you think you've had enough sugar for the day, sweetie?” You plaster on a soft smile, referring to all the treats both you and Warumono indulged him in on your way to the police station, as a way to cheer him up for getting separated from his parents.

“Yeah, but I want ice cream." His chubby cheeks puff from a pout.

You give him a look of uncertainty. “I don’t know…we really should be getting you back to your parents. They must be very worried about you.”

The boy looks at you, a sheepish look shadowing his features, before casting a longing look in the direction of the truck and at the faces of other children lighting up in excitement when they each receive an ice cream cone. And his own face takes on a crestfallen look. “I know…”

His disappointed tone and sad pout ache your heart. It reminds you of your Mugi and Sora back at home any time they didn't get their way. Instantly withdrawing your word, helpless against their puppy-dog eyes.

And therefore with your weak resolve against pouting, adorable baby faces, you begin to have second thoughts about your suggestion. But before you can make an offer, another voice annoyingly beats you to it.

“If we get you ice cream, will you quietly let us take you to the police station?”

The boy perks up at Warumono’s question, brown eyes seeming to sparkle in his direction. “Mhm!” And with his newfound glee, the boy tugs both you and Warumono by the hand in the direction of the ice cream truck’s concession.

Momentarily, you find yourself giving a waffle cone that towers three scoops of ice cream tall to the boy. “Be careful, now.” You say as he retrieves the cone from your hands. Advice immediately gone down the drain when the cone miraculously slips from his grasp, after he manages to take a single lick, and plops to the ground.

The boy's face scrunches. His brows pull into a sad frown and his lips quiver before he releases a surge of sobs, snot and tears.

His crying draws the attention of the others around you along with Warumono's, still in line waiting to retrieve his own order. He watches as you crouch down to the boy’s level, wiping a handkerchief at his tears and snotty nose, frantically attempting to calm him down. 

“Poor thing.” Warumono directs his attention at the middle-aged man behind the open window of the ice-cream truck. And watches as he then disappears further into the truck, reappearing after a few minutes with two cones of ice cream similar to the one he'd ordered earlier for the little boy, together with his own.

“Here, take this. On the house.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Of course, son. Y'er a loyal customer." He smiles a toothy smile. "I don’t mind givin’ freebies to ya, and y'er pretty wife and kid you've gotcha over there." 

A beat of quiet settles between Warumono and the older man.

Wife? He arches a brow and spares a glance to his left in your direction.

He wasn't sure how to perceive the man's words. As a compliment or an insult?

Warumono returns his attention to the man, retrieving the ice creams from his hands.

"She's not my—"

"Next!"

Interrupted from clearing up the man's misunderstanding of the relationship between you and him along with the child, Warumono makes his way over to you and the boy you'd escorted over to a nearby bench, still sniffling and hiccuping from his misfortune.

“Here.”

You peer up at the ice creams in his hands and arch a brow in question, considering you didn’t order any.

"It's for you and the kid." Warumono supplies. “The old man gave it to me for free.”

“Really?” You take an ice cream from him, giving it to the child, his crying instantly subsiding, before taking the other for yourself.

“Yeah."

"Wait, did you threaten him?" Your eyes narrow in suspicion.

Warumono looks both unsurprised and unbothered by your bold assumption. 

"No." He wipes away a dot of ice cream on the child's nose who giggles in response. "It's because I've got a pretty wife and kid." 

“Well, that’s nice of him." You smile. "I love free...wait, w-wife?” Heat courses up your neck, and flares on your face when your brain registers his words. “What do you mean wife?!”

© 2024 kana-daydreams

[jhdyuiee]

alibi

★ pairing: childhood friend!haechan x fem!reader

★ tags/warnings: smut!, slight angst, fluff, unprotected sex, nipple/breast play, kissing/making-out, multiple positions (doggy&face-to-face), oral (f receiving), fingering, marking (hickies&biting), pet names (baby) & name calling (good girl), dirty talk, cursing, spanking, squirting, multiple orgasms, rich ceo haechan, haechan was your childhood friend who one day up and disappeared 

★ w.c: 3.7k

★ a.n: hello! as promised here is my story for the week! sorry for the delay, i spent majority of my week finishing up my term paper, but now that, that is over i'm free again!! woohoo, i can finally enjoy my summer ㅠㅠ . anyhow this my first haechan fic, yippie! also thank you all for the massive love and support on wildflower & million dollar baby <3 please stay safe out there during this summer time, i love you berry much, jiji out 🤍

5 years ago.

You're lying… No… This couldn’t be possible… He couldn’t have just disappeared without telling me…

How could he? We were supposed to graduate tomorrow. Go to the same University. We were supposed to be together.

“Why did you leave,” I muttered as tears streamed down my face.

As I headed to school this morning, I stopped by his home like I’ve always done. However I was met with an empty home. Everything cleared, as if no one ever lived there. I thought maybe I’d arrived at the wrong home or I was still dreaming.

So I called Haechan. Once, twice, ten times yet to no avail. He answered none of my calls or messages. I went with the second option, calling my mother. Yet little did I know that, that call would shatter all remaining hope in me.

“You didn’t know? The Lee’s left yesterday. His father was hired in, hmm where was it? Toronto! Toronto, Canada!” my mother said. My eyes widened, hands shaking. Haechan hadn’t informed me of anything.

So he just left. Like that? My legs grew weak, I found myself outside his door; sobbing. Nothing else mattered to me right now, I just wanted Haechan. His bright smile, his sparkling eyes, and warmth. It was like he took my other half, leaving me now half dead.

In all honesty, I loved Haechan. Ever since I learned what love was. Yet, now I never even got the chance to tell him. This would be the end of us. 18 years—since birth—gone.

Present day.

I thought that day 5 years ago would be the end. Me and Haechan would never find our way back to each other, yet why was he standing in front of me now?

“Y/N…” he says, loud enough for me to hear. I snapped out of my trance, remembering I was still on the job.

“R-Right this way sir,” I said, guiding him and the women that held his hand to their table. I set their menus on the table as they got situated. “I’ll be right back to take your orders,” I said, trying to make my exit.

I left without turning back, without glancing back at Haechan. My heart pounded so fast, my body trembling. This couldn’t be… No, he… What was he doing here? Out of every restaurant, why did he have to come to the one I worked at!? Just when I had begun forgetting about him, he reappeared and with a woman by his side no less.

I sighed, trying my best to compose myself. I mean after all he’d be gone once he finished eating and I’d never have to see him again. As I made my way back to their table, the woman he was with smiled so brightly, laughing at whatever Haechan was saying.

“Hello!” I said enthusiastically, putting on a smile. “I’m Y/N and i’ll be your waiter today. Can I get you started on some drinks?” I asked. I felt Haechan’s gaze the whole time I stood there.

“Hello, uhh I’ll get the Strawberry Vodka!” The woman spoke happily. When I finished noting her drink down, I turned to Haechan. Our eyes meeting one another. “And for you sir?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it before opening it up again to speak. “Some water is fine, since I still have to drive us afterwards.” I nodded my head, “Are you guys ready to order or would you like more time?”

“No, no it’s fine we can order now,” he said. And so I took their orders, walking back to the kitchen once I finished. I poured their drinks and walked back over to them. Only this time I didn’t linger there for long. Then after a good while, their food was finally ready. Plates in hand, I walked over to them again, giving them their food. “Anything else that you would need?” I asked. Before Haechan could answer, the women politely dismissed the question.

I continued working, I had no time to just idle around. I served every table I could possibly attend to, until I finally noticed Haechan and the women getting ready to leave. I made my way over there for what I hoped would be the last time. “All ready to go?” I asked.

“Yes, could we get the check?” Haechan asked. “Oh! Yes, here you go,” I said, setting the receipt I pulled from inside my apron's pocket on the table. “Thank you for dining with us!” I gave my last remark, displaying a bright smile. I might’ve been hallucinating but I saw Haechan's lips faintly twitched.

“Thank you!” the woman said, standing up from her seat to grab Haechan’s arm. He happily got up, “Thank you so much for your service, I’ll be sure to tip you generously.” “Oh no, Thank you for being such wonderful customers! Be sure to stop by next time!” I said, only wishing he never sets foot in here again.

He smiles, “Will do,” he says, his words sounding like a promise. Great. I watched as they paid and left. Catching Haechan as he gave me one last look, his eyes filled with longing.

・❥・・❥・・❥・

Finally, my night shift at the restaurant was over! I could finally go home, maybe stop by the convenience store to buy a beer or two. After tonight I could use some alcohol.

I bid my coworkers goodbye, making my way out of the restaurant. “Y/N!” A voice shouted my name. I turned to find the voice. Only now I wished that I simply had just feigned ignorance to the calling.

Haechan stood before me. His body leaned against his vehicle, arms crossed. I stood there, not a single move from me. It was as if time had stopped and we were the only two in this world. He moved first, making his way towards me until we were only an inch apart. His eyes, the same ones that shun so bright, were now eerily emotionless.

My lips quivered, “H… Haechan.” My vision blurred and only then did I realize the waterworks had started. I heard a faint chuckle erupt from him, “Still a crybaby huh?” he asked as the pad of his thumbs wiped my tears away. No, I didn’t want to feel his touch.

I backed away, the two of us just staring at one another. “Wh-Why are you here!” I said, coming out rather loudly. “To get you,” he answered. Confusion overrode my face, “For me?! Haechan, you left me 5 years ago!”

His eyes now saddened; hurt. “I didn’t mean to! I meant to tell you about my father’s job… it’s just-” I interrupted him before he could finish, “So? I had to find out through my mother for christ sake Haechan. Not to mention it was on the day before our graduation!” He sighed, coming closer to me. He cupped my face, “I know, I know I was a jerk but I didn’t tell you because I was going to come back! I was supposed to be back after a couple of months.” Now shock overrode my face. What was he talking about? Come back after a few months?

“Don’t bullshit me,” I spat out. “I’m not!” he slightly raised his voice, causing me to flinch. “Sorry,” he then said, embracing me into a hug. “I really was supposed to come back yet to my surprise when I returned you had already gone,” he whispered into my ear.

His hot breath, his low voice sent an intense shiver throughout my body that I got lost in him. I couldn’t formulate a sentence, a word. I pressed my hands against his chest, trying to push him away but he was too strong. “B-But what about that woman,” I asked.

We locked eyes, a smirk formulated on his face. “She was just some woman my mother set me up with. Why, jealous?” 

I shook my head. Me, jealous?! Please… “No! Why would I!” He shrugged his shoulders, “You tell me.” I gripped his arm, “Wh-What do you mean?”

His expression softened, “You think I wouldn’t know?” I looked at him, confused once more. He chuckled, “That you love me.”

My eyes widened, my mouth fell open. How? How did he…

I detached myself from him, “What… How did you-“ “The way you would always look at me,” he interrupted me. “How would I look at you?” I questioned.

“Like I was your entire world.”

My vision blurred, “How long have you known…” He inched closer, “Since before I even left.” “Bu-But why didn’t you say anything!?” I raised my voice a bit. “Because I knew it wouldn’t work out.”

My cheeks felt wet when he told me that. He inched closer, stopping me from talking. “Before you say anything I just wanted to say that it had nothing to do with you, in fact I loved you too. Heck, I still do. Y/N I love you.”

“But?” I asked, even more tears streaming down my face. He sighed, putting his hands on my face to wipe away the tears. “It was me. I knew I was going to have to leave one day and even if it wasn’t for too long I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t just leave you.”

This man. He sure has a knack for worrying over the simplest things…

“You could’ve still talked to me about it,” I said, embracing him this time. I buried my head into his chest. His hands were holding onto me and stroking my hair. “I know… and for that I’m sorry.” I looked up at him, “You know… It’s okay and you wanna know why?” I asked. “Why,” he replied.

“Because I too still love you. Then and now, Haechan. I have always loved you, no matter how much I tried hating you… I just knew that if you were to ever show up in life again, I would welcome you back. I just can’t seem to live without you.”

He didn’t react. I watched as Haechan stood there, wide eyed like he couldn’t believe what was unfolding. I giggled a bit, finding his reaction amusing. However, now I was the one left wide eyed when he abruptly crashed his lips onto mine.

The kiss was gentle, yet still passionate. I tasted him, finding contentment of how perfectly his lips molded onto mine. He holds my face with both his hands, deepening the kiss. A moan ended up slipping from my throat when his tongue intruded inside my mouth. I wrap my hands around Haechan, enjoying this too much that I didn’t want to let go.

Unfortunately he's the first to pull away, both of us panting. His hands don’t let go from cupping my face as he leans down to my ear. “How about we continue this at my apartment?” he whispers into my ear. And so with a nod of my head, we hurriedly got into his car.

The car ride was silent, but the air felt heavy. Haechan’s hands on your thigh, fondling the flesh. You were sure your panties were soaked by this point. You seriously were growing impatient, you wanted nothing more but to have him within you already.

・❥・・❥・・❥・

Around 10 minutes later you both arrived at his apartment. You both hurriedly take off every article of clothing whilst kissing one another hungrily. You feel as his fingers slip to cup your sex before taking two of his fingers to glide along your pussy lips. The sensation causing you to pull away from the kiss panting and moaning. 

“Feels good Y/N?” Haechan asks as he takes those two fingers to your clit where he begins rubbing it. “Y-Yes!” I say, coming out rather loudly. He smiles before continuing his ministrations on your cunt.

On the other hand, his mouth has found its way on your body. Kissing every part of you from your cheeks, jaw, collarbone, and your breasts. Using his free hand, Haechan fondles one of your breasts while his mouth kisses around your nipple, nipping on the skin which causes you to wince. His eyes look up, “You alright baby?” he asks. Baby, god that has a nice ring to it, don’t it?

“I-I’m fine, just feels so good,” I reply, bringing a hand to his fluffy hair. Taking that as his sign that you were fine he continued. He stuck his tongue out, teasing your bud before bringing your nipple to his mouth. He sucked on it, using his tongue to lick on your bud. Then you watched as Haechan kissed a bridge to your other breast, repeating his actions onto your other breasts.

At this point your brain started becoming foggy, his hands and mouth were god's work. “Fuck,” I moaned. Haechan departs from your breast, ”You gonna cum already?” I nod my head, but then he flips me around. My hands on the door, and when I whipped my head around to look at him, Haechan was already going down. “Spread your legs for me baby,” he says in a sultry voice. I complied, opening myself for him.

I felt as he slapped me on my ass, “Good girl” he muttered as he takes in the wet mess behind me. Gripping onto my thighs he begins to lick up all my juices, letting out a satisfied groan when he finally tastes me. “Taste so good, baby. Can’t believe you’re this wet already,” he says as he kisses the sensitive skin around my cunt.

“Please.. M-More,” I moaned. I couldn’t handle his teasing anymore, I wanted him to make me cum already– to make a mess of me. “My pleasure Y/N,” Haechan says before licking up my cunt in slow strokes. Then bringing his tongue to my clit to give it some licks before using his mouth to suction on it. The sensation leaving me drooling, chanting his name repeatedly like some prayer.

When he finally lets go of my clit, his mouth departs from my cunt. I was left confused for a second before I felt his thumbs spread my lips apart. A second later his tongue intrudes inside me so deep it had me pressing my cheek against the door. The pleasure had me crying out, “S-So good!”

His tongue pushes itself further inside my gummy walls, while one of his hands smacks down on one of my ass cheeks. The smack eliciting more pleasurable moans from me. I felt myself growing close to cumming all over his face, just a little more…

Haechan must’ve sensed it too by the way I began tightening around his tongue as he brought his thumb to my clit. Once more he rubs on the sensitive bud, then pinching it with the help of his index finger.

So close… So close, but then he takes out his tongue. However I didn't get to whine at the loss of sensation because he quickly brought two fingers from his unoccupied hand inside my hole. His fingers stretched me out wonderfully, reaching me deep inside, and the pace kept above 100.

And with one final pinch on my clit, I gushed all over. Taking his fingers out quickly to capture all my juices as they leaked. He drank me up, from my cunt to my thighs. Like a starved man he managed to clean me all up.

Finally getting up, Haechan reaches me. He stares for a while, taking in my fucked out state. “You did so good,” he mutters, pecking my temple. “However, we’re not done yet so don’t fall asleep on me just yet.” As he said that he presses his hard cock in between my ass and rubbing it against my fucked out cunt. I swear I almost went crazy from the way his tip rubbed against my clit. I press myself against him more, wiggling my ass for him. I hear as he lets out a low chuckle before grabbing the sides of my ass and shoving himself in me with one swift move.

I yelp forward against the door, my first clenching. His hands gripping onto my waist, his finger tips sure to leave little crescent moons when all this is done. He pounded into me like a madman, rough and merciless. I was too engulfed in the pleasurable feeling of his tip reaching my womb that I didn’t mind his thrusting. He didn’t falter even after a while, grunting whenever he felt me clench around his cock.

The sounds of skin slapping and the squelching wetness were all you could hear throughout his apartment. You’d secretly hoped his room was soundproof because the obscene noises you two were making were sure to bring the neighbors complaining. However in Haechan’s mind he didn’t care one bit. Your noises were just too beautiful, becoming his new favorite song he wished to listen to on replay every single second of his days. Haechan glances down to where you both were connected, noting the white ring formed around his cock. Weirdly, but not weirdly turning him on all the more. You didn’t know if it was possible, but he picked up his pace.

Both of you growing close to your releases. Guiding one of his hands off your hips and to your swollen clit he works you closer to your second orgasm. All the more kissing his way up to your neck when he nibbles on the exposed skin when you tilt your head to the side. A thrust or two later, rolling your eyes back and fingertips piercing into your palms you have the most euphoric orgasm of the night– no of your life.

Taking his lips off you, he glances down to your gushing hole. Your orgasm coating all over his dick and pussy clenching around him, he twitches inside you before releasing. His cum coating your walls, stuffing you.

Taking his cock out, still half hard, he glances down at you as you collapse onto the floor. Your legs giving in, leaving you weak. He couldn’t stop thinking of how beautiful you look, and all like this because of him. Just those thoughts alone were enough to get him hard again. Haechan decides he hasn’t had enough yet and picks you up.

Hazily, you watch him carry you into his bedroom. He places you down first before sitting on the edge of the bed. He turns around to meet your eyes. “Come here,” he said, signaling you to come sit on his lap. Once again obliging, sitting on his lap. His hard cock resting in between your bodies, you bite on your bottom lip when you feel his tip rub against your stomach.

“Sit on it baby,” he whispers into your ear. Your eyes go wide for a moment before taking his cock in your hand, lifting yourself up so you slide it inside you again. In this position his cock reaches you deeply, fitting snug into you. “All that fucking with my fingers, mouth, and cock but you’re still so tight,” he whispers into your ear. His hot breath turning you on. He kisses his way to your neck, marking you even more. You were his after all.

“Come on baby, don’t be shy,” Haechan urges me. So placing my hands on his shoulders and lifting myself up, I slam down back onto him. My eyes widened at the way he reached me again, his cock feeling as though it was made specially for me.

I continued working my way on his cock, going at my own pace. Although to this Haechan felt as though he was being tortured. He felt as though you were teasing him; the way your face would scrunch up in pleasure, your low moans, your tits bouncing– all of it was torture to him. Having had enough, he brings his hands to your hips again.

He helps you bounce on his cock, faster and faster. The deep penetration, caused you to clench around him once more, squeezing him for all he’s worth. He groans, bringing his hand to your tit, squeezing it and using his fingers to pinch on your bud.

Letting go of his shoulders you bring your arms behind you, resting your hands on his knees. Thrusting into him this way on your own, he lets go of your hips now playing with your tits with both his hands. Later bringing his mouth into the mix as he licks on your nipples again, occasionally biting on your buds.

Your pace begins to falter, growing closer to your release again. Feeling too as Haechan’s cock twitches inside you, you bring one of your hands to your clit where you begin to play with it. His eyes begin watching you, enjoying the view in front of him. He hopes to engrave this memory into his brain forever.

“Le-Let’s cum together,” I moaned. “Mmm, cum on my cock for me again baby,” Haechan says. Your pussy obeying him, cumming on his cock for a third time tonight as his hot white seeds fill inside you again. Overwhelmed and exhausted from the pleasure, you both collapse on the bed, Haechan’s cock still inside you. He didn’t wanna slip out just yet.

・❥・・❥・・❥・

Eyes fluttering open, the morning sun peeking in through the curtains. You’ve finally awakened from your slumber, turning to your side but are met with nothing. The memories of last night's activities flood into your brain. You feel your face heat up. Oh god, I thought. Glancing down, I noticed I was now dressed in an over-sized shirt. It’s probably- “Sleep well,” he says, walking into the room. Well, well speak of the devil.

I tuck my hair behind my ear, smiling at him. “Mmm, best I’ve ever slept!” I say cheerfully. He smiles– that smile I knew from all those years ago. Walking over to me, he cups my face. “I love you.” I swear my smile reaches my eyes at his words, “I love you too, always have and always will.”

“You’ll be the death of me,” he mutters before bringing his lips onto mine. Kissing delicately and with so much love.

When he parted, he asked me something– “Will you be my girlfriend?” I didn’t hesitate as I jumped into his arms, “Yes!” I repeated.

Sharing another kiss, we spent the rest of the morning and day with one another. Enjoying one another like a couple of teenagers in love, making up for lost time.

© jhdyuiee

2024.07.21

final a.n: as promised, the fic of the week! i’m truly sorry it took longer than anticipated, i was working on my final the whoke week ㅠㅠ but now i should be free for the rest of the summer!!! anyhow im rlly excited for next week, kcon && seeing 127, practically sobbing ahhh! anyhow i hope to be back soon with doyoung’s story next, stay tuned! please continue supporting “WALK” !!! 🤍

[lostberet]

⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡ SORRY, BABY

₊˚ ┊You just know what your boyfriend loves, especially after a rough day.

₊˚ ┊↪ featuring. JungKook, TaeHyung, NamJoon

₊˚ tags. female reader, fingering, pussy eating, pussy slappin? unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it) pleasure!dom, dirt talk, breeding kink, creampie, kisses PURR, MDNI

|| masterlist || entry ||

"A sorry won't make it up, baby, I told you already."

He coos in your ear making you let out a whine. One of your legs over his shoulder as he thrusts his fingers into your needy cunt, letting out wet sounds from your arousal. Your left hand holding onto his arm and your right covering your mouth.

He had come back from work a little tensed up, wanting to cheer your boyfriend up, you decided to do one of his many favorite activities. Massages. He loved having your hands on his body, in a tender and soft way. He had laid down on the bed, back facing you by your demand. He had taken his shirt off, exposing his beautiful muscled back to you. Nothing you haven't seen before.

You dimmed the bedroom lights and played some chill music on the TV. You always loved going the extra mile to make your boyfriend relax. He always found it a bit corny, but if it meant getting your hands on him, he didn't mind one bit.

You crawled onto the bed, sitting on his lower back while you applied lotion on your hands, rubbing it before pressing your hands onto his back. He let out a deep groan at the pressure. Burying his head onto the pillows he let his body relax. It made you giggle a bit, but you didn't stop. Your hands moved to his shoulders, pressing and caressing the area softy. His body would twitch and he would let out a breath.

It made your tummy flip each time he groaned or his breathing got heavy. It was hard to focus when you had him just under you. Your hands traveled down his lower back just under you before you pressed your thumbs down his spine line and massaged upwards to his neck. That's where his back arched a bit, letting the prettiest grunt.

"I'm sorry, baby, was that too much?" You asked, a small smirk on your lips as your hands rested on his shoulders. He didn't even bother glancing up or turning his head towards you, he only shook his head from under the pillows, his hair already messy.

"Okay, good." You confirmed before going back to your massage. That's when your nails accidentally scratched his waist, causing him to let out a hiss as he bled a bit.

"Oh fuck-" you pressed your hand on the small scratch, "Baby, I'm sorry.."

He only let out a grunt before he lifted his head, muttering to himself. Frowning your brows in confusion, you voiced out your concern, "What was that, baby?"

And before you knew it, he was on top of you, wrist pinned on top of your head and both your legs in between his, his lips pressing roughly against yours in a deep kiss. Your heart beat hard against your chest at the sudden force causing you to close your eyes shut as your boyfriend attacked your lips.

"I said; it's my turn."

That's how you found yourself on your third orgasm, all caused by his slim fingers abusing your hole.

"Sh-.. fuck, I'm sorry—" you sobbed as you were robbed from your orgasm, your boyfriend letting out a grunt with a smirk as he pulled his fingers out your cunt, slapping your clit and earning a yelp from you.

"That won't work on me, y/n." He muttered as he sucked his fingers clean, his hand that had slapped your clit resting on your lower stomach, his thumb rubbing your wet folds, "Can we not?.. please?" You begged, looking up at your lover with a small pout.

"Hmm.." he hummed, bringing your hips closer to his. You felt his clothed boner rubbing against your wet pussy lips causing your lips to pout, "Sorry, baby."

Is all he uttered out, pulling his hardened dick out from his sweats. He reached his hand over to you, "Spit." He ordered, catching your breath you did as told. He brought his hand down to his dick, using your spit as lube, "Tap me when it gets too much."

You only winced out, knowing there was no turning back now. Your boyfriend pulled your legs onto your chest, your ankles resting on his shoulders. He rubbed his throbbing head against your wet folds, earning a small sigh of pleasure from you.

"You like that, huh, princess?" He hummed, leaning in and catching your lips in a soft kiss. He took the distraction and pushed his cock into you, causing you to moan into the kiss.

"That's it, princess, taking it so good for me." He whispered, looking down at where both your sexes connected. Although not fully inside you, he pulled himself out, leaving the head of his cock still buried inside your cunt, "You wanna get fucked, right, baby?"

He chuckled, pressing his forehead against yours as he pushed himself back into you. You bit your lip, tilting your head to the side at the stretch, "oh fuck.."

"You're so fucking greedy, taking in my cock so nicely." Your lover moaned as he thrust the rest of him inside you, earning a small yelp. He trapped you in a missionary position, his arms resting on both sides of your head, "Look at me while I fuck you, baby.."

You let out a broken whine, feeling your face and ears heat up. You liked the dirty talk, yet it always made you feel so submissive, so submissive, it was embarrassing. You looked up at him, both your eyes locking. He let out a small smile, one full of pure love. However, his movements said the contrary.

He would snap his hips against yours in a rough manner, causing your mouth to open wide and close your eyes tightly at the feeling. Your partner would let out a grunt as he felt you tighten around his cock, letting out a chuckle, "just like that.."

His grunts and your moans mixed together, echoing alongside the sound of skin slapping against each other. You would feel him reach deeper into you as he pressed his hips onto you, it didn't help with the position he had you in, balls slapping against your ass. You held onto his arms, your nails digging into his skin as he increased his thrusting.

His hand traveled to your neck, squeezing it softly earning a broken moan from you before tickling his fingers down to your clit. Thumb abusing your sensitive nerve as you let out a hiss, toes curling at the stimulation.

His eyes focused on your pussy taking in his cock just like many times before, however, this time it made him specifically hard. Your folds would spread the moment his dick would part from your cut, before slamming back into you. It turned him on so much how well you took him in.

"Such a pretty cunt," he started, letting out a dry laugh before he licked his lips, glancing over at your already fucked out self, "you want my cum inside you, princess?"

He cooed, rubbing your clit a few times before reaching over to grab your chin, making you look at him. You had tears built up on the corner of your eyes, your cheeks were flustered and lips red and swollen, "You want me to fuck my cum into you, right, baby girl?"

He rolled his hips slowly into you his free hand reaching over and circling your nerve, "Use your words, princess."

You let out a sob as you nodded your head, "yes please.." you drooled making him grin. He grabbed your legs, throwing one of them over his shoulder before he pressed his body against yours. His chest on yours. His hand on your chin moved to hold your jaw, locking your face in a singular position as he kissed you, his hips thrusting back into you in speed.

You moaned and whined into the kiss, your lover biting and sucking on your lip as your tightened around his cock, "Go ahead, baby girl, show me how good, I'm making you feel.."

His thrusts became sloppy and uneven, wanting to get deeper into your cunt, "gonna fuck my babies into you.." he muttered onto your lips, moving to kiss your jaw. You untangled your arms from his trap before swinging your arms to wrap around his neck, you pulled him into a deeper kiss, sinking your moans. The heat of the kiss brining you both to reach that sweet release, your cunt sucking in all of his warm semen.

Once he had calmed down, he pulled his soften dick out of you watching the cum leak. He brushed his finger, picking it back up into you. Your boyfriend giggled before leaning in and kissing your nose, "Thank you, baby," he kissed your cheek and then your lips, "thank you for always taking good care of me."

a/n. you cannot tell me these mfs don't have a breeding kink, BECAUSE I KNOW DAMN WELL THEY DO-

[rainforest-daisies]

Day 13|Car sex

Character: Billy Hargrove x afab!reader

Tags: car sex, kinda exhibitionism, fingering, PIV, reader wearing a skirt.

A/n: kinktober is so stressful what..

kinktober masterlist

“C’mon baby, get on top of me.” his finger tips traced shapes on your thigh, feeling conscious of every move he made, closely watching through the windows, making sure it was truly an empty parking lot like he had promised. your eyes glazed over your panties discarded on the dashboard, sucking in a breath when his hand lifted from your thigh. “I don't know what to do.”

“It's okay, I'll show you. You trust me, don’t you?” Your head quickly nodded, goosebumps forming on your skin as his fingers lifted your skirt and his cold rings met your bare hip, pulling your body over the console, and pressing your thighs to straddle his spread legs.

Your back reclined against the steering wheel as his finger nudged at your slit, causing the car to honk, making you jump. Billy's tongue pressed against his cheek, chuckling against your neck, “Gotta be quiet, right hun? Don't wanna get caught today.” he softly bit the flesh of your neck, quick to soothe the pain with a kiss. ”unzip my pants for me.” your palm met his crotch feeling the hardness through his dark denim jeans. you did as he asked, unzipping and unbuttoning them, “Why don't you pull my cock out, hm?” again, you obeyed his orders, playing with the waistband of his boxers before pulling him out. his fingers pressed into your cunt, wetness sucking him in with ease, guiding your hand to stroke him.

“You ready, baby? You ready for me?” your head quickly nodded, whimpering when his fingers left your cunt, but pleasure filled your body as his wet fingers rubbed against your clit, pushing his dick into your cunt, groaning at the feeling of you clenched around him. The constant stimulation of your clit was catching up to you, chest heaving with every circle he rubbed, “I'm getting really, really close. Don't stop, please.”

“That's a good girl. get real close for me.” your hips hesitated their moves, but Billy quickly put a stop to it. “I'm not afraid of a mess, baby. cum on my dick.” your cunt clenched around his cock, holding the back of his neck as his fore and middle fingers rubbed your clit. your orgasm was white-hot-pleasure, praising the fact that the windows were somewhat fogged up as his fingers trailed up your navel, making their way to your lips, as he shoved them into your mouth.

His other hand wiped a single tear that left your eye, overstimulation making a sob leave your lips as you gagged around his digits. “shhh. yeah, ride that cock.” his hands ground your hips against his, whispering so you could just barely hear him, as if you were even listening.

His body began growing impatient, thrusting himself into you, making whimpers fall from your mouth. with a loud, bellowing groan, his seed spilled into your wet pussy, gasping against your shoulder when your body kept bouncing after his body relaxed.

“Woah, woah, calm down, hun.” his hands grabbed your hips again, holding your body flesh against his pelvis.

“You keep moving like that, you're gonna get me hard again.”

[consultingskeletondetective]

Potent

You’re the psychiatrist tasked to diagnose Michael Myers after his latest killing spree. He doesn’t appreciate your line of questioning. Michael Myers!Female Reader.

masterlist 🩷 ao3

tags: non con, rough sex, hair pulling, stalking, slasher, knife, injury, overstimulation, unprotected sex, squirting, humiliation, pwp

The room wasn’t pitch black but it was dark, dark enough that Michael appeared as a silhouette to you. He had chains around his arms, and his ankles, fixing him to the wall behind him, his head hanging low, so you could only see the mess of dark curls on his head. You knew he was young, but seeing it in the flesh somehow made him even more menacing.

“Is that legal?” You asked, nodding to the chains.

“It’s the only way to keep him down, ma’am.” The guard grunted at you and you sighed, taking a seat in the only chair in the small room. From this angle, Michael’s tall and muscular form was even more intimidating. They didn’t have prison jumpsuits in his size, apparently, as the fabric threatened to tear around his biceps and his thighs. He wasn’t even flexing.

“Hello, Michael.” You said solemnly. “I’m your state ordered psychiatrist.” He didn’t respond, he didn’t lift his head. You hadn’t expected anything else. You’d read Doctor Loomis’ notes. Michael was selectively mute, and he had been since he was six years old. You didn’t expect one session with you would do anything to change that. Still, you were paid to do a job, so you were prepared to go through the motions.

“I’m here to try and determine why you would commit another murder fifteen years after your first episode.” Nothing. “What made you do it, Michael? Were you jealous? Those young teenagers out living their lives while you’re in confinement?” No response. “It must be hard to socialise in the hospital, there can’t be anyone there your age, certainly no girls.” More silence. “It must be hard to meet girls, right, Michael?” The chains didn’t even rattle. “You killed a lot of girls tonight, Michael. Young, pretty girls. But you didn’t rape any of them. Perhaps it’s your impotence that made you kill them, are you jealous of that?” Michael didn’t say a word, the only thing you could hear was his breathing, even that sounded calm.

You probed him with a few more unanswered questions for the better part of an hour before you finally left, with only a few meagre notes but nothing else.

Your phone vibrated on your drive back but you ignored it until you were opening the door to your office. It was a missed call from the prison and a voicemail. You dumped your bag and Michael’s file on your desk and pressed a button on your phone to listen to it but before you could, your office door banged loudly.

You span around, completely unprepared to see Michael Myers standing in the gaping hole where your door used to be. The prison jumpsuit was gone, and replaced with the dark blue of a mechanic’s boilersuit, undoubtedly that used to belong to a poor, dead mechanic lying between the prison and here. His mask sat menacingly over his curls, giving you that eerie blank gaze as he walked into your office, raising his knife in his right hand.

“M-Michael!” You stuttered, scurrying back and hitting your desk. “What are you doing here? What-” He didn’t stop until he was in front of you, only a few inches of air separating your two bodies. You clutched the edge of your desk as you looked up at him, he was at least two feet taller than you, his mask glanced down and watching you, his chest rising and falling with that calm, calm breath.

“Please don’t do this.” You begged uselessly, paralysed with fear. He raised the knife and you sobbed and closed your eyes. The crack of wood jolted your eyes open. Michael’s blade was embedded in your desk, spearing through his file. The tip penetrating one hastily scribbled word. Impotent.

“What-” You tried, your brain a scrambled mess. Michael, apparently furious by your accusation, gripped you by the elbow and threw you down onto the couch. It was black leather and it hurt when you collided with it. You screamed as Michael fisted your hair and suddenly you were tasting leather, face down on the cushion and ass in the air.

Michael hiked your skirt up over your hips and ripped through your tights and panties with one swift movement. Your heart thudded in your chest. You tried to plead but his cock was already in you, splitting your unprepared cunt open on what you could only imagine was a fucking massive cock. He held you down immobile as he slammed into you. It was a brutal, fast fuck, carving open your insides like a pumpkin, lasting only a minute before he was stilling and cumming up your cunt. You gasped in pain and surprise and then he pulled out, the thick pressure suddenly gone from you, only a gaping hole with Michael’s spunk dripping out remained.

You breathed heavily against the leather. Your cunt felt like it was on fire. Shame and pain washed over you. The hand in your hair was still holding strong but honestly, you were too fucking scared to move. Michael had just raped you, cum inside you. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

You sobbed into the couch before you felt Michael’s fingers digging into your sore, empty cunt. They were nearly as big as his cock and you wailed. “Fuck, no, Michael, not again, please!”

He doesn’t listen, fingering you brutally, twisting the thick digits in your cunt and against your sweet spot until you were squirting all over his hand with a cry.

He pulled out suddenly, surprised by the reaction, and all you could do was whimper as he landed a sharp spank on your cunt, your clit, catching all of you in his large hand. The force of it sent tremors through your whole body and you screamed. He did it again, and again, and again, landing firm, sharp spanks over your sensitive slit, your clit trembling desperately against him. You sobbed in pain, begging him to stop, until finally he did, flipping you over on the couch until you were facing him.

You could see your cunt like this, how bright red and swollen it was, you could also see Michael towering over you. His cock was as big as it felt, curved and veined and wet with you, his fingers were too - all four of them - and he curled his hand around your hip to yank you down the couch and sink his cock right back inside you.

You gurgled. Your cunt was so spent and sore and sensitive but you couldn’t even protest as Michael clamped his huge hand around your neck and held you still, pounding you and forcing you to watch it happen. His cock going in and out, in and out, coming out wetter each time, and everytime he filled you, your eyes rolled into the back of your head and your toes curled in the small of his back. It felt incredible, and you couldn’t stop yourself cumming and squirting all over both of you.

Michael slowed his thrusts a little when you did, dragging his hand through your folds and gathering the wetness there. You whined when he threw it in your face, breaking down into fresh sobs at the humiliating act.

His cock sped back up again and you were delirious with it, clenching down on him. It felt like he was in your fucking guts but you didn’t want him anywhere else. Your hand migrated down without realising, rubbing your desperate little clit until you came again with a moan.

Michael pulled out of you with enough force to make your head spin, and when you managed to glance down, you saw his cock bobbing wetly at your hole, trying desperately to find your wet opening again, but his hands were on your cunt, pulling your lips apart and inspecting the little nub still trembling from the aftershocks of orgasm.

He took your clit in his fingers and twisted cruelly, forcing your back to arch and a gurgled scream to make its way out of your throat. You were so sensitive and not meant to bend that way but he didn’t care, doing it again and making you screech like a banshee. He shoved back inside you at the same time, fucking you harder and stronger than before as he twisted and rubbed your clit with cruel fingers until it was raw and you were clenching and crying and cumming with a painful intensity you’d never felt before.

“Fuck, Michael, fuck, stop!”

He fucked you with long, brutal strokes for the longest few minutes of your life before he finally stilled, filling up your aching cunt with the second load of the night. It didn’t even drip back out of you with how deep he was. You imagined the white seed was splashing your cervix.

You were shivering in oversensitivity, your entire body a wreck as Michael finally pulled his softening cock out of your wrecked hole and slapped it against your puffy slit a few times, making you jolt.

He zipped up and went back to your desk, retrieving his knife from the cracked wood. His file fluttered to the ground. You expected him to kill you, but he didn’t, he just went back to the ruined door and left. You were sure you imagined him tucking your ripped panties into his pocket on the way out.

[scummy-writes]

Normalcy Bias

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Gilbert/Reader, Roderic/Reader

Words: 1383

Tags: Gilbert Route Spoilers, she/her refered to reader, angst, major character death, grieving, grieving sex, this is not dubcon.

Summary: It's an outcome that the four of you knew was possible, but only Gilbert had made the preperations in advance. Now, you're left struggling facing the inevitible.

It’s a desperate seeking of relief- one that seems to surprise you as much as Roderic.

The door closes shut behind the two of you, a faint click dissolving into the silence of the room, melding with the ringing echoing in your ears. Composing yourself seems impossible, you’ve been outwardly sobbing for hours, to the point of Roderic having to carefully remove you from the room before you cemented yourself to the spot, refusing to let your eyes stray from your lover for the last time.

Gilbert’s body would see no casket. There wouldn’t be an elaborate display fitting for his royal blood, nor a chance for you to say a final goodbye. His cremation would be swift, handled by Walter. His final order was in paper written long before you, a blatant refusal to let you take part any further from there. You knew there were a multitude of reasons for this, yet you still bit your lip near to the point of blood, trying not to seethe at your lover’s last wishes.

Irrationale blazed through you, difficult to keep in check as the thoughts raced. Walter would be the only one to have a proper farewell, to have the respite of an eulogy, the calm in having a say in his final words. To be at peace as he watched Gilbert’s body burn to ash, his remains left only to Walter’s knowledge.

Whereas you, the queen of Obsidian, would not even be privy to where your lover’s soul may rest.

A breath stuck in your lungs, clawing at your throat the more the visuals plagued your mind.

Those moments, where you clung helplessly to his corpse, biting through curses and tears until forced away against your will-  that was it. Your final exchange with the one so near to you was a storm of emotions you swore to never show to him, and yet that’s what you left his body with. A bitter memory, words of malice towards fate thrown his way, everything aside from the words of love you wished you could leave now.

Heard through your ruminations, there’s a quiet shuffling behind you, cloth pooling onto the floor. You don’t want to glance back, you don’t want to accept what will happen next, but with your eyes downcast you can see Roderic’s robe forgone, familiar boots in your vision.

An intake of breath is what causes your voice to slip out, a feeble but determined don’t. It’s hoarse, pleading, but Roderic wasn’t to listen to you. He remained loyal, even with death between him and his lord.

His fingers find your chin, your jaws clenched tight as he gently tipped you up to face him. To see a shadow of Gilbert, a perverse gift left behind for you. 

For the second time this day, you act out in ways you never wanted. It’s faster than your thoughts, yet Roderic’s cheek is twinged red all the same, his eyes wide for just a moment. In that crack, the first feel of violence held in your palm, you recognize all too much at once. How easy it was in your fury to strike another, how much of an illusion the man in front of you is.

Instead of rightful anger, instead of a dangerous glint in his eye, the grip on your wrist is with a tenderness you don’t deserve.

“It’s just a bad dream, little rabbit.”

“Don’t.”

“That’s all it is. And what do we do with bad dreams?”

It’s too much to look at him, to hear his voice come from those lips. Your gaze stubbornly looks aside, even as he pulls you closer to mutter in your ear. 

“We do our best to forget.”

.

It’s wrong. Your skin crawls between the waves of heat running over your body, the claw of your grip a mixture of disgust and longing. Despite that, your heart sings, falling for the delusion currently massaging your inner thighs, spreading your legs apart to slot himself between.

How much could you be blamed for allowing it? For giving in through the tears, desperate for something more pleasant to be left in your lover’s wake? To look past the brief moments of hesitation, the uncharacteristic gasps and unsure touches.

But no matter how much you pleaded with your mind, none of it was the same. Just a pale shell of what used to be. His fingers were like a ghost upon your skin, mimicking familiar situations but askew from your memories just enough to send foreign shivers through you. Each drag of his cock along your inner walls, each kiss given to your lips and neck, so close to being him. But so far removed in reality. 

Was this a sin? Was allowing your lover’s replacement to gaze upon your skin like he had - to etch his seed into your walls, to carve out a place of his own within you - a disservice to what you had called loyalty to your love?

The questions burned inside of you, while the twisting flurry of lust deep inside you burned just as bright. The emotions of shame and despair melded within your neediness, the imitation within your grasp eating away at your clarity.

It was wrong. You knew it to be so. But his skin still flushed with lust, eyes clouded over with the same neediness that screamed inside of you. Despite it all, how you wished to push him away and mourn differently, your warmth still clamped down on him all the same.

.

Sleep felt pointless. So out of reach and impossible to fathom, not while you stared up at the ceiling, the room draped in night. The moonlight barely gave the area a passing glance, yet instead of the childish fear that used to overtake you when he was still around, you felt nothing in your heart.

All that remained was apathy. The ache of your muscles, the nails you dug into your skin. A critical acceptance for the sins you committed tonight. An acceptance that, at the end of it all, Gilbert had known you far more than you knew yourself, knowing that you would fall so quickly.

A solemn prediction, that no matter the love and cherished memories you shared, you would still find comfort in his replacement in the end. That for all that was fought for, it was still never written for Gilbert to survive as long as he had. For Gilbert to be the last one fully encompassed in your love.

You don’t want to look at the man beside you, even as the sheets shuffle. 

The apathy within you wells up into disgust at your desperate, primal urges, and Roderic is the outlet you crave to pour it into, repeatedly. An unfathomable rage, a grief so deep you wanted it to be etched onto another- to try and have a shred of equality in your sorrows.

Unreasonable, selfish thoughts- wanting to carve your frustrations out upon his skin, again and again, until the one mimicking your lover refused to look at you once more.

But for you, that too was never written.

Despite how you seethe, how you bite against his calm words and touches, there’s still a gentle caress to your cheek. So unlike the man you love(d). It’s shy, skittish even, and it takes you a moment to understand it’s partly due to the tears trailing your skin.

A wounded animal, that’s all you had been twisted into, regardless of the boiling under your skin.

You hate that he acknowledges that.

He notices the way you flinch away from him, the heat between you dissipated enough for false emotions to fade away, and the touch against your skin falters. Yet, persists in other ways. Through the trailing of the curve of your cheek, through your hair, until it lays at his side again.

The silence stifles you, makes your throat burn the more you’re forced to register your surroundings, the lingering scent of him still in abundance. The implications of that make your hands clench, digging nails into skin yet again to abide the pain.

Roderic’s voice is low, a whisper against the thunderous anger welling up once more inside of you, but the moment he speaks, ice cascades over your skin.

“I lost him too.”

[folds hands] well. well.

I was watching hannibal, and as spoiler-free as I can manage, the topic of funeral sex came up. They discussed, loosely, how after funerals or heavy losses, whether through death or another form of it, people will have sex as a way to handle the grief. Not all of the time, but sometimes the emotions would get overwhelming.

And I had to pause the episode midway through and I immediately slapped down like 300 words to this.

It's not perfect, but I wanted to explore the idea of what could happen when Gilbert dies, especially if it's pretty early on in their relationship. It made me realize how much lack of closure anyone in the situation would get. I have her irrationally angry at Walter, but in truth he'd likely have to hurry and dispose of Gilbert's body before anyone else saw it, and so he'd have a short amount of time for goodbyes as well.

I also wanted to put forth the consideration towards how Roderic may feel in all of this. I hope it's pretty clear that this was not dubcon or noncon, but just an abundance of overwhelming emotions getting to both of them. That their grief drove them to impulses.

coughs. anyway. I listened to the album 'hospice' three times while writing this and wanted to shrivel away. Thank u claudia, dice, mimi, and aqua for watchin me stream this wip and hear me ramble about it.

Ikepri Masterlist || Ikevamp Masterlist || Ikepri/Vamp Server

Taglist (Sign-up form here!): @m-mmiy @xbalayage @bubblexly @keithsandwich @nightghoul381 

@katriniac @namine-somebodies-nobody @redsky-morning @rjthirsty @pawnkyyy

divider credit @/saradika

[kykyonthemoon]

The spaces between my fingers are right where yours fit perfectly

When comparing hands, you realize how tiny you are to him.

ಇ. Character x Female Reader/MC

(Included parts in order: Caleb, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne)

ಇ. Tags: fluff, domestic fluff, established relationship, comforting and healing, size gap, long-distance relationship (for Caleb's part)

ಇ. Word count: 3k2

ಇ. Requested anonymously

ಇ. The title of this fic is a lyric from Owl City's song - Vanilla Twilight.

ಇ. Masterlist

ಇ. Request

𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒃

Since childhood, you had always loved holding Caleb's hand.

You adored putting your small hand in his palm. To feel such warmth. His hands were usually larger than yours. At first, there was not much difference between the hands of two children. But as you got older, the gap widened. You began to notice this and frequently inclined him to compare hands.

“Hey Caleb, give me your hand.”

"What for?"

“Just do what I said, and give me your hand.”

Caleb was thrilled, waiting for you to place a piece of candy or anything intriguing in his hand, which had just expanded to its full size. Then he got upset when he felt the touch of your hand instead.

"What are you doing?"

"Hmmph." You pouted. "Still not as big."

You put your hand on Caleb's, measuring front, back, left and right. He eventually lost patience and said:

“Why are you measuring my hand?”

“Because I want my hands to be as big as yours. Only with such big hands can you hold so many gifts and pies from Grandma..."

Your face was extremely serious as you spoke, but it made Caleb roll around in the grass, laughing until his stomach hurt.

“Why are you laughing at me?!” You felt a little offended. You struck Caleb hard on the arm. It was painful.

"Ouch!" He yelled, then got up to face you. His hair still had grass in it. "Listen up, pipsqueak. Your hand will never be bigger than mine."

"Why?"

“Because I will always be taller than you, bigger than you. I must be taller to protect you and Grandma! My hands must be bigger to always hold yours!”

Having said that, Caleb curled his fingers around your palm. You grinned naively, believing that such large hands were ideal for doing all of the chores or lifting heavy objects for you.

One time, while learning to cook with Grandma, Caleb burned his hand. He tolerated pain very well and did not whine. On the contrary, it was you who frantically ran to find ointment to apply to him. You were crying:

“Caleb, you have to be careful! You have to take care of these hands... If something happens to them, who will do the housework for me?..."

Caleb laughed. He used his other hand to pat your head. “What are you worried about, pipsqueak? I will always protect you. Who did I start learning how to cook for?"

You sobbed. Honestly, you felt so terrible every time Caleb got hurt.

Time seemed to fly by. You both were growing up. The space between the two hands also extended. At one point, suddenly, just comparing hands with him turned your cheeks red.

But these days, you did not get to do that often anymore. Caleb went to the academy so far away, and then his long missions left him with few opportunities to visit home. In his free time, you could only chat with him online. You really missed the feeling of his large hands shielding yours. You said:

“Caleb. Give me your hand.”

On the laptop screen, he burst out laughing. “What now? Even though I'm so far away, you still want to measure my hand?"

“Just do what I said.”

Caleb shook his head in defeat. He brought his hand close to the camera and spread out five slim fingers. His hands were thin and smooth, but after being accepted into the academy, you could feel the roughness or new calluses there. You smiled, raised your hand to the screen and pressed it against his.

“Looking from this angle, my hand is bigger than yours!”

“Wow, pipsqueak has grown bigger and stronger than me!”

Oh, how much you missed him! You were about to burst into tears and tell him to come home to you right that moment. It had been a long time since his last return. You longed to hold his hand.

But you wouldn't make Caleb worry if he had to embark on a mission away from home. You tried to show him your brightest smile. And you whispered:

“Yeah. You've always taken care of me since I was little. Now it's my turn to be stronger to take care of you."

Caleb knew you so well, because you were always the thing in the palm of his hand he cherished most in the world. He was silent for a long moment, then gently said:

“Pipsqueak, don't be sad. I'll come home to you next weekend, okay? Make sure you eat plenty. If I return home and notice that your hands have thinned even just a little bit, I will be very displeased!"

𝑿𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒓

The first time you met him, he left an impression on you with his large and steady hand.

You found Xavier on a mission. Since he did not move, you came closer and gently shook him. Then his large hand gripped your wrist securely. You were astonished by the sudden vigor with which you were seized. To be honest, you were afraid at the moment.

The second time you met him, his big hand protected you once more and took you out of danger. That hand placed around your waist, not squeezing hard to the point you became uneasy, but it was a gentle touch, as if he was frightened you might vanish if he held you too closely. Perhaps from that moment on, you felt the warmth and safety of being in his arms. And all your walls eventually collapsed, embracing the way he entwined his soul with your own.

Then you became used to holding his hand as you walked together. When you had to maneuver through a congested area, he would gently squeeze your fingers, as if to remind you to pay more attention to him. And as you two went along a quiet street or sat on the subway with his head resting on your shoulder, he tenderly rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb. A gentle gesture, just enough to let everyone know that this girl was his.

His knuckles were hardened from sword practice. His skin was also consistently dry. He was clueless about how to take care of himself. So you began to learn about lotions for nourishing hands.You always carried a tube with you. On one occasion, you took it out and applied it to Xavier's hand.

"What's this?" He inquired.

“Hand cream.” You murmured this as you massaged the soft white cream into Xavier's obediently outstretched hands. “Your skin is so dry. I bought this for you to use.”

He did not answer, just stared intently at you taking care of him. When the thin layer of cream was absorbed, he turned his hands over and observed with a blank expression.

You giggled, then held out a hand in front of his face and said:

“Put your hand here.”

Xavier displayed confusion before placing his hand on yours and softly hitting the palm.

"High-five?" He inquired, continuing to appear perplexed.

"No." You answered, grasping Xavier's wrist to keep his hand close to yours. "I want to see how large your hands are. Hmmm…"

Xavier's hand was a little bigger than yours. You loved these hands. They constantly offered you a sense of security. On any endeavor, you could put your life in his hands without any hesitation. In daily life, you would always reach for his hand whenever you went out, or when your free hand wanted to feel his warmth. The only thing you never dared trust in these hands was, perhaps, cooking.

Xavier smiled. His hands felt significantly smoother after applying the cream, and they retained a very subtle flowery aroma. He laced his fingers with yours, then leaned down and placed a kiss on your hand.

“My hands smell like yours now.”

"Of course." You replied while blushing. “It's the same type of hand cream.”

Xavier did not respond. You caught him pondering for a long time. The next day, you found him applying the entire tube of cream on his hands.

"Oh dear! What are you doing? There's no need to apply that much!”

You quickly went to get a towel to help him clean up. He sat on the sofa, looking rather bewildered while you asked him:

“Are you going to use up the entire tube like that?”

Xavier responded: “Yeah… Since… This morning when I woke up, I couldn't smell your cream anymore. I want to use it all so the fragrance lasts longer.”

You rolled my eyes at Xavier, and a few seconds later you fell down laughing on the sofa. "Oh my! You did it in vain. These things don't last long."

“Is that so…” Disappointment was evident on Xavier's face. Seeing that, you sat close and tangled your hand with his. You said:

“If you like this scent, I will buy more for you.”

“What I like is your scent.” Xavier replied. His thumb caressed your hand. “I like the scent of your hair, your clothes, your hands… Everything that belongs to you…”

You were surprised, and delighted. Your face was more radiant than the sun outside the window. His hand felt so large and warm. If you could, you would never want to let  go.

You squeezed his hand once. Fingers pressed closely together. You progressed from being terrified of this foreign hand to when it became familiar, and now inseparable. It was weird, since despite only knowing him for a short time, it felt like you had loved him your whole life.

Leaning your head on his shoulder, you whispered:

“Xavier, don't ever let go of my hand, okay?”

"Never."

𝑹𝒂𝒇𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒍

You preferred to visit Rafayel's studio more frequently these days. Of course, compared to staying in a small apartment alone, coming here to work with him, drenched in sunlight and sea breeze, surrounded by flowers and grass, was definitely a much more sensible choice.

But the main reason remained Rafayel. You enjoyed watching him in silence, as he concentrated on painting. His long fingers wrapped around the brush, perfect as if he was the work of art. You had undoubtedly noticed Rafayel's hands since the first time you met, when he demonstrated his incredible fishing talents. He was adept at wielding a racket and far more skilled at holding a brush. The hues of the mythical world depicted in the painting gradually revealed itself under his magical hands. He did not always use a brush, instead dipping his hands in the paint, and as his fingers started dancing on the white canvas, you believed you saw a rainbow even though it was not sunny that day.

You loved how Rafayel rotated the brush in his palm while contemplating before getting started with painting. You loved the way his fingers held the chopsticks and  transformed the food into a culinary movie. You liked the way he wrapped his long finger in your hair to play with it. It seemed that everything he did with his hands was perfect, and unreal.

“Rafayel. Can you raise your hand?” You asked him that out of nowhere one afternoon at the studio. He was focused on an art book, so he did not respond and simply executed what you asked.

You extended your hand, intending to press it against his. Yet he raised his hand a bit higher. You grimaced and lifted your palm high. He did that again, and again, until his arm was stretched to its full length, and so was yours. The only thing was, since yours was shorter, you could not reach his palm.

“Rafayel!” You shouted fiercely. He closed the book he was reading and flung it on the sofa. On his face was a triumphant smile.

"What? Can't reach it?"

With an irritated expression, you rose up and seized his hand. Fingers intertwined, perfect as if he and you were made for each other. You used a great force to push Rafayel down into the sofa, while your other hand maintained your body weight by positioning it near his neck.

The smile on Rafayel's face disappeared. The scarlet hue of a ripe tomato gradually crept across his statue-like face and reached his ears. Rafayel seemed displeased.

“Are you bullying me?”

“Who bullied who first?” You argued back.

Noticing that Rafayel had begun to move beneath you, his hand entwined with yours now yearning to escape, you held him even tighter. His hands were slender and cool, velvety like a baby's skin. The veins were barely visible underneath the thin skin. The fingers were extremely lengthy; they belonged to an artist rather than a warrior like you. Even his nails were tidy, pink, and well-filed. Looking back at your hand in his, it was dry and small, with short fingers and nails that were neglected due to a lack of time, you were unable to avoid feeling envious.

“Hey, if you want to hold my hand, just say it.” Rafayel gazed at you furiously. “Is it necessary to pin me down like this?”

“I don't want to hold your hand. I just want to compare it with mine.”

Rafayel scoffed. He replied: “Comparing hands, why? We all know for a fact that I have the most gorgeous hands in the world.”

Seeing how he started praising himself, I sat up bored, intending not to joke with him again. But Rafayel refused to let go of your hand. The other curled around your waist, clutching you hard.

"Where are you going? We haven't finished talking yet, have we? If you like my hands so much, how about I give them to you?”

"Huh?" You were a bit startled. In your mind a scenario of receiving a huge gift box. When you opened it, you discovered Rafayel's severed and bloody hands inside...

Rafayel squeezed your face, as if he knew you were thinking nonsense.

“Whatever you're thinking, with that expression, I'm sure it's not what I want. Follow me.”

Rafayel led you into the warehouse, he pulled out some plaster powder and a few necessary tools. Later that day, there was a new piece in Rafayel's studio, yet not a painting. It was a statue of a small hand tangled with a larger one. A precise duplicate of yours and Rafayel's.

“Come to think of it,” he said as he looked at the final work with you. “My hands are most beautiful when intertwined with yours.”

𝒁𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆

Doctor Zayne's hands were often cold.

You still remembered learning to knit with Grandma and making gloves for Zayne when you lived close. Unfortunately, you did not get a chance to present them to him yet. You kept them in your old box at home till this day.

At the time, his hands were already significantly larger than yours. They were chilly since his Evol was occasionally unrestrained. In situations like that, he would put his hands in his pockets, look down, and leave fast. Even though you chased him down to ask him questions, he declined to speak, much alone show you his hands.

At the time, there was no scar on his hands.

Presently, when you put on his large gloves, you noticed how enormous his hands were. Your hand was buried beneath a thick layer of wool, only taking up about half of the glove's space. You rolled your eyes.

“Doctor Zayne, look!” You raised your gloved hand for him to see. The wool glove's fingertips had extra room and swung to the rhythm as you waved them. Obviously, the glove was excessively big for you.

“Stop playing around.” Doctor Zayne replied. He took the other glove and put it on your other hand. “Put this on.”

“It's too big. I feel like I'm a monster with gigantic hands!”

You laughed. Zayne grabbed your hands and hoisted them up. He inhaled to keep them warm and responded: "Because someone has lost her gloves on the way here, she must accept her fate of becoming a monster."

Zayne chuckled, but his serious expression made you question if he was fooling or condemning you for being irresponsible. He and you were on holiday in the snow-covered mountains. How silly of you to have misplaced your gloves and not remembered where you had put them. Hence he had to let you temporarily borrow his.

Even after you bought a new pair, you preferred the feeling of putting your hands in Zayne's gloves. Especially when they still felt his warmth lingering inside.

Zayne's hands were always so big, they were twice the size of yours. Your body shape was average, but when you stood next to him, you appeared strangely tiny. He could easily lift you up. He could hold both of your hands together with only one of his. And he could hold all five snow seals lined up side by side in one hand at your request.

His hands were covered with scars. When you inquired about their history, he just made up an explanation that he washed his hands too thoroughly. He saw you as a three-year-old child. Of course you did not believe it at all, but would not ask more until he was comfortable enough to share his story with you. You adored tracing the scars and veins that bulged beneath his skin. Sometimes, he felt ticklish. Other times, he would tell you to stop messing around while he was working. But he never truly pushed your tiny hand aside.

There were times when his hands became very cold. Extremely cold. As his habit, he buried them in his layers of garments without letting you know. He would not dare touch you since he was frightened you would catch that cold. Yet in moments like that, all you ever wanted was to hold him close.

You removed his hands from his coat pockets. They felt as frigid as ice when you touched them. Doctor Zayne frowned. He wanted to withdraw his hands but you clutched them hard. Your little, trembling fingers curled around and cherished those cold hands. You offered them your warm breath.

“Let go of them. You will be cold.” Zayne expressed worry. But you shook your head.

“Just wait a little longer and we'll both warm up.”

“I will… hurt you…”

That was what terrified Zayne. What if he lost control and accidentally hurt you? He would never be able to forgive himself if that happened. There had been many times he had avoided or hidden from you, but in the end, you were always the one who ran to his side when he needed you the most.

Eventually, he gave in. He relaxed his hands in your palms. He rested his head on your forehead, his eyes softly closing. In you there was always the warmth that he yearned.

After a while, Zayne warmed up. You were not cold anymore. Between the hands was an immeasurable warmth that both he and you desired to cherish forever.

That winter, you gave him a pair of new gloves with snowmen on that you had knitted. They clasped securely around Zayne's fingers, a reminder that no matter what, you would never let go of his hands.

[radio-writes]

Your Place in the Eyes of a God

Synopsis: You thought yourself oh so lucky that the demon who owned your soul was charming and kind.

Most people just had monsters ordering them about, at least your owner Alastor saw you as a lovely companion.

Warnings: Implied abusive relationship, power imbalance

Tags: Relationship can be read in any way; Alastor x Reader; gn!reader

MDNI

Being under contract, you weren't exactly overjoyed at the fact that you didn't own your own soul, but at least your contractor wasn't a monster, right? At least he was sweet, and funny, and charming.

And oh was he charming.

That is how your soul ended up chained to his after all.

He was always so kind to you. He treated you as if you were a friend—a person.

He had taken you out for meals; showed you off from time to time. He had adored every single gift you ever gave him. He had always asked you to smile because he just found you oh so

"Lovely," He said.

And it filled your head with clouds every single time. His soft compliments never failed to make you forget where you actually stood. 

So, you never really expected things to change so quickly. So drastically.

You desperately slapped your hands over your mouth, clasped tight against your lips to silence even the smallest whimpers that threatened to slip out. You pressed against the wall, hiding, maybe if even hoping that it would open up and swallow you whole. Take you some place else—anywhere else—but here.

You watched with wide, teary eyes, unable to look away.

It was hard for you to connect the charming man you fell for with the nightmare of a creature you saw looming over Husk. 

That thing that threatened to rip the poor man's soul apart couldn't possibly be your Alastor, right? There was no way that was your sweet, funny, charming Alastor. 

But those hands that yanked at the chain were unmistakably the same ones that gently combed through you hair at night. 

That smile he held while he threatened the man was unmistakably the same one you woke up sweetly to almost every morning.

That voice, albeit distorted more than usual by static, promising wicked acts, was unmistakably the same voice that softly greeted you good morning, asking if you had a good rest.

There was no mistake. There was no denying it. 

"Understood," You barely hear Husk's frightened response.

"Lovely," Alastor praised before he left Husk shaking on the ground by his feet.

You felt your heart sink immediately. 

Lovely. The word echoed in your head, your blood now ran cold.

Lovely. The mockery, the disdain, the obvious threat to obey him or else. You didn't think such a simple word could hold so much malice. 

"I can't wait to wear that new necklace you got for me!"

"I got you this tie because it just seemed like it was your style!"

"Of course, I'm smiling! I'm with you, aren't I?"

You didn't notice when your knees finally gave away under you. You didn't notice when you started crying. Your body simply crumpled to the floor as you continued to press your hands against your mouth, silencing the sobs that ripped through you. 

Alastor had already left. You didn't need to hide around the corner anymore. You were safe now. 

No. Have you ever truly been safe?

Because what was his response? What did he say every time you followed his requests? Every time you excitedly handed him whatever trinket you thought he'd like? Every time you smiled for him?

Lovely. The word rang in your ears.

Lovely.

It wasn't a compliment, you realized.

It was never a compliment. It was a praise. A praise for being such a good, obedient pet.

[decayedgloria]

request!!

(wlw)

arlecchino fucking reader with her dick after getting jealous that reader was talking to childe too much. if you could make it size kink and possessive that would be nice!

ty!

use your words

ft. Arlecchino

A lil drabble for you :)

Tags: Afab!reader, wlw, strap fucking, dom!Arlecchino, size kink, slight degradation, possessive arlecchino and oblivious reader, nsfw under cut, mdni

-

In your defense, you had always been on the more extroverted side- it seemed as though you could talk your head off to just about any and everything, even your superiors, apparently.

You whined in desperation as Arlecchino dug her nails into your hips, no doubt leaving behind sharp indentations as she slowly moved her strap in and out of your gaping hole, never truly sating your desire to finally cum. With your arched back and plump ass right against her, Arlecchino grinned wickedly at the beautiful sight before her.

"That's right, love..." She whispered huskily, leaning over to place her lips right next to your ears, warm breath fanning over your face. "Only I can make you feel this good. Do you think that brat Tartaglia can do this to you?" You shook your head feebly, rolling your hips against hers in order to have some sort of relief, but to no avail. She only tsked in annoyance, bringing a hand against your ass for what seemed like the nth time that night.

"You were so eager to use your words with him. Why not use them now?" Suddenly, you were pulled into a fast and deep pace by Arlecchino, her hips snapping against yours in a feverish frenzy as you gasp and moan in surprise, though no actual words came out of your fucked out mouth- only praises for her.

"S'good...! You make m'feel so- ngh!" It was as if your mind had been overtaken by the exhilarating pleasure and pain all at once, with the only sensation you could properly feel being the way that her cock seemed to stretch your gummy walls even more than it usually did. You try to bury your head in the mattress below you, but Arlecchino's hand firmly held you back by the neck, hissing once more in your ear as she lets out a few grunts of her own.

"Don't even think about silencing yourself. I want to hear you scream on my cock. Let everyone know what a filthy slut you are for my cock." She growls, her sharp tone hungry for your voice as she slowly, but surely splits you open.

All you could do was sob and babble, tears streaming down your face as you try to form a coherent sentence for her, the knot in your lower abdomen growing tenser and tenser.

Earlier that day, Childe had asked you to keep him company at a tavern not far from the camp you were situated in. As his good friend, you decided to tag along; whether or not it was the alcohol that made your oblivious to his lingering touches or hungry gaze, Arlecchino cared not.

She only wished to punish you for even speaking to him.

Her teeth dragged across your body as she left all kinds of marks on your skin, like a grotesque artist painting their flesh canvas with blood. Much of your back was left with large, dark love bites and the occasional bite mark as she staked her claim over every inch of you- from your chest, to your stomach, to your thighs; all covered in her marks.

She relished in the way you writhed underneath her, pleasure clouding your mind and making you utterly helpless, taking her in your tight little hole like the good cockslut you were. Archons, your entire, sinful being would be the end of her.

"Go on, cum for me." Arlecchino said breathlessly before tilting your head and pulling you in for a hungry kiss. You moaned into her mouth as you finally reached your orgasm, arching your back even more and trembling slightly. You rode out your orgasm on her strap, almost collapsing from how worn out you were, finally becoming aware of just how much sweat and spit you accumulated throughout the night.

And judging by the way Arlecchino pulled out of your gaping hole, only to push you against the mattress on your back and slinging your legs over her shoulders, it was far from over.

Perhaps you should talk to Childe more often.

-

A/n: wooooooo i hope you liked this anon this was really fun to write, but it is my first time writing smut like this so i apologize if i was lacking lol