#they're so touch starved please | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

murderofravens · 18 days ago

Text

BABY, I'M RIGHT HERE

pairing: hwang inho/young-il/frontman x fem reader

warnings: large age gap (20 vs late 40s) angst. slow burn. slight infantilization. no use of y/n. codependency. obsession from both sides. unhealthy dynamics. plot with porn. fingering. oral fixation. brat tamer inho. sub!reader. reader is very touch starved. a little yandere vibes. emotional manipulation. i made him very fatherly but toxic oops.

summary: he promised that you will make it out alive. he will make sure of it, no matter what it takes.

word count: 8k more or less

SEQUEL TO: DUSK TILL DAWN

FINAL PART: FLY ME TO THE MOON

SERIES MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

please ignore mistakes.

you can't remember half of it. everything happened so quickly— your little moment of bliss shattered by 388's quick warning. the lights went out. one moment you were in young-il's arms, the next he was dragging you down towards 456, who was hiding under another bed. he shifted to make room for you and you crawled to his side. young-il followed.

"stay quiet," 456 whispered, looking around. not much was visible in the dark, but soon enough, the loud noise of bottles shattering and people screaming began echoing through the hall.

"they're killing each other—" you whisper, eyes wide. you shift slightly, raising your head. you try to sit up. "they're killing our side of the people—"

young-il halted your movements with a hand on your arm, "don't move." he hissed. "we can't leave till the guards come in."

"what?" you snap, voice hushed, "if they kill all our people, what's gonna happen in the next vote? we'll lose!"

"there won't be a next vote," 456 added, flinching slightly at another sharp cry. he looked determined. "we're stopping this today."

you glanced at him, heartbroken. you looked out again, heartbeat picking up as you saw player 380 run away from nam-gyu. he was on her tail, visibly trying to kill her. a bottle lay there by the bed, and before young-il could stop you, you slid it out. nam-gyu tripped on it and fell on his face. luckily, it was too dark and he was too worked up to check who it was. you just hoped it gave player 380 enough time to hide.

young-il restrained you then, pushing you down slightly so you were fully sandwiched between him and 456, "don't compromise our position!"

"how much longer?" you whispered, ignoring him. you winced as more sounds of bones cracking and people choking on their own blood took over the entire room. neither of them answered, but even 456 jumped a little as the body of one of the girls on your side fell to the floor.

your eyes widened as the girl's eyes met yours, and then she sputtered out blood before laying there, lifeless.

"don't look." young-il voiced out, craning his neck down to meet your gaze. he clenched his jaw, settling you with a cold glare, "look at me."

"you should've told me this was the plan," you hissed through gritted teeth, squinting as the flashing of lights overwhelmed your senses, "would you be okay if that was m—mphh!"

he put a finger to your lips, shaking slightly as he gave you another warning glare. 456 watched with bated breath, as if counting all the people dying.

the lights go off again, and the room remains dark. only the noises of people fighting can be heard.

"time to move," 456 tells young-il, who nods and begins shifting out of the bed. you follow along, but he pushes you back in, "don't get out until i tell you."

"what?" you frown, confused. your words are quick, "you expect me to hide here while you go out there to do god knows what—

as you speak, young-il grits his teeth, frustrated. he's desperate as he grabs your shoulders. he glances back, makes sure no one sees before silencing you with a kiss. it leaves you breathless. he cups your face and looks into your eyes intensely, "don't get out until i tell you to." his voice is urgent, "close your eyes, put your hands to your ears. trust me, and listen to me for once."

you blink rapidly before nodding, still a little out of it. you don't think you'll ever get used to how good kissing him feels. you wish you could feel it again and again, under better circumstances.

456 hisses for young-il, and he pats your head before rushing away as soon as the doors open. the guards come in, rapidly firing their machine guns towards the ceiling, stopping the fight. you watch carefully, heart dropping to your stomach as young-il and 456 lay there, as if dead, along with 390 and 388. you almost rush out to check on them, but young-il's previous words hold you back. you watch as the guards start putting those devices to the dead bodies' ears, and when they reach your team members, 456 suddenly attacks. the rest of the team similarly manages to take their guns away, and kill the remaining guards. you almost jump out of your skin as a firing match starts— and young-il and player 120 skillfully kill most of them. you look on with bated breath, flinching as the guards fall to the floors. you begin to get out from under the bed, panting. one of the guards was still hiding, and he immediately aimed the gun at you. before you could move, young-il shoots him dead.

you look around the room, swallowing the lump in your throat at the sight of all the dead bodies. so many people with hopes and dreams. people with families, laying there, lifeless. cautiously, you looked around with purpose, before your eyes fell on player 380's body.

she couldn't hide.

you look away, sweat rolling down the side of your head. you clench your jaw and glare at the other team, eyes narrowing with resentment as you catch sight of nam-gyu. swallowing hard, you walk past the bodies, careful not to step on them. your eyes fell on your team members gathering the guards' weapons.

so this was the plan. you frown, rushing forward to help them. the guns are heavy, but you manage to place many of them along with some ammo on the bedsheet laying there.

456 announces the plan— something about capturing the ones who captured them all, and going to their headquarters to make them pay. you shift your gaze to young-il, who stares ahead blankly, as if thinking hard. you wonder if he's scared.

"anyone who knows how to use guns and wishes to join us—" 456 calls out, "please step forward!"

the players are silent, frozen. cowards, you think to yourself. you step forward immediately, and young-il's face hardens so dramatically, it almost makes you laugh. he takes a step towards you, "absolutely not!" he snaps, "stay right there."

"you need all the help you can get!" you argue back sharply. you point an accusatory finger at player 100 and his team. "don't you see? even these so called tough guys aren't willing to go with you! don't put your trust in these people, i can help more than they can! my aim's great!"

while you talk, young-il pinches the bridge of his nose, calls your name again gruffly. a warning.

"don't drag us into this!" player 100 interrupts angrily, his lip curling with disgust. "this is madness! you don't stand a chance against them!"

you quite literally snarl as you rush towards him, jabbing a finger to his chest. it makes him stumble backwards, "you had no issue with risking our lives and your own for money, but standing up to those who caught you is where you draw the line?" you glower at him, scoff at the rest of his team. to emphasize your point, you gather saliva in your mouth, spit it by his shoe. "fucking pussy !"

young-il quite literally snatches you away by the collar of your jacket before the other team can do anything. it's a little baffling how swiftly he moves, even while carrying such a big gun. he takes you to your side of the bunker, shoves you onto the bed, "don't make me tie you up." he grunts threateningly, "you are not going and that's final. you're built like a bird, you won't stand a chance against armed guards. i refuse to watch you get killed."

456 calls out for you, voice soft but urgent, "it's best if you stay here. we won't be able to focus if he's— if we're worried about you."

you grit your teeth as you scowl at young-il with glassy eyes. they're tears of anger. you want to scream at him. you want to pull him towards you and never let him go. you look at your team, watch with longing as player 120 guides them on how to use their guns. she's brave and badass, it makes you want to be like her.

"and you're okay with getting killed?" you drift your attention back to young-il, voice cracking. "what am i supposed to do if something happens to you?"

young-il sighs, gaze softening as he kneels before you . your lips wobble as you glare daggers at him, eyes narrowed. he shakes his head, "i'll come back to you alive."

you scoff bitterly. "how can you be so sure?"

"i just am."

"promise me." you hold your pinky up, clenching your jaw as you stare at him intensely, "promise me you won't die. promise me you'll come back for me."

he looks at your pinky, and then at you. you've always found him harder to read than other people. but you see reluctance in his eyes. he sighs, before raising his own pinky, joining it with yours. the contrast between your hands would've been comical if you were not in this shithole. he gives you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

"i promise."

you can hear player 100 yelling at his team, clearly talking shit about you. you look over young-il's shoulder, and he glances at the old man too before turning to you knowingly.

"don't get in any trouble while i'm gone." he whispers softly. he reaches behind his back. "and just in case— i want you to have this."

it's a pistol. he probably took it from one of the dead guards. your eyes widen and you look at young-il. he teaches you how to unload it, and reload it, and how to work the safety, before placing it in your palm. your gaze never leaves his face. questioning.

"you've made enemies here," he explains, as if it's obvious, "if any of the men there try anything—"

"you want me to kill them?" you quirk an eyebrow.

his mouth curls into a smirk, "i want you to be safe."

he gets up, and as player 100 looks at you again, you jokingly aim the gun towards him. he jumps back in fear, stumbling into the younger men at his side. you chuckle, and young-il lowers your hand. "behave."

it makes your heart jump.

"why does that kid get a gun and we don't?!" one of the younger men yells. young-il ignores him.

you grin at him almost childishly. he shakes his head before addressing 149— the old lady who got here with her son.

"don't let her leave," he tells her, giving you a stern, sidelong glance. you roll your eyes.

before he can leave, you grab his hand and look at him intensely. you can only hope your eyes can convey what you can't verbally, not in front of people. for his sake.

"be careful." you decide to say, voice cracking. you memorize every feature of his face, with only one thought in your mind.

you're not allowed to leave me.

he nods, looking away before walking to his team. you yell at them too, telling them to be careful and watch as they carefully exit. you look on with longing as you watch them go, before glancing down at the gun in your hand, and then at the door again. soon enough, you can hear the faint sounds of guns firing. it makes you jump, but player 149 puts a hand on your shoulder, comfortingly guiding you to sit beside her.

you almost contemplate rushing out, what would these people even do? stop you? you have a gun in your hand, although you wouldn't want to pull it on 149. she's a good lady. people are already scared. you don't want to make it worse.

so you stay, and hope that young-il keeps his promise. pinky promises are sacred. you either keep them, or you die.

you decide that if he dies, you'll just bring him back to life somehow and kill him again.

you don't remember how long you wait. multiple times, you stand up and pace around the room. agitated, scared. every gunshot has you looking at the door again and again, hoping that somehow young-il will decide to burst through it. 149 tells you to be calm, tries to distract you with your life outside the games. it doesn't work.

thankfully, the pistol in your hand had scared the other team enough to not try anything with you. they talk within themselves, trying to busy themselves with conversations and anxiously bouncing their legs as they look at the ceiling. you wonder how they can be so calm after killing your team.

"you people are cowards." you say to no one in particular. the message hits the target though, because the ones who weren't willing to go and help shift uncomfortably.

"you'd rather die losing to a stupid game instead of a noble death trying to help people," you chide, chuckling bitterly. 149 tries to stop you from talking, but you shrug her words off with a shake of your head. you stand up and face the other team again. "it's shameful. you had no problem killing others who were in the same position as you, but your oppressors is where you decide to stop?" you gesture towards the dead bodies. the sight of blood doesn't make you squeamish anymore. it just makes you sad.

"these people died because you wanted to keep playing." you hiss, "you killed them."

the people on the other side don't respond, instead lowering their gaze to the floor. you look at nam-gyu sitting on the side, fiddling with something. you want to kill him. you want to kill everyone who stopped you from going home, who became the reason more innocent people died. your morals are a bit fucked, you think, but you're okay with it. people who do bad things deserve to die. you raise the gun, aim it at player 100. he flinches, and sits straight up, raising his hands. his team members shuffle away from him, and it makes you snicker. when he's on death's door, they abandon him. "have you gone crazy!?"

"game or no game, you were meant to die." you clench your jaw, your mouth twitching. "shall i kill you, old man?"

you don't get to pull the trigger. you're interrupted by player 388 rushing inside, panicked and covered in blood. your eyes widen, and you go straight to him, grabbing his shoulders. he looks shaken up, "what happened? where's 001? is he okay? did you find—"

"gather all the remaining ammo," he says shakily, fumbling over his words, "we ran out. i need to take some back."

you nod, and 149's son comes to help you check the dead guards' gear and gather the remaining ammunition. 388 wraps it up in a jacket, and rushes to the door, before suddenly stopping. you pause, looking at him, sweat breaking out across your skin. there's a bad feeling in your stomach. "what's wrong? aren't you going?"

he doesn't respond. you can't see his face because his back is turned to you. a moment passes and you step forward cautiously. he drops the walkie talkie, and your eyes fall to the floor where it lands— where you can hear the voice of player 120 asking where he is. they have no ammo.

"i can't do it." 388 whispers, shaking. he rushes back to his bed, drops the little makeshift bag full of ammo and cowers into himself. your eyes widen. you look at the walkie talkie, and back to him. if they don't get ammo soon, they're going to die. you rush to the bed, shoot 388 a frown— you consider comforting him, but you have another priority now. you grab the bundle and turn to leave.

149 runs after you along with a few others, pulling you by the sleeve of your jacket. she's trembling with worry. "your father told me not to let you leave—"

amidst the chaos, you let out a chuckle.

"he's not my father," you reply, yanking your jacket from her grip and composing yourself. the sentence would've had you cackling in a better situation. you can't wait to tell young-il about it. you can understand why she'd think so, even though you and young-il look literally nothing alike. the opposite, really. he's like a father in spirit.

your face hardens and you address the crowd. "they need help. is anyone gonna come with me?”

nobody moves. you scoff bitterly. predictable.

149 looks at you helplessly, pushes her son to grab you. when he advances towards you, you pull out the gun and hold it to his head, eyes crazed as you pull the safety. you warn him dangerously, "step back."

he raises his hands and steps back, lowering his gaze. holding the bundle to your chest, you walk backwards, aiming the gun to both sides of the room and ensuring no one grabs you. you look at 149, meet her crushed gaze and mouth an 'im sorry' to her before running out as fast as you can.

you're quite sure you got lost. you're running as fast as you can, trying to follow the sounds of the gunshots, and looking for any bullet holes or signs of struggle. you look up and see broken cameras, and recall 120 shooting them back in the hall. you follow them until one of the red guards encounters you, immediately raising his gun. he's slow, infuriatingly so— but it doesn't matter because in your panicked haze, you shoot him in the stomach, then rush forward and kick his gun away before running off.

you can see your team. you let out a breath of relief, and as soon as 120 meets your gaze, she gasps. you shake your head and quickly slide over to her, giving her the rest of the ammunition. she quickly reloads, and you toss the rest to the other players, before looking around frantically, flinching at the gunshots. "where's 001 and 456?" you ask her.

"control room!" she points towards the end of the hallway, and you nod before advancing. she tries to protest but you're quicker, and she's preoccupied with firing. luckily, the guards never seem to fire at you.

there are two sides. you hesitate, before finally taking the left one where you just heard two gunshots. you quickly rush forward, pistol held protectively. the whole area looks like some sort of purple maze, and you're wary as you walk, scared that a guard might jump out and shoot you.

finally, you see your young-il's back. he's crouching on the floor, looking at a dying player. the relief you feel is baffling. your eyes widen, and you call out his name. "young-il sir!"

he tenses, turning back so fast that you worry he'd get a whiplash. visibly stressed, he rushes towards you, shaking his head, "no— no, no, no, no, no, what are you doing here!”

you run towards him, almost tripping on the stairs. he grabs your shoulders, shakes you aggressively, "i told you not to fucking leave!"

you almost flinch at his tone. it's strange to see him swear. you answer him shakily, panting, "they— they ran out of ammo, i couldn't leave you!"

he looks upset and shaken up, clenching his jaw as he pinches the bridge of his nose, mumbling incoherently to himself. you turn towards the dying player, your expression pained. he tries to point at something, but you don't understand what. you kneel towards him, and his hand falls down. his croaking stops.

suddenly, you hear the footsteps of guards heading towards you. before you can move, you're surrounded. you hold onto your gun, shaking as you quickly stand up. you swallow hard, unblinking as they aim their guns at you.

that��s when you notice it.

they're aiming at only you, and not young-il. it makes you feel strange.

you look at him, and he's taking sharp breaths, as if trying to compose himself. or trying not to scream with rage. it's odd, how relaxed he looks. tense in the face, but relaxed in the way that he didn't take an offensive stance, or feel surprised at the sight of the guards. you frown in confusion, before he flicks his hand. the guards lower their guns.

you blink a few times, swallowing the lump in your throat, dread settling in your stomach. you look at the guards, then at young-il, who refuses to meet your gaze. you repeat the action.

guards. young-il. guards. young-il. then the players on the floor. then back at young-il's face. and it takes you a moment, but the realization sets in.

the guard letting you go to the restroom when young-il was by your side, him conveniently appearing to save you when you went exploring, him walking with that air of authority. how the guards never seemed to look at him too long. how easily he killed the man during mingle without a second thought. how one look from him had the guard lowering his gun during voting. how he was sure he wouldn't die. things that you never should've looked over.

you step back, your breathing getting ragged as you slowly raise your gun towards young-il. the guards point their guns at you again, ready to shoot. he stops them by raising his hand in warning. he clenches his jaw, his eyes unreadable and guarded.

"who are you." you demand tightly. your voice shakes pathetically, it makes you wince. you've never been this scared of anything in your life. not even the games.

"it doesn't have to be this way." he says quietly. his voice seems different, deeper. gravely. he holds his hand out to you in what he hopes is a comforting fashion. "put the gun down."

you step back, putting your finger on the trigger, just the way he taught you. ‘i want you to be safe,’ he'd said.

"i asked you a fucking question!" you yell, voice cracking. your gun feels slippery in your hands. it almost falls. you fumble trying to keep a tight grip on it. all this time, the prospect of death felt a little comforting with the idea that you'd have young-il by your side if it happened. but now, it just terrifies you. it looks bleak.

you sniffle, lips wobbling as fresh tears roll down your cheeks. you were always fucking unlucky. the first time you like a man this much, he turns out to be the bad guy. you feel utterly pathetic and terrified.

his eyes dart all over your panicked face before he gestures towards one of the guards, who raises his gun. there's a flash of guilt in his eyes that you can't miss. it makes your blood freeze. you refuse to die alone.

you straighten your aim towards young-il and pull the trigger. two gunshots ring out, and you don't get the time to react before something stings your chest, and you fall to the ground.

your vision goes black.

there are no dreams, no last memories. no flashes of your life. there's this heaviness in your chest, like someone is suffocating you.

you wake up with a startled gasp, sitting up immediately. your vision looks blurry, but with a few blinks you can make out a room. a lavish room with a closed window on the side. you frown in confusion, before putting your hand to your chest. there's no bleeding, no pain except the one in your muscles.

you swallow hard, your throat feeling dry. for a moment you wonder if it was all a dream, but when you try to move, you realize your right hand is chained to the side of the bed— with those strong black straps with locks that they used in the second game. you pull at it a few times, breathing getting heavy as you look down on yourself. your bloodied green jersey has been replaced by a comfortable pair of pink pyjamas that cover your arms and legs. you raise your hand to your head, and there's a small bandage on the right side of your face that you remember previously scratching in the bathroom.

you struggle a little, try to look for a way to unlock the straps, but it's like the room is purposely empty. absolutely no sharp or heavy objects to help you escape. like a prison cell.

you think of young-il. is he dead? you remember pulling the trigger. you knew the risk that came with aiming the gun at him when you were surrounded by guards— you just had this thought that if you were going to die, you would drag him with you. he won't get to live after what he'd done.

you don't get to brood about your thoughts for long, because the door opens and he steps inside— a man dressed in black, with a creepy mask. it makes you feel uneasy. you touch your chest again, look at him with a questioning gaze.

“it was just a tranquilizer.” he answers your silent question, voice distorted through the mask.

“is this really necessary?” you ask dryly, rattling the chain on your right hand.

“do you feel comfortable?” the man asks, gesturing towards your clothes.

you grit your teeth, “cut the bullshit. who are you?”

the man sighs, looking down, as if disappointed. he looks at you again before taking off the mask, and you feel like throwing up.

his hair looks different — slicked back with gel. his eyes look tired, even more so than back at the games. he looks more intimidating this way. you feel a strong urge to leap across the bed and ruffle his hair so he can look familiar again.

you have so much to say.

why did you do this? who the fuck are you? how are you still here, when i so clearly remember shooting you?

“you're alive,” you instead remark dryly. young-il gives you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

“your aim needs more practice,” he says quietly, patting his right shoulder. “barely grazed me.”

the idea of having hurt him almost makes your chest ache, but you remind yourself of who he is.

you sniffle, lips wobbling as you look at him. your dear young-il. who comforted you, protected you, held you and kissed you so dearly. he really made a fucking fool out of you.

“and what's all that for?” you tilt your head towards his hand. trying to put on a mask, just like him. a brave face.

he places the mask on the table, walks over to sit on the side of the bed. you flinch, moving away from him slightly.

he notices, and it hurts more than getting shot. he doesn't dare reveal that on his face.

“is your name even young-il?” you ask quietly, voice strained.

he shakes his head. you snort bitterly.

“i'm guessing you're the big boss then.” you remark flatly, looking around the room. forcing yourself to appear nonchalant. he wants to tell you to drop the act, because he can still hear your voice faltering.

he nods, “something like that. i design the games.”

you bite down on your lower lip to stop it from wobbling. nobody knows the strength it takes trying not to cry. you lower your gaze to your lap.

your next question is pathetic. you would expect yourself to scream and threaten him to let you go, but there's only one thing on your mind.

“was i a game to you too?” you ask quietly. you don't want to know the answer. perhaps you would've preferred it if he killed you.

he sighs, averting his gaze. he utters your name softly, and you feel like a weak woman because you still like the way he says it.

your voice almost waivers when you ask, “are you going to hurt me?”

he looks at you, blinks a few times before answering honestly. “don't make me.”

you hold back the urge to sob. your left hand comes up to clap over your mouth, and he looks away as you cower in on yourself. how can he say that, after covering your eyes and pulling you into him to ensure you didn't get scared by people getting killed? you wish there was atleast a lamp on the side table, maybe you could've cracked his skull to free yourself from this fear. and to take revenge for playing with your heart.

“you ruined everything.” he admits, voice growing tight. solemn. he clenches his jaw, mouth twitching with barely disguised anger. “i went into the games because of gi-hun, to make sure he doesn't stop the game. and then ended up paying more attention to you than him.”

you release a shaky breath, pulling your knees to your chest. your mouth twists with emotion. gi-hun. player 456. your eyes widen, heart leaping out of your throat.

“is he okay?” you ask, voice cracking with concern, “is he alive?”

his head snaps up— gaze hardening almost dramatically. his eye twitches, and he gives you a tight smile. it doesn't suit him because it's not the one you're familiar with. “are you worried about him?”

you glare at him, eyes narrowing.

“he’ll be fine.” he adds nonchalantly. his voice sounds different— cold in a way that makes goosebumps rise on your skin. “would you rather be with him than me?”

you snort bitterly, looking away with a roll of your eyes. he can't be fucking serious. he has the audacity to be jealous after what he's done to you. he is so unbelievably ridiculous.

“put me back in the game.” you hiss through gritted teeth.

“i can't do that.” he shakes his head, “you will die in there. you won't survive the next games. i made sure they get increasingly difficult—”

“i'll win!” you argue, “i’ll beat them all and win, stop treating me like a fucking child—”

“you are a fucking child compared to me!” he bellows, making you flinch. your gaze never falters as you grit your teeth, looking at him with all the rage you can muster. he grabs your jaw, squishing your cheeks so hard that your lips pucker. he would've kissed you if he wasn't so fucking angry. his voice is harsh as he continues, shaking your head. “you! are quite literally a baby compared to me and the others in there. they're ruthless animals who won't hesitate to rip you apart to win. you're going to die in there and i wouldn't be there to save you!”

his words have your stomach churning, because he's right. but that doesn't matter to you.

“since when do you care?!” you snap challengingly. your words come out muffled.

he glares back at you, his nostrils flaring with anger, “i wish i didn't care.” he hisses, voice low. hoarse. he leans towards you. “oh how desperately i wish i didn't care about you.”

your heart begins to race as you stare at him, dumbfounded, unable to speak. he looks into your eyes, then glances down at your lips, before making eye contact again. he lets go of your face and straightens up, composing himself.

“you almost ruined my entire plan.” his voice is collected, almost guarded. “you consume my every waking thought ever since i felt your head against my chest. do you know how many times i had to warn my guards not to shoot you? especially with how many times you kept crossing the line?”

your breath hitches, and you open your mouth to argue. he doesn't give you a moment to speak.

“i'm not sending you back in the games where you can die.” he continues darkly. he brings his hand to tuck your hair behind your ear. the action is gentle— a stark contrast against what he previously did. the situation you're in, the kind of man he is. you blink at him, eyes teary. his gaze softens just slightly. “you made me promise not to abandon you. I don't plan to.”

“you're a sick man,” you whisper. you can't believe he's holding that against you— your promises from when he was deceiving you, “you designed those fucking games. you can stop them anytime you wanted. i got stuck here because of you, you killed all those innocent people. you're a sadistic, psychotic asshole—”

he shoots you a warning glare, pressing his hand against your mouth. “don’t test me, brat. ”

you sniffle, letting out a pained whimper. you push his hand off your mouth, “let me go.”

he looks unamused, “i can't do that.”

“were you not planning to leave me?” you try to reason with him, desperate. “when you left with the rest of the team? you wouldn't have come back after that—”

“i would've found a way to get you home.” he admits quietly. “i had a plan. but then you came running after me like the brat you are. you never listen.”

“then let me go now!” you protest heatedly. his words have your heart hurting. if that's true, then you're the one who sealed your fate. another impulsive decision ruined your life. “i told you about me. i told you about my mom! i miss her. she and my sister—" you almost choke on a sob as you croak the words out, the mere thought of them driving you to insanity, "they need me."

“i've settled your father's debt,” he mentions after a moment of silence, looking deeply into your eyes. he hopes it gives you some comfort, stops you from wanting to leave him. “you don't have to go back. they'll live a life of ease.”

your blood runs cold. that means he knows where they are.

“do you expect me to fucking thank you?” you can't hold back the tears rolling down your cheeks, shaking your head, “i wanna go home.” you sniffle, “you ruined our lives. you played with my feelings and my life. people are dead because of you. how can you say you'd have let me go home one moment, and then refuse it the next?”

"don't hurt them," you speak again, leaning forward almost pleadingly. perhaps you shouldn't piss him off. you're not the kind to beg for your life. but your family? now that's another thing. "please keep them out of this. dont hurt them, please."

"i won't," he says airily, his dark eyes deeply boring into yours, "not if you don't give me a reason to. just be good."

you sniffle, violently trembling. be good. you'll be good. for your family's sake.

his hands cup your face and you flinch. his thumbs brush the tears away. you avert your gaze. you can't meet his eyes— you resent him.

you resent yourself because his touch still makes you feel an odd sense of comfort.

"this is torture," you choke out, "why are you doing this to me?"

he says your name softly, guides your face up to look at him, “i’m selfish.” he admits. “the moments i spent with you.. was the happiest i've been in a… long, long time. i'm not ready to let go of that. ever. ”

he has lost everything. his wife, his baby. his brother. his humanity. only now he has control over his life, enough resources. he can change fate with a flick of his finger. he's not going to lose you, not after you've made him feel human again, for the first time in years. you've ripped open his ribcage and climbed inside, sealed it shut with your touch. he hasn't been needed by anyone like this— it gives him a sense of purpose. he doesn't trust himself to not lose his mind if you're ever out of his sight. he'll make sure you're by his side, where he can hold you and comfort you. whatever it takes.

you shake your head, lips wobbling. you try to pull away, your free hand coming up to hold onto his, to pry it off your face. he doesn't let up, instead climbing towards you and invading your personal space as he presses your foreheads together.

“i don't know about you kids, but in my time, pinky promises were a big deal,” he says lowly, the side of his mouth quirking up. he's trying to joke, he wants to see you smile again. the way you did when you looked at him— with stars in your eyes. like he's your hero. nothing else has ever made him feel more alive. “i’m afraid i can't let you go.”

you let out a shudder, squeezing your eyes shut as he pushes you till your back collides with the bed. you shake your head, voice tired. “just kill me.”

his face drops, and he looks at you coldly, “you think i'd have you here like this if i planned to kill you?”

you don't respond to that, your chest heaving. everything hurts. your head is pounding, and you feel faint.

his thumb brushes across your cheekbone. he looks at you tenderly, analyzing every feature of your face.

“you know, i really expected you to struggle harder against me.” he observes. the words make you feel embarrassed. your skin heats up with shame, and you clear your throat, looking anywhere but him.

he might be right, you think. you've struggled a little, yes, but he can tell you have the ability to be so much more insufferable. but you're not, not yet. it's fucked up. because even after everything, for some reason you can't seem to brush him off you. you can't seem to let go of the comfort and hope he provided you in one of the most terrifying moments of your life.

you convince yourself it's because your family's life is on the line. not because of your personal feelings.

you don't answer him. you don't have to either, because judging by the small smirk creeping on his face, he knows.

“i'll take care of you,” his face softens. he's trying to convince you. there's a desperate edge to his voice. you look so utterly beautiful to him— your complexion glowing even more because of the pink pyjamas he got for you. in that moment he makes a mental note of what color clothes he'd shower you in the most. “those people down there that you're so desperate to save? they would've thrown you under the bus to win. they don't care about you. i'll make sure you're safe. the life you were living before was worthless. let me look after you.”

“i hate you,” you whisper, voice cracking. another tear rolls down your cheek, and he wipes it away. you don't mean it. he presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“i know.”

you don't get to speak again, because he tilts your head up and crashes his mouth onto yours in a bruising, punishing kiss. it makes you wince, and you choke on a soft sob. against your better judgement, you kiss him back.

the moment your mouth parts under his, he takes the chance to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding in. he moans into your mouth, holding your face as he climbs over you completely. you contemplate biting his tongue off, but you don't. as if reading your mind, his hand comes down to gently squeeze your throat— just enough to make you feel a little lightheaded. you gasp softly, eyes blinking dazedly at him. he pulls his mouth away, then places a soft peck upon your lips. then another. and another. you take greedy breaths as you squirm under him. his hand leaves your throat and slips under your top and you jolt at the feeling of his warm hands against your tummy. his mouth trails down, leaving soft kisses across the smooth skin of your neck.

“you’re sick.” you gasp shakily, throwing your head back, giving him more room to place his wet kisses upon you.

“you're the one letting a man like me touch you,” he whispers hoarsely against your neck, voice slightly teasing. “maybe you're just as sick as i am.”

his words make you shiver. you consider them, and you force yourself to think of all the people back there in the hall, ready to march to their deaths tomorrow. your eyes open and you snap out of your trance.

you use your free hand to push slightly at his chest, gaze pleading, “don't kill them,” you whisper. “let them go. atleast our team. they're good people—”

“are you really doing this?” the switch in his voice has you quivering slightly. his hand comes up, grabs your hair. it stings just slightly. a warning. "do you think they would've been this desperate to save you?"

you let out a noise of protest, looking at him helplessly. trying to touch a string of empathy within him. he has none, not anymore.

“they knew what they were getting themselves into. there's no favoritism. you either win, or die.”

your ears ring, heart pounding against your chest. “then what am i?”

he smirks, his thumb brushing across your bottom lip.

“you're my little girl.” he noses the side of your neck. goosebumps rise on your skin, “don't bring that up again.”

you grit your teeth, feeling even more remorseful. is there no way to change his mind? even being responsive to his affection doesn't help.

but you're not being docile to change his mind.

you realize you're pliant because you like being under him.

your logical side forces you to speak. your guilty conscience doesn't allow you to get too comfortable under a killer. "this feels wrong."

he stops, clenches his jaw with restrained anger. he squeezes his eyes shut, mentally counts from 1-10 to avoid doing anything he might regret later.

"let me make you an offer," he pulls back, cocking his head to the side. his eyes are unreadable, voice flat, "i'll let them go on one condition."

your eyes widen with hope, and you nod enthusiastically, eager for him to speak.

"with every player i leave alive—" a small smirk appears on his face, despite his best efforts to hide it. "i'll kill someone you love."

the way terror seized you was suffocating. your throat immediately felt dry, eyes widening with shock. you stared at him, motionless, images of your family, your friends, flashing through your head. his hand gently splayed across your stomach, pressing down a little.

"a life for a life." he announced again, giving you a tight lipped smile, "how does that sound?"

"no." you warned, clasping his wrist desperately with your free hand, breathing rapidly. "no— no. please don't. i'll— i'll stay with you. i'll do anything you say, just—" you held back a sob, "please don't hurt them."

in life threatening situations— people only look out for two types of people. themselves, and the ones dearest to them.

he smiled fully then, amused. predictable, he thinks, before leaning back down, "then conversation's over."

"you made the right choice," he whispered. you didn't bother struggling, squeezing your eyes shut. his hand pulls down your top just enough. his mouth quite literally waters as he bites down on your exposed skin, leaving cherry red bruises across your collarbones.

you have no choice, you tell yourself. it's okay to get comfortable now. you couldn't have done anything.

you mewl, and he slips two of his fingers in your mouth, watching intently with a hungry gaze as you suck on them enthusiastically— just like back in the hall. your eyes flutter, and you mumble incoherently as his fingers gently thrust in and out of your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. it’s messy and sloppy, and the sight of your saliva slipping down your chin makes him moan softly, “my pretty baby.”

you whimper as his hand slides down to your bottoms. you wait with bated breath as you look at him with hazy eyes. his hand slips down into your panties, and a desperate moan escapes your bruised lips.

“i just want to ruin you,” he chuckles breathlessly, teasing your entrance. he hovers over you, looks at you like a starving man as he pinches your clit. you yelp slightly. he taunts you, gaze full of faux innocence as he raises his eyebrows. “does it hurt, huh, sweetheart? do you want daddy to make you feel good?”

“oh fuck—” the moment that word comes out of his mouth, in his soft, breathy voice— you moan. you're pathetic. it's whiney and high pitched and so utterly desperate, it makes him proud to get a reaction like that out of you. and suddenly he understands a little more why you got so attached to him. he pecks your lips again, and smirks against your mouth. he teases your entrance with a single finger.

you whine, “please.”

“what did you say, hm?” he pretends not to hear you, pushing two fingers in. you've never been brave enough to use two even while masturbating— and his are long and thick. the stretch makes you wince. “come on, baby, tell your old man what you said.”

you try to capture his lips with yours again in hopes that he would stop teasing you. he chuckles breathlessly, then lets out a soft moan at the way your walls clench around him.

“i’m a sadistic, psychotic asshole, right?” he throws your words back at you, and you wince. you squeeze your eyes shut, bite down on your lips to hold back a needy whine. his fingers pull back and then thrust again, curling slightly. his thumb goes to your clit, rubbing it. you take a sharp breath, squirming on the bed as you moan again. he doesn't let up, “is that not what you called me? and now you want me to make you feel good?”

his voice grows serious again, face hardening. his motions stop. “apologize.”

your eyes snap open, and you look at him, surprised. “huh?”

“apologize,” he repeats, “for everything you said earlier. and i'll consider making you cum.”

that gets you to clench your jaw. you glare at him with narrowed eyes, chest heaving with frustration. but you won't do it. if anyone should be apologizing— it's him. he was the one who deceived you and ruined your life. and he hasn't apologized even once. he must think you're stupid. hell would freeze over before you apologize.

you almost reconsider your decision— but then again, his threat only stands if he leaves the players alive. he didn't say anything about language. you shake your head, your previous stubbornness taking over. “not a chance in hell.”

he snorts, looking at you, unamused. his facial expressions don't change, but you can see it in his eyes. little things like a twitch give him away. your heart drops as he pulls his hand out completely, his fingers glistening and wet. he brings them to his mouth, sucks the juices off so casually that it leaves you dumbfounded and flustered.

“i have no patience for brats.” he nods, standing up. you stutter over your words, mouth opening and closing like a fish. much like it did when you first met.

“b-but—”

“i have some work to do.” he announces coldly. you wonder if he's going to do something bad. he's having the time of his life, sexually and emotionally tormenting you. “i'll be back in a bit. i asked the guards to bring you some chocolate milk. feel free to tell them your favourite food for dinner.”

the sudden change in events has you so unbelievably baffled that you can't say a thing as he begins to leave. it's brutal, and it almost makes you want to cry.

“sir?” you call out softly, almost timidly. unsure of how to address him. you're not going to take a risk.

he stops midway, before sighing to himself. he turns to you, looks at the desperation in your eyes.

“inho is fine.” he remarks flatly, swallowing hard. he doesn't know why he decided to reveal his name to you.

perhaps because it would give him another excuse to not let go of you.

you keep looking at him, a devastated expression on your face. like you're dying inside. and maybe you are.

your only source of comfort is gone. you'd gotten too used to it in the past few days. now you wish you'd never met him.

the emotion on his face is unreadable as he walks back to you. he places a soft kiss to your forehead and turns to leave. you grab his hand. the prospect of being alone leaves you terrified. maybe if you can convince him to stay, be good for him, he wouldn't hurt your loved ones. you'll behave.

you start to miss how things used to be.

if things were different, he would have come back to you. he would smile as he walked through the door, and you would finally feel your heart pumping blood as you run to him. he'd drop his gun and hold you, and you'd cry into his chest. he'd ask you if you caused any trouble, and you would take him to your bed and tell him everything. you would tell him that 149 called him your father, and he would laugh— his old man laugh which sounds so sweet and makes his eyes crinkle. he would ruffle your hair and say something along the lines of, ‘with how many times i've saved your ass, i might as well be.’

from a younger age, all you've ever desired is comfort, something you never received. someone to hold you when you cry, to take care of you. protect you. you're sick of being the tough one. the mere idea of it was so far away for you, that the first show of affection and reassurance had you getting this terribly attached. perhaps, inho's biggest crime was taking that away from you.

“inho.” you whisper, visibly crushed. you don't even feel horny anymore. you just miss his comfort, his soft words of reassurance. his laugh. your eyes grow teary. “please don't leave me.”

he looks at you, contemplating. he sighs defeatedly, before grasping your hand properly. it's so warm, and you choke on a soft sob as the reality of your situation sinks in again. you're done for. there's no escape. you're alone, and there's no one to save you. your young-il will not come swooping in to protect you, because he was never there in the first place. you don't even realize when you break down into heartbreaking sobs, breathing ragged.

he isn't used to showing much physical affection. not after what he went through, not until you. and now with you like this, something softens within him. he sits back down on the bed, wordlessly leaning into you, his arms open. you feel utterly pathetic at how quickly you crawl into his lap, burying your face in his chest. you feel like you're betraying your team, but do you have a choice? perhaps you did. you could've chosen to be tough and refuse his affection. but the stakes are different now. your family's life is on the line.

you never stood a chance, not after you met him.

and you don't want to think of a single instance where you don't get to experience being held by him.

your morals are more fucked than you thought. even after all the threats, after him practically forcing you to stay, you can't help but desire his affection. you'll be selfish for once. what could you have done anyway? you would've died in there, and your family would be alone. if what he said is true, atleast now they can live a life of ease without any debts.

as for your team, 456 will look out for them. he's alive, afterall.

you force your mind to be silent.

“i miss you,” you wail painfully, your free hand clutching the fabric of his shirt.

he holds you like a child, a hand pressing your head close, the other wrapping around your waist. he shushes you gently, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. he doesn't regret anything he did. you'd made him promise to come back for you, afterall. he always keeps his word. “i'm right here.”

you lean into his neck, and breathe in the smell of him. you squeeze your eyes shut till your sobs die down into the occasional hiccup. the stretch of your right hand and the rattling of the chains is another reminder of where you are.

perhaps if you stay hidden against his chest, you can try to convince yourself it's still your young-il holding you like this.

A/N: so! that's the end of dusk till dawn. this story truly was my joker. i tend to add a lot of psychological elements and character interactions so the fic feels more immersive and realistic, like you're really part of the game. i hope you liked it. can y'all tell who my favourite characters are? lol. also, i'm very horrible with smut so i really tried but i just can't write too much 💔 I'm mostly an angst girl as you can tell. anyways, this was a little self indulgent. thank you so much for the support you guys showed me, it truly means everything! i might write blurbs related to this specific couple from time to time, but no promises! maybe if i get good ideas or requests. anyways i rambled a lot. thank you for reading. feedback is always motivating.

tags: @bonelessghoul @cowuies @auspicious-lilana @politicstanner @verouys @gloriousjellyfisharcade @carolinevoight @shadowmoonlight0604 @ancrygurl @sunoon @jessgentleman @colorwastaken @loversroq @clown-around-and-find-out @popcorm @xcinnamonmalfoyx @robertthehoover @iloveoldermen0204 @kpopsmutty69 @iamkali

#raven writes #frontman x reader #the frontman x reader smut #hwang inho x reader #hwang inho x you #squid game x reader #squid game x reader smut #squid game fanfic #salesman x reader #player 001 x reader #player 456 #young-il x reader #lee byung hun x reader

3K notes · View notes

beloveds-embrace · 1 month ago

Note

hiya! may i please be 🦈 anon :P

i just saw some of your notes on the neglected omega reader, and the reactions from the pack after they realise they're the threats to you in your heat (absolute devastation, they cant fix it though, the only way they could get close is if you were sedated). after that lonely heat the pack starts trying to fix it, showering you in love and adoration, yet you growl, dont let them in touching distance, and leave any physical gifts back at their doors, not even in their rooms. if any of the pack tries to feed you? you simply reply that you're not hungry, or you feel sick, anything to be away from them. their faces after they see you scavenge for food directly after they offered is almost comparable to after you growl in your heat, rejection, defeat, and guilt.

i think i may be wanting some hurt/no comfort to read

Hurt/no comfort you ask for? Hurt/no comfort you shall get beloved anon 🙂‍↕️

Original Post

The air in your room reeks of sterile emptiness. Stale sheets and hollow pillows, the scent of detergent clinging like cobwebs- cold and impersonal. Nothing here is soft. Nothing here is safe. It is a cage without bars, a nest without warmth, and it’s all you have now.

You are starving for touch, for scent, for safety. But the hunger turns sour in your gut because you know you are unwanted. Unloved.

They have left you.

The thought curls sharp inside your chest, a cruel thorn that sinks deeper every second the door stays shut.

They must hate me.

They must, because how else could they forget you like this? Forget your heats, your needs, your voice when it grew quiet, and then quieter still? And hadn’t you tried to make it easy for them? Hadn’t you swallowed down your hurt, your fear, your endless ache just to keep the peace?

But they’d let your scent curdle. Let you fade into the background like wallpaper, just another fixture they could overlook. Now, you’re ruined inside and out- something sickly, something sour. And no one wants to touch something so… rotten. You understand; you wouldn’t want something like yourself, either.

You wrap your arms around your legs, chin pressed to your knees, trembling as the walls lean in.

They smell it before they see it.

The scent of your heat hits like a knife between the ribs- sharp, wrong, and devastatingly fragile. But it’s the undercurrent that guts them: a bitter rot of loneliness and despair that should have never accompanied you.

Soap is the first to find you, his own scent- sweet and warm, the summer sun and melting icecream- coiling through the hall like a frantic pulse. But it’s met with a growl so feral, so wounded, that he recoils. He doesn’t even make it past the doorway.

“Sweetheart-”

Your snarl cuts him off, raw and rasping, lips pulled back to show teeth. A threat.

He stumbles back, as if burned. The devastation on his face cracks something deep inside of him, his hands trembling as he reaches out and stops just shy of touching the frame. Gaz and Price arrive next, Ghost trailing behind them, and all three of them freeze when they hear Soap’s ragged voice, see the look on his face.

“She- she won’t let me near her.”

Won’t let any of them near you. Gaz steps forward, soft and steady, his beta instincts humming with the need to fix, to soothe, and his scent is something gentle and steady like the lapping of ocean waves- but you press yourself deeper into your nest of broken sheets and reject him, too. Price tries next, voice low and commanding, but the alpha in him only agitates your frayed nerves, makes you hiss like a wounded thing. And Ghost- Ghost doesn’t even try. Can’t, frozen in place as he is. He sees it for what it is.

A rejection.

They’re the threat now. You view them- your own pack as a threat to you.

The silence that follows is shattering. Soap digs his nails into the skin of his palms so harshly he leaves violent crescent moons behind. Gaz’s shoulders shake as he turns away, ashamed. Price sits down hard against the wall, like his knees have finally given out. And Ghost stands in the doorway, fingers curling into fists, his mask the only thing keeping them from seeing the way his face crumbles.

Because they did this. And they know it.

They let you fall apart.

They try to fix it, of course. Oh, God, do they try.

Price leaves his favorite jacket outside your door, the one that smells of gunpowder and cedar and something distinctly alpha and John. Soap writes you notes, apologies scribbled on scraps of paper and slipped beneath the crack. Gaz leaves little gifts- tea, candles, things he remembers you liking before. And Ghost? He stands guard. He’s a shadow outside your door, silent and unmoving, as if his presence alone can make up for his failures.

But you reject it all.

The jacket disappears, but you never wear it. The notes go unread, folded up and left in the corner like discarded memories. The gifts get left outside their doors in return- untouched, unopened.

And it kills them.

They see the way you flinch if they come too close. The way your eyes dart to the exits, calculating how fast you can escape if they dare to step inside your orbit when they were once the very stars circling you. They hear your brittle voice when they try to coax you into eating, into talking, and then they see you scavenge the kitchen like a ghost when you think they’re not looking.

Soap and Gaz drink, let the liquid poison make them forget their pain for one night. Price tears his office apart. Ghost stares at the empty nest you once shared and wonders if you’ll ever come back. Wonders what he must do just for you to look at them as something less than a threat to you.

But you don’t.

Days pass. Then weeks. The pack tries to stay patient, tries to be gentle, but the distance grows wider, and with it, their guilt festers. Soap lingers outside your door the longest, pressing his forehead to the wood and whispering apologies through the grain. How could he let his packmate, his fellow Omega, feel like this?

“Please, bonnie… please let us fix it.”

Gaz leaves another meal at your door, but this time it’s warm and handmade- freshly cooked, something that smells like comfort and home. He waits. Hopes. But the plate is left untouched again.

Price is quieter. He doesn’t leave gifts or words, just stands outside your door sometimes and waits, like his presence alone might be enough.

Ghost, though. Ghost is the worst.

He’s careful never to touch you, never to linger where you might even see him, but you feel him everywhere. His scent hangs heavier in the air, marking paths he knows you take, and it gnaws at your resolve.

But you don’t break.

You can’t. Because if you let them back in, they’ll hurt you again, and you don’t care how much it destroys them. You are sure they do not love you anymore- they are merely trying to absolve their guilt, more than anything else.

They see the weight you carry, the exhaustion in your bones, the hollowness where your light used to be, and they don’t know how to fix it. Price stays awake at night, staring at the ceiling and wondering how he let this happen- how he let one of his omegas slip so far away that he doesn’t know how to reach you anymore. Soap aches. He aches in the marrow of his bones, his scent dull and muted without you there to soften it. He sketches you from memeory- moments and seconds where you’d been happy. He should have seen it sooner. Should have done something. Gaz tries to hold them together, but even he cracks eventually. The sight of you turning away from his gift, his offering, cuts so deep he doesn’t know if it’ll ever heal.

Ghost doesn’t break. But he’s the one who starts leaving things inside the nest you abandoned, the nest that once had an imprint of you. Little things. A mug. A scarf. A photo. Pieces of them, pieces of you.

Because Ghost knows it’s not just about earning your trust back. It’s about proving that no matter how far you run, no matter how long it takes-

They’ll still be here.

Waiting.

1K notes · View notes

hcneymooners · 29 days ago

Text

⋆ and if we bite each other, the pain is sweet.

farmhand!sevika x farmer’s daughter!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: you find a woman in your barn who looks suspiciously like the fugitive who remains wanted on your town's bulletin board. but you've always a soft spot for the strong ones.

cw: age difference, older woman/younger woman, outlaw!sevika, farmhand!sevika, farmer's daughter!reader, reader has curly hair, reader is in her twenties, reader is feral for sevika but tries to keep it cute, soft!masc!reader (i'm not sure if she counts as masc in this but that was the intention! i said soft bc there are times where she dresses overtly femme in the beginning), muscular!reader, strong!reader and sevika is insane about it, touch starved!sevika, soft!sevika, sevi getting praised and spoiled as deserved, petnames, non-sexual intimacy, seduction, dirty talk, praise kink, strength kink, you manhandle sevi like a mf, begging, cunnilingus, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, tribbing, face riding, nipple play, reader waxing poetic about sevi and pretty she is, dom!reader, pleasure domming, sub!sevika, bdsm elemetns, dom/sub, power play, subspace, implied switch!sevi, mommy kink (specifically mama!). notes: guys i'm so fucking PISSED because tumblr deleted the fucking ask that made this even happen. but nonnie please know this is for you and i hope you love it, mama. also this got a little crazy. did not intend to write sub!sevi but then i was possessed and saw the light.

The morning mist hasn't burned off yet when you find her. In the barn's half-light, dust motes swim like sparks around the stranger's sleeping silhouette, her broad shoulders rising and falling against the hay. There's dried blood on her knuckles, you notice, but her hands are curled gentle as a child's against her chest.

Your daddy's shotgun rests steady in your hands, barrel aimed low but ready. The wild dogs haven't raised any alarm; they're curled near the woman like she belongs there. You watch her breath, take in the way her mouth hangs a little open like she’s aching to feed. Moths flutter against the high windows, their wings catching dawn's grey light.

"Daddy's gonna want to know why I didn't shoot you," you say softly, your voice carrying in the hollow space.

Your short hair tickles your jaw as you tilt your head, studying. You’ve chopped it for the summer and the heat you applied to it is lifting. You can feel the curls right bursting around your cheeks.

There's something about the woman's face - even in sleep, it holds a story you've seen somewhere before, maybe on that board in town square you've trained yourself not to look at too closely.

The stranger's eyes open - dark and steady as well water. She doesn't startle, despite the gun trained on her. Just watches you like she's reading something written in the air between you both, her gaze catching on the way your corset top pulls tight across your chest, the intricate lace trim exposing your shoulders to the morning air and accentuating the swell of your breasts.

"Would you have?" the woman asks, voice rough with sleep and something else. Her accent isn't local - has too many edges.

Your lips curl.

"Ain't shot a thing yet that didn't deserve it."

You shift your weight, dark jeans whispering against your boots. The corset suddenly feels more revealing under the stranger's gaze, dawn light playing across the ropy back. "You got a name?"

"Sevika." A pause, heavy as August air. "You always dress up to do barn chores?"

"Only when I've got a feeling about something." You step closer, morning light catching in your hair like a halo, shotgun lowering just slightly. You can smell gunpowder and road dust on her, underneath the hay. "Kitchen's got coffee on. Might even have some bacon, if you can convince me you're worth feeding."

Sevika sits up slow, careful, like she's trying not to spook a wild thing. Her shirt is rolled to the elbows, revealing forearms mapped with scars and something that might be tattoo ink. "That an invitation or an interrogation?"

"Guess that depends on what kind of answers you give."

You rest the shotgun against your shoulder, turning toward the barn door, letting morning spill across your exposed skin. You don't look back - don't need to. You can feel Sevika's eyes on you like a physical touch, can hear the soft grunt as she stands.

The horses shuffle in their stalls, steam rising from their backs. Outside, a rooster crows - late, like always. Everything's waking up slow and sweet, the way summer mornings do.

Your pulse thrums steady in your throat. There's danger in this - in the way Sevika's boots fall into step behind you. But you've never been one to let fear stop you from taking in strays. Even ones that look at you like they'd like to devour you whole.

As you walk, you can tell that she’s drinking in the sight of the farm as strangers tend to do. The acres go for miles, the sky straining and stretching across its great, green rolling body. Most of the buildings—the farmhouse, the barn, the bustling chicken coop—were built raised by your mother’s hands. She was an architect romanced and rescued by your father, though you suspect she did the rescuing more than him.

You shimmy a hand down the downy back of one of the newest calves, nose scrunching with affection as he moos back at you. Eventually the house looms before you, the windows popped open and laundry swaying outback despite the expensive machine your mother couldn’t do without.

“You comin’?” You murmur, and Sevika blinks from where she’s been watching you stand in the doorway, your back well-muscled and strong.

⟡ ݁₊ . 🌱🐄🧺 ⟡ ݁₊ .

The screen door snaps shut behind you both with a familiar whine. Morning floods the kitchen through tall windows—your mother's insistence on "proper light for proper cooking"—and catches on the copper pots hanging above the island. The coffee pot gurgles its last, right on time.

You set the shotgun in its place by the door, muscle memory, though you keep half an eye on Sevika as she takes in the space. The kitchen tells its own stories: your mother's architectural drawings spread across one end of the table, your daddy's mud-caked boots by the back door, fresh-cut flowers in a Mason jar that catch the light just so. The dishes on the side of the sink are speckled stone, sanded and glazed by the artistry of your older sister. The washing machine hums through the wall, keeping time like a heartbeat.

"Sit," you say, gesturing to the worn oak table. It's been scratched and stained by three generations of family suppers, and something in you stirs at the sight of Sevika pulling out a chair—this stranger inserting herself into your history. "Less you'd rather stand."

She sits, those capable hands folding on the tabletop. Her shoulders are still coiled tight, ready to run, but her eyes follow you as you move through the kitchen's familiar dance. Two mugs from the cabinet (your favorite and daddy's backup), bacon from the icebox, cornbread left from last night.

"Sugar?" you ask, though you've already reached for it. The container clinks against your rings as you set it down.

"Black's fine." Her voice is softer in here, like the domesticity of the space has gentled her edges. But when you lean past her to set down her mug, you catch a whiff of leather and gun oil beneath the barn hay. Your curls brush her shoulder, and you feel more than hear her sharp intake of breath.

You take your time settling into the chair across from her, adding three sugars to your own coffee with deliberate movements. Your mother would be appalled at you entertaining company in just a corset top, but there's something thrilling about the way Sevika's gaze keeps catching on the lace trim, on the exposed line of your collarbones, the rise of your breath.

You let her observe because you’re doing the same. Sevika is gorgeous, the kind of beautiful that sinks deep inside of a woman and wears her out. Her grey eyes are like two beacons and they remind you of the deer you’d beg his father not to shoot. The ones you would run after, flapping your arms to get them to scatter.

Her face is almost ridiculously romantic, with a strong nose sitting pretty in the middle that reminds you of royalty. Her eyes are never-ending, a pit that gapes into who she is. Her skin is textured, as it gets when you’re (allegdly) living on the edge of the law. You can tell she’s older than you without her saying it. Something about her radiates maturity, the same as your mother who’s practically seen the world rise and fall.

"So," you say, watching her over the rim of your mug. "You gonna tell me what brings a woman like you to sleep in my barn? Or do I need to go take another look at that board in town?"

Her jaw tightens, but she doesn't flinch.

"Would it change your mind about the bacon if I did?"

"Depends." You lean back, let your chair creak against the floorboards. Through the window, you can see the laundry dancing on the line, your mother's favorite dress a splash of yellow against the morning sky. "On whether you deserved what put you there."

Sevika's fingers tighten around her mug, and you catch sight of old burns across her knuckles. "Most things ain't that simple."

"Most things worth protecting ain't either." You slide the plate of cornbread toward her, a peace offering. Your voice softens; you were never good at acting hard. "Eat something, sugar. Then we'll talk about what kind of work needs doing around here, if you're planning to stay.”

Something shifts in her expression—surprise at the endearment maybe, or relief. When she reaches for the cornbread, her sleeve rides up, revealing more of that tattoo. It looks like a snake, or maybe a dragon, curling up her arm. You wonder how far it goes, what other stories her skin might tell.

The washing machine clicks into its spin cycle, and somewhere outside, your daddy's truck rumbles to life. The morning's moving on, and there's work waiting. But for now, you let yourself sit in this moment: the sun warming your bare shoulders, the quiet sounds of Sevika eating at your family table.

“I suspect,” she says, her throat bucking as she swallows, “that your parents will have a bit more sense about hiring a fugitive for farm work.”

You shrug, pick a corner off the cornbread on her plate.

“Everyone out here is struggling. We all need someone or something. The only reason we’re faring slightly better is because this place was paid off as an anniversary gift by my grandparents.” You glance out the window. “Plus, I’m my daddy’s favortite. He tends to listen to me.”

There’s something sad about the way you say it, as if it aggrieved you to be so loved. But the moment passes and you’re looking back at her, lips full and curved like the moon.

“It’ll be good for us,” you decide and she lets it go. “Get seconds if you’d like, sugar. I'll intercept them.”

“I’m older than you,” Sevika rumbles and you hide a smile, cock your hip out as you grab a basket for the chickens.

“Doesn’t make you any less sweet on the eyes.”

At that her head ducks down and you laugh, the sound clear and bright like a bell.

⟡ ݁₊ . 🌱🐄🧺 ⟡ ݁₊ .

With that Sevika finds herself hired as a farmhand under the stern eye of your father and the knowing eye of your mother. The work is honest and she relishes being able to lose herself in it, settle into the rhythm and flow of this little world your blood has built.

She doesn’t know what to do with you however.

Now, Sevika has lived several lives at this point. In fact sometimes she awoke in the night under the strain of them, the urge to run stampeding from where it sits behind her teeth and under the flat of her tongue. She understands on some level that women find her attractive, brooding. She’s unsurprised at the hints you keep dropping over the weeks. You probably find her intriguing, see her as a means to rebel with her older age and criminal nature.. (“I’m literally in my twenties, Sevika. ‘M not a baby.”)

At least that’s what she thinks at first. But then, she begins to doubt herself and overanalyze your rather…creative attempts to satisfy your coveteous nature.

The first is when she wakes up one early morning, the sky slurred between cotton candy pink and a warm lilac, to find you taking a bath in a two-bit shining steel contraption of a tub. Your body is trembling, but you seem at peace. Your curls are heavy and swollen with water, made longer by the weight of the moisture. She watches your back flex as you move, takes in the hidden strength of your arms and peeking thighs. Your muscle takes her aback, makes her stomach warm real down low.

She should move—your parents will be up soon—but you’re just so captivating when you’re kissed by the dawn. The water sloshes as you pour it over yourself, the underside of your breasts flashing as you soap down. And then you turn, peeking over your shoulder and gazing at her with faux-bambi eyes as you trace a hand up and over your chest to get your back.

She feels warm, teased in a manner that makes her throat squeeze and her hands clench. She doesn’t know what to do with this, doesn’t know how to naviage this eager rabid want that you show her so openly. And it just doesn’t stop.

But what really gets under Sevika’s skin is the kindness that you insist on bludgering her with, especially when no one’s watching. It’s genuine, unexpecting, and claws at her skin with tender phantom fingers.

Just the other day, Sevika had been unable to successfully ward off a duo of wolves and three sheep had been lost in her efforts. She’d apologized gruffly and repeatedly until your mother stepped forward and cupped her chin with a firm hand, telling her to “fuck off with this bullshit because it wasn’t intentional and you tried your best.” What was with you women and nurturing her?

After, Sevika had gone back to where the lasty wooly body lay—the small innocent bones of a lamb. She had felt sick at the sight because the lamb wasn’t a lamb in that moment; she’d seen something else. You saw the lean figure of her body as it bent over in some sort of grief, distraught at the sight of the dead animal beneath it.

Sevika, You had said with shining eyes. Are you alright?

Sevika had looked at you long and hard before making a noise from deep within her throat. Turning swiftly, she tried to block you off from the sight.

I don’t think you’ll want to see this, she’d muttered and you’d settled your hands on your hips.

I’ve lived this long before you were working here, you reminded her.

Sevika’s face was still broken in an open expression of confusion and remorse when you moved forward. Carefully, you swallowed the bulk of her body into the warmth of yours. You weren’t nearly as big, but you held your own and you held her fast. The two of you stayed just like that, with your hand tucked neatly behind her head as you steadied her.

Now, she watches as your broad shoulders dip as you kneel to pick up the limp body of a fallen chicken. These goddamn wolves needed to be dealt with.

It’s in their nature, sugar, you’d told her.

“Wait,” she calls out and you turn to look at her, your cheeks apple-full under the thicket of your lashes.

“Hmm?” you say back, your voice curious.

“Put gloves on if you’re gonna touch it. It probably had some sort of disease.”

Sevika walks closer, grabbing a spare pair of gloves she usually keeps for the other town boys who your father has helping him throughout harvesting week. She holds them out, those dark eyes glittering like grey moonstone.

You look up at her then, curls haloed around your soft face. They’re still kept short, dust your dimpled chin. You look so young and probably always would, the baby fat clinging to your cheeks like the hands of a lover. Sevika continues to gaze down at you, firm and unrelenting, and you smile gently as she eventually looks away.

You’re not moving fast enough, so she crouches down and takes your hands, sliding each glove on and making sure the fingers fit. She notes that your nails are square and glossy, painted an icy pink. You watch with an affected air, scooping the small body up when she finally lets go.

“I’m sorry,” You say to the glassy eyes of the hen and Sevika’s heart seizes.

“‘M sorry, sweetheart,” she tells you, gentle and understanding.

You glance at her and then back at the animal you hold.

“No need to apolgize, you didn’t do anything wrong. Can you help me dig a grave for her?”

Sevika doesn’t know if it would really be worth it to bury it, but you’re a little sad and so obviously cold in your oversized cotton tee and denim shorts. Your skin lights up with the mid-afternoon sun and Sevika can see all of your goosebumps and the fine dusting of hair.

“I—sure,” she agrees and You nod, walking away and trusting her to follow.

Before you begin to lead the march, you turn back and cup her elbow.

“Thank you, sugar.”

And that’s all. She wants to fucking eat you.

You continue to unravel her expectations like cotton thread.

You catch her before dawn another morning, when the sky's still tender with sleep and dark like the evening is loath to leave. She's checking the fence line, and you appear like a vision with two thermoses of coffee and your father's old flannel draped over your worn dark green longsleeve. When you pass her the coffee, your fingers linger on hers longer than necessary.

"Thought you might be cold out here, sugar," you say, and the endearment makes her throat tight. She's not used to being the one called sweet things.

You settle beside her on the fence, close enough that she can feel your warmth. The morning fog rolls across the fields like a dream, and Sevika finds herself watching the way it catches in your hair and the bones of your fingers, how it makes you look ethereal and solid all at once.

"You don't have to keep doing this," she says roughly, though she cradles the thermos close.

"Doing what?" Your voice is innocent but your eyes are knowing.

"Taking care of me. Bringing me things. Being..." she gestures vaguely, unable to name the way you make her feel seen.

You laugh, and she shivers. "Sugar, has it occurred to you that maybe I want to? That maybe I see something in you worth cherishing? That I’m just being genuine?"

The word ‘genuine’ hits her like a physical thing. She ducks her head, unused to this kind of naked affection, but you just reach over and touch her jaw with gentle fingers.

"You're allowed to let someone be sweet on you," you murmur. "Even if you're pushing forty."

There's teasing in your voice, but your touch is reverent. Sevika wants to protest—about the age difference, about her rough past, about how someone as bright and whole as you shouldn't want someone as weathered as her. But you're looking at her like she’s the human version of the Promised Land, and all her arguments die in her throat.

"I don't know how to do this," she admits, voice barely above a whisper.

"Do what?" You're stroking her jaw now, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth.

"Nothing. I need to get back to work."

You lean back, let her go.

“If it’s about learning,," you call, your voice trailing after like smoke, "the good thing is that I'm a real good teacher."

The next time I’m in town, she thinks, I need to buy a pack of damn cigarettes.

⟡ ݁₊ . 🌱🐄🧺 ⟡ ݁₊ .

From then on, you start to learn her tells. Like how she always positions herself between you and any perceived threat, how her hands flex when she's trying not to reach for a weapon that isn't there anymore. How she startles, less now, when you're gentle with her.

You catch her in the barn one afternoon, trying to wrap her own ribs after a particularly rough day breaking the new stallion. Her knuckles are white with the effort of reaching around, face drawn tight with pain she won't admit to.

"Sugar," you say softly, and she freezes like a spooked deer. "Let me help you with that."

Her eyes dart to you, then away. "I've had worse."

"Ain't about what you've had." You cross to her, boots quiet in the hay. "About what you deserve now."

You take the bandage from her callused fingers, and she lets you - that alone feels like a victory. This close, you can see the way her breath catches when your fingers brush her skin. Like caring for her is its own kind of violence.

"Lift your arms for me, darlin'," you murmur, and something in her expression cracks when you call her that. Like she can't quite believe the sweetness in your voice is meant for her. But she obeys, raising her arms slowly, letting you wrap her ribs with careful precision.

"You don't have to-" she starts, but you shush her.

"I know I don't have to. Want to." Your fingers trace a scar on her side, old and silver in the afternoon light. "Anybody ever just take care of you, Sevika?"

She doesn't answer, but the way she trembles under your touch says enough. You secure the bandage and let your hands linger on her waist, thumbs brushing bare skin above her jeans.

"Well," you say, pressing a lingering kiss to her shoulder, right where that dragon tattoo curls toward her neck, "better get used to it. I take good care of what's mine."

Her sharp inhale sounds like thunder, and when she turns in your arms, her usual swagger is nowhere to be found. Just vulnerability, raw and beautiful as a sunrise. You cup her face in your hands, thumbs stroking her cheeks, and she leans into your touch like she's starving for it.

"When did you decide tha?" she asks, voice rough. "That I’m yours?"

You smile, soft and sure, and smooth out the furrow in her brow. "You were mine the moment you settled onto my land, sugar. Just took us both a minute to catch up."

And maybe you came on too strong, ‘cause she yanks herself back and straightens her shoulders.

“Thanks.”

You sigh, loud and irate. She’s so fucking—

“No problem, honey.”

⟡ ݁₊ . 🌱🐄🧺 ⟡ ݁₊ .

It happens during the last heat of summer, when the air sits thick as honey on your skin. You're in the barn, having just finished moving hay bales—work that would've taken twice as long if you weren't so used to it. Your blue and white bandana top clings to your chest, sweat stealing out from under it, and you can feel Sevika watching you from where she's meant to be fixing the tractor. You arch your back a little more, make sure to display the way your little rose-bud panties poke over the worn mouth of your lightwash, knee-length jean shorts.

You've caught her looking more and more lately. Noticed how her eyes track the contraction of your arms when you're lifting feed bags, the way she startles when you easily hoist yourself into the saddle. Like she can't quite reconcile your soft curves with the strength beneath them.

"You gonna fix that tractor, sugar?" you ask without turning around, smile curving your lips when you hear her shift. Your desire is practically shaking the bones of your teeth."Or you just gonna watch me work?"

Her throat clicks.

"I’m—I'm nearly done."

You hum, reaching up to stack the last bale. Your shirt’s knot loosens a little ‘round your back, exposing the dip of skin, and you hear something metallic clatter to the floor behind you. When you turn, Sevika's staring at you with those storm-grey eyes, wrench forgotten at her feet. There's grease on her forearms, sweat at her temples, and she's looking at you like she's finally ready to break.

"Something wrong?" you ask innocently, crossing to her. Your bare feet are silent in the hay.

She swallows hard when you reach her, especially when you grip the tractor's edge on either side of her, caging her in with arms that could just as easily lift her. "You know exactly what you're doing."

"Do I?" You lean closer, letting her feel the strength in your body. "Tell me what I'm doing, sugar."

Her hands flex at her sides, like she's fighting not to touch you.

"You're driving me crazy," she admits roughly.

“Oh,” you whisper, pursing your lips. “Do I make you nervous, baby?”

She flushes, tries to scramble back, and you laugh, soft and low.

"Driving you crazy, huh? Only fair. You've been driving me crazy since I found you in my barn." You trace a finger down her jaw, feeling how she trembles. "The way you look at me when you think I can't see. The way you try so hard to be good, to keep your distance."

Your other hand finds her hip, grip firm. You squeeze them in warning.

"I've seen how you watch me work. You like that I'm strong enough to handle you?"

She makes a broken sound, head falling back. "[Name]."

"I've got you," you murmur, and then you're lifting her onto the tractor's edge like she weighs nothing, stepping between her legs. Her eyes go wide, pupils blown, and her hands finally, finally come up to grip your biceps. "Been wanting to do that for weeks. You know you gotta tanline right here?"

You finger the thin edge of her boxers from beneath her jeans,

"Christ," she breathes, fingers tightening on your arms. "You're gonna kill me."

“Are you religious? That’s cutesy,” You smile, pressing closer until you can feel her heartbeat racing against your chest. "Nah, sugar. Just gonna take real good care of you." Your hands slide up her thighs, feeling the way she shivers. "If you'll let me."

She answers by pulling you into a kiss that tastes like summer storms and surrender, and you smile against her mouth. You've got her right where you want her—trembling and warm in your capable hands.

"That's it," you whisper when you pull back to breathe, one hand coming up to cup her face. "Let me handle you, mama. Just like you need."

And Sevika, who's spent years being the strong one, the dangerous one, the one who protects—she lets herself fall into you, lets herself be gentled by your hands. Maybe this is what surrender feels like: not a defeat, but a coming home.

⟡ ݁₊ . 🌱🐄🧺 ⟡ ݁₊ .

Your most prevailing thought is that you’re pissed you didn’t get to see Sevika like this earlier.

Her back arches beautifully, her chest rising with pleasure as you hold her down on the floor by the hips. Your mouth is relentless, suckling at her warm pussy with fervor. She tastes sweet and she’s so soaked, her arousal dribbling out of your mouth and onto your chin. You hum as she roots a hand in your hair, tugging harshly as she grinds down in tight little circles.

She’s whimpering, high breathy sounds that you’re determined to keep streaming from her slick lips. She’s still quiet, as you expected, but Christ does she want it. You let her use you, sliding your hands from her hips up to cup and grope her tits. Her nipples are erect, so hard and pretty and pointed toward heaven like she’s trying to tempt God. She’d probably succeed.

The sun slips through the slats of the barn and it illuminates her skin, the brown of it so warm that you almost feel as if you’re both on fire. You slip your tongue into the tight clutch of her cunt, gently dipping back and forth so that you’re fucking her on your tongue, and squeeze her ass in silent demand. She digs her nails into you, moans loudly, but still doesn’t heed.

With a groan of irritation, you clutch her ass with a grip of steel and begin to bounce her on your face until she starts to see the bigger picture. Eventually, she’s moving on her own—fast and uncoordinated as that bright spiral begins to coil in her stomach.

“Oh my God,” she groans. “Just like that. Please.”

You pull away, spread her apart.

“I know, mama,” you murmur and then dive back in.

Her thighs come up around your head and you let her crush you, shaking your head like a dog in heat as you nurse and lap at her pussy. Above you, Sevika twists one of her nipples and you feel her body tense in response. You bring a hand up to rub at her clit, and she jerks.

When she cums, she’s so bright and beautiful—like a star imploding onto itself. Her legs fall open and she lets out a low whine, like an animal, her hips still circling as she attempts to ride it out.

“Hold on, mama,” you tell her. “I’m gonna give it to you.”

You move quickly, undressing completely and laying your body against hers. Your tits push into hers and she nuzzles into your neck, mind still hazy. You soothe her, digging a thumb into her lower back as you slip two fingers into the meat of her. She lets out a strangled yell at the overstimulation, but you hold her to it.

You fuck your fingers into her, until the squelch is more than obscene, watching as she shakes and writhes alongside you. You use your other hand to guide her to your mouth, kissing her messily as you introduce a third finger to her pussy.

“Oh,” she moans, low and raspy, and you coo at her. “Oh, shit. Holy—holy fuck.”

“Yeah? Does that feel good, baby? You have to tell me what you like.”

“I—mmm. Yes. Yes, it feels good. I need—I need—”

Sevika trails off, eyes wide and watery. You roll over, tucking her under you while you continue to finger her. You raise one of her legs, widening the angle, and she squeals. You laugh lowly into the seam of her neck before sucking the skin between your teeth, biting down and bruising her.

“What do you need, mama? More?”

“Yes, but—,” She blinks, attempting to clear her head. “I want you too. I want you to finish with me.”

“With you or on you?” You watch her face as you ask, eyes following the twitch of her brow. “Maybe in you?”

That makes her shiver, and you smile as you sit up.

“Whatever you want, baby,” you mutter as you manhandle her into how you want her. “I’ll give you whatever you want.”

She shivers again and you pull her up, drawing her against your chest so that your tits are once again pressing up against each other. Carefully, you extend her strong legs over yours and inch forward until your clits catch. The friction is insane and your mouth drops open along the same time that Sevika goes ramrod straight.

You dive right in, fucking up so that your cunts slide and swallow each other. She’s so creamy, her previous orgasm sliding down her thighs. There’s a moment where your control dips, where she’s the one ramming the two of you together and leading you up so that you can grind harder until she stutters again.

Then it’s back and you’re holding her down, spreading her even further open as you rub your pussy roughly against hers. You need her to stay down, need her to take what you choose to give. Sevika is beneath you, trembling and open mouthed, and you stick two fingers down her throat ‘till she’s gagging wetly around them.

“Oh m’God,” you moan, your eyes never leaving hers. “You’re such a fucking slut, mama. Jesus.”

That does it and you feel her pour into you, thick and warm. You follow shortly after, rocking and pushing down against her as you chase the feeling. She’s sobbing, a hand coming up to grip at her throat as she tries to match your movements.

You slow, come to a stop, and stroke her face as you rise off of her. Tenderly, you kiss at her cheeks and eyelids as you sush her.

“I know, baby. You were so good. Such a good, perfect, strong woman. Hmm?” You kiss her temple. “You did so well, mama.”

She’s shaking, so you hold her until she’s less far away. You want to get up, get her some water and maybe something to eat but she’s holding you captive. Sevika turns into you, body big and curved like the moon come to earth.

The afternoon light paints everything gold, and you know you’ve got work waiting—always do, on a farm. But for now, you just continue to hold her. Somewhere outside, those wild dogs are keeping watch.

⚚ special taglist: @blackdykegirlblogger @gaysevika @lovelifelaughsakuna @thesevi0lentdelights @rios-st4rs @16novvs @rottngrl3 @namuranguinhos @pllduniverse @swordfemm4 @alexthewalex @baeumonde

#sevika x y/n #sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika arcane #sevika league of legends #wlw smut #lesbian #sapphic #arcane smut #arcane fanfic #arcane x reader #female!reader #fem!reader #mine ; 🐎.

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wh0smyst1cal · 15 days ago

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💙Shadow milk cookie general dating hcs!!!!🥛

First post yayayayaya

Gender neutral reader!

has millions of nicknames for you, you're shorter than him? Munchkin, Pumpkin seed, dwarf, shortcake, peanut, shrimp, etc. You're taller than him? Giraffe, Behemoth, Bean pole, Giant. Conclusion? No matter what, he will call you all the nicknames under the sun.

Absolute menace, loves pranking you, sometimes even convinces (forces) you to prank others. Although he does love pranking you, would never go too far to the point of actually hurting you, thats a line he'll NEVER cross, would rather die than hurt you.

Always floats, therefore, you are too, loves carrying you. You're scared of heights? too bad, suck it up!

Very touch starved, he was trapped in a tree for eons, always hugging you, or kissing you. Loves PDA, he deffo isn't afraid to show the world than you are his and he is yours.

Hes the shortest of all the beasts, but considering they're all tall freaks, hes still tall compared to normal cookies (6'5) Loves putting things on tall places so you can't reach them or putting them over your head, biggest piece of shit in history

Extremely protective, will annihilate anyone who even dares to even touch you

Loves stargazing with you.

Big spoon, sometimes even little spoon if you beg him enough

Lets you join his plays, absolutely fawing over you, says stuff like: "And my gorgeous/handsome y/n, my beautiful, and perfect y/n..." and he goes on and on...You can only stare at him while he calls you trillions of nice words...

PLEASE COME HOME SHADOW MILK PLZ PLZ PLZ PLZ PLZ PLZ

#shadow milk cookie x reader #crk x reader #cookie run x reader #cookie run kingdom #shadow milk cookie #crk

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areislol · 2 years ago

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𝗡𝗦𝗙𝗪 𝗩𝗜𝗦𝗨𝗔𝗟𝗦 𝗪 𝗛𝗣 𝗕𝗢𝗬𝗦

ft. harry j. potter, ron weasley, draco malfoy, cedric diggory, sirius black, remus lupin

warnings. aged up!! nsfw content, MDNI! mostly soft sex but rough sex is also included, twitter links. fem! reader, sub! characters will be mentioned in the names, imaginative texts included! pet play, teasing, nasty stuff

a/n. cedric, sirius and lupin's image is below!! kinda ooc! ron? i barely see any hp visual links so.. here this is lmao, and please, again, MDNI. sirius n remmy in the marauders era // this is my 2nd nsfw hc/fic im crying happy tears.. ALSO FIRST EVER HP WORK

here's a spotify playlist.

harry james. potter

𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐇𝐎… absolutely adores your tits, he will rest/sleep on your chest, sucking on your nipples as he falls asleep (his mouth latched onto it still), it's some sort of.. comfort to him. he loves how they're so soft and squishable. loves playing with them, rolling your nipple in between his fingers as he sucks on your other nipple before switching sides.

"I- mhm, god your tits... please.. can I?" harry pleads while looking up at you with puppy dog eyes. Your fingers run through his hair as you nod. He's quick to latch onto your tit as he starts to suck them softly which makes you softly moan as you tug onto his hair, rutting your pussy against his leg.

𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐇𝐎… even after a long day will take his time and be patient and soft with you as he tenderly places a kiss on your thighs before kitty-licking your pussy <3 he's quite literally making out with your pussy and devouring it. if you didn't know any better you would've thought he was a starved animal.

"Just be a good girl f'me yeah? Be nice and good while I eat this pretty pussy.." harry says before ducking down in between your thighs as he begins to eat your pussy feverishly.

𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐇𝐎… loves to fuck you in the reserve cowgirl position, watching as your tits bounce up and down, as his appears before being engulfed with your pussy. sometimes giggling and smiling while staring up at you in awe.

"Oh- fuck, oh your pussy feels so good-!" he says, his head lolled back as his dick slips in and out of your wet pussy.

𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐇𝐎… just wants to be soft with you although most times it turns into a heaty session. loves to make out before having sex with you or during, as long as his lips are on yours that's all that matters..

making out with you before having passionate sex is his favourite thing to do. "I love you so, so much y/n.." he whispers before ghosting your lips to which you smile at before kissing him, for real this time.

𝐒𝐔𝐁! 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐇𝐎… squirms, twitches and whimpers when you touch and jerk his dick, rolling your thump and hand over his tip as he desperately tries to stop you from overstimulating him.

"mhm, please.. y/n-! Ah.. stop, please." harry whimpers as he takes hold of your hand, "uh-uh, just be a good boy and let me touch you.. you'll be a good boy, right?" you chuckle when harry nods his head vigorously.

𝐒𝐔𝐁! 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐇𝐎… is shy during your first time having sex, he's quiet at first but after you ride him he's whimpering and panting, he can only look at you in awe as you ride him

"Shy? Why are you shy?" you question while straddling his lap, your hands on his shoulders as you smirk from his flustered face. "I-im, because.. it's my first time you know.." he mumbles as he turns his head away from embarrassment. You place your finger on his chin and make him look at you, "don't be shy, harry.. let me make you feel good. I promise I will.." you coo.

ron weasley

𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐎… jerks off while allowing you to ride his hand as he rubs circles on your clit.

"Oh wow... this is nice.." ron whispers, watching you stroke his dick with your hand while he rubs circles on your clit. "Oh please.. ron just get on with it." you whine, ron smirks and nods, "anything for you."

𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐎… is slow with you, peppering you with small kisses. thrusting slowly in you before gradually fucking you like how you want to be fucked <3

"You like that, hm?" ron is never the one to tease you in bed but seeing you all open to him sparks something in him that he can't explain, all he knows is that he's feeling good. "Let me make you feel good baby"

𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐎… makes out with your pretty pussy! on most days he just wants to stuff his face in between your legs until you cry out his name multiple times, gripping onto his hair tightly as he makes your stomach knot over and over again.

"Oh, ron! Please.." you whine as you gripped onto his hair tightly. "Please what?" ron mumbles, his mouth still latched onto your pussy as his tongue licks stripes on your clit. "Please go faster.."

𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐎… pounds your pussy after a long day without seeing you, he just missed this pretty pussy of his.

"D'you know how much i've missed you? Huh? Missed this pretty pussy." ron bucks his hips forward as he slams into your cunt and he doesn't stop, he just missed you so much, he missed being inside of you. You'll be good a girlfriend and allow him to, hm?

𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐎… watches as his cum drips out of your pussy, admiring it before fucking you again and again, pulling his dick out just to see his cum drip out of you.

"Oh would you look at that.." he whispers, fingers prodding and stretching your pussy to see his cum dripping out of your fluttering hole. "So cute" he coos, he could not wait to do that again.

draco malfoy

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐎𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐎… fingers you, leaving you breathless and moaning for more. who slaps your face harshly before kissing you.

Draco's fingers are pumping in and out of your weeping hole, and he's doing it roughly. "You like that? It feels good?" draco whispers in your ear, grinning as he already knew the answer. Your hands are clutching his arm. You were too tired and overstimulated to speak, you could only nod. "I need words baby."

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐎𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐎… sneaked you into his room after his roommates left and proceeded to fuck you balls deep.

Draco invited you to come visit his room just to "study" but you knew that draco was never really the one to study, but you agreed anyways, he was your boyfriend after all. What you didn't expect was in after a few minutes he would be balls deep inside of you. "Oh-! Draco, it feels so good, mmm"

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐎𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐎… has a breeding kink, wanting to stuff you with his cum, watching as it all dribbles down from your pussy. Watching as your pussy clenches around nothing.

"You're so cute y/n, you know?" he hums teasingly, his hands gripped onto your thighs tightly as he pulls them apart to admire his work. You knew draco was looking at you, or rather your pussy, but nonetheless it made you feel hot under his gaze. You mew in response as your pussy clenches around nothing, obviously hinting that you wanted something more.. thicker inside of you once more.

cedric diggory

𝐂𝐄𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐂 𝐃𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐎… fucks you in doggy style <3 relishing in how his dick is being swallowed whole by your pussy.

"You look so pretty like this.." he murmurs as he pounds into your red and abused cunt. "Mmm so pretty for you-!" you sputter out as your hands clench onto the bedsheets tightly.

𝐂𝐄𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐂 𝐃𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐎… passionately makes out with your clit before fingering you whilst licking and flicking your bud with his warm tongue.

"You like that don't you?" cedric mumbles as he stares up at you while fingering and licking your cunt. "Mhm! Yes i dooo" you drag the 'o's as he speeds up his fingering, cedric only grinned as your juices flow down his chin.

𝐂𝐄𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐂 𝐃𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐎… holds your hand as he pumps his fingers in and out of your pussy, he just wants to hold hands while doing something intimate with you <3

"Here, hold my hand pretty" he says – in a sweet tone as if he wasn't fingering you harshly – as he intertwines his hands with yours. "God you're so cute."

𝐂𝐄𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐂 𝐃𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐎… eats you out in his room while his roommates are away for quidditch practice, he called in sick just to eat his pretty princesses' pussy. Loving your cute little moans as he burrows his head further and further in as if he wasn't already.

"Oh c'mon! Let me just have a quick taste.. so what if they burst inside?" he says with a pout, his head hovering just right above your glistening pussy. "So what? We could get in trouble!" you whisper-yell. "Awh, well too bad im going to anyways." he states before burrowing his head down.

sirius black

𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐔𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐖𝐇𝐎… fucks you until your shaking from your orgasm and squirting. Slapping his cock on your pussy as your hips buck forward.

"Aww, look at you, all of this because of me?" sirius teases before patting his cock on your wet pussy. "We ought to do this more, hm?" you nod ever so slightly to which he chuckles at. "Alright, lets get you cleaned up now."

𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐔𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐖𝐇𝐎… loves to see you all tied up as he teases you with his cock, torturing you as he slides it along your aching hole before finally giving you what you really want.

"Look at you, all dolled up for me.. gorgeous aren't you?" he says just barely above a whisper. You nod you head and whine, "alright alright, ill give you what you want now" he chuckles before slipping his dick inside of your needy hole.

𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐔𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐖𝐇𝐎… trains you with a leash on, all dressed up just for him as he fucks you again and again.

"What's the safe word?" sirius asks, his finger tracing your spine, "green." you respond with a smile. Sirius returns tn before giving looking back at his dick that was positioned in front of your entrance. "There we go.." he whispers as his dick slips inside your pussy before tugging onto your leash.

𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐔𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐖𝐇𝐎… wants to hold you in his arms as you two have sex, he wants to be close as possible, this is as they say, an intimate act.

"Fuck- y/n you feel so good. Come closer to me will you, yeah?" sirius mumbles, pulling you closer to his chest. Both your arms wrap around each other as he pounds into your poor, abused cunt.

remus lupin

𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐔𝐒 𝐋𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐎… hates being rough but since he is a werewolf, his... tendencies tend to come out. He fucks you harshly as he holds you down from moving.

"Come on y/n.. stop squirming you- fine." he mutters before holding you down, his hand on your belly before switching to your arm, trying to subdue your squirming and movements. "Please remmy! I-i need it.." you whine, lolling your head sideways, bucking your hips forwards in the hopes of getting more friction. "Then let me give it to you."

𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐔𝐒 𝐋𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐎… teases you with his dick sliding over your needy hole, grinning when he sees you whining and twitching at his touch. But, he is nice so he will give you a reward for being so patient.

"Remus, please.. I want it." your hand gripping onto his sleeve as you tried to move your slips to "accidentally" make his dick slip inside. "Nuh-uh, just be patient and i'll give you what you want.." even though you weren't patient you nodded anyways, "good girl."

𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐔𝐒 𝐋𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐎… is smitten with your boobs! He loves how soft they are, small, medium or big, he will love them nonetheless! Remmy will fondle with them, suck on them, toy with them, lick them and so on. Just please let him have your tits.

"Mm, don't you think that's enough..?" you question, looking at your boyfriend who was fondling with your breasts. "Enough? Absolutely not!" you frown at his response. "But- what about-" "that can wait, love. Just wanna focus on my girls first."

note: if you would like to be added to the harry potter taglist pls just ask me!! dont be shy

taglist 🏷️ : (i'll def be making more hp work so.. yeah.. that's that)

liking + following + reblogs are very much appreciated!!

another note: finding twitter links was kinda hard ngl, just giving you a heads up if you want to make one yourself! and thank you to @tessimagines for agreeing w this idea <33 love ya!!

IDK IF U SAW IT @fleursbending BUT HERE

#harry potter x reader #ron weasley x reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #ron x reader #cedric diggory x reader #cedric x reader #sirius black x reader #sirius x reader #remus lupin x reader #remus x reader #lupin x reader #harry potter smut #—✧ · . fandom: harry potter

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gloomwitchwrites · 6 months ago

Note

You start sending them spicy texts a few minutes after they've left for work. Now they're home.

Bonus if you can have them say "You started it..."

Oh, anon. I am more than happy to fulfill this request. Spicy texts just before leaving work. Them walking in the door with the most feral energy. please. I am here for it. I am salivating. I am barking at the damn moon. I am running around on all fours. I am hanging from the ceiling. I love this prompt. Love love love. Thank you for sending it in!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: dirty talk, sexting, oral sex (female & male receiving), sex toys, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, vaginal fingering, knife play, spanking

Word Count: 2k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

You sent the texts to be funny—to tease John. He’s leaving work, and you want him thinking about you the whole way home.

Instead, you have an animal on your hands. A man starving for you. It’s far more than you anticipated.

I always want you.

I wish you were here with me. Naked.

Will you fill me up when you come home?

“You started it, love. I’m just finishing it.”

John grasps the back of your neck, pulling you close. Your fingers cling to the front of his shirt, the fabric twisting in your fist. John doesn’t even glance down. He’s entirely focused on your lips.

John smells of work. Of sweat. Of manly musk. You want to breathe him in.

He holds on the back of your neck tightens slightly. “I want you on your knees. Mouth open. Understand?”

You give a little nod, and John eases his grip. His hand transitions to the front of your throat, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. When his hand drops away, John takes a step back. You obediently descend before him, softly landing on your knees.

John won’t move. He won’t take the lead. You’re to do everything.

That’s how he likes it, and that is always how you do it.

With gentle hands, you caress the front of his thighs. Beneath his pants, you feel the strength and power there. John is all corded muscle. Bulky. Thick. Already you’re salivating. Your fingers find his belt buckle. It’s easy, and it’s soon gone. Zipper comes next, and then you’re opening up the front of his pants.

The moment John is in your hand, he groans. You don’t want to tease him now. You only want to make him come. You place a kiss on the head, and then give it a little lick. A tiny bead of precum appears. You take that for yourself too.

Slowly, you run your tongue along the underside of his cock along the vein. John isn’t touching you but his fists clench and unclench. He’s restraining himself. You swallow him down, and John immediately grasps the back of your head. The grip is strong, and you’re unable to pull back.

John wants you to throat him. And you will.

Clinging to the front of his thighs, you go all in, hollowing your cheeks and taking him deep. You are messy. Eager. Showing John exactly how much you missed him today. This is your little gift to him, because after, you know he’s going to fill your pussy until you’re dripping.

You did start this.

And you’ll happily do it again.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Leaving work in ten.

Ten minutes. And then twenty to drive home. That gives you thirty minutes to fuck with your boyfriend.

Grinning, you start devising a series of texts. Kyle is good about not texting and driving. He hates people that do it, so you know he won’t answer, which makes it that much better. You’ll send him these texts, and he won’t be able to respond at all.

It’s perfect. Brilliant.

You send the first one off.

Miss you. Been thinking about you all day.

It’s sweet. Something to make Kyle smile, but that’s the whole point. Draw him in, and then make him hungry for you.

Kyle responds immediately. Miss you too, love.

Not in the car yet then. You wait a few more minutes and then send a response to him.

I’ve been horny all day. Can’t wait for you to get here.

You give it some time but Kyle does not answer. Means he’s in the car.

Kept touching myself. Couldn’t stop.

Still, nothing.

You have no idea if Kyle is reading the texts or not but you hope that he is. His phone connects to his car when he turns it on, so the texts have to be coming through. If anything, he’s listening to them, the system reading your texts aloud to him.

I’m using that new toy you bought me right now.

Lie. You haven’t tried it out yet, but you’ve been wanting to.

Thinking about you while I use it.

So wet.

There isn’t any response, but that’s no surprise. You’re on edge though, every limb tingling, heart racing with the anticipation of Kyle’s arrival.

Twenty minutes feels like an hour, but you hear the front door open from your place in the bedroom. By the time you bring your feet to the floor, Kyle is already in the doorway. His chest heaves, posture poised as if he wouldn’t find you home.

“Kyle—”

“Get out of your clothes and get your ass back on the bed,” he nearly growls, yanking off his shirt before the sentence is even out of his mouth.

“You got my texts?” you ask with a sultry purr, moving slowly to remove your clothing.

“Oh, I did, love. Sure fucking did.”

When you’re down to just your underwear, Kyle is already naked, reaching for you. You shriek playfully, and then you’re flipped onto your stomach.

“I want to see just how wet you are,” he murmurs, bringing your hips up, and spreading your legs wide, revealing your pussy to him.

He groans. “I can do better.”

Kyle’s tongue is on you, and then he’s licking, swirling his tongue up and down your pussy. You cry out, hands fisting the sheets beneath you, toes curling. Kyle kisses your clit, and then sucks it into his mouth before tonguing you to orgasm.

He draws back, and you hear the drawer in the bedside table opening. Kyle rummages around, then you hear the gentle vibration of the new toy he just bought. You swallow, and push up to look over your shoulder.

Your gazes meet and Kyle grins.

“You started it.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

You’ve been stuck in the house all day.

Simon is supposed to be off work shortly. And you want to stir up a bit of trouble.

Coming home soon?

Simon’s answer returns swiftly.

Leaving in five.

It won’t take long for Simon to get home. The man has a streak for breaking every traffic law imaginable. He just doesn’t care. At times it’s down right sexy, but other times it scares the piss out of you.

Biting your lip, you wiggle deeper into the couch, texting out a reply to Simon.

Hurry home, Simon. I need you.

I want you to use me. Your own personal plaything.

Can’t wait to feel you inside me.

You send the texts one after another. Pressing your phone to your chest, you giggle, knowing what you’ve done. Simon is going to storm through that door and make you squirm. And it’s the best fucking feeling in the world.

A few minutes later, his response comes in.

Be ready for me.

You know what that means. Simon wants you naked and on the bed, presented to him like an offering. But you won’t do that. He needs to work for it. If he wants you naked and wanton, Simon will have to do it himself.

But all that confidence disappears when Simon barrels through the door. He is a phantom. A wraith of desire. Simon has you off the couch and over his shoulder in seconds. In the bedroom, Simon drops you on the bed.

By the time you go to sit up, Simon removes his hunting knife from his boot. The tip of the blade catches under your shirt and then it’s gone, your bare breasts on full display.

“That’s better,” he murmurs, twirling the knife end over end before closing it and dropping it onto the bedside table.

You’re just in your underwear, and Simon’s gaze is heated.

“Off,” he demands, and you comply, sliding off your underwear and tossing them aside.

Simon reaches for the front of his belt. It’s off in moments, and then he’s undoing the front of his pants. His cock springs free of its confinement, and your pussy automatically clenches at the sight. Simon grabs your ankle and pulls you to the edge of the bed, pushing your legs wide.

“Fuck. Look at that.” Simon parts the folds of your pussy with his fingers. The sound of your wetness is loud in the room. He brushes against your clit and you moan, head falling back.

And then you’re moaning for a completely different reason. Simon’s cock notches at your entrance, and he slams home to the hilt. Using his natural weight, you’re pinned, taking each brutal thrust.

You said you wanted him to use you. To be his plaything.

And he is. He’s fucking you for his own pleasure. It’s a punishment as much as it’s a reward. You fall back and take it, your breath leaving you in gasps with each thrust. Simon’s hand wraps around your throat, and then you’re being lifted off the bed, his lips nearly touching yours.

“Don’t forget, love. You started it.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

I love it when you grab my hair. When you push me up against the wall. When you take total and complete control.

You send the texts with a mischievous grin on your face. Johnny is at work—about to leave if he’s on schedule. And these texts will only stoke his blood—make him hunger for you.

It’s just a tease. A way to get what you want.

You want him to fuck you, but not slowly. And not with any sweetness. Johnny needs to come home and bend you over the nearest piece of furniture.

Every time I fantasize about us having sex, I imagine you tying me up and having your way with me.

You don’t expect Johnny to respond. He doesn’t usually text and drive. But he does, and you giggle at his reply.

Naughty girl.

Every minute twists in your stomach, making you anxious with longing. You have to stand up and pace around the coffee table to try and expel some of the excess energy. You are so focused on trying to clear your mind that when Johnny enters, you momentarily freeze, surprised at his sudden appearance.

His mouth turns upward into a knowing smile, and then you bolt. Johnny is right on your heels and there is no escape from him. Johnny has you in the air and over his shoulder is less than a minute.

You shriek, and Johnny’s large palm comes down in a hard slap against your bare ass.

“Johnny!”

He laughs, and then smacks your ass again, this time with a softer hand.

“You started it,” he says, carrying you into the bedroom.

Johnny tosses you down onto the bed, and then he’s on you, pinning you beneath him. You giggle under him as Johnny nips and kisses your throat and lips. Playfully hitting him does nothing. Johnny only grasps your wrists and pins them above your head. He transfers both wrists to one large palm, holding you in that position.

“Spread those legs for me,” he croons against your lips.

You instantly widen and Johnny shifts back. With one hand, Johnny pushes your underwear to the side. You’re already wet—already in need of him. Johnny tests with one finger and then a second. They disappear inside your pussy, and reappear glossy and slick.

“Fucking look at you, love,” he murmurs, repeating the motion until your hips buck and move with him.

Your breath hitches and Johnny removes his fingers. He brings those slick digits to your lips.

“Open.”

You comply and taste yourself.

When his fingers are clean, Johnny reaches between your bodies and undoes the front of his pants. He slides home, and then he’s fucking you relentlessly, pounding you into the bed. You take it all, restrained and moaning underneath him.

Johnny groans, his body tensing, and then he’s flooding your pussy with his cum. You’re so full, and it’s only the start.

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r0-boat · 3 months ago

Text

Whb Kings Do NNN Challenge

With a magic cock ring the Kings are (totally not forced) to do a 30-day challenge where they are forbidden from orgasming for the entire month of November let's see how they're faring!

If they win the challenge they get to have you for a week straight doing whatever they want to you.

Satan

Satan was extremely confident that he could do this challenge no problem. Human struggle to do this challenge and he's a king so obviously he would have a better chance.

After the first week he was whining and growling threatening you that as soon as this thing comes off He's going to fuck you and pump all his seed inside you. And you're not going to cum not even once as payback with the suffering you put him through.

Everything irritation because all he could feel is the throbbing between his legs tearing and ripping apart every stress ball in his hand as he tries so hard to stop him from knocking out anyone that mildly inconveniences him.

Mammon

He kind of likes the feeling of being pent up and needy for you. Mammon becomes more and more touchy as time goes on. He'll kiss you and touch you and before you know it he'll be spreading your legs to have more.

Just because he can't cum doesn't mean he can't fuck you, Don't let him do this! Because then he'll go on for hours and hours seemingly without end. Fucking you harder and harder, The sensation in his full balls burns so good.

He cannot wait for when this ring is off him and he gets to give you all of his cum.

Leviathan

Levi's lasts longer than you think, He has a high tolerance for pain like this so it looks like it's hardly affecting him.

In reality, He is in shambles. He can't think and it's driving him crazy He's even resorted to pumping his cock underneath his desk or anywhere where no one can see him. Moaning and gasping your name as tears and drool fall from his face.

He wants to cum, He needs to cum, but he doesn't want to lose this silly little challenge His pride depends on it.

Beelzebub

It's like he's being starved. Please please he's begging you he'll do anything! Let him cum.

He's made the grave mistake of fucking you and hopes he could perhaps try to convince you. But the pain just keeps getting worse and all he wants to do is finish inside you over and over.

He doesn't care about the challenge anymore He just wants to cum. When he pins you down he growls and moans like a feral animal rutting and bucking his hips to no avail. Muttering that he's starving and he needs to cum. The only thing to quench his hunger is feeling your core on his tongue.

Belphegor

How annoying... How very annoying... He thought he could just do this challenge get it over with and have you all to himself for a week as part of the deal. But it turns out he bit off more than he could chew. He thought he could just sleep through it and be done but no.

Wet dreams constantly wake him up and He wakes up with in all too familiar ache and stiffness. He wants to touch himself but he knows from experience it will just get worse.

He doesn't want to lose the challenge now because then it will make him seem weak. But he can't let this go unpunish. He might just give you to Beleth he'll know what to do to punish you.

Lucifer

Child's Play. He's done this his whole life it'll be easy for a month. In fact he's so confident that instead of a cock ring he goes a step further. A chastity belt.

That is what he initially thought, turns out since becomtemptations, it's a lot harder to resist such temptations. Now that he's accepted his pride is on the line and he will not lose.

Lucifer looks like he's unaffected; but believe me he wants you so bad And he will absolutely tell you how he's feeling if you ask. Perhaps he'll even try to convince you with his silver tongue to take off the belt so he could fuck you.

He kind of regrets the chastity belt now because all he wants to do is make you sit on his lap and grinding against you.

The demon of lust was never one to hold back. So when you put up a challenge he was vaguely familiar with he laughed and automatically refused but then you put up an offer he simply too tempting for him not to at least try... Having you for an entire week... Even if it's just for a week The fact that you'll be doing whatever he desires was what sealed the deal.

Asmodeus

He never thought being so pent up would feel so good. He hates it but at the same time the burn of not getting something he usually has a luxury too is addicting.

Only you turn him into a feral beast. And it gets worse This is mind betrays him showing him delicious images of flooding your insides with all that cum his balls is making. He can't help but taunt you and see the uneasiness and fear in your eyes as he's lasting longer than you expected.

#smut #whb #what in hell is bad #whb satan #whb asmodeus #whb leviathan #whb beelzebub #whb belphegor #whb lucifer #whb mammon

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novelbear · 2 years ago

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“say you won’t let go” - some touch starved scenarios

prompt list by @novelbear

heart pounding whenever the other does so much as to hold onto their wrist while guiding them through a crowd

one just casually sitting down on the other's lap and they start internally freaking the hell out

hesitantly tugging the other's fabric of their shirt or sleeve, testing the waters

^^ the other notices so they pull them into a hug, smiling as they just watch them melt

"wait, don't go, please.."

"is this okay?" "it's more than okay."

already barely holding it together as they're getting their hand held but then they feel that reassuring squeeze and they just can't

wearing the others' clothes so that it can at least feel like they're hugging them, even for just a moment

feeling so lonely that they have to call their lover/friend, just to get a sense and reminder that they're still there

^ trying and failing to hold back their tears as they do so

"can i have one more hug?" "aw, babe you don't have to ask, c'mere..."

when the other holds onto their waist briefly as they're passing by and it just send chills down their spine

breaking down mid-hug because they just needed this so much

their breath hitching whenever the other gets a little closer

^ feeling crushed when that action is taken as a sign of discomfort, and they watch them slowly back off

holding onto a stuffed animal/pillow, imagining that it's their lover in their embrace instead

one leaning their head onto the other's shoulder suddenly and they just freeze

"i wasn't sure how much longer i could have taken this..."

#otp prompts #writing prompts #imagine your otp #otp writing #writeblr #prompt list #romance prompts #fluff prompts #dialogue prompts #angst prompts #fluff #touch starved prompts #otp #angst #request #thank you vyni for your help with these muah

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inkievoid · 10 months ago

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NSFW ALPHABET

[DI! Leon S Kennedy Edition]

❗Minors Do Not Interact ❗

A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

Cuddler, massive cuddler. Honestly I see Leon as enjoying his partner being cuddled up to his chest but as long as you're touching each other he really doesn't mind. He just needs to be grounded after sex because he's not use to intimacy. (Remember y'all, aftercare in important FOR EVERYBODY INVOLVED DOM/SUB/SWITCH WHOEVER!!!)

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's)

Definitely proud of his arms. Man's got two pythons where his forearms are supposed to be. I'd be proud of those bitches too. It also doesn't help how often you tend to cling to them, admire them while cuddling up together or compliment how they look when he flexes.

When Leon's asked the good old "tits or ass?" question older than time itself he smirks and simply says thighs. He loves something plush to nap on when he comes home from work. He always says it'll be a quick 30 minute nap but he's always out for 3 hours when he's laying his head on your lap. They're just such a nice pillow and even nicer wrapped around his head.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Usually prefers finishing inside. If not then on your stomach. There's just something mesmerizing about watching his cum slowly drip out of you on down your belly that just makes him so horny that he can't get enough of you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Okay... So you send Leon pictures and he saves them. (He'd never share them though) But he secretly has an album in his phone labeled as WORK meticulously organization so that when you open the album it has important looking photos but if you scroll far enough it's just things you've sent him. Nudes, videos, even screenshots of steamy texts.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

Decently experienced. Enough to get him by but also good at listening to his partner. Takes criticism well in the bedroom. Just wants his partner to have a good time and show that he loves you.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

On your side or anything he can see your face. He's often tired so slow easy strokes on his side and using his hands is right up his alley. But for when he's feeling more energetic he's definitely up anything he can see your reaction with. He aims to please and the man is a good shot.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Definitely 50/50. Leon can crack jokes when his life is at risk I'm sure he'd probably say something goofy to make you laugh or even something stupid like "come here often?" When you're changing positions and his creaky body pops or cracks he'll say some smart ass comment about the bed makes weird sounds again.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Definitely trimmed. Leon doesn't strike me as a massively hairy guy to begin with. But what hair he does have is well kept.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Intimacy is his favorite part of it all. Very tender and soft compared to what he is during work. Enjoys the touching the most. He's very touch starved. Cuddle him and he'll melt into a puddle. He LOVES being little spoon.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Jerks off often. Uses it as a stress relief thing but doesn't do it as often when he gets a partner. But I do think when he's away on cases and he has downtime at night he tends to call his partner and have phone sex.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Begging, biting, breeding, dirty talk, edging and roleplaying

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere at home. Leon would most likely be super hesitant about doing anything outside of the house and risking criminal record.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

His partners touch. Leon just really likes being touched. If you mostly just kiss him and move to his neck (it's sensitive, that's why he rarely wears anything that constricts his neck) you'll get him going in no time.

N = No (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

No hitting, nothing with feet, no bathroom related stuff, no voyeurism or exhibitionism and no humiliation

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

50/50. But definitely more giving in the oral department. Uses it as a form of foreplay. Enjoys it because he loves hearing your slowly break and cry for him.

Sometimes he's just to exhausted to fuck so those are the times he'll just straight up tell you to sit on his face. He doesn't care if you're bigger, he knows you're not gonna hurt him. If you try hovering her will definitely wrap his arms around your thighs and pull you down on him. The man is skilled with his mouth and hands. So be prepared for the time of your life.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Definitely slow sensual type of guy. He likes making every moment last. But there's definitely been a flurry of passion after gets back from particularly long cases.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

If he has to go out for work and he has a little bit of time before leaving, most definitely he'd be down for a quickie.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He's fine with experimenting but not often.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Good for 3 rounds unless he's super tired. Last decently long, always makes sure his partner gets off first each time.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Oh Leon definitely owns one of those vibrators that work with apps. Sometimes when he's due to come home and he knows you have it in you he'll just tease you on the way home.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Usually Leon doesn't tease but when he's in a particular frisky mood, he will make beg to cum. And he doesn't care if you want it. If you don't beg like he wants he will make you wait and keep bringing you to the edge over and over like an asshole.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Not loud in the slightest but he's definitely not scared to moan or whimper. Even curse under his breath, especially if he has you on your side and he's right in your ear.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Said I love you for the first time during sex. Was mortified with himself, he meant it but was extremely embarrassed. Apologized profusely and told you he did mean it. And thankfully you love him back, obviously.

X = X-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes)

Ah yes, python 3. I'll be honest, I'd say he's at the higher average end in size but makes up for it in girth... Like a fucking coke can.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Leon had little to no sex drive but once you two got into a relationship he's like a teenage boy again. Can barely stop from wanting you all the time. But he's still more of the romantic intimate type and would rather just exist with you than constantly be at each other.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He clings onto life afterwards. Just wants to make sure you're taken care of but the second you relax against him he's down for the count. Like a god damn bear in hibernation.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon s kennedy #resident evil x reader #🌿 ivy writes

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illloveyoutillidie · 1 year ago

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Hello:))) been reading ur newt hcs and absolutely adored them YOU WRITE HIM SO SWEET. But i was wondering if you would do newt cuddling hcs with a f!reader please? (I haven’t requested for you before so if this isn't the type of thing you do just delete this lol)

thanks<3

hello anon!! i'm happy you like those!! i think that newt is the type of person that treats their s/o gentle !! i hope you like this:))))

Newt who can't keep his hands to himself when you're both cuddling. Newt who would pull you into his chest with your back against him so he can kiss your neck. Newt who would put his arm around your waist just to touch you. Newt who would be crazy and rambles whenever he sees you wear his shirts to cuddle or sleep (and when you ask him why, he says "you look hot- i mean beautiful, wait i didn't mean it like your not hot, cause you are hot, i mean- your hot- wait that's not the point- but you look bloody amazing with my shirt"). Newt who can't sleep without you in his arms. Newt who would be very clingy and glued to you when both of you are alone (he's starved for your attention and affection). Newt who doesn't have a 'favourite cuddle position' but he loves it so much when you rest your head on his chest and just lay there. Newt who runs his fingers through your hair and leave a bunch of kisses all over your face whenever he gets the chance. Newt who sometimes wander his hands underneath your shirt (with consent of course) and he just trace circles all over your skin. Newt who sometimes would just lay in your arms tiredly because he’s exhaused from doing all work, helping around the glade, and having many meetings with Alby and the runners(he's a busy man). Newt who would smell a little more earthy when you guys are cuddling before shower. Newt who prefers to cuddle after shower because he thinks you'll like him more if he smells 'sweet like a candy' when you're both cuddling (he used your soap and shampoo because he said it made him "smell like sweets and vanilla" lol ). Newt who would sleep with you with hardly any space between each other. Newt who loves it when you bury your face in his neck and when you play with his hair. Newt who will always pull you back onto the bed and back into his arms if you try to leave or stop cuddling. ("Newt we have to get up! Alby will be mad at us-" "2 more minutes, please love? i'm sure Alby will be fine without me" "Newt, you said that 20 minutes ago."). Newt who doesn't mind being a big spoon or the little spoon when you're both cuddling. Newt who likes it when his arms are securely around your waist & his face in your hair when he's being the big spoon. Newt's arms will be the place you wake up every morning. Newt who would ask if he can play with your hair every time you're both cuddling (he wants to make sure you're giving him consent even tho you've reassured him that he doesn't need to ask that). Newt who would randomly compliment you when your almost asleep ("your so beautiful. like really bloody beautiful, love"). Newt who would sometimes talk in his sleeps because he gets nightmares when he's cuddling you ("please stay, please. don't go. stay with me." "i'm not going anywhere love"). Newt who would easily get sleepy when you run your hands through his hair. Newt who would fall asleep on top of you, then wakes up only to ask if you're okay, if he made you uncomfortable, and why didn’t you wake him up in his raspy sleepy voice. Newt who would have a staring contest with you and then make stupid faces so you laugh and he wins the contest (later on he tease you about it). Newt who would stay up with you and just have deep conversations as you both cuddle when you can't sleep ("why do people has to lose the person they love first, to realize they're bloody value and worth? doesn't make sense, what do you think?").

I GOT SO CARRIED AWAY MAKING THIS, IT TURNED OUT SO LONGGGG. I'M SORRY IF THIS IS TOO LONG FOR YOU

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pupp0ccino · 3 months ago

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bear4otter horror reaper… please.. pleading eyes emoji

I've gotten a matter of two asks for this ship! So I thought the idea of them is so cute, the undead lovers real . Reaper is able to touch him because of the fact Horror is already technically dead, he cannot really be dusted unless his actual original eye is destroyed.

I also honestly feel like Reaper loves physical affection, he's so touch starved because everything he touches dies, so he just smothers himself all over anyone that he can touch

Omge imagine if Horror nicknamed Reaper, Sickle because it's the tool you use to reap crops... Hehehehhe

I feel like their ship name would be like CrackedTomb, DreadfulDeath, ect

Also hi !! I love your art and your Horror variants they're all so cute, and I love their color palettes!! :3

#✦ . paw prints #✦ . pup requests #Horrorreaper #horror sans #reaper sans #reapertale #undertale #undertale au #sans undertale #utmv #horrortale #horrortale sans

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pnutbutter-n-j-elyy · 4 months ago

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HELLOOO first off love your writing and how you write the characters!

I don't know if you requests are open or not, if they aren't then just ignore this

Can you please do a reaction of whoever you want in stray kids being used to dating gold diggers they usually pay for everything and when they don't their s/o would get mad

So when they cancel your date to a very fancy restaurant because they were sick they expected you to be mad but instead you came to his house made him soup and took care of them the whole time :))))

Plus points if they're touch starved and love having you physically babying them and play with their hair

Midas Touch | Seungmin

Seungmin x gn!reader

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Seungmin wasn’t sure what to expect when he sent the text.

He stared at his phone, the screen glowing with your contact, hesitation gnawing at him. Cancelling plans was never easy, but it was particularly hard when he thought about your excitement for tonight’s dinner. He could still remember the way your eyes lit up when he mentioned the reservation at that fancy restaurant downtown- a place he was far too familiar with, thanks to his past relationships.

Those relationships had been…transactional, to say the least. Each time, Seungmin found himself with people who seemed more interested in what he could give them than who he truly was. The constant gift-giving, the endless high-end dates- it was what they expected. And when he couldn’t provide it, when life happened and plans were cancelled, it always led to the same disappointed reaction.

The expectations weighed on him, but with you? He wasn’t sure what to expect. Would you be upset like the others?

With a sigh, he hit send:

I’m sorry, I have to cancel dinner tonight. I’m not feeling well.

He pressed his phone to his chest, his free hand tapping on his knee lightly while waiting for the inevitable “Oh, really? Can’t you just power through?” or the disappointed silence that followed whenever he wasn’t able to meet those expectations.

But your response came much quicker than anticipated.

Oh no, poor thing! I’m coming over, sit tight <3 !!

His brow furrowed as he re-read your message. You were coming over? No protest, no irritation at the lost reservation? He blinked at his phone, almost unable to believe it. The kind of reaction he was so used to- the irritation, the sigh of inconvenience -it didn’t come like he expected.

An hour later, there was a soft knock on his door, and when he opened it, there you were, holding a bag that smelled like fresh soup. Your face was laced with concern, your nose red from the harsh cold as your eyes scanning him over like you were already assessing his health.

"Y/N, you didn’t have to come all the way here," Seungmin murmured, already feeling a little guilty for dragging you into this. His voice was hoarse, and he cleared his throat.

But you just gave him a soft smile and stepped inside. "Of course I did. You’re sick, Seungmin. Who else is going to take care of you otherwise?"

That simple question left him speechless.

He wasn’t used to someone wanting to take care of him- he was used to being the one who was expected to provide, to look after others. He watched as you took off your coat, making yourself comfortable in his space without a second thought, moving toward his kitchen like it was second nature to you.

For the next few hours, he watched in disbelief as you fussed over him. You made sure he drank water, helped him eat the soup you'd brought, and even tidied up his apartment a little, though it wasn’t necessary since he was a clean man. And each time you checked on him, each time you brushed your hand over his forehead to feel for a fever, or when you gently ruffled his hair, something inside him sparked- or rather melted.

It was strange, this feeling of being cared for. He realized how touch-starved he truly was, how much he craved this kind of closeness without even knowing it.

How much he actually loved it when it came from you- as he hated it from others.

Every time your fingers skimmed his hair, he felt a warmth that had nothing to do with his fever. When you tucked him in on the couch, playfully patting his arm and settling beside him, he leaned into your touch without even thinking about it.

And that’s when the weight of it all hit him- the difference between you and everyone else who had been in his life before.

He’d always thought his value was in what he could give, how much he could provide. But with you, it wasn’t about that. It never had been.

Seungmin’s thoughts drifted to the legend of King Midas- the man whose touch turned everything into gold. For Midas, his gift had become a curse; no matter what he touched, it lost its warmth, its life. He realized he had been living like that -surrounded by gold, by riches and luxury, but none of it held meaning.

But you…you weren’t like that.

You weren’t interested in the gold, in the material things he could give. You were interested in him. Your touch wasn’t a curse; it was warmth, real and alive. It brought him back to life in a way that no extravagant date ever could.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Seungmin’s voice came out quieter than he intended, a mix of vulnerability and genuine curiosity. "I thought you’d be mad that I cancelled. Especially since it was a nice restaraunt...expensive..." He trailed off, his puppy eyes trailing up to your face to gauge your reaction.

Were you...truly not upset about this at all?

You turned to look at him, eyebrows furrowing like you couldn’t believe he’d even ask that. "Mad? Why would I be mad? You’re sick, Seungmin. Of course I’m gonna be here. Besides, this is cheaper anyway! A nice little stay-in date. The second cheapest soup in the store is the best soup." You stated matter of factly. "Paired with some kimbap and drink of your choice-" You held up your finger in an "okay" sign and winked. "This is even better than if we ate out!" You saaid clapping once as you reached for food.

He blinked at you, a little taken aback by the sincerity in your voice.

"You...mean that?"

"Mhm, why wouldn't I?" You asked, stuffing the closest thing into your mouth, not looking at Seungmin, rather focused on your convenience store goodies.

"It’s just…I’m not used to this."

"What do you mean?" you gently tugged the blanket over him, sliding yourself under the corner as well, your fingers brushing his arm as you adjusted it.

"I’m used to…" He hesitated, feeling a little exposed. "People getting upset when I can’t…provide. Fancy dates, expensive gifts. That kind of thing."

You smiled, soft and a little sad, as if the idea of anyone expecting that from him was ridiculous. "I’m not here for any of that. I mean, yeah, those things are nice, but I’m here for you, Seungmin. I like you for you. Not for what you can give me."

He swallowed hard, the words sinking deep into him. He had heard it before, in half-hearted reassurances from past partners, but this -this felt real.

You meant it.

And it hit him harder than he expected. His heart hammered in his chest.

Is this what real love felt like...you guys hadn't exchanged that word yet...but...

In this moment he felt the urge to.

"I guess I just don’t know what that feels like," he admitted, his voice softer now, his gaze dropping to the blanket covering him, as he fought that temptation.

You reached out, running your fingers through his hair, gently massaging his scalp. "Well, now you do. You’re stuck with me, even when you’re sick."

He let out a soft laugh, the kind that shook his chest and made him wince slightly from his sore throat. "I think I’m okay with that."

And just like that, Seungmin felt something crack open inside him -a part of himself that had been so tightly guarded, so afraid of being hurt. But with you, he felt safe. Safe enough to lean into your touch, to lay in your lap to let himself be cared for without fear of what you might want in return.

I think I'm in love.

No...I am in love.

As you continued to softly play with his hair, Seungmin’s eyes fluttered closed.

He realized that this was what he had been missing -this golden touch that wasn’t about wealth or status. It was about love, about care, about someone being there for him even when things weren’t perfect or glamorous.

He had spent so long being afraid of turning everything around him into something superficial, something gilded and lifeless. But with you, it wasn’t about gold or riches.

It was about your golden touch -the one that brought him comfort, warmth, and something more valuable than anything money could buy.

When Seungmin finally drifted off into a fevered sleep, the corners of his lips were curled into the softest of smiles. For the first time in a long time, he felt truly cared for.

He truly felt loved.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha

@iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric

@panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee

@shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin

@whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun

@ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael

@skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads

@jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld

@kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9

@minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg

@leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon

@night-storm7 @missmajdastark @axel-skz

#skz imagines #skz x reader #skz stay #stray kids #skz reactions #skz fluff #stray kids reactions #skz #seungmin #kim seungmin #seungmin fluff #kim seungmin fluff #skz seungmin #skz seungmin fluff #pnutbutternjelyy #🥜🧈🪼

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iguana-braces · 2 months ago

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That sub!Jayce post really popped off, huh?

Ehehe okay here's my rambly thoughts about it (I'm literally sitting at work clocked out writing this instead of going home because THOUGHTS)

Building my theory off of this post:

And this one with all the examples of how Jayce's love language is clearly physical touch

*Disclaimer: there's a lot about season 2 that irked me in terms of plot and characterization so this is me retconning a little bit and picking and choosing what examples make the most cohesive argument. Like, in season one they're like "Jayce has this brotherly relationship with Caitlyn and him and Mel have this deep, meaningful relationship" and then season two was like "No more relationship building, it's time for trauma now" but, I digress*

First things first, he's a people pleaser. He does what he's told, clearly (against better judgment but like). And he's clearly committed to the people he cares about. HE BROUGHT VIKTOR BACK FROM THE DEAD (AND THEN KILLED HIM) AND THEN DIED WITH HIM AGAIN. You can't tell me that wouldn't translate to an "I'll do anything for you" attitude in the bedroom too.

I already did the bed gif but I also have to draw attention to the following:

Okay but season two, post-horrors!

Mr. Dopey Heart-Eyes McGee is NOT the one calling the shots here.

Season one Jayce? That man is whipped. One glance from his partner and he's on his knees like it's a religion. Whoever you ship him with! Mel, Viktor, both, a secret fourth option--

He spent an indeterminate amount of time alone, in the bottom of a pit. He's touch-starved but also! Traumatized!

Imagine, if you will, that he survives the astral plane. Imagine he goes to find Mel, or Viktor also survives, or imagine your own y/n, OC insert scenario here. Whatever floats your boat.

In such scenario, and in the aftermath of his self-awareness epiphany where he realizes that yeah, he's kinda been used (by everyone really), I think that in regards to any potential sexual relationship, he would have to become more dominant, more in control of the situation. Especially if it's with Mel, since he does pointedly blame her, or even Viktor, who has literally shaped the course of Jayce's entire life since he was a child. The man needs to set some boundaries with people and good for him.

So I think dominant, scruffy Jayce does have a time and a place.

However, I don't think he'd stay that way forever. It's kinda like him trying to be a politician-- it's a different role that he can pull off, but it doesn't fully scratch his itch.

BONUS HEADCANON: Wouldn't it be just so interesting if he survived the astral plane and goes back to whoever, and while he's looking for comfort and reassurance and all that physical contact he's been deprived of, he realizes that he really doesn't like people touching his head.

I hypothesize that in regards to canon relationships, Mel and/or Viktor, once they regain his trust and show that they're not trying to use him again, he's 100% going to be simping for them even worse than before. Like, that relationship would've gone through the fire and only come out stronger on the other side. You might even say it's been vulcanized.... 🤭

From the on, he can go back to letting his walls down around them and letting them be the dominant one because he knows there's solid trust and respect there now.

Feel free to agree or disagree 🤷‍♀️ also please feel free to tell me all your thots about this too!!!

He's got all this beautiful hair that needs to be tenderly pushed away from his eyes by a loving hand, but he's a little fucked up from the times Mannequin/Mage Viktor did that little murder mind meld.

Like, he put his head in Mel's lap TWICE, you know it would kill the man if he couldn't do that anymore because having someone's hands near his forehead is too reminiscent of... well, basically his death.

#jayce talis #arcane #arcane spoilers #viktor arcane #mel medarda #jayvik #jaymel #Jaymelvik #meljayvik #arcane headcanon #meljay

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total-dxmure · 1 year ago

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✦ INVISIBLE STRING THEORY →【ELLIE WILLIAMS】→ CHAPTER THREE

pairings: modern!marine ellie x reader

summary: the marines didn’t ruin ellie. ellie ruined ellie. after being medically discharged she feels lost. being sent to live with joel is more of a last ditch effort to save her and less of a fun reunion for the father-daughter duo. jackson is worlds different than chicago, but the fresh air and sprawling countrysides are a welcome reprieve. ellie finds herself finding comfort in more than just the change in scenery though. after losing your girlfriend due to an accident you feel as though you’ll never find love again- but that was before meeting ellie williams. the two of you figure out that you have more in common than just the fact that she and your girlfriend were both marines though. tethered by some invisible string, the two of you meeting has to be fate. who would have known that you were the golden ticket to ellie’s recovery?

warnings: eventual smut! lots of tension building and mutual pining. ellie falls first and hard. small town girl meets a frightening, strong ex marine. TW: talk of panic attacks, ptsd episodes and death. come for the ellie smut and stay for the plot and fluff. (A/N: here we are, the meat and potatoes. the fic is really kicking off. . . and they're already flirting?! ellie is so touch and affection starved that she nearly jumps out of her own skin every time you even look at her.)

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from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS.

In that halfway space between waking and sleep it was hard to discern what was real and what wasn’t. Your bed felt warm, sheets still tangled around your arms and legs. The weight of your blanket on your chest could easily be confused with another’s body, and so you felt yourself smile. Warm, happy, safe-

Abby was behind you, her limbs expertly twisted around yours like she’d done it a thousand times before. . . and she had.

Slowly you opened your eyes, staring blankly ahead of you into your pitch black bathroom. You recognized the fresh scent of your shampoo, and felt the way your hair still clung to your hot cheeks- wet from your shower the night before. It was like you were suspended in a memory, everything all soft and fuzzy around you. The dots weren’t perfectly connecting, and still you were happy. For a second you just laid there, unable to look down at the hand you could feel so vividly at your waist. Would you see Abby’s knuckles when you looked down? Would you see the rubber promise ring she had insisted on wearing? Everything always had to be even and fair with her.

This morning felt familiar. Like you’d lived it before. Your breath left you in a rush when the bed creaked behind you.

“Abby,” God, she was back. She was back and she was right behind you. “Baby?”

There was a soft groan and then the arm tightened, bringing you into a warm chest. Her bicep squeezed your arm tightly against her shoulder, and all at once you were tucked in so tight. Confusion tugged at your features, and you mulled over exactly why you were clinging to her arm so tightly.

“What’s wrong?” She whispered against your hair, her voice still thick with sleep. Still, her fingers stroked at your bare stomach.

“I had a nightmare,” You mumbled, trying to recall exactly what had plagued you just seconds ago. You can’t remember now that you’re safe here. . . safe with Abby again. “You were gone and I was all alone.”

Those moments came back to you in flashes. The ache, the constant pain of losing her, the “learning to live without her” that crushed you entirely. You turned around in her grasp, nuzzling your nose into the crook of her neck. You took deep inhales, trying to still your rising panic. You could feel the steady beating of her heart against your cheek, the warmth of her bare breasts against your collar bones.

“I was gone?” She raised a hand, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, a few golden strands falling onto her forehead as she moved her head against the pillow beneath her. “You can tell me about it if you want.” She offered supportively, petting your back in slow circles.

You don’t know why. . . but you missed those circles. It felt like you’d been without them for weeks. Months.

“I-I got a phone call. . . and they told me that you’d died,” Your bottom lip quivered, your eyes filling with tears. You couldn’t help but laugh pathetically at your unnecessary hysterics. Abby was right here. Everything was okay. “It felt like the longest nightmare I’ve ever had. It was horrible.”

“You did so good though.” She whispered, her hands still stroking.

Your muscles tensed, and slowly you moved your hand up her side, fingers brushing against her skin. You pressed a soft kiss against the underside of her breast, a tear breaking free past your lower lashes. This moment suddenly felt fleeting.

“I did?” You questioned, pulling away to look at her.

She was so beautiful. Like an angel had fallen from heaven and landed right in your bed. The sun was just beginning to rise, setting the line of trees just outside of your window ablaze. She was diaphanous and golden laying there beneath you. You were so lucky. You could barely breathe when she looked up at you like that, her eyes so thick with pride and love.

“You did, baby girl. You stayed so strong.” She cracked a small smile, but it looked pained. Like she was also realizing that the two of you couldn’t exist here forever. “I need you to keep it up though, alright?” You couldn’t feel her hand on your back anymore, nor the softness of the sheets.

“Please,” You sobbed out, reaching out to cup her cheek. She didn’t feel like anything. Like your hand was molded around a pocket of open space. Nothingness. She was about the size of the palm of your hand now, her urn sitting on the mantle in your living room. “Please don’t leave me again.”

Her blue eyes stared up at you, proud and unwavering in their convictions, as they always were. . . always had been. “I’m never far. Pinky.” Promise.

And then you were in your bed again, the alarm on your phone blaring.

“Abby?” You mumbled, and you didn’t have to turn over to realize you were alone.

Ellie was good at putting pressure on herself. It had always been a form of motivation, as cruel as it seemed. She couldn’t let today be awful. No episodes or meltdowns and no long bouts of silence. You were pretty and it really seemed like you could use a friend.

Ellie could use a friend too.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d shown interest in a girl. She’d always been career driven with a one track mind. She was good at overworking herself and running herself dry. She hoped that you’d be able to use that to your benefit today. Ellie wanted to lose herself in something. . . in someone. She wanted to be useful for the first time in what felt like a long, long while.

So she woke up at the butt crack of dawn and took a shower. She kept her eyes shut tight as she washed herself and didn’t even bother to towel dry her hair before she was pulling on an outfit. Thick droplets of water stained the shoulders of her jean button up as she tied up the laces on her boots. She focused on one shoe at a time, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of you. Every once and a while her brain would wander, hellbent on self destruction, but with a small groan she’d remember the sadness in your eyes.

She’d remember who she was before the accident.

She moved down the stairs as quietly as she could, praying that Joel’s dog wouldn’t start barking once he realized that his new best friend was leaving the house. The keys to her old car were on the rack beside the front door, right next to Joel’s flashy new pair. He’d told Ellie over dinner that he’d been maintaining the beat up old Jeep the best that he could, meaning she at least had a little bit of freedom while she was back home.

She locked the door behind her, the cool morning breeze stinging against her wet ears as she gracelessly stumbled down the stairs, juggling the bulky set of keys in her hand. A huge metal spaceship that Joel had stuffed into her Christmas stocking senior year, a neon green carabiner she’d bought at one of the gas stations closest to her school, and a few other childish charms that she couldn’t place any meaning behind swung from the nearly ancient keychain. Her sense of self expression and style back in those days was tacky to say the least, but she appreciated child-Ellie nonetheless.

“You poor child.” She teased under her breath, climbing into the driver's seat and shoving the key into the ignition. She sucked in a breath and held it before cranking it up.

To her surprise, the clunker started right up, though the engine shook the steering wheel a little when she put the thing in reverse down the driveway. She hadn’t driven a car since that night at the gas station. It felt a little weird to be behind the wheel, but even stranger to be back here. Jackson was a beautiful place. . . but it didn’t feel the same way that it had before. She wasn’t sure if it was because of her age or the changes that were happening inside of her. The streets still looked the same, aside from some very minor changes to neighbor's houses. She barely paid any attention to her surroundings when Joel had driven her through town yesterday, and she was a bit scared to see the differences. She didn’t want to dwell on those thoughts or do any soul searching, so she reached out for the radio, pressing play on whatever CD had been shoved into it last.

Depeche mode began to blast over the speakers, and she let out a small sigh of relief. At least her music taste wasn’t horrible in high school.

But it was no wonder she didn’t have a girlfriend. Ellie wouldn’t have dated little Ellie either, that was for sure.

She felt a bit crazy to be driving in the opposite direction of town. Back when she lived here, town was the only place she was headed when she was allowed out of the house. It was no wonder why the two of you had never really crossed paths. She used to complain about how far off in the “middle of nowhere” Joel lived, but your farm had his ranch beat by fifteen minutes. The houses got fewer and farther in between, and despite how much Ellie truly did enjoy the city, she couldn’t deny how beautiful the countryside was. The sprawling fields, grazing animals, and splattering of wild flowers had her rolling down the windows of her car, ignoring the chill so that she could get a better look of her surroundings.

Even the air quality was better in Jackson.

She’d been down this road a few times in her life, having been in the backseat of Joel’s car every single time. She recognized your home from her memories, but your last name didn’t mean much to her back then. She slowed her car down to a crawl, staring at the large sign that sported your family name proudly.

Ellie would be proud of the farm too if it were hers. She bumped down the drive five minutes earlier than you had told her to show up, staring with wide eyes at your house. It was two stories with a balcony- white with green shutters. The wrap around porch was screened in, protecting you and any guests you might have over from bugs that thrive in the summertime heat.

Your stretch of land belonged on a painting, and for a second she worried if maybe she wasn’t the right friend for you. This house was too nice and Ellie. . . Ellie wasn’t very nice at all. She'd only talked to you for five minutes yesterday, but she got the feeling that you were a "good girl". You were wholesome, which wasn't how anyone in Ellie's life would choose to describe her. She slowly made her way up your front steps, and for a second she wondered if she should leave. It would probably be better if she did. Ellie could always just lie and tell Joel that she couldn’t find your house. . . he’d probably drop it after insulting her about her bad sense of direction.

Ellie couldn’t afford to get a crush on anyone right now either. It was horrible timing, and what would be worse is if you actually ever returned those feelings. How was she supposed to explain to you that she wouldn’t ever make a good partner? She couldn’t protect you from anything, not when any loud sounds or bright lights had her falling to her knees. She was careerless, depressed to the point where she had completely lost who she was, had a drinking problem, and was quite certain that she’d combust the second you’d touch her. She was touch and attention starved, but hadn’t remembered that she was even able to desire someone until she’d seen you yesterday-

You’d be dodging a bullet if she hightailed it right off of your property. So she turned on her heel and stared at her boots as she began walking back down your stairs. Her feet kicked up dirt as she made her way back to her jeep, hand already reaching into her pocket for her keys-

“Did I not hear you knocking on the door?” A feminine voice called out to her.

She sucked in a breath so hard that she let out a loud cough, eyes widening as she turned around to face the porch. You were wearing a pair of dirt stained jeans today, though your hair was fastened back with a white bow. Ellie, despite her previous need to protect you from herself, couldn’t fight off the urge to get closer. There was something different about you today. You were a bit manic, your hands already busying themselves with straightening out a few of the potted plants on your porch. You seemed a bit anxious, but you didn’t comment on it so neither did Ellie. Any boundaries you had yesterday with her were gone. You flashed her a wide smile, sauntering up the drive so that you could wrap her up in a tight hug.

Your arms were shaking as they weaved around her neck, pulling her in close. She froze, limbs locking up in surprise as she tried to fully grasp what was going on. You were treating her like an old friend, someone you were excited to see. Ellie didn’t know why you’d be so happy to see her. . . but then again, she was happy to see you. She remembered what Joel had said last night.

Maybe you were sick and tired of being alone.

Your bare arms were cold too- freezing as her fingers accidentally brushed the backs of them. Ellie realized that she had gotten here just in time. If anything, she cursed herself for not showing up twenty minutes earlier, if only to save you from whatever had you this shaken up.

“I probably knocked too quietly. Should have knocked louder, huh?” She mumbled, biting the inside of her cheek as she gave you a gentle squeeze.

She wasn’t used to holding someone like this that wasn’t Dina or Jesse. You felt nice in her arms. Your muscles weren’t hard or rigid like hers, you were all soft and rounded edges. Gentle curves and arms ready and willing to embrace her. Flushed cheeks and silk bows. You smelled wonderful too- sweet and floral, like Jasmine mixed with honey. She didn’t want to let you go, and you didn’t seem ready to end the hug either.

You were still quivering.

“Yeah, you should have.” You agreed, giving Ellie one last squeeze before taking a few unsteady steps back.

You hadn’t been completely sure whether or not she would show up today. Waking up this early was a lot to ask of anyone, let alone someone you had just met yesterday. Still, a part of you had hoped that she would be here. On days that were this bad you found it impossible to work, no matter how busy it kept you. You often spent “mental health days” laid out by Abby’s grave or buried six feet under pillows and blankets in what used to be your shared bed.

Ellie’s presence changed things.

So you squared off your shoulders and cracked her a wide smile, praying that it looked genuine and not forced.

“Let’s hop in my truck and I’ll take you on a little tour of the property before we get started.” You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth as you watched the woman take a few steps closer to you.

Ellie looked like she wanted to say something but was holding herself back. You weren’t sure whether or not you would be able to handle her prying or the pity that would follow.

Your fingers twitched at your sides, wishing so deeply that you hadn’t woken up at all this morning. Ellie was beautiful- gorgeous even. You would have been head over heels if you had met her years ago, before. . . well, before Abby happened. Still, her beauty wasn't enough to completely distract you from your grief. A part of you felt guilty for even finding her attractive as you slid into the front seat of the truck.

Maybe that was why you’d had such a strange dream last night. Or maybe. . . maybe it wasn’t a dream at all. Maybe it really was Abby trying to tell you that it was okay to move on. That was confusing to even think about, and it made you count the months since her death on both of your hands, trying to gauge if enough time really had passed. You didn’t want to be alone anymore, but the thought of being in love with anyone seemed like an impossibility. Everything was broken. How could you ever love anyone the same way that you loved Abby? You’d just be doing that other person a disservice.

That’s right, you were cursed.

You could feel Ellie’s gaze on the side of your face as you made your way down the dirt road, up towards the hen houses. You blinked a few times, the apples of your cheeks heating up in embarrassment. Slowly you met her gaze, lips twitching up in a small smile as she quickly looked away from you, nervous over having been caught.

“My dad built ten large coops, so this whole fenced-in area right here is where the chickens graze.” You stopped the car and put it in park, keeping the old thing running like you usually did during your quick morning chores. Sometimes the poor truck had a hard time starting back up, and you’d probably burst into tears if your newfound friend had to walk a half mile back to the house with you.

“Do you guys have any problems with foxes?” She asked, keeping up with your fast pace as you unlatched the front of the fence for the both of you.

Your nose wrinkled in disgust, and you were quick to throw your arms up exasperatedly.

“Oh god, do we! I had to get someone out here to change out the fence just six months ago because one of those little fuckers had somehow managed to dig it’s way into their area. Killed seven of my poor girls.” You remembered how angry you were when you’d pulled up to the coops that morning. Burying seven dead hens wasn’t a pleasant experience for you, but it wasn’t something that was new. Still, you hated knowing that they’d suffered in their final moments.

“Jesus, I’m sorry.” Ellie looked around the area, finding it impossible not to notice how well kept everything was. The coops were freshly painted, the grass was gorgeous and plush- bright green under her feet. Truly, your farm was an oasis. She’d never seen anything quite like it before, and you'd barely even started the tour.

“Can I hold one?” She asked meekly, smiling up at you shyly as you turned to look at her. You didn’t exactly take her as the type of girl that would want to hold a chicken, but you were happy to oblige her.

“One of my mamas just hatched a few chicks. Would you want to hold-”

“Yes.” She quickly added, jogging off in the direction that you were pointing, eager to hold anything tiny and fluffy that you had to offer.

You were shocked at the laugh that bubbled its way out of your chest. A genuine, good natured laugh that you found hard to contain as she began impatiently tapping her foot as she waited for you to catch up.

“Didn’t take you for a chicken lover, city girl.” You teased, unlatching the door for her so that she could make her way inside.

The hens squawked excitedly at your appearance, realizing they’d be able to eat their fill of grass, bugs, and dried corn. A few ran over, crowding at your ankles. Rows and rows of nests were lined up along the walls. In the back of the coop were a few small rectangular doors that you could open, which was what you used to harvest eggs. Your dad’s old coops didn’t have anything fancy like that, so you grew up having your hands pecked at. You used to run back home to your mother with blood bruises and angry, raised skin.

“I love chicks.” Ellie said simply and the double meaning wasn’t lost on you.

As if on cue one of the chickens began pecking at the woman’s ankles, earning a small hiss of surprise from her. You snorted, biting your lip so that you wouldn’t laugh at her expense. “I can’t say the feeling is mutual, apparently.” You added playfully, looking around for the yellow poof balls.

“Old news.” She was smiling at you, and something in your chest began doing awful, uncomfortable flips. For a second you even felt a bit nauseous.

Ellie wasn’t Abby, but there was something similar about the two of them. The short haired girl seemed capable and strong. There was a physical sort of confidence in the way that she walked that told you that she knew how to handle herself. You watched as she shoved her hands in her pockets, shoulders squared off, feet shoulder length apart- and it had your lips parting.

Still, you remembered Joel talking about his daughter. . . saying that she was military. You couldn’t remember which branch she belonged to, but you could tell that she was well trained. You tried to imagine what Ellie would look like if she was put in a situation where she needed to protect herself, and you found a shiver running up your spine.

There was a coldness that had been in her eyes when the two of you had first met that had chilled you to the bone. You saw none of it when you looked into her eyes now, but. . . still. . . the thought terrified you. Had those capable hands ever killed anyone before?

You felt horrible even thinking that, even going as far as to give your thigh a small slap in punishment as you bent down, knees digging into the wood shavings and hay. The chicks didn’t seem off put by your small scowl. They saw you and instantly thought “food”, which had them clumsily running in your direction. You hadn’t heard her walk up beside you, only felt the sleeve of her long sleeve shirt brush against your arm as she sat back on her haunches beside you.

“It won’t scare them if I pick them up, will it?” She asked gently, slowly reaching a hand out so that she could brush it against their plush down feathers. They chirped contentedly, unaware of what “danger” even meant yet. You were guilty of babying your chickens, meaning none of them were scared of humans. They pecked at you when they were annoyed, but were never violent per say.

“Not at all. They might seem a bit unhappy, but it’s only because they’re hungry.”

You pressed your hand to your cheek as you watched the woman pick one of the chicks up, holding the tiny thing tightly against her chest so as to not drop it. There was something almost comical about seeing the woman look this gentle, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she tried not to hurt the tiny thing. It was adorable. Which was terrifying for you.

You were once again reminded of your dream. . . and you didn’t think you were ready to let Abby go. Not even when Ellie looked up at you excitedly, using her free hand to gesture towards the small creature in disbelief. Almost like she was scared that even talking would frighten it.

“So what do we do now?” Ellie asked, putting the chick down so that she could stand back up. You followed her lead, making your way back over towards the door.

“We open up all the doors and let them walk around for the day. I usually come back and get them back in their coops by sundown.” You let her know, leaving the door wide open as you moved coop to coop.

Ellie helped you, cutting down the time in half. The two of you were back in the truck in record time. You showed her the fields where you planted corn in the late summer to get ready for early fall. You pointed out the small flower garden you had taken upon yourself to cultivate, and then you pulled up to the green houses. Her jaw went slack as she took in all of the buildings.

“You do all of this yourself?” She needed to make sure she wasn’t imagining things. Sure, she was no farmer, but even someone like her knew just how much work this must be for you.

She couldn’t imagine you doing this all day, every day all by yourself. It kinda made her chest ache a bit for you. So when you nodded she took it upon herself to climb out of the truck, eager to do something to lighten the burden for you.

As the two of you approached what appeared to be the oldest of the greenhouses, she couldn’t help but realize that she’d been with you for about an hour. . . and she felt great. Better than great, she felt normal. She had been sent out here so that she could recover, and while she didn’t quite understand what that really and truly meant, being here with you felt right. Being around the animals felt therapeutic, and while Joel might have told you a little bit about her in passing, you didn’t know enough about Ellie to pass any sort of judgment or feel any sort of pity.

Even so, Ellie wasn’t sure she’d be against telling you about what happened. Something told her that you would be understanding. You knew what it felt like to lose people, and she was sure that you had regrets somewhere along the line. Everyone does when it comes to losing loved ones.

She hated that you had suffered enough to understand where she was coming from, but loved that she wasn’t alone for once.

The two of you walked in silence, and there was a heaviness in your eyes that let her know that you were thinking about something serious and sad. Ellie wondered whether your father was on your mind this morning. . . or perhaps your girlfriend. It wasn’t her place to ask, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to.

“Want to help me water them?” You finally asked, motioning towards the tables of plants.

She nodded, but quickly turned to face you. She couldn’t count how many green houses you had on top of this one.

“Do we water all of those plants too?” She felt stupid the second that she asked the question, but even more so when you began to giggle.

Sounding stupid was worth it to hear the sound, so she sucked it up.

“Those green houses are newer and have a built in sprinkler system. We just have to worry about this one, thankfully. We’d be here all afternoon if not.” You began to head in the direction of the hose so that you could turn it on, your stomach tightening with hunger.

You knew the second you got back to the house and made breakfast that you’d be nauseous though. Bad days like this were always the same. You were hungry but you couldn’t eat. You wanted to distract yourself but nothing would work. You wanted to talk to someone but didn’t have any friends that you trusted enough to actually. . . onload on, and you were sick of your mom crying on your behalf.

“So you’re staying with Joel now? For how long?” You decided to make small talk as you handed her the hose, walking along with her as she painstakingly paid attention to every sprout.

She licked her lips before answering you, eyes flickering in a way that made you think that she might feel a bit nervous.

“I was. . . sent here. It’s not like I don’t love being home, because I kinda do. It’s just not something that I exactly chose for myself.” That didn’t feel like the whole truth, but you supposed that she would tell you whenever she was ready.

You played with the raw hem of your old t-shirt, suddenly anxious that you might have put her in a bad spot. Still, you found yourself wanting to know more about her.

“Do you have an addiction problem?” You realized how inappropriate it was to be so blunt. Your mouth went bone dry with panic, and you were quick to grab her hand, shaking your head. “A-All I’m trying to say is that my uncle had a really bad drug problem for years. He’s been clean and sober since last Christmas and is doing great. I don’t judge, that’s all. I’m proud of you, if anything.”

She gulped, looking down at your hand and noticing how close your body was to hers now. She fumbled to turn the hose off with one hand, trying to get her breathing under control. It was twice now that you were touching her like this, and she hated herself for wanting to wrap you back up in a hug so bad. She was also trying not to notice how plush and kissable your lips were.

You smelled great too, which made it hard for Ellie to think.

“Yeah, I guess I have a bit of an addiction problem,” She mumbled, but shrugged her shoulders soon after, contradicting herself. “But that’s not really why I’m here.”

Ellie would have to tell you eventually, she supposed. If the two of you were going to be as good of friends as Joel wanted, then she’d have to fess up eventually. It was better to get it out and in the open now rather than later. Plus. . . if she had some sort of a breakdown then maybe you’d be more understanding if you knew why it was happening.

“My therapist tells me that I suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I was in the Marines and I had a really bad accident. So. . . it was hard for me to live alone.” Ellie stared down at a long-dead leaf on the ground and bent down to pick it up, gently playing with it’s crinkled edges.

“Did you have panic attacks? I have those sometimes too.” You wanted her to know that she wasn’t alone, as stupid as it might sound.

You wanted to relate to her without telling her that your girlfriend had also been a Marine. She was being vulnerable with you, and the last thing you wanted to do was make this moment about you by bringing up your deceased girlfriend.

“Yeah. . . Yeah, I have those a lot. Sometimes I lose track of time- disassociate. It’s scary for others to deal with, so my friends thought that it would be best if I were with Joel. There’s less triggers here than back in Chicago.” You could tell that she was still uncomfortable with the subject matter, but she was powering through.

Ellie appreciated that there wasn’t a hint of judgment in your tone. You genuinely seemed curious. . . and talking about herself like this felt good. Validating, even.

“What triggers you? I just want to make sure that I don’t overstep or accidentally do anything wrong-”

“No, no. You’re fine. It’s more so loud noises and bright lights.”

“So no gunshots?”

“Guns aren’t too bad. . . it’s more so car crashes. Explosions, you know?”

Your mouth went dry. You did know. It’s how Abby died, afterall. You hated that Ellie had gone through something similar. Your heart ached for her.

“Is that how you got this. . . ?” You began to brush your fingers against the scar over her eye. You froze as she flinched, guilt bottoming out your stomach as you quickly yanked your hand away.

She reached out to take your elbow into her calloused hand before you could drop your palm back down at your side, and pressed your fingers against the skin herself. Her skin was still soft, but raised and jagged. You’d never felt a scar this deep before. Still, it was warm under your touch. Alive.

The moment felt oddly intimate, and you kept your fingers there for a few seconds too long before dropping your hand back at your side. Ellie felt like she was going to explode. No one had ever wanted to touch her scar, let alone been allowed to.

“Yeah, It is.” She cleared her throat, grabbing one of her arms in her hands nervously. She was starting to realize that she didn’t mind being seen by you. “I’m legally blind in the eye now, which has been pretty hard to get used to.”

“So you can’t see at all out of it?” You questioned, beginning to walk back over towards the repotting station. You’d noticed a few sprouts that were getting a little too big for their pots, and the last thing you wanted was crowded roots.

She followed after you like a lost puppy, hot on your trail. “I can see shapes and colors. Movement, and everything. But if you held up your hand and asked me “how many fingers am I holding up”, I wouldn’t be able to tell you.” She’d practically had to relearn how to do everything again, as dramatic as that sounded. Losing the vision of one eye affected a lot more than one might think.

“Oh, shit.” You remarked, nose wrinkling up in sympathy. You couldn’t imagine how hard that must have been on top of dealing with the mental anguish of the accident.

“ ‘Oh, shit’ is right.” She agreed with a small smile, leaning her hip against the table as you began laying out the necessary supplies. She watched your hands as they moved expertly around the table, eyes locked on your fingers. “I used to be beautiful.” She joked absentmindedly, alluding to the scar that now marred her features.

“You’re still beautiful.” You said, fully concentrated on the task at hand.

You didn’t realize the weight that your words carried, nor Ellie’s reaction to them. She felt like a giddy teenager. She couldn’t stop herself from fidgeting with the buttons on her shirt. She was smitten.

You were the first person to treat her like an actual human being since the incident. This was the most alive she’d felt in almost a year. . . and she was talking about things. Not like she might talk to her therapist, it was different than that. She was talking to someone that wanted to get to know her, not just to diagnose her, but to understand her. It felt good. Really good. Sickeningly good.

And you thought she was beautiful.

“Do you want to help me repot these little guys?” You asked, motioning towards the tiny pots.

She was scared of killing your seedlings but nodded anyway, desperate for your approval. Ellie watched as you demonstrated the entire thing for her, praying to god she wouldn’t forget a step.

The two of you stood shoulder to shoulder, shaking out roots and gently tucking the plants into their new homes. It was calming- melodic, almost. The constant motion, the gentle noises of the wilderness all around you. Ellie could even feel herself getting good at it. Not as good as you, of course. . . but she wasn’t as bad as she thought she would be.

You watched as she rolled her sleeves up and over her forearms, taking a second to appreciate her hands. Once again, you felt guilty for being so attracted to her. Strands of auburn hair had fallen out from behind her ear and hung in her pale face as she focused on her task. Her strong hands worked methodically. Her veins, her knuckles, her forearms and biceps- Ellie wasn’t just beautiful but gorgeous.

‘Give me a sign, Abby. If I’m not reading too far into last night's dream. . . then just give me some sort of a sign.’ You thought to yourself, eyebrows furrowing as you packed more dirt around the seedling in your hand. You felt like you were being horrifically dramatic, but what else could you do?

You felt idiotic. Delusional, even.

Beside you Ellie continued to work, completely unaware of your building turmoil. Pot after pot, she was really getting the hang of it. Pack down a layer of dirt, shake out roots, pack dirt on top- repeat.

She reached out for another one of the black plastic pots, sliding it over in front of her. She was so lost in her own thoughts that she almost didn’t hear the rattling. She’d been so close to covering up whatever was at the bottom with dirt, but the sunlight caught whatever it was just right.

It sparkled.

Ellie pinched the object between two dirt coated fingers, her eyebrows practically raising up to her hairline as she realized that it was a ring. A valuable looking one, at that.

“Uh. . . is this yours?” Ellie asked, showing it to you.

You blinked a few times at the ring, scared for a moment that you were hallucinating, because things like this only happened in movies. People asking for signs from the other side only for a ghostly apparition to pop up on screen.

Still, that was your promise ring in Ellie’s hand.

Your bottom lip quivered, eyes filling up with tears before you could even stop them. You reached out with gentle fingers, taking it into your hand graciously.

“Thank you.”

And you weren’t sure if you were talking to Ellie. . . or Abby.

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