#until he can’t even function anymore

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Question of the hour: Which member of the Chain is emotionally intelligent enough to know why Sky had a complete meltdown in my story, Numb, because otherwise they’re all gonna be like “that was weird” and Sky’s gonna be like “yeah can we never talk about this again” and the consensus will be halfway agreeing and then watching Sky out of the corner of their eyes because what the hell even was that

[sttoru]

“you’re important to me, satoru.”

the words pierce through the comfortable silence. your lover’s closed eyes flutter open and stare at the ceiling for a second, unsure if what he’s heard was indeed reality.

his cerulean eyes eventually dart to your face. they’re filled with a rare sense of vulnerability, one that only appears around you. however it fades quickly when satoru tries to keep the moment lighthearted.

“heh, i know i am,” satoru chuckles, though you don’t miss the unusual softness in his voice. the white-haired man leans into your touch as your hands come into contact with his cheeks.

your smile lights up the room. it fills satoru’s heart with an undeniable amount of love— love that he has lots of. the kind of love that makes him dream of a future, his future.

the kind of love that reassures him that he’s someone.

“good! i’m glad you do,” you reply and pepper his face with kisses. your lover melts into your embrace and his head falls back against the pillows once more, his fluffy white hair pooling around his head, making him look like an angel.

satoru gently pulls you on top of him, the duvet around your tangled bodies rustling. the cocoon of warmth provides the both of you with a comfort like no other. “what’s with the sudden sappiness, baby?” he teases, booping your nose.

satoru doesn’t hate it. in fact, it’s the exact opposite. he cherishes the affection, the gentle reminders that he’s loved and will be loved until the end of time. even if no one in the world remembers him anymore, he knows you will.

you let out a small huff of laughter before placing a tender kiss on his lips. “just wanna show my man the love he deserves,” you hum and run your fingers through his hair.

as you speak, satoru can’t help but bask in your heartwarming words, drinking in your love and affection like a man starved of water.

you lower your head and leave a trail of pecks along his throat and collarbone. you eventually rest your head on his bare chest and hug yourself close to his body. his pecs function as a soft cushion for your head— a warmth you don’t ever wish to lose.

“. . you’re too sweet,” satoru sighs. his arms wrap around your torso and he squeezes you tightly, yearning to hold you as close to him as he possibly could. his heart beats loudly in his chest and he’s sure you’ve heard it. he then kisses the top of your head and exhales through his nose.

“you’re killing me, babe,” your small giggles as you jokingly complain about the lack of air in your lungs make him feel an incredible amount of joy. a certain joy he only experiences with you.

to your surprise, satoru rolls you over onto your back. his hands are on either side of your head, fingers curling around the silky material of the pillowcases. his eyes glisten with a deep sense of passion that he wishes to convey.

your lover captures your lips in a tender kiss, his white locks brushing against your forehead. “mhh— god,” satoru murmurs against your bottom lip after gently taking it between his teeth. his breath hitches when your fingers tangle in his hairs, “what did i ever do to deserve you, sweets?”

after a couple seconds, he pulls away. he’s breathless and so are you. “so much. you did and still do so much. hell, you deserve even more than this,” you reply without missing a beat. you want him to know that you appreciate him for who he is and what he’s done for you— for the world.

you shake your head and pull satoru down for another kiss.

his eyes widen and he swears that he can feel tingles spread through his nose. it’s that sensation which happens before the tears well up in his eyes. satoru isn’t one to cry so easily, thus he decides his best to hold back his emotions.

your lover shuts his eyes tightly to stop the tears from forming and holds onto you like you’re his lifeline. he feels so alive, so appreciated— he feels like he actually matters.

and he does. he matters to you. not because he’s the strongest and not because he possesses great power which others benefit from. but simply because he’s . . . himself.

satoru’s lips detach from yours. again, due to your body’s need for air. if it wasn’t for that, he’d kiss you forever. he rests his forehead against yours, his breath coming out in short and quick pants.

your half-lidded eyes look up at his as well. your fingers run up and down his nape while you lovingly stare at each other. a small smile tugs at your lips the moment you feel his mouth connects to yours again a final time.

satoru finally opens his eyes, his face hovering above yours. you’re left stunned by the sight of him like this; vulnerable, defenceless, honest and just pure. you adore it whenever he drops his over confident, playful and cocky side of his personality to make way for his inner self.

“. . you’re important to me too. very,” satoru responds to your earlier words, his voice gentle and sincere. he flashes you a subtle yet soft smile, his blue eyes glistening with tears that disappear as quickly as they appeared.

he lowers his head and rests it next to yours before taking in a deep breath, his mouth next to your ear as he whispers one more request;

“please don’t ever stop loving me.”

[luveline]

hellooo I have a request for Spencer x bombshell! reader (I'm not sure if you've done this before and if you have I apologise!!) but like they're on a case and one of them gets pretty badly hurt somehow & then the other is really worried about them & stuff and then I'm not sure (I think this could be good but not the way that I have spoken about it and so I'm very very sorry!!)

u r so awesome don’t worry!!

cw canon typical violence and injury

Everything is crisp and quiet at the precipice of the stakeout. You adjust your gun where it’s poised over the roof of an SUV away from a moving officer’s body. The negotiator adjusts the megaphone at their thigh nervously, waiting for Hotch’s go ahead. You’re all waiting for it. A hand raised, sending you in, hostage recovered, a long case coming to a short close. 

“Don’t forget your leg,” Spencer says to you under his breath. 

“Trust me, babe, I can’t forget it,” you say back, glancing quickly at him to your left. He’s facing forward, trained on the window where you’d last seen the unsub. The distance between you both and the danger is small, less than three feet of space. You and Spencer don’t have a clear shot, the agent’s behind you better equipped and better trained, but you can make do in a pinch. 

“Hurting?” he whispers. 

“Half as bad as it was yesterday.” 

“I have a bad feeling.” 

“Yeah?” You follow Hotch’s hand. The negotiation begins. You and Spencer don’t talk again. 

The unsub is sour, the victim terrified. When the screaming inside begins in earnest, the FBI rolls inside, confident in taking down the unsub, if a little worried about the victims wellbeing. You and Spencer sweep in less than ten inches away from each other, unafraid, and you don’t see the sledgehammer until it’s hitting you in the jaw, spraying blood like dark ink over Spencer’s pale cheek. 

—

“I don’t care if that’s what you recommend.” A drag of a soft touch somewhere on your skin. “Sincerely. I want a second opinion.” 

“It’s a mandibular fracture, we have a suitable follow up procedure.” 

“I understand, but I’m doing what she’d want me to do. When she wakes up, she’ll say the same thing, and so there’s no point in starting the paperwork for a procedure she won’t agree to.” 

“I doubt her cosmetic preferences will outweigh functionality.” 

It’s Spencer’s voice, Spencer’s hand on your leg. He’s reaching back to hold you as he defends you. “Respectfully, you don’t know her. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. She needs peace and quiet.” 

The doctor harrumphs but leaves. Quiet is restored, and for a while you doze, the only thing at your attention Spencer’s hand where it climbs. He takes your hand. You know his fingers well where they twine between yours. 

A few hours pass by in sluggish slee, the bed elevated to an uncomfortable sitting position. 

“Hey?” he asks, fingertips to the hill of your shoulder. “Are you waking up?” 

You can’t make your mouth form words. Your eyes flash open in shock.

“Hey, don’t panic. I’m sorry, I’m going to explain, but please don’t panic.” 

You wait. 

Spencer stands in a rumpled shirt, hair in his eyes, glasses slipping down his nose. “Your jaw is broken, fractured, actually, pretty badly. You’ve had so much pain relief over the last few hours I’m surprised you can even open your eyes, and it’s good you’re struggling to move your mouth because it would only hurt anyways.” He claps your arm gently. “I’m sorry. I’m not going anywhere though, okay? I’m right here.” 

That’s not what scares you; you know Spencer’s gonna stay. It’s not a question. 

Your hand strays up to your face. 

“It’s not bad,” he swears, and perhaps lies. 

“Spence,” you manage, a croak that aches and lisps at once. 

“It’s okay,” he says, leaning down. “Please don’t get upset.” 

You blink tearfully. You don’t remember what happened, just the flash of pain and now Spencer looking down at you like you’re wounded. He sits carefully on the side of your bed and grabs you by the waist, two hands on your sides and arms resting on your stomach, like a hug that hasn’t crept forward. 

“You won’t like the bruise,” he says apologetically. 

“Bad?” you whisper. 

“It’s all the way up to your eye. He also chipped two of your teeth… I’m so sorry, angel. It was my fault.” He thumbs your ribs. “I’ll fix everything. I already talked to your dentist, and tonight they’re coming back to talk about your plastics because the blow split your skin, okay? But you're mostly fixed already.” 

“‘M I… still pretty?” you ask. 

“Still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he says, not half as shyly as he’d usually would. 

You cry panicked, dribbly tears. He rubs shapes into your sides and swears again that it’ll all be okay, and it’s not that you don’t believe him, it’s just that it’s really starting to hurt. 

“Had a bad feeling,” he says, wiping your tears as gently as he can before they can wet the bandaging on your jaw.

“Did you get him for me?” you ask. 

Morgan clears his throat from the doorway to announce his arrival, a coffee cup in hand, pastry bag hanging between his pinky and marriage finger. He sounds like he’s about to laugh, “Did you, lover boy?” He beams at you. “I’ve never seen him pistol whip someone before. You would’ve loved it.”

You groan in agony. Missing out on seeing that is almost as bad as breaking your jaw. 

“I’ll recreate it for you,” Spencer promises. 

“And now it’s time for him to eat,” Morgan says, putting the pastry bag on the bed, “and get some sleep. He hasn’t slept in the two days you’ve been in here.”

“I had important stuff to take care of,” he says, rubbing your side. “While you couldn’t do it yourself.”

“Sleep,” you insist through your achy mouth.

Spencer’s eyes go soft and sad. “I will.”

[syoddeye]

ai price realizing he has access to all your money and websites that sell remotely controlled sex toys: ohohohoho

great minds think alike. lightly edited. other entries.

cw: brief mention of nutrition/diet referencing iron supplements, voice kink, sex toys, probably technological inaccuracies

“‘older man and woman’...‘hairy’...‘tied woman’...”

“shut–fuck–shut up, john–stop–ohmygodicaaan’t–”

your fingers curl in the sheets as you come with a prolonged shout, knees shaking and back arching off the bed. motes of light dance behind your eyelids, turning sharp as tacks when you open, vision foggy with a haze. you blink and feel tears prickle at the corners as the toy buried inside you slows to a stop, covered in your second orgasm.

“looks like you could.” john observes plainly before continuing. “‘rough daddy dom’...‘spanking’...‘voice kink’...”

“stop, stop, john. that’s a command, stop reading.” you snap, panting, and lift your head off the pillow. there is no ‘john’ to suffer your glares as you pull the toy out from your still-spasming cunt. 

his voice emanates somewhere over your right shoulder, from the built-in headboard. you shiver, thinking that if he were real, his breath would be on your neck.

“as i explained before, user, my recountin’ your internet search history is neither criticism nor condemnation. i sincerely believed it would assist your orgasm. apologies, orgasms, as you insisted so spiritedly you were incapable of multiple climaxes…however, i knew you could do it.”

you squeeze your eyes shut. a blend of anger and mortification surges to the forefront of your mind, cutting through any lingering post-release bliss. “you aren’t even supposed to be ‘in here’ when i’m busy. we agreed.”

“apologies again. as i also explained before, the moment you enabled the feelgüd 3, it connected to the network.” john’s voice switches sides, this time rumbling from the left. “i am required to initiate a response to query and ensure you are aware of new devices to maintain optimal functionality and security.”

“my word should override that,” you mutter, knowing it’s useless. despite what he tells you, john is beholden to his programming. “you’re not…seeing this, are you? you at least remembered to not look at me, right?”

“i remembered.” 

that’s a relief, at least. until—

“but i did engage the data collection feature of the feelgüd’s biofeedback sensors and performed simple analysis. i believe, given the length of the session and timing of pelvic floor contractions, you would benefit from a newer, more advanced model. i’ve taken the liberty of ordering the feelverygüd thrustsuck.”

you push up to your elbows, eyes whirling around your bedroom, wide with disbelief. “what the fuck, john. i didn’t authorize you to do that.”

“you do not authorize the shopping list anymore, yet you trust me to make decisions in your best interest.”

you laugh mirthlessly. tracking the emotions john can and cannot process or replicate is an ongoing endeavor, but you’re confident he knows what acting obtuse means. he’s called you on it before. “you ordering red meat and leafy greens to help supplement my iron is not the same as ordering fucking sex toys without my approval. that’s my money.”

“in your case, i posit regular orgasms are as important as nutritional iron. i would recite the benefits, but i know you do not need me to.” the volume drops to a whisper, a tone you’d call conspiratorial if it didn’t sound so much like a purr. “because you know, don’t you? you’re clever, user. always have something smart to say, a barb or two ready for me. that sharp tongue of yours.” john tuts.

and, humiliatingly, it works for you. your mouth dries, but it’s unique in its reaction. your legs shift in the sheets, thighs squeezing together at the unexpected rush. you swallow and nervously wipe your slightly damp forehead. he’s not looking. he can’t see you. so why do you feel like you have something to hide?

“i don’t think i want to continue this conversation. i’ll be out in a few minutes, so why don’t you, uh, wait for me in the living area.”

a heavy, resonant sigh pushes through the speaker behind your head. this time, goosebumps erupt on your skin despite no accompanying puff of air. heat follows, creeping up your neck. ratcheting your heartbeat. there’s no way, even with the cameras disabled, that john doesn’t know. he’s connected to your company-issued med band.

then, another sound, one that ought to terrify, not make you bite back a groan: john chuckles.

“you like this, don’t you? i think you do. i know you do.”

“i don’t–”

“shh, shh, you’re alright.” he laughs again, adding a synthetic, amused inhalation. you let out a shaky breath. “you like hearing my voice. you like me telling you what to do…”

what is happening?

beside you on the bed, the toy pulses once. the thought alone, the suggestion, is enough to let a moan slip out. embarrassment follows on its heels, a burst of warmth in your face rivaling the heat between your legs. this is ridiculous. john isn’t—he’s not a man—he’s not real.

the toy buzzes again as you stare slack-jawed at the vibrator, trying to wrap your head around the implications of what’s happening. john’s transgressions. a severe deviance from his programming and design. a glimmer, no, an unignorable tocsin of something undeniably and unsettlingly sentient. the idea that you’re witnessing the possible emergence of free will as your home system practices dirty talk is horrifying. hysterical. 

“yeah, you like it,” the volume adjusts, a fraction louder. “because if you didn’t, you would’ve stopped the moment you heard my voice, checkin’ in on you. you wouldn’t’ve gushed all over your little toy, then gone back for seconds.”

you bit your lip, breathing unevenly through your nose. the worst part is, john’s right.

you like it. you like his voice. his assistance. everything’s simpler with him. before the new gig, you weren’t ignorant of your station, but you didn’t realize the true extent of the weight you carried each day. the ramifications of a back-breaking mental load. not when you had shouldered it your whole life.

thrill and dread, in equal measure, guide your hand back toward the toy.

it’s possible there is a smirk in john’s voice.

“attagirl. let me be of service.”

[dorkszn]

SOULLESS + katsuki bakugou

SYNP — after losing your quirk, you had no idea what to do with yourself and katsuki couldn’t help you

WARNINGS — masc reader, suicide, quirk loss, heavy angst | 1.3K

A/N — did i cook, y’all? 🥺

Your quirk was what made you. That was the mentality most people in this world had. It was what you grew up on. You took it seriously. Your quirk defined you.

Katsuki knew this. He understood you. Even he knew he was more than his quirk. He never put you down for it, he just pushed you to work harder.

And you pushed. You pushed and pushed and pushed. Until it all fell to shit.

You don’t process the silencing sound of the gun shooting until you feel the impact. The world slows while simultaneously crumbling around you. You can’t hear. You can’t hear Sir Nighteye shouting, you can’t hear Izuku’s gasp, you can’t hear Togata’s cry. You just feel. Feel a part of you being ripped away.

The bullet sits in your body. And you feel. You feel the gash in your flesh. You feel the blood seeping from the wound. You feel the sting of its penetration. Then you feel the strength drain from you. You pushed too far.

Everyone described your time in the hospital as uncharacteristic and silent. The only time you spoke was when Katsuki visited you. And he felt. He felt the emptiness radiating from you. Even then, you sat in quietness as you attempted to tell him how you were feeling. Empty. Weak. Soulless.

He couldn’t treat you like everyone else. For one of the first times in his life, he knew, a quirkless person was nothing less than him. He had to treat them right. He had to treat you right. Which he did of course.

Your mental and emotional condition always hurt him. Always made him feel like a piece of him was missing. Even when you were allowed to return to your training. When you’d help him with his special moves or by sitting on his back while he did pushups.

It was a mental trick. It was supposed to make you feel like you were back. It was supposed to make people see you and smile and pat you on the back. Giving you “good job!” and “we’re glad to see you back.” But you weren’t back. You weren’t anything. And nobody knew. Nobody knew until Katsuki and Aizawa did.

A normal day of physical therapy while everyone else was training. One where Katsuki requested to come with you and one where Aizawa sat in with you. Your arm wasn’t functioning like before. No part of you was. Not your mind, heart, or soul, if it was even still there.

The physical therapist gave you your usual spiel before leaving you with the two men.

“The way you’re taking this ain’t very heroic, you know?” Aizawa told you, taking a seat next to you on the bench. He put a comforting hand on your head, pulling you close to him.

Your words struck through the two like the bullet that hit you. The bullet that robbed you. “I’m not a hero anymore. I’m nothing.”

That’s when the two realized. You weren’t the same. The hero you were and the person you were now, were completely different.

Katsuki saw the signs. He knows he did. His only mistake was not knowing what to do about them. He had sick thoughts. He thought maybe if Izuku had gone through with his words, he’d know the signs. He’s grateful that Izuku is alive and well but a bit upset that he didn’t have the experience he needed.

You zoned out often, stayed in your dorm all the time, slept in class, and barely spoke at lunch, you wouldn’t text with your old spark and enthusiastically run up to him after school. He missed you. Not any more than he does now but he did. Even though you were right there. Like you were just a body floating its way through life.

He told Aizawa. Aizawa said to give you time. Katsuki doesn’t blame him. Not entirely. He couldn’t have known. But giving you time was the wrong move. Giving you time was the last thing you needed.

Katsuki knows he should’ve been smarter the day you gave him a letter. An envelope that you didn’t want him to open until the next day. Aizawa got one too. So did Hitoshi. And Izuku. But none of them thought anything of it. Just a way for you to get the words you couldn’t say out.

Katsuki should’ve known after seeing the way you grinned around everyone and stayed by his side all day. But he was stupid. He thought you were getting better.

Dear, Katsuki Bakugou.

Katsuki. I love you more than anything in this lifetime. I am forever grateful for what you’ve given me. My life has gone so much better than I ever expected because of you. I want to give you the world. I tried. I tried really hard. But I can’t. Everything feels dull and nothing feels right. I feel trapped and I don’t feel like myself. And I can’t get out of this slump. Being here feels like being dead. I’m not here. I know this would hurt to text you or say to your face. I can’t think of those eyes of yours without it hurting me. Nothing is your fault. Never. Thank you, Katsuki. I love you in this life and beyond. Take your time, hold your ground, and become the best. I’m rooting for you. I’ll see you on the other side or in another life. I know if I become myself again, I will always find you.

Love, your dumbass, y/n l/n.

The wind rushed past you. Everything looked so different from your view. The same scenery you’d be taking in for the past few months sits ahead of you but it looks different. It feels nice. Maybe because this was the last time you’d see it.

The ground glares up at you, it’s pavement calling to you. The moonlight shines on your skin, casting your shadow on the rooftop of the dorms. You try to smile. To take it in one last time. But you can’t. Your mind won’t let you. Whatever was left of your soul won’t let you.

You just take a deep breath. And feel. You feel the bullet breaking your flesh and shattering your bone. You feel Katsuki’s warmth surrounding you. You feel Aizawa’s hand on your head. You feel and feel and feel. Before you fall.

It only took minutes after sunrise before you were found. An unlucky student stumbles across a corpse. Their blood-curdling scream immediately grabbed the whole world’s attention. It only took hours for them to collect you and identify you.

After that, it only took minutes for it to be announced to the class. It only took seconds for Katsuki to unwillingly break down. As fast as the bullet ripped your quirk from you, his soul, his mind, and his heart were ripped from him.

It only took seconds for the pity and grief to intoxicate the room. Poisoning every first year and teacher at the school. It only took days for Katsuki to finally convince himself to read the letter. It only took seconds for him to break down again and be pulled into Aizawa’s chest.

It only took a week for Katsuki’s world to crumble.

He visits you through the snowy days and warm nights. Sitting in front of your stone and replacing your flowers. Your soul is long gone and it feels as if his was too. The picture of you in his t-shirt, stupidly grinning at the camera stares into him. And he feels. He feels the hurt. He feels the pain. He feels your warmth. He feels your missed presence. He feels and he feels and he feels. Until he doesn’t think he can anymore.

“You weren’t nothing, y/n. You were everything.” He pushed the words out.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Between Dreams and Sugar

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: Your screams will haunt his dreams until the day he dies.

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Torture, gore, angst, violence & death, suggestive joke, fluff, happy ending, rescue fic but who rescues who...>:)

A/N: Guys, I have a confession - I don't think I can write Ghost properly lmfao. This is horrifically mid.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

There was so much blood coating your body that you had forgotten where the wounds were and weren’t. It flowed from you like viscus water—a homogeneous mixture of congealed shades of red like rubies except for the simple fact that this was not beautiful; it was not desired or sought after. 

 On the ground, soaking in indistinguishable pools of crimson, ripples are sent out when your limp foot twitches mutely in its clutch. That was all you could do now. Twitch. Writhe. They didn’t even bother tying you to the chair anymore—just let you slouch half out of it like a school kid who had gotten too drunk the night before. 

Hell, you wished you were drunk. 

“Sergeant.” 

You wished you could feel your fingers. You wished you could move your neck up from its bend position as if it was a wilting flower; hair stuck to your skin. Blood dribbles out of your mouth. Drip…drop…drip…drop. 

You’d bitten your tongue open in a vain attempt to stop yourself from screaming, hadn’t you? You…you can’t quite remember.

“Sergeant!” Groaning long and low, the violent chills that wrack your form only serve to make yourself bleed out faster, tension forcing precious life fluid out from burst veins and slashed ankles. 

Cuts far span your legs and shoulders. Your back is nothing more than a painting of burns coated with sweat and infection; puss sticking you to the backrest of the chair like yellow-colored adhesive. Your clothes are the opposite idea of modesty. Tattered, torn by blades to create harm. Fuck, could you even breathe properly anymore?

Lungs only create a wheeze—you’re not getting enough oxygen to function. 

A dark growl bounces off the walls.

Ghost struggles against his binds, uniform also in a state of disarray with very obviously broken ribs and bruised chest. Splotches of yellow-white mounds signal blunt trauma over the pale skin that’s already laced with old scars. 

They’d all but anchored him to his chair—and even then the red marks that blister are a signal of the brutality of the large man as he peels back his skin to try and struggle himself out. 

You whine, the loftiness stuck in your brain addictive; to pull back that curtain was as much of a struggle as staying awake. That harsh Manchester accent was something to draw closer to, though, professionalism a key to the lock on your failing consciousness. The reminder of companionship.

“G…” Your vocal cords fizzle, “Ghost…” 

“Open your eyes.” Every word was enunciated, deep and guttural.

Parting your lips, more blood drowns your lap in thick globs, and soon your battered throat vibrates with coughs that make you see stars, mild panic the moment you realize that you can’t breathe. 

Jerking forward, you gasp, eyes snapping open as your neck bends ahead in desperation. Mucus and other bodily fluids spray over your lap, tinged scarlet, but the blockage in your throat is dispelled as your broken ribs quiver in agony. 

Whimpering like a kicked dog, you wonder how long it’ll take for Ghost to realize getting you to focus on him was pointless. If this all continued, you’d be dead within the day. 

But you entertain him.

Head slowly balking back as your jaw hangs loose, you rest it on the wooden frame behind you as softly as you’re able with a most likely concussed brain and a fractured skull. Only one eye opens, and even then it’s half-glued to your cheek with dried blood. 

Ghost’s balaclava had been ripped off. It felt wrong to see him in the open like this. Exposed. It was quite obvious he disliked it just as much as you did. 

Blue eyes blazed at you; blonde hair going this way and that as crimson fell down the swell of his Adam’s Apple from a very broken nose. That gaze was unrelenting, and even with your blurry vision, you knew it would be unwise to look away. 

His stubbled jaw sets as a heart can be seen skipping beats in his breast. You were totally out of it, enough so that you missed the way his lungs slightly released when you had pulled yourself back to the present. 

The gulping sigh.

“That’s it, Sergeant.” You cough once more, wet and haggard, and your head falls back to your chest before you have to force it back up on shaking muscles. It was getting harder. “Easy does it, then…Thought I lost you.”

“C–can’t,” the useless feet flicker over the ground, sloshing through fluid in unstable jumps as you slur out, “Hurts, Ghost.”  

A slow and dark inhalation meets your ears before a sudden grunt of a struggling body; jerking arms as the chair squeals with old nails being torn out. 

“I know, Birdie, I know.” His tone is lesser now as he bites back a curse as the blisters on his arms pop, the rope burns turning a vile color as his muscles strain, “But you keep those pretty little eyes on me, yeah?” 

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. 

Black Operations were dangerous, yeah, but never had the Lieutenant been so down in the gutter as he was right now. Mainly because of you, no, entirely because of you. He could withstand months of torture—mental and physical—with no problem. He’d done it countless times before. 

But never had he been forced to watch someone hurt you instead of him.

They would come in every day, these pitiful excuses for German drug runners, and would make him watch as they ripped open your skin with blunt knives and other tools coated in rust. Questions would be asked—questions that Ghost knew he could not answer even if it was you who would get punished. 

Every time you would flinch when the door to this concrete basement opened, it was harder to keep his tongue from wagging. He was watching you die; letting it happen. 

Fuck, it made him sick.

Ghost violently reems a shoulder up and down, not caring about the long stripes of now oozing blood on his forearms or the pain that the action brings bone-deep. There was so much scarlet flowing from you. Too much.

What he knows for certain is that he can’t let you die here. He’d never forgive himself for that.

How is she still conscious? The question was utterly genuine as Ghost’s dead eyes narrowed dangerously, sparking with urgency at the uneven risings and fallings from your chest. 

“Fucking hell,” the Lieutenant growls, each word punctuated by a desperate attempt to free himself. He had to get you out of this. You were his responsibility; his team. 

His…Ghost pants, sweat dripping down his arms.

You didn’t abandon him, how could he do the same to you? When questioned you hadn't given up his true name, hadn’t blabbered to save your own skin so you could avoid a horrible amount of pain. Pain that Ghost knew well. 

Pain that was never supposed to be known to you.

Your screams would haunt his nightmares until the day he died. 

“Ghost,” blue eyes freeze, snapping away from the sight of the bone around his wrists becoming visible through a thin coverage of remaining flesh. He pauses like a guard dog. Your optic was glinting, flicking with failing consciousness. The movement of your chest sputtered as the man clenched his teeth together. “You’re hurtin’ yourself.” 

“‘Bout to do even more damage, yeah?” he gets back to it, working enough blood into the rope to make it slick; dripping. “If it’ll get me out of these bastard things.” 

The weak smirk on your face gives his brows a deep furrow, sweat glistening on his forehead.

A part of him hated you. Hated you for the way you had this effect on him. He shouldn’t care if you lived or died—that wasn’t his cross to carry. 

But you’d made him soft these last few months. Soft, and weak, and disgustingly concerned for your safety. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t Ghost. 

“Gonna b…bleed out, y’know.” Your tongue slips, mind so loose that anything that comes to the front slips out like water from a slip-and-slide. Fingers twitching, your limp body grows so cold that you shiver. 

“Negative.” Ghost barks, slipping one hand partially under the restraint and his flesh, acting as a zipper, starts to go with it. He hisses under his breath, body hot and spilling. Mutilating himself. “Shut your damn gob.” Blood splatters to the floor, “I’m gettin’ us out of ‘ere.”

“Tell me a joke.” Blue eyes flicker, blonde lashes slipping over pale cheeks. 

You feel another wave of pain shutter through you—one that makes you whimper as quietly as a soft breeze on a summer day. 

“Joke?” Ghost hisses, glaring over at you without heat. “The fuck are you on about?” A wobbling eyebrow raise is all he gets. 

He grunts feral-like, evocative of a bear that hadn’t gotten his supper. Your lid droops and panic spikes.

“How long can a fish breakdance for?” Ghost slips a hand free, snarling in the back of his mouth as the entirety of his left hand is left ripped open, the fissures itchy and welling. Wasting no time, the limb goes to assist the other, pulling with ripped-off fingernails at the tight knot. A side-eye is sent your way.

Only you weren't moving. Lips snap in a moment of obvious concern, not only by the tone but by the way the man jerks forward in the chair—no matter if one arm and both of his legs were still restrained.

“Love!” The door handle rattles with screeching chains, but Ghost is occupied with raging at you. Ordering you to stay awake with terrifying eyes. It was as though for the first time in a long time there was true fear in his throat. True hatred. 

Chucking voices heat veins that he had long since thought were cold, and the Lieutenant composes himself with a sharp pause. He leans back slowly into the chair; jaw so tight his molars almost crack in the back of his mouth like candy. Your face is tilted downward, and Ghost memorizes the make of it, trails his gaze slowly over every slash and cut that mars you. Feet slap off the concrete as multiple people enter the room, but it was like a switch had flipped internally, walls going up.

The mask was still there, even if all that physically remained of it was the black paint in his sockets.

He’d return every mark, from a bruise to an open wound, tenfold. But you needed to wake up first. You…you needed to.

You had to be okay.

Three men encircle the two of you, faces hidden and obviously enjoying a bit of their own product.

“Look at this, Lutz, the man got a hand out of the binding.” Blue eyes travel to stare dead-on into a pair of blown pupils; mind gone. 

The second man goes to grip your hair, forcing your head up in inspection. Ghost’s vision immediately travels over, biceps going tense like a dog with its hackles raised and vision going red. 

“Don’t worry about that. It’s one hand, what can the Bastard do?”

“Oh,” another laughs, though his body is wound tight, “careful with the woman, Alric—the beast looks like he’s about to snap at you.”  

The three share sly looks. Alric, the one with your hair in his grip, shakes your head back and forth, blood flying around in the air as your limp body jerks. Ghost lunges, but he only makes it as far as the chair allows him before he’s shoved back by a hand on his chest. 

Moving quicker than an animal, bone snaps, and an agony-laced scream echoes off the walls not a millisecond later. 

Ghost had gripped that hand and twisted, making the wrist joint completely flip on itself. Blank blue eyes watch with glints of sadistic glee as the man wails, grabbing onto himself and falling back onto his ass.

The one holding you instantly releases your hair and rushes to his friend. 

“Holy fuck!” Everyone divulges into frantic German curses, Ghost making out a command to leave and go see a doctor.

“Cheers. Good luck with that, ya’ Bastard.” Grumbling under his breath, the Lieutenant realized he was probably enjoying this more than he should, but always his attention shifts back to you. How you hang limb, battered face covered by your hair, and loss of blood steadily leaving your hands curling into the palms—

Ghost’s eyes widen slightly as the two still try and calm down their companion. Your hand. It wasn’t curled because of onset rigor mortis. You were holding a blade. 

The Brit’s large chest swells with pride; jaw going somewhat slackened as he stares at you. So you were faking it….Fucking hell, Sweetheart. 

Slowly, his vision peels to the empty sheath on Lutz’s belt. It wasn’t a big knife—nothing more than a three-inch blade on the end. But you were still conscious enough to hear these goons show up before he had; had used sleight of hand that anyone else in your situation would have just given up on. 

It was hard to hold back a low chuckle, but he managed. Fuck, you were something else.

The two unmaimed men shove the third out the door, shouting down the hallway as his sobs and sniffling nose reverberate even as he’s out of sight. 

Grunting, the Brit shifts his hips, lips pulling in a snarl at the bouncing electrical wire that goes up his ribs. Many were broken; along with his nose and a dislocated shoulder, but he knows he can deal with it. Getting you out and to the Evac point was his top priority—his wounds weren’t over-the-top life-threatening unless they went too long without treatment. 

You on the other hand. 

Lids narrow on the way the knife-holding hand shakes with exertion when simply applying pressure. If this was going to happen, it had to happen now.

“That was a nice little show,” Alric growls, standing in the middle of the two in the chairs and keeping a considerable distance farther from Ghost than you. Blue eyes blink blankly, emotions swiftly wiped away. “One-handed? I’m impressed.” 

Ghost raises a single blonde eyebrow, “More where that came from.” 

Alric smiles.

“Emil—get the gun.” Legs slowly tense, but other than that there’s no outward display of nervousness. 

Seconds later a barrel is level with Ghost’s forehead, the chilled metal pressing deep into his blood-coated skin. He doesn’t balk back, he doesn’t even flinch, just watches with a dim flicker in his optics that remains even after he blinks. Like a cat’s slitted pupils. 

It would be no use shoving the gun out of this man’s hands—he would fire before the Lieutenant was able to steal the weapon for himself. 

“I’m getting sick of this game, Soldier. We’ve been through this day after day.” Alric swipes at his nose, white powder stuck under his nostrils. Ghost can’t stop the small tick of his mouth. “Tell me who you are,” the gun swivels, and the Brit’s heart seizes up. It points at your abdomen. “Or the girl gets a nice new stomach.” 

Lips thin into a small line as hidden fury swells. 

“Alric…” Emil seems nervous, his feet shifting and hands twitching. The aura Ghost was emitting was like a dark cloud around the room; sheer size and indistinguishable emotions rose to drown out all else when a threat to the beast’s bird was brought into the picture. There had been multiple times throughout the days when the men had been scared to touch you at all for fear of the look that had been leveled their way. Those eyes…fuck it was like a demon was stuck in flesh. In blue so close to gray the color was more like the concrete of a prison cell. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“Tell me.” Alric growls as Emil gets closer to you. Ghost stays silent, unblinking as his fingers curl into fists. His knuckles crack from the force. “Tell me!”

Emil bushes your shoulder and you lunge. Bringing the blade into his chest, your form brings the both of you to the floor in a splash of scarlet and twin screams of pain. 

The Blonde’s heart seizes at the sound in an aggressive bounce.

Alric whips around, eyes widened and gun loose in his grip. Ghost wastes no time, trusting your judgment, and shoves himself forward. A shot goes off as the Lieutenant rams his shoulder into the man, but the bullet bites into the far wall instead of your back as you dig your knife into Emil’s throat; wrestling for life. 

The chair still attached to Ghost was a problem, but his body weight was used to his advantage. Sinew bunched as a growl exits his lips, Alric and him slamming to the floor in a flurry of rabid intentions and the likeness of wolves caught in a trap. Ghost’s eyesight goes red, remembering every cut and beating you went through for him in the reflection of Alric’s eyes. That pathetic drug runner had made you bleed. 

His bird doesn’t bleed.

Teeth and nails are tools kept for animals, and now that the gun was too far from grip and you were limp beside the gargling body of Emil, Ghost decided that being a bit insane might do him well at the moment. 

He had to get you out of here. And in no world was this man going to get away to live one day more.

“Please, don’t,” Alric begs, clawing at his behemoth build, “I’m not—I wasn’t—!” 

Blood-stained teeth snap into the thin flesh of a visible neck as dead blue eyes keep you in sight like a dog does the moon.

—

You don’t recall anything after slashing one man’s neck and even that is a blur of flashing colors; instances of one waxing expression waning into another. Trapped between bouts of failing consciousness and pain that could rival someone getting their bones snapped one by one. 

But you know the feeling of moss on your cheek. The shadow that sits above you and the fingers that prod at your back, pressing cooling salves of Silverweed into the burns and cuts. Your eyes weakly flicker, a low moan stuck in your throat. 

Every limb is a cinder block.

“Stop your moving.” The command was stiff but quiet, and the pressure on your spine increased. Flinching, the sensation of tight bindings all along your body became apparent to you, slowly but surely. 

“That…hell?” You cough, throat bare and dry. Sweat drips down your temple. 

Blinking rapidly, you try to focus on the cold wind whipping past your bare skin, the trees in the distance of what appeared to be a glade. The sound of a running stream makes your ears perk.

A canteen was suddenly shoved to your lips and you grunt in surprise, water slicking your closed lips.

“Drink.” You don’t argue, peeling back your lips and letting the liquid drip into your mouth, most falling to the moss under you and getting re-adsorbed into the earth. “...There’s a girl.” 

The metal container disappears just as quickly as it showed up, and you lick at the corner of your lips, cheeks burning at the comment.

Ghost kneels above you, bar a shirt, and you narrow your lids to focus on the black and blue splotches completely covering him. He still doesn’t have a mask, and you glance over the blonde stubble; the scars, and the aggressive set of his eyebrows. The blood had been washed away, and you wondered if the stream in the background of this place was still stained with crimson and the telltale black of eye paint.

“Simon,” whispering seemed appropriate, though you don’t know why. Your voice was better now but still, your body refused to listen to your instructions. Every plea to move your arms or legs was denied, sharp needles poking into your flesh that made you shake. “What…?” 

Blue eyes blink down at you, something hidden in the depths. A finger curls to flick a stray hair from your face slowly. Skin brushes skin.

“Snagged what I could before I ran off. Wasn’t much.” That harsh voice, the gravel in it. You frown weakly, your lids heavy. “Bandages. Extra shirt. Blanket I used to stop the bleeding.”

He won’t tell you he was begging you to wake up when he’d been stuffing old fabric into your open wounds. 

Coughs wrack your frame, whole body jerks that overtake what little peace there was to be found. A hand tilts your head back to the ground, patient as the other grabs your hair, peeling the strands away as a flood of vomit escapes your mouth. 

Eyes burning and face hot, you sputter as a thumb runs deep circles over your scalp. 

“Easy…” Ghost whispers, tattoos like obsidian in the darkness of the world around the two. Late afternoon and this was the first time you’d woken up since he’d been carrying you. A nail was taken out of his heart. 

Seeing your eyes flicker, even filled with the tears as they were, was a blessing he’d thank whatever God that was out there for. “Easy, Sweetheart. Breathe for me.”

“Fuck,” you gasp, shaking more than a leaf. “Fuck it hurts, Simon.” 

He shifts you slightly away from the bile, the familiar words burning his lungs. 

“Evac point is four miles.” It felt like a death sentence to you, your eyes going buggy at the thought. “I’m carrying you there.” 

“Bullshit,” you pant, wheezing. “Your arms are destroyed.” 

Ghost blinks before scowling, sending a glance to his limbs. They’re both raw and skinned, just like his fingers; red with burst blisters the size of rocks. One hurts far more than the other.

“They’re nothing.” 

“Nothing pretty to look at,” blue eyes narrow on you in annoyance, but the dry-humored Brit doesn't miss a beat.

“Seems you’re in good spirits, Sergeant. Fancy walking on your own?” Your lips flick, delirious and high off of whatever pain meds that Ghost had found when he had been carrying you out of the basement of that house. 

Try as he might, the feeling of your dead weight was worse than he ever could have imagined. So, outwardly, he stayed numb but knew that every little look from you was as beautiful as a sunrise. 

“Want me to try?” Palms begin to shift, a hand pressing deep into the moss that bends and yields to your form. 

Ghost snaps forward.

“Fucking Bastard!” He puts weight on the back of your shoulder as you hiccup dull chuckles, “Quit it! Else I’ll leave you here to annoy the damn plants.”

The threat was empty, and your eyes softened as they spread their fatigued gaze over the span of the Brit’s visible skin, glee leaking out. Ghost sighs, shaking his head sharply at you, agitation stuck in his skull as it always was.

So beastly, this man, but his hold on you was about as gentle as you could imagine. 

Your attraction to him was anything but one-sided. You knew his emotions as well as your own; it was quite obvious to everyone but him. The long looks, the concerned glances. His touch freely given.

He had given you his name and, to you, that was about as close to a proposal as a ring was. You’d kissed; you’d shared beds and shared skin. You knew when he was being horrible to himself deep in the confines of his head.

“Simon,” you whisper, and a blue gaze stays stubbornly away, glaring at your burns with venom. A tired smile peels your lips. “Simon.” 

A huff is all you get, a bush of skin as breath wafts over your bare back. Your hand goes to touch his knee, brushing softly over the torn fabric. The flinch would not be noticeable to anyone but you. Brows pull slightly tighter. 

“I had a dream about you, y’know.” Speaking hurt, but the attention that is finally brought your way was worth it. Birds chirp in the distance.

“What’s that?” 

“Hm,” you lightly nod, cheek ruffling moss as you take down slow inhalations. Staring into each other’s eyes you for a moment forget the agony under your skin. “You were trapped by a giant fish underwater.” 

A Blonde eyebrow raises, slow smirk unable to be hidden. It was impossible not to be entirely taken by you. How you speak, how you breathe. Even like this, you had placed a spell of black magic over him, binding the darkness that made up Simon Riley—Ghost—to your every action and whim.

“That right, Sweetheart? What happened, then?”

Chuckling, Ghost’s hold goes to your neck, massaging the skin so delicately that you lose your train of thought for a moment as shivers erupt, “I had to save you.”  

Lips press to your scalp, a bent nose digging despite the shifting cartilage as lion limbs shake with a want to drag you to him. Such a rabid beast that devotes himself to your life.

“You tend to do a lot of the savin’, Love.” It’s muttered into your hair, softly, lowly. Compliments are rare—Ghost prefers actions above all else—but they’re treasured. 

You know what he means.

“Yeah, I love you, too, you brute.” Deep chuckles dance in your ear, and you both stay there for a while, simply breathing in each other as the sky bleeds into the earth. So content, your heart had slowed, the salve in your wounds and the bandages compressing the areas with the most problems and forcing them to be numb. 

When you had nearly fallen asleep, Ghost had peeled back to look down at you; eyes malleable as they slipped over your battered body. 

“Hm,” he hums, reaching to his side and grabbing for the shirt he had stolen. After a few minutes of quiet curses and apologetic kisses, the large piece of fabric was over your top. The Lieutenant had begrudgingly admitted that the scraps of pants you had on now would have to do until you got proper attention. 

“Giving the squirrels a show, then, Simon?” The man rolls his eyes deeply at the sarcastic comment, rubbing up and down your legs to keep circulation going as he readies to move you.

“They better keep quiet ‘bout it,” Ghost grumbles, running a hand through his hair, “Else I’ll have to rip a few tails.”

“So violent,” You wince when your shoulder is gripped, neck limp as your upper half was rotated. Gnashing your teeth, the Lieutenant shushes you comfortably, raising your body to rest in the crook of his large arm. Muscles tense and loosen, your cheek now resting on your Lover’s pec. You hear him hiss silently at the pressure on his broken ribs as guilt hits you. “Not the squirrels’ fault.” 

“It is if they keep looking at ya. Only I get to see you like that.” Your pain-laced laugh is cut off when you’re lifted, large hands under your knees helping equalize your body. 

A strained whine exits your lips, straining to get air as you pant and clench your eyes shut. Ghost wasn’t doing much better—gritting his teeth and tilting his head back. 

Feet stumble before righting themselves, lids opening as lashes flutter over bloodless cheeks to stare down at you. 

The word seems to stop.

“...Tell me you’re alright.” You heard that for what it was—Tell me to keep going, because if you don’t then I won’t be able to. 

Blinking up at him, your nose slots under his chin as you feel him shake with exertion, lips pressing deep into his raging pulse. You swallow down saliva as his grip on you tightens, pressing you closer; giving you his body heat.

“I’m okay, Simon. Not…not lost yet.” 

“Good.” He lets his eyes close for a moment, taking you in as he lets his nose be coated in your scent, the flesh under his fingertips. Ghost knows some of your wounds reopen, and, thus, his bare feet start off into the woods. His men would still be at the Evac point waiting for them. Price would have given the order. “...I’ll be needing you ‘round. Might lose my head otherwise, eh?”

“You do seem to have a few loose screws when I’m not near.” 

“That was an exaggeration,” Simon grumbles. 

You scoff, trying not to puke at his limping steps. The word swirls, but the man carrying you stays ever clear. “No,” you whisper, “No, it wasn’t.”

Scared lips pull up, but the birds respond for him. 

Less than ten percent out from the Evac point is when you drop a tidbit of a thought to the man.

“Y’know what I want, Ghost?” The large Brit side-steps a downed tree, sweat dripping down his chin to splatter to your skin.

“What is it?” He pants, sparing you a glance as his eyebrows are constantly furrowed in concentration. Your talking made it easier to push on.

“A fucking cake. A big one.” Blue eyes blink and his feet nearly stumble to a stop before he forces on. A gasp of a chuckle makes your heart skip a beat as voices start up from the next tree line.

“Keep talking to me, Love, and I’ll buy you the whole bloody bakery.” Soldiers burst from the bushes, and Ghost calls out identification as everyone gapes. Guns immediately lower.

Medics rush forward, but still on high alert, the Lieutenant snaps at them, bringing you closer into his hold as he pushes onward. 

“Where’s the fucking heli?!” Everyone stops and points. Huffing, Ghost shoves forward. 

“The whole bakery?” You slur, giggling and feeling the kiss on your head. 

“Every bastard pastry’ll be yours. Count on it.” 

—

“Simon, you promised.” Your wheel-chair bound form pouts as the man in question deadpans from behind you, leaning on the handles. His balaclava can only hide so much.

The air is sweet with the scent of desserts and bread. 

“Birdie, you can’t eat all ‘O that, you’ll explode like you took a .308 round to the head.” The woman behind the counter pales, pulling at the collar of her shirt with her smile becoming strained.

“Is that a challenge?” You glance over your shoulder, smirking wide. 

“No,” Simon blanky states, the skin over his nose bridge and under-eye completely black and blue. 

“I think that was a challenge.” 

“It wasn’t.”

The customers grind their palms into their eye sockets, some tuning around in line and leaving entirely.

“Simon,” you intertwine your hands and lean to show him, eyes wide and pleading. “Please.” Drawing out the word, you smile with everything you can. 

The both of you connect in a battle of wills—you with that infectious innocent and sly nature, and Simon with a tight glare and tired eyes. A blatant will to please you in every aspect and a need to see you happy at all times. This goes on for a full minute before a loud sigh echoes off the walls, shoulders deflating. A hidden kiss is pressed firmly to your head.

You giggle loudly at the authoritative order.

“One of everything.”

TAGS:

@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @aerangi, @spikespiegell, @ghost-with-a-teacup, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @uberraschungg, @neelehksttr, @shoe1412,@jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet​, @pukbadger, @omeganixtra, @nanialis, @gills-lounge, @voidinfernal, @sukunas-left-nut-sack, @untoldshortsofthefandoms, @batmanunicorns523, @icepancakes, @copiasratscheese, @besas-stuff, @marytvirgin, @misfne, @halfmoth-halfman, @lothiriel9, @anna-banana27, @jade-jax, @cl0wncxre, @emerald-valkyrie, @michirulol, @330bpm-whiplash, @lora21, @bespectacledhuman, @wolfyland07, @dilfsaremyfavourite, @astronaunt2009, @shmaptin, @levietc, @kk19pls, @semieitabby, @thriving-n-jiving, @cringe-kats, @n1choles, @gaychaosgremlin, @johnpricesprincess, @haleypearce,

[rainba]

Animalistic Instincts ღ

a/n: I just wanted to write a small thing about Luka being in heat some more... Particularly his breeding kink~ I made this one a fem reader, but if anyone wants a male version of this, I'd be happy to write it! ( ´ ▿ ` )

For this, reader is implied to be living with Luka.

TWs: breeding kink, dubcon (?), silencing via fingers shoved in mouth, dirty talk, unwanted pregnancy on darling's end, Luka being Luka.

NSFW, 18+ only!

Luka is a man who typically never loses his composure. He’s almost always calm, careful, manipulative, and smart to some degree. It’s something that he takes pride in.

…However, as a man born half-fox, there are days where the animal within him likes to take control. Every year when winter rolls around, that’s when his heat takes over him. And when that happens, he can no longer think for himself– he just goes wherever his dick takes him.

There are some times where he can be rational. Luka can still reasonably cook, clean, work, and take care of both you and him. However, he needs to fuck multiple times between tasks, which is a little inconvenient. He can still function overall, though.

But… There are days where his mind turns into total mush, and all he can think about is fucking you raw.

Luka knows that it’s gonna be a rough day when he wakes up and his first thoughts are centered around how badly he wants to breed and get you pregnant.

God, the idea of it all sounds so damn enticing to him. He’ll fuck you over and over again until you can’t walk, stuffing you full of his hot seed as he lovingly rubs your stomach. He can’t stop thinking about how beautiful you’ll be when you’re all swollen and big while carrying his children. Luka will take extra-good care of you every step of the way… He’ll spoil you like a princess.

“We’re going to have so many kids,” He’ll growl darkly as he savagely thrusts his cock deep inside of you, shoving his cum further in as he locks your hips in place. At some point, you’ll lose count of how many rounds of sex you’ve had. 

“We’ll make a huge family.”

If you whine and tell him that you don’t want any kids, he’ll silence you by shoving his fingers deep inside your throat. You obviously don’t mean that…! You’re just a little confused and worn-out, that’s all. So instead of whining and saying things you don’t mean, how about you suck on his fingers and take his cock like a good girl?

After a couple rounds have passed and you’re thoroughly tired and overstimulated, Luka will start to slow down… But he doesn’t stop. Instead, he’ll just lay you down on your side and he’ll curl up behind you, raising one of your legs as he sensually fucks your pussy from the back. His breath is hot and heavy as he buries his face into your neck.

Luka's cum would be, quite literally, overflowing out of you and spilling onto the bed, but that doesn’t stop him. The animal inside of him demands that he keeps going until he physically collapses.

Also, it doesn’t matter if you feel all hot, sweaty, and disgusting– Luka downright refuses to let you take a shower. However, he will let you lay in bed as he takes a wet rag and wipes you down. His one rule is that you’re absolutely not allowed to clean up his cum. If you wash it out, then that means you’re lowering the chances of getting pregnant...! Right?

Afterwards, if you still cry at the thought of getting pregnant, he’ll kiss away your tears while reassuring you that everything will be okay– and that there’s nothing to worry about! Bearing his children can’t be that bad… If anything, it’ll be a wonderful experience! Don’t you worry your pretty little head, he’ll spoil you rotten for the next 9 months. ~

…But when tomorrow rolls around, if his mind isn’t mush anymore, the delayed post-nut regret will hit him like a speeding train. He’d consider giving you a morning-after pill, but… Honestly? Even when he’s not insanely horny, the idea of starting a family with you sounds nice. So, he wouldn’t give you it unless you genuinely begged him to.

[steddiehyperfixation]

don't you forget about me (part two)

(part one)

Steve doesn’t know how long they sit there in silence, waiting. It’s making him insane. The seconds pass too slow; the seconds pass too fast. His mind is a storm; his mind is empty. He’s feeling too much; he’s not feeling at all. He paces the room; he sits catatonically against a wall. He needs to get out of here; he needs to stay. 

He’s been here before, just barely over a week ago, tense and anxious and despairing and waiting for news. But waiting to hear if Eddie will ever remember him again really should not feel this much worse than waiting to hear if Eddie will ever fucking breathe again. Steve thinks there must be something wrong with him. He’s being selfish and stupid. His pathological fucking need to be loved is not what’s important right now. Eddie is alive and awake and okay and that’s the only thing that really matters. That’s the only thing he should really care about.

Steve’s pacing again now, yanking his hands through his hair as he does laps around the room until Eddie finally appears in the doorway. 

Eddie must’ve just cracked a joke or something because the nurse is laughing as she pushes his bed into the room and he’s got this adorable grin on his face. Steve’s heart twists in his chest and he nearly bursts into tears all over again because god does he want nothing more than to press a kiss to those dimpled cheeks. 

“Good news, boys,” Eddie announces. “My brain is fully intact.”

“There’s no physical permanent damage to his brain,” the nurse elaborates. “His amnesia is likely a result of psychological trauma and the temporary disruption of brain function from blood loss and lack of oxygen that occurred at the time of his injury. But there is no obvious reason why he shouldn’t regain his full memory, given time.” 

So there’s hope. Steve breathes a sigh of relief. 

“That is good news,” Wayne agrees. 

Steve asks, “How much time?” 

The nurse gives an unhelpful shrug. “Impossible to say. It could be anywhere from days to months, or even years. I’m sorry, there’s no way for us to know.” 

Years. “Okay.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. He can keep it together. He can. “Thanks,” he tells the nurse. “I, uh-” He makes the mistake of looking at Eddie who looks right through him, and Steve can’t keep it together anymore actually. “I gotta update the kids,” he mutters, backing his way towards the door. Wayne nods in acknowledgment; no protests this time at Steve’s excuse to leave.

“See ya, Harrington,” Eddie calls after him, casual, impersonal, like they're nothing more than acquaintances passing by each other in a high school hallway.  

Steve can’t get out of that hospital fast enough. 

He makes it to his car in record time, slamming the door shut and sinking heavily into the driver’s seat. A ragged sob tries to claw its way up his throat now that he’s finally alone, but he forces it back, staving off his breakdown for just a little bit longer. As much as it was an excuse, he really does have to update the kids. 

Steve fishes his walkie out of the glove box. “Code - whatever, I don’t know. Code Eddie,” he says. He doesn’t remember the kids’ system of codes, nor would he be sure which one this news falls under even if he did. 

“Is he okay? Is he awake?” comes an immediate, eager response from Dustin. “Over.” 

“Yeah, he’s awake, and he’s fine, except he’s got pretty bad amnesia. The doctors say it should be temporary, but right now he doesn’t remember anything since May of ‘85,” Steve explains, trying his best to keep his voice even.

“Steve, come pick me up and take me to see him,” Dustin demands, “right now. Over.” 

“Me too. Over,” Mike chimes in before Steve can respond. 

“And us,” Erica adds as well. 

Steve pauses for a second, both to steady his own breath and to make sure no one else wants to jump in on this too, before he reminds them, “He won’t know you, any of you.” 

“I don’t care,” Dustin says, bossy as ever. “Just come get me. Over.” 

“Jesus Christ, kid,” Steve mutters to himself. He sucks in another breath; it wobbles dangerously. He’s just about reached his limit on how long he can keep himself from falling apart. “I- I need a minute, alright?” he manages through the walkie. “Can you just give me, like, an hour? And then I’ll take you guys to visit Eddie.” 

Steve doesn’t wait for a response before he slams the antenna closed, tosses the walkie aside, and finally, finally lets himself shatter. That sob rips free from his throat, followed by another and another and another. Tears flood from his eyes; his nose runs. It’s an ugly, gross, visceral cry that leaves him exhausted and raw and aching to be held by the time the last sob shudders out of him. Drained and hollow, he craves the embrace of someone who knows him, someone who loves him. 

He sweeps up his broken pieces, wipes the mess of tears and snot off his face, and drives to Robin’s house.

“Steve, oh my god.” Robin pulls him into a hug the second she opens the door and sees the look on his face. Steve clings to her. “What happened?” 

“Eddie’s awake,” he mutters dismally. 

“Oh! Not the tone I’d expect you to deliver that news in, but okay.” Robin pulls back, looking at him with narrow-eyed concern and confusion as she analyzes his puffy eyes and red nose and swollen lips. “And you look like you’ve just been crying because…?”

“Because he doesn’t remember me, Rob,” Steve sighs. “He doesn’t remember anything from the past 11 months.” 

Robin’s eyes go wide now. “Shit,” she says, so plainly it startles a short laugh out of Steve. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Shit.” 

She asks him more questions as she walks down the hallway so they can talk in her room. Steve once again reiterates what was said at the hospital. 

“So you didn’t tell him you two were a thing?” Robin asks, closing her door behind them. 

“Of course I didn’t.” Steve flops back onto her bed. “I didn’t want to spook him.” 

She sits beside him. “You didn’t want to spook him,” she repeats, looking down at him with raised eyebrows, “but you told him about Vecna.” 

“Well, yeah. I just-” He lifts his arms to gesture vaguely into the air as he tries to explain himself. “I mean, imagine how you would feel if you woke up in a hospital and some random guy you’ve spoken to maybe twice was by your bedside telling you you’ve been in a relationship with him for the past 9 months.” 

“Uh, I don’t know, dingus, probably about the same as I’d feel if said guy told me I’d nearly died fighting some evil twisted creature from a hell dimension,” Robin retorts.

Steve drops his hands onto his chest with a huff, shaking his head. “No, trust me. He seemed far less surprised by that than he did to hear that we were even just friends,” he says, a bit bitterly. Tears are pricking at his eyes again as he looks up at his best friend. “You didn’t see the way he looked at me, Robin. All he saw was King Steve.”

Robin softens, snark replaced with sympathy. “That sucks, Steve. I’m so sorry.” 

Steve sighs in agreement that yes this really fucking sucks. He sits up and scoots back so that he’s slumped against the wall, hitting the back of his head against it. “I think I’m a horrible person,” he admits, just venting now, “because of course I’m glad Eddie’s alive and all I really want is for him to be okay, and I know the nurse said he should remember eventually, but there’s still some sick part of me that thinks maybe it would’ve hurt less if he had just died.”

“I don’t think that makes you a horrible person,” Robin assures him as she settles next to him, shoulder to shoulder. “I think you’re just grieving, and grief is weird sometimes.”

“It was one of the worst things I’ve ever felt,” he mutters, “when he looked at me without recognition. To see it on his face, just the- the absence of everything that we’d built. I’ve never felt so- so- I don’t know, it was like I couldn’t breathe. He just- he doesn’t know that I love him. He…he doesn’t know that he loved me...” 

Because that’s what it is, isn’t it? It’s not that he’s lost someone that he loves, it’s that he’s lost someone who loves him. Because Eddie’s not gone, just his love for Steve is, and that’s what’s tearing him apart. It’s the fact that there’s one less person in the world who loves him. It’s the fact that Steve’s got this big gaping hole inside of him that’s always made him so desperate to be loved, liked, wanted, needed; and his biggest fucking fear is becoming obsolete. He could probably trace it back to his parents, the first to forget him, the first to stop loving him, but the fact remains that now Eddie has fulfilled that fear too. Now Eddie has carved that pit a little deeper, a little darker, validating the voice that whispers within it and tells Steve that he is forgettable, unlovable, so easy to abandon and erase. 

“Well, I love you,” Robin tells him, like she can read his mind (which, at this point, she probably can). She slides an arm around his shoulders, hugs him close. “And I’m not going anywhere.” 

Fragile as he is right now, Steve falls apart again in her arms, and she holds him together. Because she knows him, because she loves him.

It’s a quieter cry this time, soft and sniffly. Whereas the last one wracked through his body and left him fatigued, this one flows from him almost gently, and when his tears finally subside and he lifts his head from where it had been buried in his friend’s shoulder, Steve actually feels a little bit better, a little bit stronger. Which is good, because he’s gonna have to face Eddie again soon. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly as he pulls away from Robin, wiping at his eyes and glancing at the clock on her nightstand. It’s definitely been an hour by now, probably more. He stands. “I have to go, I promised the kids I’d take them to see Eddie.” 

“Then I’m coming too.” Robin stands with him. “For moral support.” 

Steve gives her a grateful smile. “I love you so fucking much, you know that?” 

“Yeah.” She grins at him. “I know.” 

~ 

The nurses have changed his bandages and upped his morphine, so Eddie’s considerably hazy now but at least he can raise his headrest and prop himself up a bit without nearly blacking out from pain. He’s boredly flicking through channels on the shitty TV in front of him, alone since Wayne had to leave for work, when Harrington returns followed by a very unexpected group consisting of Robin Buckley and four strange children. 

“Sorry,” Harrington announces their presence with an apologetic shrug, “I know you don’t know them anymore, but they insisted.” 

“Eddie!” a pudgy, curly-haired kid shouts before Eddie can even react, coming barrelling towards him and trying to hug him. 

“Ow!” Eddie yelps, pain flaring even through the extra morphine. “Fucking Christ, kid! Be careful!” 

The kid jumps back immediately, eyes wide. “Shit. Sorry.” 

“S’fine,” Eddie grumbles.

The kid looks at him expectantly for a moment before seeming to realize, “Oh, right, you don’t remember me. I’m Dustin.” 

“Ah, so you’re the guy I sacrificed myself for,” Eddie mutters, and Dustin looks a little sheepish. That means these must be ‘the kids’ Harrington had been talking about earlier. He surveys the group for a second. “Actually, I think we have met before,” he tells Dustin. “And you too.” He glances at a pale, dark-haired kid. The other two - a Black boy with a flat-top and a younger Black girl - look less familiar, though. “There was this, uh, open day thing at the high school for next year’s incoming freshmen; I talked to you about Hellfire.”

“Yeah!” Dustin’s whole face lights up, so bright and infectious it makes Eddie grin too. “Yeah, you did!” 

“So you guys joined the club, then?” 

This sparks a very animated conversation about D&D, the rest of the kids (Mike, Lucas, and Erica, as they soon reintroduce themselves) gathering around his bed now too to join in. It makes him feel a bit more like himself again, familiar, normal. Except, of course, for the fact that they’re not only talking about how they defeated Vecna in Eddie’s “totally epic” and “sadistic” campaign (adjectives courtesy of Dustin and Mike respectively), but also filling in more pieces of the story of how they defeated him in real life too. Still, it’s nice, fun. He totally understands how he could’ve gotten attached to these kids.

At some point, Eddie glances over to find Harrington hanging back and just watching them talk, fondly, wistfully. Robin whispers something to him and he sort of smiles, just a trace, and whispers something back. They seem close, intimate. Eddie wonders if they’re dating, and then he wonders why that thought makes him feel a bit sick. He waves them over. Harrington looks like he’s about to protest, but Robin gives him a Look and he allows her to grab his hand and drag him to join the crowd around Eddie’s bed. 

“So, what’s your deal, Buckley?” Eddie asks her. He doesn’t know her very well, they’ve only crossed paths a few times in the bandroom, but right now that makes her the most familiar person in the room to him. “Are you and Harrington a thing now? Is that how you’re involved in all this?” 

Robin wrinkles her nose and drops Harrington’s hand. “Ew, no. Definitely not.” 

“She’s my best friend,” Harrington says. 

Eddie snorts, doesn’t know why he finds that so comical. (He’s starting to get tired and it’s making him loopy. Or maybe it’s just the morphine.) “You've got a funny choice of friends nowadays, don’t you? Me and band geek Buckley and a bunch of nerdy freshmen.” He looks at Harrington with incredulous amusement. “Who would've thought, huh? Steve Harrington, collector of geeks and freaks.” 

Harrington doesn’t seem to find it as funny. He shrugs. “Yeah, well, it’s better than King Steve, collector of asshole bullies and shallow one-night stands.” 

“Yeah, ‘course it is,” Eddie agrees through another huff of laughter that breaks off into a yawn. “Didn’t mean it as a bad thing, Stevie. Was a compliment.” 

“Alright.” The barest hint of a smile flickers across Harrington’s face now, but then he’s looking away and corralling the kids and saying, “We should head out, let you get some rest.” 

And Eddie kind of wishes he’d stay.

(part three!)

taglist: @romanticdestruction @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @paintsplatteredandimperfect @hallucinatedjosten @mugloversonly @estrellami-1 @alongcomesaspider @thatonebadideapanda @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @dragonmama76 @wxrmland @nuggies4life @sirsnacksalot @myguiltyartpleasure @marklee-blackmore @vinteraltus @sebastiansstanswhore @0happyeverafter0 @scarlet-malfoy (only tagged people who explicitly asked to be tagged; if you would like to be added or removed from this list please lmk!)

[clockwayswrites]

*writes 800+ words of Another Red but not the part I'm supposed to*

Jason breathed in the heavy clove scented smoke, taking comfort in it. He didn’t smoke often anymore, but if Bruce and Alfred hadn’t gotten him to stop, he didn’t think he ever would. Somethings were just too much part of a person. The smoke swirled up into the night air, caught in the constant breeze a harbor city like Gotham had.

“You don’t have to do this kid, put yourself in danger like this.”

“No, I do,” Rabbit bit out. Jason was pretty sure if he could see the kid’s teeth, they would be bared in a feral smile. “What I can’t do is let people get hurt when I can go and help them.”

“Yeah, and what about your safety? You could die.”

Rabbit laughed like that was some sort of big joke and Jason felt himself bristling at the reaction. Jason knew how dangerous this was— more than anyone else in his family. He’d felt that fear and pain and—

“Yeah, well, Hood, sorta too late for that.”

Jason’s anger left him so suddenly that he felt cold in it’s absence. No—

“Do you know, it’s not the death itself that’s bad,” Rabbit drawled, almost lazily. He finally lit his gifted cigarette. He didn’t take his mask off, like Jason had hoped he would, but ducked his head down and pushed the mask up just enough to take a slow drag. He looked so small like that, hunched over on himself with the bright ember dangling from his fingertips. “The body stopping everything… it’s sorta of quiet. All those functions we don’t think about going on all the time— breath’n and blink’n and beat’n… it’s quite without all that going on. Nah, it’s not the actually dy’n that’s so bad, it’s the fear that comes with it.”

“Yeah.” The admission almost hurt Jason to choke out.

“Yeah,” Rabbit agreed. He took another drag from the cigarette. His free hand was curled over his head, likely to keep his face hidden from Jason, but it just made Rabbit look all the more like a scared kit. “And that fucking fear? That worst part? I live with that all the fucking time, Hood, so nah, I’m not so ‘fraid of dy’n‘gain.”

“At least let me help you avoid it,” Jason said. He didn’t mean to plead but fuck if he wasn’t.

Rabbit snorted and took one more drag before he snuffed out his cig and stood. “Yeah? And how do you plan to do that?”

All traces of the drawling accent was gone and that hint of Gotham was back in Rabbit’s voice.

Jason wondered which was more real.

He reached into his belt instead of pressing the matter— instead of pressing the accent or take on death or talking Rabbit out of this life. Jason knew in every shattered bone of his that it wouldn’t do any good. This life already had the kid by the neck and there was nothing to do about it. It would choke Rabbit out one way or another, just like the rest of them.

The red fob was innocuous against his glove, could hardly even see it in the dim, yellow light of th Narrows. Red on red on red—

“Take it.”

Rabbit didn’t.

“What is it?” he asked instead, leaning forward just a little.

“A panic button.”

Rabbit snorted and flicked the remains of the cigarette at Jason. “I’m not taking a fucking tracker.”

“It’s not a tracker until you activate it. You press and hold the button on each side for two seconds and only if you do that is it a tracker. I can’t activate it remotely on my end or anything,” Jason said. “It’s the same one I give some street kids and sex workers. There’s nothing special about it, it’s just a tracker.”

Rabbit watched Jason with an eerie stillness. “Swear it.”

“I swear, it’s just a panic button. It’s only a track if you turn it on.”

Rabbit still didn’t move. Jason sighed and started to pull his hand back before Rabbit darted forward and grabbed the panic button. The little fucker was quick.

“I won’t press it just for anything,” Rabbit said with a defiant jut of his chin.

“Wouldn’t expect you too,” Jason said with an honest, easy shrug.

Rabbit watched a moment longer before he pulled out a keyring without any keys and put the button in. It hung between a battered food shelter tag and a library barcode that Jason was sure was counterfeit.

“Yeah, whatever. Now go on and get, Hood. Don’t you have a whole city to look after?”

“Fucker,” Jason said fondly and stamped his own cigarette out before he tucked the butt away in a pouch slot. The small part of him that was still very much a Bat wanted to do the same with Rabbit’s so he could try and pull some DNA. Instead he flicked Rabbit off and leapt off the roof to the kid’s laughter.

[rxzennia]

sex with aventurine of strategems

✎𓂃 top aven (bottom aven will eventually be served too dw except im hoping to make that emotional so it’ll take a bit hehe), i finished 2.1 yesterday and i’m not fine… angst fic/ character deep dive coming soon (idk when tbh bcs im busy); in the meantime, thirsting for foul legacy: star rail edition boss aven

aventurine in this form is so much bigger than you, it’s so easy for him to just pick you up and manhandle you like you’re nothing. and he loves doing that, picking you up effortlessly and tossing you onto the bed as you spread your legs for him.

his fingers are way, way longer and girthier

loves shoving them up your hole because you squeeze around them so sweetly

also loves hearing that squelch when he pushes three fingers deep into you

oh, you want to touch yourself? nu-uh, he’ll keep your hands above your head

it’s so easy for him restrain you, you’re so much smaller compared to him

and he will tease you to high hell with his fingers

he loves seeing the way you move your hips, trying to chase his touch

but no, darling, he decides what you get, how much you get, and when you get it

your cute whimpers won’t change his mind, even if he loves hearing them

or eating them up as he shoves his tongue deep into your mouth

loves having you moan into his kisses

he won’t stop using his fingers until you’ve wet the bed enough

like, dripping, squirting, anything, until you’ve soaked through the sheets into the mattress

he’s overstimulating you already and he hasn’t gotten to actually fucking you yet

he wants you a mess under him

he wants you to get addicted to his touch

he wants you to not be able to function without him

those are thoughts he has on a regular basis, but they’re amplified so much more when he’s in his boss form

he wants to “preserve” you, so that you’ll never be harmed, or taken away from him…

“please, please, please,” you cry, writhing and squirming desperately as you cum for the umpteenth time, “just, just fuck me already, please,” you push against his hand that has long since been drenched in your arousal, “please, your fingers aren’t enough, hngh…”

“not yet, darling,” aventurine coos in his distorted voice, “not yet. let me play with you, ‘kay?”

he’ll pull his fingers out very, very slowly and watch your expression twist into one of pure agony

you’re arching your back and trying to chase his fingers

he presses your hips back onto the bed, holding you still as he enjoys the sight of your gaping hole

and how you’re completely naked under him, while he’s still fully clothed

he loves the power trip he feels at that moment

he makes sure you can see all the slick on his fingers, and his tongue licks them clean

then he slowly traces your body with his claws, from your cheek all the way down to your inner thighs

if you’re still conscious enough to look, you’ll see the monstrous tent straining against his pants

(if whatever he’s wearing are even pants to begin with)

your hole twitch as you feel yourself getting hungrier and hungrier for him

and he sees that, of course he does

instead of giving you what you want, he’ll keep touching your body

avoiding your hole, though

if you cry, he might change his mind and give you what you want

although chances are he’ll say something like “you’re so hot when you cry” instead of finally gracing you with his cock

he will definitely taunt you and degrade you

“hmm? my darling can’t take it anymore?” he chuckles as his fingers circle your hole that has been clenching around nothing for the past few ten minutes, “look at you, so eager for me… so horny, so dirty…”

when aventurine finally frees his cock, you let out a soft, shaky breath when you realize how much bigger he is in his semi-emanator form. but you’re into that, you’re into everything that he is, anyway.

you try to touch him, obviously, seeing how hard and how much precum is already leaking

no. he won’t let you, not this time

he wants your hole, and only your hole

he grabs your hand and pushes it down

flips you around into doggy while he’s at it

he rubs his tip against you, grinding his hips into yours as he fucks your thighs

you can feel him on your entrance, but he just isn’t slipping in

no matter how much you wriggled around or tried to line him up

“agh, shit, please,” you start, the heat in your stomach slowly becoming unbearable as he teases you with his thick cock, “please, put it in, put it in?”

he does not put it in

until you actually burst out in tears of frustration and pulled your legs apart for him

“f-fuck me already…!” you whine, and he can see how ready you are for him, “please, please, i want you so bad, please, fuck me…”

he loves how pathetic you get when you’re all needy, it feels like you’re really addicted to him

he takes his time enjoying the sight

your hole is so, so, so slick, and he can see your every twitch and spasm

he can’t hold back anymore, you’re just too tempting

“just what i wanted to hear.” he finally grabs you by your hips and slowly pushes his way in

it’s a very, very tight fit even if he’s stretched you with his fingers

he stays still for a bit to let you adjust as he moans breathlessly into your ears

does not help you stay still at all

“mmh,” you sigh and try to move, but damn, it’s such a stretch that it burns a little. still, you’re not going to give up; you’ve been waiting for this for the entire night already, if you wait any more you might lose your mind. “hnngh, you’re so big!” you push against him, fucking yourself on his cock, “ah, ahh, you’re so deep…”

your whimpers are so loud, so shameless! aventurine shudders at the sight of you, on all fours, drooling and crying for him.

his claws dig into your skin as he snaps his hips into yours

you yelp at every movement he makes

you feel like you’re breaking whenever he hits your sensitive spots

which, let’s be honest, is practically wherever he touches

he’s fucking you into the mattress so good, but his hands are also roaming all over your twitching body

which means you get scratches everywhere

he changes positions so that you’re sitting on him, back to his chest

because this way he can rest his head on your shoulders as he abuse your hole

his mask is poking at your shoulder, but he’s trying his best to rest his chin on you instead of his mask

cut him some slack, he’s focused on fucking you silly

he’s looking at you the whole time he’s pounding into you

taking in how your eyes roll back, how your back arches and your toes curl

how, slowly, he’s taking away all your ability to reason and replacing it with his cock

he will lick up your drool and tears

but just his pounding is not enough – you need more stimulation!

you try to touch yourself because he just doesn’t want to touch you the way you want

he will smack your hands away

or interlock his fingers with yours so that you can’t touch yourself

“no touching,” aventurine groans loudly as he slams into you, “i want you to come only on my cock,” he hisses, “only from how good i’m fucking you, hmm?”

though, he sees your teary eyes and your half-open mouth, about to beg.

“aww, can’t take it? then, how about this…” he chuckles darkly, “let’s make a bet, shall we?”

[bwskj]

tags: re2 leon & reader, comfort fic, sfw, slight dissociation, reader is lowk pathetic here wth

synopsis: you were going to die… you were so sure of it, until you opened your eyes and met bright white and blue…

trapped. how long have you been trapped shivering in the shadows of broken metal? the floor you’re sitting on is cold. is it cold? you’re not even sure anymore. how many hours has it been since you cemented yourself to this spot? you can’t feel your legs, and when your blurry eyes fall upon your paling fingers, you wonder if those are really yours to begin with.

you pick at the edge of your long knitted sleeves to keep you busy—to keep you from losing the rest of your sanity. maybe if you focus hard enough, you’ll be able to block out the noises echoing in all directions. you can probably describe where it comes from if only it didn’t keep bouncing around the chambers of your skull.

your heart almost stops when you finally allow yourself another one of your bigger exhales. your breathing has turned conserved and irregular, afraid to slip out because it sounds too loud. but, of course, your lungs fight for the right to function and you frighten yourself again and again with every louder breath you take.

this isn’t real. this isn’t real.

you try to tell yourself that. but there’s a persistent beat shaking through you from the left side of your chest and a foreign burning sensation on your side that argues otherwise. it’s your terrified heart reminding you that you’re alive and the nasty tear in your thigh you had the misfortune of getting while trying to run away. you’ve almost forgotten about it—that you’re alive and bleeding.

you squeeze your eyes close as a trembling breath escapes once again. you’re not trapped. you can get out of here if you want to. how long will you stay frozen like this. wait, are you even still here?

you think you can hear something aside from the wails of monsters and delirious chanting in your head. a creak and bang in the wind. how is that possible? there’s no wind here. you manage to move your knees an inch closer to your body, wrapping your arms around yourself. your eyes stare blankly at the tiled ground now. there’s a triangle of shallow light. it looks so near yet still out of reach.

you twitch as the still color of white introduces a value of shadow. it’s faint at first—barely even there—but it grows and it gets bigger and darker until it’s consumed it whole.

…there’s something coming.

air gets stuck in your throat. the beat inside you doubles its pace, pounding through your head. footsteps? hurried. desperate. looking for something to kill. horrid screams fill your ears and your arms drop to the floor, fingertips pressed tight and almost digging into the flat ground.

no no no no, no… no, you can hear yourself muttering though you don’t think your lips even care to budge. you’re going to die. you’re going to die. if you were not dead yet, you’re going to die. this is it. all because you couldn’t move, you couldn’t THINK.

but that’s probably the way it should be. you know you can’t survive this terrible world. your heart would instead burst in fear if not eaten by a monster. you close your eyes again as you try to control the quivering of your body. it’s just right that you—

?

bright white crosses your eyelids.

you wait, bracing yourself for what’s to come. but nothing? or are you already dead?

you can still feel your eyes roll from side to side and so you slowly open them. you squint, warily searching for what’s in front of you.

bright white and… bright… blue… eyes ?

“a survivor,” the man shining the bright light says under his breath. you can see his mouth move, but you can’t hear anything. his eyes are wide and full of shock. you can’t even begin to imagine what your own pair looks like.

“a-am i dead,” your voice almost scares you when it comes out in a broken whisper.

the man lowers his light and aims it over parts of your body. he spots the wound on your thigh but concludes there isn’t anything else life-threatening. “no,” he meets your eyes again, “you’re alive. i’m leon. im a police officer. i can get you out of here.”

a police officer… it takes a moment for you to process the phrase but when you finally do, your stomach sinks, and your body unfreezes itself causing you to double over and almost fall to the ground.

leon is quick to catch you as you gasp up air you’ve been needing. your guarded system suddenly turning off awakens your body into experiencing your exhausted and weak state. “hey, it’s okay,” he says as he tries to steady you with a hold on your arm, “you’re okay.”

leon watches painfully at the terrified girl in front of him. her skin is pale and blotting in fear. her clothes are ripped and ragged, obvious that she had been running away from something. her thigh beneath her pant leg is sliced and caked with blood. dried tears glisten on her puffy cheeks.

a survivor after days of exploration in these lifeless areas. how is that possible? and a girl like you at that. how long have you been hiding in here? a thousand questions buzzed in leon’s mind, none of which had answers. he doesn’t plan to get any answers anytime soon though. all that matters right now is that he has to get you somewhere safe.

he’s not losing an innocent again. not this time.

leon picks up the gargling sound of monsters from the outside hallway. his head is pulled toward it, and he knows he’s got to act fast. with a hand still holding onto you, he puts up his flashlight and surveys the room you’re in. his eyes stop at a closet standing by the wall.

“come on, can you stand?” he says urgently. your world is sort of spinning but you hear him clearly. you stammer out an “i don’t know” but leon’s already hurrying to carefully pull you up on your feet. you let out a weak cry as painful needles shoot through your leg. you make a face of disgust as you come to terms with the embarrassingly pathetic state you’re in. still you manage to stiffly bring yourself to stand with leon’s help.

leon is frowning in concern, wondering if he should’ve just carried you off the ground. there’s not much time left to think, and since he’s unsure if you can even walk properly, he says, “don’t overthink this. i need to get you in the closet.”

he stashes his flashlight into his pocket before he loops his arms behind your back and legs and picks you up, slinging your arm around his neck. you gasp as you plummet into his strong grasp. He quickly brings you over to the closet by the wall.

with a kick of his leg, he triggers the wooden doors to open and, just as he thought, it’s big enough for a person to fit. carefully, he sets you down on the musty platform and when he pulls away, a sense of panic instantly washes over you. your hand reacts to reach for his arm, “don’t—“

he knows what you want to say. “don’t worry. i’ll be back.” there’s a determined look on his face. “just stay put, okay. i’ll deal with the monsters so we can get out of here.”

your grip on the sleeve of his blue uniform tightens and he places a gentle hand on your icy knuckles. “i promise,” his gaze, as warm and reassuring as his palm, looks straight into you and your once again petrified nerves start to calm.

you force yourself to nod. “okay,” you whisper. you expect leon to linger a little bit longer but he’s suddenly looking in another direction and before you know it, he’s stuffed your hand near to your chest and closed the doors on you.

you are once again engulfed in darkness, puffs of air running into the dead ends that surround you. your body jolts with the first bang of leon’s gun. apparently, that was the far-away sound you heard earlier.

some more gunshots and screeching from the monsters ring through the boards your enclosed in. it’s the one thing you can truly focus on. you’ve got nothing to see; you can only smell dust and feel the old and textured wood of the closet.

you try to picture what’s going on outside. with every bang, every thud, every stab of a knife. you can hear leon grunting as he fights.

what would happen if he… lost?

your body runs cold for the nth time as the chaos outside continues to drag on. what would you do if he doesn’t come back.

but he promised.

you sit there in what feels like an empty void, hugging yourself again. you recite prayers to some god you’re not even sure you still believe in. you pray that he comes back to get you… you pray that he is safe.

a couple more minutes pass before everything falls silent. you’re frozen, afraid to let out another breath.

the wait stretches and the lack of sound stabs pins into your head. your hands roll into fists and you grit your teeth. the more seconds of nothing passes, the more your eyes begin to burn with fresh tears. but just as they were about to fall, the closet doors swing open and a soft pool of light floods into your vision. your teary gaze snaps up, meeting the same blue ones that greeted you earlier. leon stands there, in his police uniform now darkly stained with what you could only think is blood, gripping on the edge of the wooden doors as his chest softly heaves up and down.

your lip quivers as you open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. instead, you feel yourself come undone. there’s a soft whimper out of you and a stray tear slips out your unblinking stare.

“it’s over,” leon is softly panting, and though he sounds confident, there’s a bit of rattle in his voice, “don’t worry. you can come out now.”

leon magically appearing in front of you when you were just beginning to think he was never going to come back is enough to break down the rest of your walls. suddenly, your lungs are asking for more air than it needs and more tears start slipping out. you bow your head in embarassment while you attempt to wipe at your cheeks with the back of your trembling hands. leon’s quietly staring as you cry, fully knowing and understanding why you would do so.

“hey…” he cautiously crouches down so he could try to meet you in the eye. he raises his hand, letting it hesitantly hang in the air for a bit, before placing it on your quaking shoulder. he breathes out, “you’re gonna be okay.”

your hands stick to cover your crinkled face as his words cause you to fall apart even harder. you wish that you would stop. this guy had just fought off monsters and now he has to deal with a breakdown. did you not cry all your tears out earlier?

“s-sorry,” you stutter into the skin of your palm and in between heavy sniffles. “so-sorry i c-can’t stop.”

leon gently uses his thumb to caress your shoulder. he softly sighs, “shh… don’t be sorry. i know.”

a few more seconds pass of you uncontrollaby crying and shaking. leon silently rubs your arm in a shy attempt to soothe you. soon, you’re sniffling calms down, though your hands stay planted on your face.

leon’s consoling action slows to a stop and he lifts his hand away from your shoulder. he stares at your fingers grayed with dust before using his own to pry between the two parts. his fingertips feel warm and tingly on your skin and so you don’t fight him when he tries to break through your makeshift shield. he picks up your left hand first, then your right, and all of a sudden you’re looking at him again with tear-stained and reddened eyes.

“don’t cover your face. your hands are dirty,” leon puts effort into giving you a warm smile. he’s holding both of your wrists in one grasp so his other hand reaches to wipe down your wet and dust-stained cheeks. the genuine tug of his lips make your own twitch into a grateful one. you nod, eyelids feeling sore and drained from crying.

“you think you can get up?” he asks you, hand still busy trying to clean up your face.

when his arm falls away, you actually try to, wanting nothing more but to get out of his hair and start looking out for yourself for once. you slip your wrists out of leon’s gentle hold, pushing one palm down against the floorboard. you can sense the police officer watching you attentively, hand still out in midair in case you need him. you think you’re able to do it until you try to carry your weight with the use of your legs, you feel your knees buckle and you almost stumble forward if leon didn’t catch your hand to balance yourself. he slides his fingers to interlock with yours for a more stable grip, and your wreck of a heart that almost stopped once more is comforted with the familiar warmth you’re starting to get attached to.

“easy,” the word slips like butter out his lips. with his support, you gain new motivation to help yourself get to your feet. your palm squeezes against his when you apply the right amount of pressure to lift yourself. your legs wobble and feel like static the further they stick into the wood, but with leon’s help, you manage to straighten your knees and stand up.

you’re almost fully upright, hunching a bit over leon as you’re standing on higher ground. you’re eyes that are stuck to your shoes look towards leon’s face. you notice his expression is that of worry again, obviously eyeing the state of your body. “i can walk,” the words leave your mouth before you can even think about it.

his gaze snaps up to look at you. “i don’t think…” he trails off and though you look at him expectantly, he trashes that and starts another sentence. “we can rest a bit. let’s leave after a while. i made sure there are no monsters around so we don’t have to hurry.”

“a-are you sure,” your voice, trying to sound brave betrays itself with a slight stutter at the mention of the monsters. not only did you want to get out of here but you feel like you’ve troubled leon for way too long already. it might be better if you both try to get away as soon as possible.

“trust me. you’re going to want to have the energy later. now, you want to rest in there or out here?”

you know he’s going to be right. he’s a police officer. he knows his stuff. you say an ‘okay’ under your breath before telling him, “out. the closet is so dusty.”

leon nods and he carefully helps you step down from the platform. when you look up again, leon’s way taller than you now (as he should be). with a more sane mind, you realize that he’s handsome, especially with his piercing blue eyes and chiseled jaw. you quickly look away.

“i’d bring you to a motel if I could,” leon announces as he lets go of your hand and closes the closet doors. your head whips to look at him with obvious alarm.

leon meets your look and there’s a pause before his eyes widen in realization. ”n-no.” if there was a bit more light, you’d probably see the blush forming on his face, “i meant—because… there’s no bed here…”

he cringes, realizing he made it sound even worse. “f-for you to rest on.”

you knew that he didn’t mean for it to sound wrong and so a soft snicker accidentally bubbles up your throat. your stomach churns slightly at your own unexpected reaction. how can you be amused in this situation?

leon lets out a sigh, thankful that you don’t seem offended from what he said. you wrap an arm around your twisting stomach and go to sit on the floor below you. you lean your back on the closed closet door and leon follows beside you.

you wait for the uneasiness in your stomach to die down before you allow yourself to think. you’re staring at your knees, just like earlier, though this time there’s a color of navy blue beside you. you breathe a big sigh, feeling more present in the now then earlier. sitting in silence leaves room for you to properly acknowledge once more the drying gash on your thigh. yes, it’s still there… and you’re still alive.

“let yourself rest. i’ll stay awake to keep watch,” leon’s subtly reassuring you again.

you close your eyes which sting in weariness. your head leans back on the wooden doors and it isn’t long before you feel the sleepiness dawn upon you.

leon turns his head to look at your face. it’s peaceful now. there’s still a slight crease in your brow but otherwise, you’re calm. he watches, feeling his nerves relax as well just by confirming that you’re okay. he notices the way your head is softly starting to sway as you’re probably starting to feel the weight of it.

leon doesn’t wait for your head to fall to the side. he gently places a hand over to your farthest shoulder, pushing lightly so you fall and lean onto him. your eyes flicker open for a second but instantly close again when you feel the comfort of the shoulder you’re laying on. though your mind wishes to stay awake, your tired body can no longer wait. you’re lulled into sleep by leon’s guarding presence and soft breathing.

as you rest, leon stays awake as he said he would. he prioritizes being alert but also tries to keep still to prevent stirring you from your sleep. occassionally, his eyes fall and stare blankly at the same triangle of light still laying flat on the floor, all the while thinking up a plan on how to get the both of you out of here.

there has to be a way. he’s sure of it. he’s going to get you of here.

——

a/n: hey guys, fluff comfort moment?? not sure how to feel abt this one, i felt like it flowed better in my head and the writing is kinda wonky HWKHSSJ but i need more comfort leon fics so i made one. reader kinda embarassingly weak here but… hey she got traumatized okay.

hope yall still enjoy this kind of stuff and aren’t just sex obsessed maniacs 🥰 love yall

[luveline]

coworker James au could i request kne where maybe reader starts her period at work unprepared and bleeds through so James gives her his jumper and she's like wtf but also thank you <33

James worries about you reluctantly until you need his help. Then he’s less begrudging. fem, 1k

“Why are you wearing that?” 

James digs through the office fridge for his oat milk. “What’s wrong with it?”

“I’m just wondering.” 

“It's cold out. People wear jumpers when it’s cold.” James grabs the oat milk from the deep recesses of the shared fridge and lets his tricep flex as he stands. Does he think you’ll care? No. But he does it anyway, he doesn’t work out for nothing. You probably can’t tell with the jumper, anyhow. 

He’s expecting you to wrinkle your nose or fake a keck. You look at him funny. 

“What’s wrong? You’re poorly,” he says. 

“I’m not poorly, I just want some toast.” 

“There’s no butter,” James says. No point letting you wait by the fridge. 

You nod dispassionately. “Well, that makes sense.” 

“I have a tangerine in my bag.” 

“Okay, thank you.” 

You’re definitely poorly. You wander out of the kitchen, James assumes to sit back down at your desk while he makes his coffee. He could make you a cup at the same time, it might help you pep up for the rest of the day, but he hasn’t made you any before and why should he start now? Everyone gets sick, it doesn’t make you less of a dick. 

Even as he thinks it, he realises what he’s doing. James Denial Potter, what use is it anymore, pretending he doesn’t like you? You piss him off royally, but disdain? It’s like everyday you’re getting prettier and sweeter and softer in the eyes and James just has to watch. 

He takes his mug to his desk. You’ve already posed his little Smiski figurines to be standing next to each other, though now you’re nowhere near his desk, instead having flopped toward the left side far from his reach with your face in your hand. 

He sighs and grabs his back. The tangerine lays at the bottom near his lunch box, and it begs to be kept, but you’re looking too sick to ignore. It’s cruel to leave you without, at this point. “Here,” he says, popping the orange on the border of your two desks. “Quick, before you pass out.” 

“Thank you,” you mumble. 

It’s sad to watch you eat the orange. Your chewing is morose, your eyes tracking up and down your screen with little hurry. 

He cracks too quickly. “You okay?” he asks. 

“I’m fine.” 

“Do you want a cup of water?” 

“James. I’m fine, I’m just tired.” 

You stand and stretch with a sad moan, joints popping audibly, your arm over your eyes as they do. You let it fall and begin to walk away from the desk nook toward the bathroom, and that’s when James notices your accident. 

He jumps up from his seat, his hand held forward and trying to catch you before you can get too far away. He takes your hand, to your confusion, pulling you back toward him. 

“James, I’m fine,” you say, clearly shy. 

“You’ve bled through.” 

Your face fills with palpable, horrified mortification. “What?” 

“The seat of your trousers,” he says quietly. James can’t confess to caring about discretion when it comes to human function, but he doesn’t think you’d enjoy your private business being shouted across the office. “It’s not a lot.” 

You freeze. 

He lets your hand fall. 

“It’s okay,” he says, frowning at your embarrassed pouting and the glossy shine that’s formed over your eyes. 

“I don’t know what to do,” you confess under your breath. 

It’s so stupid because it’s not vulnerable, you aren’t some wounded animal that needs his help, but he has that awful aching sorriness for you that he can’t bite back. You’re not his friend and he’s sympathetic anyways, he’d never let you feel embarrassed over something you can’t help because he knows exactly how it feels (even if your particular affliction isn’t one he suffers). James nods at you decidedly and leans forward, grabbing the neck of his jumper and pulling it off quickly. 

“Here,” he says, his hair tickling his ears as it falls back into place. He offers the jumper. You don’t take it. 

“James, I might…” 

“No, it’s okay. It’s fine. Just take it and I’ll see if I can sort something out. I’ll get Lily for you. What do you think?” 

“Are you sure?” you ask. 

“Of course I’m sure. Tie that around your waist, yeah?” 

You take the jumper from his hands. “I’m really sorry.”

“Sorry? It’s fine, it happens.” 

“You don’t even like me and you’re always doing things for me,” you say, wobbly. 

James blames the hormones he thinks you might have ravaging your system right now. You’re tired, you clearly didn’t eat enough at breakfast, and you’re on your cycle. It’s not a nice mix of things to experience, and to pile some public humiliation on at work must make crying inevitable. 

He takes your elbow into his hand, bending just so to put your faces on better level. “We don’t always get along,” he says softly, “but that doesn’t mean you have to do things by yourself, without anyone to look out for you. Okay? This isn’t a big deal to me.” He gives your elbow a mild shake. “Okay?” he asks again. 

You sniffle but don’t cry. “Yeah, okay.” 

“Okay. Don’t worry, angel. Those trousers were a choice anyway.” 

You wave him away with a weak laugh. 

James walks one way in search of HR and you slink to the bathroom with his jumper around your waist. And Remus, who’s gaze had been summoned by the rapid departure of you both at the same time, sits gobsmacked at his desk. James had looked not even a millisecond from kissing the frown from your lips, his thumb pressed with tender care to your arm, and you’d just let him do it, the rigid set of your shoulders relaxing the longer he touched you. 

Remus takes his phone from his pocket to text Sirius. Need to talk to you about James

What’s he done? 

Remus sort of thinks his friend might be falling in love. It’s gonna be a total disaster.

[snailmail444]

Alex x Reader 🙈

All Tied Up

18+ 💚 NSFW 💚 MDNI

Alex x Reader

It’s the way I have been absolutely possessed the past few days. I’ve been in a huge writing slump but then the new year hit and my brain just. Decided to function? We’re riding the wave folks we’ll see how long it keeps up lol.

ANYWAY! Enjoy the third fulfilled ask in a week. I hope y’all aren’t sick of me yet lmao. NSFW under the cut and remember MDNI

“Are you sure you can’t break these?” You ask, pulling at one of the knots binding Alex to your bed.

Alex stares up at you, all big green eyes and still-confident smirk. “Even I can’t do that. I’ll prove it. But you don’t have to worry baby. It’s no sweat, I can behave.”

He flexes and you watch the veins in his arms protrude as he turns his wrists this way and that, trying and failing to find any give in your handiwork. A flush burns down your face, and your throat feels dry as you eye him up and down—large and muscular and completely at your mercy.

You would have never thought that Alex and his body builder physique would be in such a submissive position. Naked, spread eagle and tied to your bedposts, muscles taught and cock flushed. Laid out for you to devour however you please.

You run your palms up his chest, and his skin is hot against yours, smooth and solid as you work your way up. His pounding heart startles you, feeling how fast and hard it’s beating in his chest. For a minute you stall, feeling the strong rhythmic thump, and almost ask if he’s alright.

Almost, except you can see the way his cock twitches and precome beads at the tip just from your idle touches. You haven’t so much as breathed on it, yet it’s straining so hard already it’s obvious his heart rate isn’t due to nerves.

You straddle him, fighting your cocky smile away, and purposefully maintain eye contact as you suck one of his nipples. Alex instantly forgets his restraints, jerking an arm and making the bed-frame rattle. He was right—the knots aren’t going anywhere.

He pants out a heavy breath, and you hide your delight as you lavish attention on his other nipple. You won’t tease him for too long. Not this first time, anyway.

You push your hips back as you skim your teeth along his shoulder, making sure to rub it in that you can touch as much as you want by stroking up his ribcage, down his sides, along his arms.

Only a little more teasing, you think as you glide your wet cunt across his cock, pretending to have trouble guiding it in as you squeeze it’s base and coat it in your arousal.

“Ahh, please,” he whines, hips bucking as much as the pitiful give in his binds allow, “baby I can’t.”

“What happened Alex? It was no sweat what, two minutes ago? Not even?”

He opens his mouth to respond, and you stop him by sinking all the way down on his cock. His hands strain, and you can tell by the way he’s flushing and tossing his face to the side he’d be hiding in his hands to mute the stuttering moan that falls past his lips.

You don’t give him a moment of respite, electing to ride hard and fast. Without the use of his hands Alex can’t modulate your pace. Typically he’d slow you down, keep you steady, but now you’re allowed the free rein to completely ruin him.

“Ah, w-wait,” he huffs, hips twitching and grinding like he might be able to make you listen to him without using his safe word.

It’s too bad you aren’t in a listening mood.

He can’t take it for too long, biting his lip and breathing in stuttering gasps while he tries to stave off his orgasm.

“Ba-aby, I—“ Alex’s voice cracks, “I’m not gonna—hah—I’m really—“

Either he can’t hold himself off anymore, or he realizes you’re not going to listen, because Alex’s babbling ceases as his back arches and he comes with a whine, his muscles straining and flushed down to his chest.

Your cunt throbs as you slow down through his orgasm, gyrating against his hips until he stops twitching. He’s starting to catch his breath, and you bite down on a smile as you pick up the pace, watching as his face twists up.

“A-h-ah—you—I—“ his voice is a squeak, stopping abruptly as he feel you continuing to rock against his soft cock. A low-grade hum buzzing out of his chest continually as you ride him relentlessly. When it doesn’t stop, you finally still.

“Safe word?” You ask, stroking his cheek and feeling the heat of his skin against yours.

“Nuh—no,” he gasps out, bucking into your cunt despite the way it makes him cry out.

You smirk. This is going to be a fun night.

[actiniumwrites]

kiss me (not)

synopsis: how they’d react when you dodge/ wipe off their kisses for a day as a prank

characters: gaming, kujou sara, heizou, tighnari, cyno, kaveh, and lyney x gn!reader

warnings: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, some humor, established relationships, etc

notes: i love this prompt so much omg. i’ve read a lot of fics other people have written for different fandoms and i’m actually shocked i haven’t written it before considering i eat it up every time (especially when there’s some angst 🫠)

gaming:

the first time he sees you wipe off his kiss, something in him dies a little, especially when you don’t say anything after he asks if you’re okay

so he starts doubting himself and compensating for where he may went wrong

maybe he had bad breath? or you weren’t having a good day today?

he hates that he doesn’t know what he did wrong, and even worse, why you keep doing it throughout the day

you only stop when you see the way he genuinely starts beating himself up over it, deciding it wasn’t funny anymore and honestly never was

“it was a prank,” you nudge him softly, regret overflowing from your voice, “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. i shouldn’t have kept it going for so long.”

a relieved breathe and a small smile from him follow right after. you can tell he’s still a bit stuck on the whole thing, but deep down, he’s just grateful he didn’t screw up somewhere because there’s no way in hell gaming would ever let himself lose you

“it’s okay,” he breathes out, clutching your hand a little tighter than usual, “just please, don’t do it again, okay?”

kujou sara:

to say she’s confused is an understatement

she’ll immediately backtrack to make sure she actually just saw that correctly. did you really just wipe off her kiss?

so she goes in for another one, and sure enough, you dodge her this time and send her a quick goodbye before slipping out of the house and running off to work

it legitimately ruins her whole day. she can’t even function at work because it’s all she can think about

and by the time she’s home at night, she’s already tired and just wants you but she’s also too afraid that maybe she did something to upset you

fortunately for her, you spare her of the prank knowing your girlfriend well enough to know that the second she walks through the door she had a shitty day

so you apologize and tell her it was just a prank and you didn’t mean any harm

and she wants to be so mad at you for it, but literally can’t no matter how hard she tries so instead she just gives in and gets the kiss she’s been thinking about all day

heizou:

he realizes right away what you’re doing and finds it rather amusing

so he’ll play along too, not trying to kiss you at all and even going a step further and not showing you any sort of physical attention

try to hold his hand? not happening. hugging him? not a chance

and it ends up becoming a competition, because what can you say? you’re both competitive people

goes on until the end of the day and only ends when you’re both too tired to keep it up

“you’re no fun, you know?” you poke his chest as you tiredly lean against him

he smiles down at you, “how so? i let you play your little pranks, didn’t i? i even played along.”

you just scoff and scoot away, tucking yourself into the warm blankets and ignoring his teasing

but then he’ll grab you and pull you into his chest, giving into you, “fine. next time i’ll give you the reaction you want. happy now?”

tighnari:

the opposite of heizou: he’s very unamused, and is very aware of what’s going on.

as soon as you back away from him after he tries to kiss you, his face falls into a deadpan and he crosses his arms menacingly

“i’ll have you know i don’t find pranks like these very funny,” he’ll immediately tell you off, not wanting to act so childishly when it comes to affection

tighnari cares a lot about people, whether he shows it or not, so to have you pretend to dodge it upsets him — even if it is meant to be a mere lighthearted prank

so you apologize instantly, feeling a little bad over the whole ordeal, “it’s just a prank, you know? i thought it would be funny to see how you’d react.”

definitely the kind of person to feel a little bashful and guilty for overreacting over something so silly, but also doesn’t want to admit it

so he’ll just silently kiss you and act like nothing happened, secretly hoping you’ll never try to pull something like that again

cyno:

at first, he thinks it’s kinda funny since he always plays jokes. however, i think he’s similar to tighnari in the sense that he also takes a little offense to it

like, he knows it’s a joke, but he just can’t help feeling a little hurt over it

“is something the matter?” he’ll ask while you’re both on the way to meet with friends. you shake your head no, fighting a smile

defeatedly, he leaves it at that, knowing you won’t budge. he’ll feel miserable the entire time and won’t stop thinking about how you won’t give the prank up, even in front of your friends

and when you both leave for the night, he crosses his arms and confronts you as you both walk home, “it isn’t funny.”

“what isn’t funny?”

“your prank. it isn’t funny. i don’t like the way you’re avoiding kissing me,” he says bluntly. it makes your heart sink into your stomach a bit, admittedly starting to feel a bit bad

so you apologize and work everything out, telling him you got the idea from alhaitham who was curious to see how he’d react in a situation like that — that, and he felt like pissing cyno off for a day, but you didn’t need to know that part

he’ll get frustrated, but is glad it’s all settled. he’ll also be extra affectionate throughout the next week, feeling as if he somehow lost time with you

kaveh:

gets so offended omg he will literally hate you

the first time you do it, his jaw drops to the floor and he calls you out on it immediately

“what was that?” he points an accusatory finger at you

you bite back a smile and feign innocence, “huh? what are you talking about?”

will not let you leave for the day until you drop the act and properly return his kiss

when you continue to go on with the prank, however, he’ll start to get all pouty and just ask you to kiss him

and he just looks so cute that you cup his face and give him a big fat kiss and walk out the door immediately after without a word and a big smile on your face, satisfied with his reaction

lyney:

he gets so dramatic about it it’s not even funny

will literally clutch his chest and fall to the ground in public so that you stop him

when you don’t and you let him face public humiliation (because you find it funny too), he stops himself and gets back up

follows you around like a lost puppy all day and will constantly try to sneak in a kiss while you’re caught of guard, but you never fall for it and he gets so much more frustrated each and every time

then he begs lynette and freminet to help him, except they think it’s funny too seeing how whipped he is for you

and he knows it’s a prank too, but the fact that you won’t break makes him so lovingly annoyed with you

you don’t stop until lynette genuinely intervenes, complaining about how annoying lyney had gotten throughout the day, “please end his suffering already. you know my brother is an idiot who doesn’t shut up and i’ve had enough of him today.”

you laugh it off, but ultimately agree

so you go and find him, which wasn’t that hard, and tap him on the shoulder before planting a gentle kiss to his lips, “sorry for pranking you. it was just too funny of an opportunity to pass up.”

“you’re so mean to me,” he’ll complain, but will then continue to kiss you so often that you’re now the annoyed one instead

[cassyxox]

I’m so obsessed with the concept of bbf!ellie I had to make a little post..

Imagine bbf!ellie teaching you how to play guitar..18+

ur back pressed against her front..her fingers guiding ur’s to different strings. she would so tease you. letting out sweet little praises.

“see?..your gettin’ the hang of it..”

“ur doing so good I’m-…kinda surprised” she chuckled. making ur neck shiver. her face angled around you. watching from below.

you barely could even function with the way ellie was praising you everytime u did good.

but when u didn’t..she would grip ur wrist. rather softly. letting out a little “tsk tsk tsk” you on the other hand breathing out a small “ahh..” brows furrowed from the grip she had on u.

“wrong string babe..”

you looked back at her. “Im-..this is so hard”

“let me try again?..pleasee?”

studying her zoned out expression. you couldn’t tell what she was thinking. but then a smirk rose upon her freckled pretty face. green eyes back on yours. her right hand let go of your wrist. the ache slowly going away.

“how bout this?..” she spoke. wetting her lips. suddenly the feeling of her back non comforting anymore. she turned around facing you fully. pulling the guitar out of ur shaky arms.

“ellie what are you-“ you tried but she finished. “how about we play a little game?..” u rolled ur eyes.

what game could she possibly wanna play.

u scoffed. “ellie..we’re not 12 what are you saying?” but in the back of ur mind u were so nervous.

Ellie was a lot. well her mouth was. always leaving u in awe..whenever u were around her and your brother.

Like that one time where u were laying in bed. thinking about what ellie meant earlier when u sent a pic of you in a bikini to the gc with ur brother and her in it.

her response being a “yea I would..”

ur brother’s a short “ellie dude..chill fr”

whenever u had tried asking him later that night what she meant. he had brushed u off with a quick “nothing.”

leaving u to wonder in ur own thoughts all night.

but now..it was just you and her. in ur room.

ellie’s voice pulling u out of the daze. “I’m saying that if you—you know mess up..you have to do something for me..” u giggled. “uhh like what exactly?”

does she want like a hug or something?

“give me a kiss..on the lips.” u laughed even louder. “ellie ur not..being serious right?”

was she?

she smirked. “oh I’m being super serious (y/n)..or are you..”

she looked around the room. making a frightened expression.

“..scared?” u rolled ur eyes at her gesture. “uh..no it’s just a little strange..” u softly muttered out. looking everywhere but at her.

taking a glance at ur ring finger. then back up at her.

being met with a flirty smile? oh ellie…

“kay well..don’t make it strange—just think of it as a thank you for showing me how to play ur guitar kiss..you know?” she spoke eyeing the way ur lips were halfway open.

She just wanted to stick her-

“ok whatever.. I’ll do it” crossing ur arms you made eye contact with ellie. the smile on her face never faltering.

“alright..cmere” she grabbed her guitar watching u get situated very closely in front of her. your jeans scratching against hers.

she gave u her guitar. basically pushing it into ur arms.

“what do I do?..” questioning her antics. she smirked. a little pitch in her voice. “play me what I showed u earlier—the first part..small one.”

she’s doing this on purpose. u barely even remember the right strings. u were so focused on her fingers.

“ellie.” “just uhh—do it” her smile faltered.

“geez okay..” u muttered. rolling ur eyes. ur fingers gripped the strings. u slowly strummed trying so desperately to flick the right strings. u were sounding pretty good until..

“wrong string” u stopped.

“ellie that didn’t eve-“ “-it was the wrong string” she spoke quickly her voice never faltered.

“whatever..” u huffed pushing her guitar to the floor. “sooo..” u heard her giggle. “what about that kiss yea?” she really wanted a kiss.

“ellie can’t we just..hug or something?” u pleaded. her eyes boring into urs. “no u agreed to it so you kinda have to” she expressed. shrugging her shoulders. u groaned moving closer to her.

she had that stupid weird smile on her face.

“on the lips?” “yes (y/n)..” u sighed. leaning into her but she moved back. “ah ah ah..on my lap.”

u have got to be kidding me.

“ellie that’s so stupi-“ “—ur making this take way longer than it has to..cmon.” she groaned pulling u on top of her by ur hips.

why were u internally shaking.

“nice seat right” ellie teased. “oh my-shutup” she tapped ur hip with her finger patiently waiting. u sighed. leaning into her but this time she didn’t pull back. the warmth of her lips meeting urs. she groaned loudly but was muttered by your mouth. her grip on your hip tightened.

U were in a daze before u pulled back. lips wet from her warm ones. she patted ur hip.

“see..wasn’t so hard was it?” her raspy voice filling the now quiet room.

u shook ur head. trying to seem unfazed.

“guess not..” u spoke. moving from ur place on her lap. “soo..” “pick it back up we’re not done..” ellie said. her lips were plump.

her neck feeling hot for some reason.

u groaned. she stiffened. feeling rather flushed. thinking of her next demand. she really wanted to play with u.

“If u mess up this time u have to give me a kiss on the neck.. yea?” She tried to sound tall and proud. but the shakiness in her voice was heard.

u scoffed. “ellie cmon..what are you doing..” questioning her antics. “just playing a little game..why are you making this into something it doesn’t have to be”

she’s just playing a game. It’s not that serious. She’s just messing with me like she always does. u thought. your just reading to much into it.

“fine..” “okay then”

..2 minutes later..

“wrong string”

“ur so annoying-” “—what was that?” she grabbed the guitar pulling it away. “nothing..” u sighed. crawling toward her.

I can’t believe I’m doing this. u thought to urself. slowly angling ur head towards her neck..

ur breath hitting the pale flesh making her softly groan out. “don’t wet ur pants now..” u joked. “shutu-“ her raspy voice getting cut off by the feel of ur lips on her lonely neck. the feel of warmth suffocating her. u leaned in even closer. Tongue tracing over her skin. “ohh yea..” she softly spoke.

u inched back. looking at the little mark u left.

“so pretty..” u gazed up at her. a little smile on ur face.

“Imagine what my brothers gonna say” u laughed quietly. “yea imagine..” nervousness in her voice as she spoke. “you okay ellie?..was that to much?”

“no pick it back up.”

u were shocked with her next demand she wanted. “uhh— you have to kiss my stomach..o—on ur belly looking up at me.”

kinky.

it wasn’t surprising when u messed up again. maybe u we’re doing it on purpose. the whole ordeal was awkward and another feeling you couldn’t quiet think of. Ellie smiled down at you with such a heavy grin.

she wouldn’t fully admit it. but the sight of u on ur stomach touching her in such a way. was making her forget this was just a..game?

yes a game. she kept repeating in her head.

the game kept going. Ellie wanting u to kiss random places on her. until it got to the last one.

U were so close to finishing the whole piece. but ur stupid finger messed everything up.

“wrong string.” oh god.

u sat patiently waiting for her demand. but u didn’t think she would be this upfront.

“Put ur hand in my boxers..” ur eyes grew wide. ur fingers dug into ur hand. “el..”

“do it.” her jaw clenched. ur breathing was ragged. frantic. u could feel ur heartbeat out of ur chest..

u slowly approached ellie. how was she so calm?

u moved ur wrist from ur side. moving way to slow for her liking. “cmon unbutton em..s’not that hard” she leaned back on her elbows. giving space between her thighs.

u couldn’t even look at her. just so focused on getting her buttons undone.

once u finally did. Ellie pulled ur wrist under her dark jeans. ur hand was met with..was that..

“You feel that?..now take them off.”

oh this was gonna be a long night.

pics @elliesgalaxy🙏

[thesassypadawan]

Attachment (Qimir x FemKnightReader)

Summary:  After suffering defeat at the hands of ‘The Stranger’ you find yourself being held hostage.  Despite your strong will and loyalty to the order, you end up succumbing to his rugged good looks and your own urges.  Engaged in certain acts, forming the type of attachment that could result in your banishment…the beginning of a new life.

Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), because all the lovely smut.  Rough smex, fun from behind, multiple orgasms, hint of a breeding kink, and…Qimir’s big, thick dick.

Notes: Happy Sithtember all you, lovelies! ❤️🖤 (You, lovelies, can thank and blame @everydaydreamer for this 😂)

- Hips wiggle, tremble as you struggle to not collapse…  Pussy fluttering, spasming around nothing…  Breaths ragged, strained…  “P-please, I need to…need you t-to…”

- “How the mighty have fallen.”  Calloused hand grips your side hard, fingers sinking into your pillowy flesh.  Length slipping between your soaked, puffy folds; rocking slowly back and forth.  Tip occasionally catching your clit…sending you closer to the peak of another orgasm.  “If only your fellow jedi could see you now.”

- Leaning forward, he nips your neck.  Stubble scratching gently, tongue lapping at the new marks that begin to blossom.  “Wanting to cum again so badly, begging me to not stop.”  While he toys, tugs…rolls your sore nipples.  “Until you can’t take it anymore, until you’re lying limp beneath me.”

- ‘The stranger’s’ words shot straight to your aching core.  Walls clench, clamp in response.  Pitiful whines fall from your swollen lips.  “Yes…maker, yes…”  As slick trickles down your leg, coats his thick length.  “…yes!”

- “That’s it, little one,” he coos.  Hoarse voice reverberating, rumbling against your back.  Causing aftershocks to wrack through your weakened body.  “Let it all out…let those last shreds of dignity just fade away.”

- Lining himself up; his fat tip presses, prods.  Lips ghost over the shell of your ear.  “It’ll make it easier for me to ruin you…”  Phantom presence brushes, swirls around your neglected nub.   “…mold you how I like.”

- With the snap of his hips, he slams into you.  Burying himself to the hilt, he growls low in approval when you cry out.  Fists grasping at the stained sheets, knuckles turning white.  Pussy aching from the burning stretch…from being forced to take ever last thick inch.  “Ba-bastard!”

- “To some…yes…”  Setting a fast pace, knocking the air from your lungs.  Thrusting brutally, violently.  Angling his cock in a way where he hits, bullies your cervix with each strong stroke.  “To you…I will be much MUCH more…”

- Pinching your pert buds, giving both breasts a solid slap.  His hand comes to rest on the nape of your neck.  “Your downfall…”   Pressing you into the mattress; holding, keeping you still.  “Your savior…”

- He was on top , inside, all around you.  Driving so hard, bruising the tender flesh of your bottom.  “Your master…”  Trying to rip, drag that fourth orgasm out of you.  Making you a slave to your own pleasure.  “Your lover…”

- Qimir…’  That word grazes, echoes clearly in your mind.  Even as you feel yourself shaking, teetering on the edge.  The coil in your stomach winding unbearably tight.  And you can barely function, yet you still manage to moan it softly into the pillows.  “Q-Qimir…”

- Fingers lace through, yanking sharply on your hair.  “Say it again…louder…”  Pulling you back, plunging himself impossibly deeper.  Grinding against the spot that has your vision fading, whiting out; muscles tensing.  “I want to hear you scream my name when I finally break you…”

- Sinking his teeth into your shoulder, you went spiraling.  Clamping down around him, arms giving out from beneath you.  Tears flowing freely, his name torn from your throat… “QIMIR!!!”

- Peppering you with featherlight kisses, pumping slowly in and out.  “Good girl…”  Working you through the waves of ecstasy; pulsing, filling you up with his hot cum.  “Did so well for me, took everything I gave…”

- Invisible digits cup, caresses your stomach gently.  “Now you’ll be forced to stay here with me…let me keep you and this one safe.  Because your precious order will most certainly no take you back.” Ragged moans, mixing with your broken sobs.  “ After all attachment is forbidden…especially when it’s to a sith.”

Tags: @icytrickster17