#She goes hard and cries while doing it

[seithr]

Randomly remembered the half-reason i call my oc-verse by the name it has while laying in bed. One-half of the reason i still knew, but I had forgotten what had truly, really cemented it jointly until now

(it was a song from my favourite band I haven't listened to in a while.)

(the song fit so well at the time, still does, that i needed to hold onto it for the main protagonists forever, by partially naming their story in reference.)

Does this explanation make any sense? Does anyone know why I'm tearing up remembering this. Aahh

[les4elliewilliams]

warning: reblogging this post summons her at 3am.

18+ ⋮ desperately need a feralwife!ellie who:

౨ৎ records you riding her without asking, saves it in a folder on her desktop named taxes and watches it every time she’s left alone with nothing but her hand to keep her pussy company, the filthy video reflecting on her too-big, nerdy glasses.

౨ৎ pulls you into her lap during dinner just so she can innocently grind her thigh up into you and call you dramatic when a soft mhph slips out.

౨ৎ asks if you’re ovulating just to get on her knees and say she can “smell it,” and she can—this fuckin’ horndog swears she can taste it in your sweat, savour it in the air, and see it in the sway of your hips.

౨ৎ moans your name into your pillow when she humps it on days you’re too tired to fuck—cause she’d never dare push you into anything you don’t feel like doing. she’ll even give you a five-star massage and put you to sleep. either way, she always leaves a sticky patch on your side of the bed like a dog in heat marking territory.

౨ৎ gets a rush from public stuff. like letting her fingers brush the inside of your thigh under the dinner table at family events, then gaslighting you right after. “what a snowflake, i wasn’t even doin’ anything.”

౨ৎ manifests sex by walking around the house with a white, see-through tank top and Calvin Klein boxers. ngghhh.

౨ৎ masturbates to your voice notes when you’re at work—casual, boring updates about what you’ve eaten or done—and she’s fingering herself to your laugh like it’s the best porn she’s ever witnessed. obsessed much? nah. she calls it devotion. same goes for the sound of your voice during arguments, she replays voice memos where you’re yelling at her and imagining you doing it naked. she needs you mean. it’s a necessity, not a want.

౨ৎ presses her strap into your ass while folding laundry together, completely deadpan, like she’s not wearing that thing just to get you dripping. “oops. my bad.”

౨ৎ fucks you in front of the huge mirror hanging in your bedroom so she can see your face falling apart in real time, pulling your hair while hissing, “look at you, look at what i do to you,” and she pounds you like she’s trying to milk your womb and get you pregnant. she cruelly slows down when you’re about to cum, “i know, i know baby—it’s too much, but you’re takin’ it so good,” and won’t stop until your legs shake. keeps going even when you sob, pressing apologetic kisses to your neck and the blade of your shoulder. “one more, i know you’ve got one more in you, for me, c’mon.”

౨ৎ moans your name while she comes in her boxers from dry humping your soaked pussy, shaking like an electrocuted virgin, “fuckfuckfuck baby, i’m gonna cum.” #bringdryhumpingback

౨ৎ gets emotionally and spiritually hard off watching you sleep. not in a romantic way either. she just stares at your parted lips, your shirt riding up, and whispers filthy things under her breath like a creep. and when you do catch her, she doesn’t even look ashamed.

౨ৎ slips her thigh between yours while you’re sleeping, just to keep you open. not even trying anything… unless you move in your sleep.

౨ৎ plays with the hem of your panties when you’re knocked out, fingertips ghosting the lacy edges. sometimes even tucks her hand under your waistband and falls asleep like that.

౨ৎ sleeptalks filth, whimpering your name. “just a taste, babe, please…” then wakes up with her boxers wet and pretends not to remember what the dream was about... even after orgasming three times in her sleep.

౨ৎ grinds in her sleep, needy little humps against the fat of your ass with her arm locked around your waist.

౨ৎ asks if she can nap between your legs, then accidentally falls asleep face-first against your pussy, arms slung around your thighs like you’re some kind of personal mattress.

౨ৎ cries if you don’t let her eat you out when you’re on your period, tells you she’s just spiritually cleansing you from the inside out and that “real love is messy.”

౨ৎ watches old videos of you gagging around her strap when you’re not home, whispering “that’s my fuckin’ wife” while she jerks herself to tears. in her defence, she’s a proud wife.

౨ৎ offers to shave your pussy for you but keeps “accidentally” bumping her knuckles against your clit between passes. “oops,” she drawls, fingers already prying your lips open.

౨ৎ tucks her strap into her boxers before bed, praying you’ll climb on and use her while she’s still asleep.

౨ৎ gets lowkey jealous of your vibrator, calls it names under her breath, and once threw it across the room because it made you come faster than she did (she set a timer). later apologized. to you, not the vibrator.

౨ৎ refuses to wash her face after you sit on it.

౨ৎ makes you sign odd contracts before sex as a joke, but they’re full of “i allow ellie to smell my armpits as much as she wants” and “ellie owns my socks now.”

౨ৎ remembers what you wore on your first date, and gets genuinely mad if you ever try to throw it away.

౨ৎ has an entire notes app filled with your old texts. every compliment you’ve ever given her, she’s written down and reads them back when her brain starts lying again. she even keeps little stolen moments trapped in polaroids of you, tucked in corners of the house.

౨ৎ makes sims of the two of you, builds fake lives, and gets jealous if sim-you flirts with npcs.

౨ৎ gets genuinely upset when you don’t tag her in italian brainrot reels or spam her with random tiktoks. “so you got a side chick, huh?”

౨ৎ says “i would’ve loved you in every lifetime,” with such passion it feels like a threat. “if your soul was reincarnated into a cockroach, i’d still marry you.”

౨ৎ shuts down for ten full minutes when you say someone else is funny, then tries to make you laugh harder just to “win” you back. when it doesn’t work, she sits there questioning everything she’s ever said to you.

౨ৎ claims she wants to be buried next to you when the day comes, and already has a google doc planning it. she showed it to you once at 2am and cried when you laughed.

౨ৎ keeps the tag from the first hoodie you ever bought her, tucked in her wallet like a family heirloom.

౨ৎ snoops through your childhood photo albums not to judge you, but to fall deeper in love with the little version of you she never got to meet :( 

౨ৎ refuses to delete your old voicemails, even if they’re just about picking up milk. she has them backed up on a usb, just in case.

౨ৎ stalks your spotify activity. you listen to one breakup song and she’s immediately texting, “you okay?” all concerned like she didn’t just have a mini mental breakdown five minutes before sending that.

౨ৎ laminated screenshots of your first convo and hid them in her guitar case. when you laughed, she deadass called you toxic and didn’t speak to you until you apologized.

౨ৎ has a secret scrapbook of you, but is too shy to show you because it’s full of stolen receipts, screenshots, and the wrapper from the first snack you shared.

౨ৎ gets real quiet real fast every time you say “i need space.” (even if you just mean the couch.) her poor brain goes straight to divorce → abandonment → enemy arc unlocked.

౨ৎ asks every six months if you’d still love her if she lost all her limbs, and takes your answer very seriously.

౨ৎ tugs on your necklace while you’re talking, dragging you closer mid-sentence just to kiss you quiet, “you talk too pretty to ignore.”

౨ৎ cups your tits from under your shirt while you’re watching tv, just to keep her palms full and use them as stress balls.

౨ৎ gets pouty if you roll away from her mid-sleep, grumbling “rude” under her breath and spoons you aggressively out of spite. 

౨ৎ pretends to be asleep just to see if you’ll touch her, and if you do brush her hair or stroke her side, she’s smiling into the pillow like a pathetic loser.

౨ৎ starts overthinking the moment you seem distant, even if it’s just work stress. she spirals in silence, convinced she’s done something wrong, and won’t say anything until you pry it out of her. “you’re not bored of me, right?”

౨ৎ compares herself to every girl you follow, scrolling through their pages late at night with a pit in her stomach, wondering if they’re more your type than she is. spoiler: they’re not.

౨ৎ pulls away when she’s insecure, even though she craves your touch more than anything. she goes cold, starts sleeping on the edge of the bed until you notice (you always notice). she doesn’t ask for reassurance right away, but instead she drops weird hints “you don’t have to stay with me, you know,” or “if you ever wanted someone else, i’d get it.”

౨ৎ packs your lunch with dumb sticky notes saying “eat this or i’ll cry.”

౨ৎ used to call you her wife even before she proposed, and even now, years later, she still asks if you wanna grow old together, adding a little scared “if that’s okay” at the end that breaks your heart all over again.

[ceramini]

more of loser jake omgg idkk i find it so cute😭😭

⁺𝅄 𓊆 ❀ 𓊇 ahh engene yearn for loser!jake (we’re engene) hehe here’s something I cooked up :3 it’s supposed to be cute might be a little TOO cute, but YOU ASKED FOR IT SO IM DELIVERING!!

pair loser!jake x hot!reader ͡ ͘◡ ꫶᳝᳜᳝᳜᳝᳜৯ tags fluff, fluff & fluff.. like nothing bad here ✿ scene It’s stupidly domestic, aggressively soft, and just a little feral. You bully him, he worships you, and somewhere between waffles and way too many food metaphors, you start thinking maybe you’re kind of obsessed with him too. A morning where his love is loud ────── library ⊹ ࣪

like + reblog appreciated <3 click to join taglist

Jake wakes up mouth-first on your collarbone.

Which wouldn’t be a big deal, you’re warm and smell good and your arm is draped around his waist in a way that makes his dumb little heart squeeze, except…

“Don’t,” you mumble without opening your eyes. “You haven’t brushed.”

He freezes.

You crack one eye open and glare.

“No morning kisses,” you warn. “We’ve talked about this.”

Jake whines and buries his face in your shirt.

“I’ll be nice about everything else,” you murmur, “but I draw the line at morning breath.”

“I wasn’t gonna kiss you,” he mumbles into your collar. “I was just breathing your air. Like a lil parasite.”

You thump the top of his head. “Romantic.”

He grins.

Your nails scratch lightly through his hair, half-asleep. Jake goes completely limp. He’s never met a more perfect woman. Hot, mean, and still willing to give him head scratches like a golden retriever. He’s living the dream.

He nuzzles closer. “I like when you let me stay over.”

“You stayed over on accident,” you yawn. “You cried about a documentary and passed out on my lap.”

“Because the turtle made it back to the ocean. And the music was really emotional.”

You sigh. “And then you got hard and didn’t know what to do with it.”

He lifts his head, affronted. “That was private.”

“That was embarrassing.”

“You kissed me after that!”

“Yeah, and I regret it. You haven’t brushed.”

Jake groans dramatically. “It’s so cruel how hot you are and how much you hate germs. How’s a guy supposed to romance his gorgeous girlfriend when she refuses to be kissed awake?”

“By your decomposing tongue?”

“I was gonna do it tenderly.”

“You were gonna do it nastily.”

Jake sulks into your chest.

You stretch with a little hum and reach for your phone, lazily scrolling while he makes himself at home in the safety of your cleavage. You’re not wearing a bra. Jake’s entire sense of self is hanging by a thread.

“You smell so good,” he mumbles. “Is that your lotion? I think my dick got hard out of, like, scent memory.”

“You are genuinely disgusting.”

“You’re the one with tits out and legs warm and thighs all plush and soft like this.” He rubs his cheek against your side like a sleepy cat. “You’re asking for trouble.”

“You’re asking for gingivitis.”

Jake groans. “Just one kiss. I’ll aim for, like, the general cheek region.”

“You just admitted you’d miss.”

“Let me worship you.”

“You can worship me after toothpaste.”

You push him off and climb out of bed in your tiny shorts and tank top, and Jake genuinely feels like he’s watching a goddess float through a foggy dream sequence. Your ass jiggles once and he whimpers like a kicked dog.

“I’m brushing,” he calls out after you. “I swear. I’m gonna be so minty.”

“Better be,” you call back from the bathroom. “Or I’m cutting you off for a week.”

Jake trips over the blanket trying to get to your toothbrush cup.

He does a full 60-second swish with Listerine while making eye contact with himself in the mirror, like he’s psyching up for a championship game.

You’re tying your hair up when he comes up behind you, all dopey grin and freshly washed mouth.

“I’m ready for smooching,” he declares.

You give him a long, judgmental look. “Show me your tongue.”

He sticks it out obediently. You nod.

Jake places a hand over his heart, solemn. “I’m pure.”

“Barely.”

But you kiss him anyway.

It’s sweet. A little goofy. A little slow. Jake makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat, like he’s being fed for the first time in days.

You break away and he’s already chasing after your lips like he forgot how to breathe. You roll your eyes and tilt your head back as he kisses your jaw, your throat, your shoulder.

“God,” he breathes, “you’re so fucking hot. Like, evolutionary advantage hot. Like, statistically impossible hot. Like, if we were in a zombie movie, people would sacrifice themselves to save you.”

“You are so weird in the mornings.”

“You made me brush,” he says, lifting you up to sit on the sink. “Now you have to deal with the consequences.”

You let him stand between your legs, your fingers threading into his hair again, soft and slow.

Jake stares at you with big eyes, overwhelmed.

“You’re so pretty like this,” he whispers. “All sleepy and soft. I wish I could take a picture.”

“Your camera roll is already 90% me.”

“Not enough.”

You kiss his forehead. “Brush again after breakfast and you can put your head between my legs.”

He salutes. “It’s an honor to serve.”

You make waffles.

Jake watches you do it like it’s a TED Talk. He’s sitting backwards in a chair, shirtless, chin propped on his arms, just staring.

You’re pouring the batter into the waffle iron when he says:

“You’d taste so good with syrup.”

You pause.

“You mean these waffles,” you say slowly.

Jake blinks. “Huh? Yeah.”

You raise an eyebrow.

He blinks again. Then turns red.

“I didn’t—I meant the food,” he says quickly, backpedaling so hard the chair squeaks. “Like, if you were, uh, eating it? Not if I was—like—eating you, you know? Like if I was just. Consuming your—”

“Stop.”

Jake’s face is in his hands.

“Do you hear yourself?” you ask.

“No! That’s the problem!”

You sigh.

He groans. “I swear I wasn’t trying to be nasty.”

“You never are,” you mutter, flipping the waffle.

“That sounds like slander.”

“You’re too stupid to be nasty on purpose.”

He brightens. “Thanks, baby.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

But Jake is already up and wrapping his arms around your waist, all warm and clingy and way too comfortable resting his cheek on your shoulder like it belongs there.

He smells like mint and laundry detergent. You should not be soft for this man. And yet.

You serve the waffles on a plate, hand him one, and watch him absolutely inhale it. He’s shirtless in your kitchen, hair messy, syrup on his knuckle.

He licks it off with a little hum and goes, “Wanna know something?”

“No.”

“You’d be so good with powdered sugar. Like those soft little peaches. You’re kind of like a peach. Sweet and round and juicy and—”

“Jake.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re doing it again.”

He stares at you mid-bite. Mouth full. Eyes wide. Confused.

“I literally don’t know what I said wrong,” he mumbles.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You cannot keep comparing me to edible things with adjectives like wet and ripe and juicy and soft.”

“But that’s how you are.”

You glare.

Jake tries again. “You’re like a really beautiful fruit that I wanna keep in a glass box so nobody else can touch it—”

“Still sounds like you want to eat me.”

“Okay, yes, but not in, like, the nasty way—”

You shove a piece of waffle into his mouth.

Jake chews happily.

You sit across from him and eat in peace for approximately thirty-eight seconds before he tries again.

“You know when you cut open a honeycomb and it drips all golden and perfect and sticky—”

“Oh my god.”

“—and you just know it’s gonna taste sweet and natural and good for your soul—”

“Jake, enough.”

He giggles and leans over to kiss your cheek. “Sorry. I just love you so much. It leaks out.”

“You’re leaking unfiltered brainrot.”

Jake looks deeply pleased. “You called it brainrot. You’ve been spending too much time with me.”

You snort. “Tragically.”

He beams.

You lean your head in your hand, watching him. Syrup on his chin. Waffle crumbs near his collarbone. Hair falling into his eyes. A little sun-dazed and stupid-looking.

You sigh.

“You’re like a dog who learned to speak just enough to say weird things.”

Jake gasps. “You think I’m magical.”

You rub your temple. “I think you’re mentally unwell.”

He just grins wider.

You finish eating while Jake tells you about a dream he had where you two lived in a cabin and he made jam. You don’t ask why he was making jam, or what that has to do with anything, but he gets real serious when he says:

“And in the dream you came in wearing one of those oversized knit sweaters, and I just knew I was gonna marry you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Because of a sweater?”

“No,” he says dreamily. “Because you licked jam off your thumb and it was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You throw a napkin at him.

Jake giggles and catches it midair. “Seriously, though. I think I’d die for you.”

“You’d die from salmonella if I let you cook unsupervised.”

“Let’s live in a tiny house and you can hold me hostage with your sexiness.”

“That’s called marriage.”

“Perfect.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart is glowing.

Jake grabs the dishes before you can move, rinses them badly, and then turns to lean against the sink and say, very earnestly:

“I love mornings with you. Even if you bully me. Even if you ban my kisses. Even if I’m, like, two dumb thoughts away from getting sprayed with a water bottle.”

You squint at him. “Are you gonna say something gross again?”

“No.”

You stare.

He fidgets.

Then: “You’re like the cinnamon glaze on my cinnamon roll heart—”

“Jake.”

“Wait! Wait! That one was cute—”

“TOOTHBRUSH. NOW.”

He stumbles laughing all the way to the bathroom.

And you follow, shaking your head, heart full, already thinking of ways to kiss him speechless later.

🪷 ─── @gxwesn @gyarumindd @somuchdard @ssanhwatto (join the taglist guys..)

[sceletaflores]

LAYING IT ALL ON THE LINE...

꩜ masterlist ꩜ update blog ꩜ inbox ꩜ taglist ꩜ ao3 ꩜

｡꩜°‧➵ PAIR: Joel Miller x fem!reader

｡꩜°‧➵ WC: 4.1k

｡꩜°‧➵ CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, post-outbreak, hurt/comfort, joel's pov, general violence, minor character injury, jackson!joel, when he picks an unnecessary fight with you because that's all he knows, mentioned age gap, joel miller as a sad old man, joel miller experiences feelings, oral sex (f!receiving), p in v, clothed sex, unprotected sex, erectile dysfunction? we don't know what that means in this house because that old man can fuck like he's twenty AND his knees are made of steel (but only sometimes), porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

｡꩜°‧➵ @retrosabers SAYS: thinking about you almost dying on patrol and joel is FUMING, unable to convey just how worried and anxious it makes him. the only way he can even remotely conceptualize his feelings is through a very PASSIONATE rawdogging ♡

｡꩜°‧➵ NAT'S NOTE: everyone say thank you sid for this absolutely luxurious prompt...i'm waiting. i had so much fun with this! i love love love a good semi-angsty, emotionally constipated man having to come to terms with his buried slash repressed feelings in the gritty wake of a near-death experience, like that's my shit. hope y'all love it!

dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics!

joel miller realizes that love isn’t just a four letter word…

"Southeast perimeter’s clear. Heading west by the river bed."

“Wow, you’re finally gonna stop gettin’ us lost out here, sunshine?”

“Lost? Please, you cried when I found that shortcut through the cedar thicket.”

Joel listens to you and Tommy bicker over the radio, a forgotten cup of coffee going cold at his side. That's all he can do when you're out there—patrolling in the snow with a few others. He's not proud of how he just sits by like some anxious house wife, listening to the static between check-ins, but he can't make himself focus on anything other than the way your bright voice filters in and out.

He tries not to hover. Tries not to keep the handheld clutched like it's a goddamn lifeline. But he does, eyes glued to the thing like it might crack open and spill you out if he stares hard enough.

Joel's really not even supposed to be listening in like this. Maria's chewed him out more times than he can count each time she catches him hunched over an old radio that he's never bothered turning in, says it'll do him more harm than good worrying over it.

Besides, these channels aren't meant for civilians sitting on their asses at home. He knows that, because that's exactly what he is now—civilian adjacent. Half-retired.

Tommy jokes about it every once in a while, the way Joel's slowed down, the way his joints complain louder than they used to. A while back, he might've laughed too. Now, every little twinge of pain feels like a reminder of what he used to be.

Joel used to be the one they all looked to out on patrol. He could track better, shoot cleaner, navigate faster than most of the younger guys. That's not the case these days. His patrolling has slowed down over the past few years. He only goes out a few times every couple of months, if even that. 

He tells himself it’s by choice.

It’s not, not at all. He’s tired. His knees ache after long rides. His busted shoulder can’t handle the cold without locking up. Jackson’s got a whole rotation now, young joints, faster reflexes, eyes that don’t blur when the wind hits just right. So he doesn’t go out much anymore. Not unless the group is short. Not unless they really need him.

It makes sense. He knows it makes sense.

That doesn’t make it feel right. You out there, miles away in knee-deep snow with a rifle strapped to your back while he’s stuck here. Not out there. Not beside you.

Joel knows you can handle yourself—hell, you’ve proven that a dozen times over. You’re younger. Strong. Fast. Smart as a whip. You can shoot the cap off a beer bottle and you handle a knife better than most people your age. 

Knowing all that still doesn’t quiet the feeling of unease that eats away at him each time you strap on your gear and kiss him goodbye with a, See you later, Miller. Strolling out the door like it’s casual. Like it’s nothing.

There’s a kind of helpless fury in it. A sick twist in his gut every time he watches you ride out. Like he’s some retired goddamn hunting dog. Trusted to guard the porch, but not sharp enough to run with the pack anymore.

Joel adjusts the volume dial on the radio like it’ll make your voice stay longer.

Tommy’s laugh cuts through the speaker. ��Didn’t cry. I got snow in my eye.”

“In July? Sure.”

It comes in grainy and light, full of that same teasing bite you always give Tommy—enough to make Joel’s jaw tighten with a quiet, helpless kind of fondness. He almost smiles, but it doesn’t reach past the tight pull in his chest. You’re still picking your way through territory where any tree line might be hiding something.

Joel shifts in his seat, elbows on the table, jaw clenched tight. He tells himself you’re fine. You always are. You have to be.

The channel goes still for a few beats. Then, a crack of static. Some muffled shuffling. And—

“Wait—something’s moving in the trees. Left side, just past the ridge.”

Your voice. Sharper now. Less teasing and pointedly quiet.

“Copy,” Tommy replies, suddenly serious. “Keep eyes on—”

A burst of noise. A flurry of panicked voices overlapping and shouts. The unmistakable sound of gunfire.

Then nothing.

Dead air.

Joel’s heart drops to his boots. “Tommy?” he barks into the receiver. “Come in. What the hell’s happening out there?”

When there’s no answer, Joel shoots to his feet. The chair scrapes across the floor harshly as he crosses the room in two large strides, fumbling for his jacket. “Tommy? Goddammit, someone answer me!”

Nothing.

Joel’s heart thuds violently against his ribcage as he stares at the little black box in his hand like it’s an omen. He feels it rush in all at once—panic, guilt, helpless rage curling cold and mean in his chest. His ears are ringing so loud he doesn’t hear the slam of the door behind him as he tears out of the house and into the cold air. 

Something happened. The group was compromised. You were compromised.

And he’s not there.

He should’ve been there.

Joel doesn’t remember the sprint to the stables. Doesn’t remember shouting at Maria when she tried to stop him at the gate. Doesn’t remember half the ride out. All he knows is that his hands won’t stop shaking around the reins and the bile in his throat tastes like ash—a sick, gnawing pit growing in his gut.

When he finds the group what feels like hours later, just as the sun starts to rise behind the ridgeline—you’re nowhere to be found. His eyes scan the way everyone’s spread out, some with minor injuries and the others patching them up. 

No sign of you.

Tommy plants himself in front of Joel just as he hauls himself off his horse. He doesn’t even feel the way his knees jolt as his feet hit the ground. 

“Where the hell is she?” he rasps, voice so rough it sounds like it’s been dragged through gravel. “Where, Tommy?”

Tommy’s hands are out in front of him like Joel’s a wild animal about to snap. He’s got blood on his hands, but no signs of stab wounds or bullet holes anywhere on him. It’s not his blood. Joel’s stomach turns viciously at the sight, at the thought of whose it might be.

“She’s fine,” Tommy says, eyes wide and placating. “Took a hit, it grazed her side. She wouldn’t fuckin’ stay down.”

Joel knows he won’t feel any relief until he sees you, alive and breathing with his own eyes. “Where.”

Tommy steps aside just before Joel nearly shoves past him, nodding his head toward a rock outcrop a ways away from everyone else.

You’re sitting closest to the makeshift fire, Jesse crouched beside you to clean the gash along your side. You’re bundled in someone else’s coat, hair mussed and blood soaked through your undershirt and spattered across your cheeks.

Visibly shaken. Color drained. Bloody. Alive.

Joel’s throat locks up when your eyes meet his. You give him the smallest, tired smile—like you're trying to reassure him. That look. That stupid, brave little tilt of your mouth like everything's okay even when you're the one bleeding through Tommy's jacket.

It makes something in his chest crack wide open.

“Joel?”

He doesn’t speak.

Doesn’t know what to say.

Doesn’t trust himself for it to be anything good.

Joel takes three shaky steps towards you before his knees give out. 

He drops hard into the snow. He doesn’t catch himself, doesn’t try. Just falls forward like a penitent man bowing at the altar of a God he doesn’t believe in. His breath comes in short, ragged bursts, eyes locked onto the red seeping through your shirt like it's the only color in the whole damn world.

There’s a beat where nobody moves. Jesse freezes, half-done wrapping gauze, and you’re just sitting there, wide-eyed and shaking like a leaf, lips parted like you’re trying to say something—but Joel’s already reaching for you.

He's on you in the next breath. Not rough, not like usual, not with that greedy, hungry touch he normally has after you come back from patrol. His hands are trembling when they find your face, tilting your chin up gently, his fingers brushing away wet blood and dirt.

Tommy glances away. Jesse too, both men busying themselves with helping the others. It feels too private, even out here in the open.

“Goddammit,” he chokes. “God—baby–”

His voice breaks on the last word. Breaks, something sharp and gutted and boyish, nothing like the hardened man who's grown to guard his emotions like they’re classified. Your hands hover uncertainty over his shoulders, the side of his face. You’re worried. He can see it plain as day, written in the wavering line of your mouth.

“Hey—hey, I’m okay,” you say, voice low and urgent. “I’m fine. Look at me, Joel, I’m fine. It just—it just grazed me, okay? I’m fine.”

You’re not fine.

You’re too pale. You’re stone-cold. Your blood is still tacky on your shirt, drying beneath his body's warmth.

Joel presses his forehead to yours and exhales like he’s been kept underwater, and you were the surface he’d been clawing to.

You whisper his name again, quieter this time, and he shushes you. “Don’t—don’t talk, just—let me—” His fingers press to the pulse point at your wrist like he still needs proof. “Let me feel you.”

You don’t say anything else.

You just hold him.

And Joel doesn’t cry. He can’t. Something won’t let him, but he stays there in the snow for a long time, holding you like a man who thought he’d never get the chance to again.

The ride back to Jackson is quiet.

You fell asleep half-way through, head lolling back against Joel’s shoulder as you both sat in the saddle, your body loose with exhaustion and the emergency pain meds Jesse had in his pack. Tommy rides ahead, checking the trail, but Joel barely looks up. He just holds the reins with one hand and holds you tighter with the other.

You’re taken to the infirmary the second everyone files through the gates. Joel sits by your bedside in stormy silence, hands curled into fists and resting on his knees, the only thing keeping him together.

You talk to the nurse on duty. You even joke with her, cracked voice and tired eyes like it’s all part of the routine. Like getting shot is just another part of the job. And Joel sits there while someone else wraps you in new bandages and checks your vitals.

It makes his blood boil.

All he can think about is the way your voice cut out on the radio. The way he didn’t know if you were dead or bleeding out in some field, alone. And now you’re laughing. Now you’re telling the nurse, “I’m fine really, just sore.” And it makes him want to tear the whole fucking clinic apart.

Joel doesn’t say a word until you're cleared to leave. 

Not on the short walk back to your house. Not when you’re walking through the door, cleaned up. Patched. Your shirt’s gone, replaced by his coat and a thermal blanket around your shoulders.

Not when you nudge his arm gently like you’re testing the waters. Not when you say his name soft, like it might keep him calm before you’re heading towards the bedroom.

It doesn’t.

The moment the door shuts behind him, Joel erupts.

“You got a fuckin’ death wish?”

You freeze in your spot halfway across the room, turning to face him.

Joel doesn’t move. Just stands there, fists clenched at his sides. His voice is low, shaking with barely concealed rage. “You gonna tell me why you thought playin’ saviour was worth bleedin’ out in the snow?”

You don’t say anything for a few beats, eyebrows drawn together in a hard frown as you look at him. “What was I supposed to do, Joel? Jesse was pinned, Tommy would’ve taken the hit. I didn’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice!” Joel grates, stepping towards you. “You could’ve picked you. You could’ve stayed the fuck down like Tommy told you to.”

“I was trying to keep your brother from getting shot in the head,” you snap, the tension finally striking a flint. “I made a judgment call.”

“You made a stupid call,” he spits, voice loud and blistering. “You don’t get to do that.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” you repeat, your body growing stiff and tense.

“You shoulda fuckin’ stayed down.” Joel growls. He doesn’t even look at you when he says it—just rips his flannel off, tosses it hard at the wall.

You don’t flinch. Don’t even look away from him as his shirt falls and crumples into a heap on the floor. “What?”

“You heard me,” he snaps, turning to look at you again. His eyes are dark, fiery. “Jesus, you—do you even fuckin’ think sometimes? You were hit. You knew you were hit, and you kept goin’. You didn’t stop, didn’t stay down like you were told.”

He steps closer, eyes boring into yours, face twisted with something too furious to be rational. “You fuckin’ chose to be a goddamn hero, huh? Run into gunfire like it ain’t a fuckin’ death sentence? That it?”

He can see the second your expression changes, your own anger rearing its ugly head now, bitter and hot. “Don’t do that. Don’t make this about me being reckless when you know I was just trying to keep people alive. I did what I had to do.”

“No!” he snaps, pointing a finger at you, furious and stricken all at once. “What you had to do was come home. That’s it. That’s all.”

You blink at him, breath caught in your throat.

Joel can’t stop, all the emotions he’s been dealt over the past three hours finally boiling over and spilling through his lips before he can think twice about what he’s saying.

“You could’ve died,” he growls, pacing now, hands dragging through his hair roughly like he’s trying to rip the anger out of himself. “Two fuckin’ inches to the left and that bullet would’ve torn straight through your gut. You think you’d’ve made it to town in time for that? Huh?”

“That’s not fair.”

“No,” he snarls, spinning on you, voice cracking. “It’s not fuckin’ fair. Nothin’ about this is. You go out there, and I sit at home waitin’ to see if today’s the day I lose you. That the last thing I heard is your voice cuttin’ out in the middle of a fuckin’ ambush. That’s what I got to live with now. That’s what I saw every time I closed my eyes on that ride back.”

You stand there, lost for words. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“I know you didn’t,” Joel says, suddenly quieter, throat thick. He swallows hard, looking down, shaking his head like he’s trying to get a grip. “But I still almost lost you. And I don’t—fuck—I don’t know what the hell I’d do if that ever—”

His voice cuts off, ragged. Then he’s in front of you again, cupping your face with both hands. “You’re not allowed to do that to me again,” he whispers fiercely. “You’re not allowed to scare me like that.”

“Joel…” You lean into him, slow. Cautious.

Joel meets you halfway.

His mouth is on yours in a heartbeat—hot and bruising and pathetically desperate. His big hands frame your face, thumbs dragging down your cheekbones as he licks a wet stripe over the plush seam of your lips.

You gasp into his mouth when he pushes the blanket off your shoulders, when his palms skate down your sides to grip your hips hard. Not too rough, not yet, but he’s holding you because he needs you rooted. Anchored. Here.

Joel kisses you like he’s still furious at you, like he hates how much he needs you, like he’s punishing you for making him feel so afraid. It’s not soft, all teeth and tongue as he devours you, stealing the breath from your lungs.

When he pulls back, his mouth is wet with your spit, lips pink and swollen. “Need to taste you,” he mutters. “Need to feel you.”

Joel sinks to his knees before you can respond, breath huffing harshly against your stomach. His fingers tug your zipper down with frantic urgency, hooking his thumbs in your waistband to peel your pants down your legs in one swift motion.

There’s no teasing. No smugness. Just a heavy, sharp hunger carved into his face like stone as he pulls your panties to the side, exposing you to his greedy eyes. His hands slide under your thighs, lifting one over his shoulder as he brings his mouth to you like a man possessed.

The first drag of his tongue is slow. Reverent. Hot and wet as he parts the slick seam of your cunt with deliberate strokes that make your spine arch. He groans like your taste knocks the wind out of him, and then he latches on like he’s got a point to prove—to himself or you, he’s not sure. All he knows is that worshipping you is the only penance that could soothe the panic still clawing at his insides.

“Joel.” Your hands tangle in his hair, chin falling to your chest as you gaze down at him.

He sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue relentless, nose pressed deep against you. You whimper, twisting his hair in your grip, hips twitching—Joel doesn’t let you go anywhere. He’s got you trapped, your body pinned with his mouth buried between your thighs like he plans to die there.

It’s filthy, obscene—the way he devours you. Lips slick, beard growing damper with each swirl of his tongue, eyes half-lidded but still trained on your own.

Your eyes are glassy, pupils blown wide and black as spilled ink. There’s sweat beaded on your brow, lips parted and swollen as you let out small huffs of air.

Your thighs are trembling. You're soaked, arching against him, whimpering his name with tears welling in your eyes. And still—still—he won’t let up. He needs this. Needs to make you fall apart. Needs to prove to himself you’re alive by the way your body sings under his touch.

Joel can’t stop. Not until your thighs shake and you’re moaning that you’re gonna come, gonna come, Joel, please—

And you do. You fall apart on his tongue with a broken sob, legs clenching tight around his ears, hips grinding down into his mouth in weak twitches and shudders. He growls and holds you still, licking you through every last tremor until your body goes limp and threatens to sink to the floor.

Joel doesn’t let you fall—he lowers you down gently, like you’re made of spun glass, even as his hands skirt over the hem of your shirt. When he pulls it up, revealing the bandages wound tight around your side, he pauses. His gaze lingers on the wound. Jaw clenched. Something soft and wrecked flickers in his eyes.

Your hand comes up to cup the side of his face, your thumb running over the scar across his temple so gently it has his heart throbbing in his chest. “I’m okay,” you whisper. “Still here.”

Joel takes your wrist in his hand, lowering it down enough to press it hard over his heart. “You feel that?” he breaths. “That hasn’t stopped hammerin’ since I heard your voice cut out.”

You nod slowly. Your fingers curl into his shirt. “I’m sorry.”

Joel squeezes your wrist, turning his head to press a soft kiss to your forearm.

He climbs up over you, chest to chest—the jut of his cock where it tents the denim of his jeans grinds over the sensitive span of your cunt as he settles himself between your legs. He’s thick, heavy even through all the layers. 

Joel’s free hand snakes down his body, making quick work of his belt. He rips his zipper down, freeing his cock from the confines of his soaked boxers and letting it slap up against his stomach.

You moan at the sight of it—hard, straining, the tip a dusty red and wet with pre-come. Your legs widen unconsciously, thighs twitching on either side of Joel’s hips.

Joel takes himself in his hand, fist tight over the base of his cock as he runs himself through your puffy cunt, slicking the skin of his cock with your wetness. “Gonna fuck you,” he breathes, lining himself up between your legs. “Gonna feel you around me, baby, need it so damn bad.”

Joel slides in with one long, smooth stroke, your slick making it easy, and the groan he lets out sounds like pain. Like relief. Like he might lose his mind from the heat of you. Your breath hitches at the stretch, head lolling back against the hardwood as your nails dig into his shoulders.

“Mine,” he grits through his teeth, forehead pressed to yours, his hips grinding deeper as you cling to him. “You’re mine, baby. Always—always mine.”

You nod, panting, eyes glassy. “All yours,” you whisper. “Only yours, Joel.”

And then he moves.

Hard.

Desperate.

Unrelenting.

He fucks you like you’re the only thing tethering him to earth, like if he stops, he’ll unravel entirely. One arm hooks under your knee, pushing you open, deeper than before. His hips slap against yours, raw and hopelessly, but it’s not about getting off.

It’s about feeling you.

Every squeeze, every tremble, every gasp that leaves your mouth when he hits that perfect spot. 

Joel’s never felt like this before.

So angry.

So scared.

So in love.

He fucks you like he’s trying to imprint himself inside your body. His thrusts stitch you back to him, sealing you inside his chest so you can never leave. A mess of skin-on-skin and heat and slick as the two of you meet again and again and again.

“Could’ve lost you,” he growls against your throat. “Fuck, honey, I could’ve—Jesus—”

You wrap your arms around him. “You didn’t,” you whisper. “I’m here, Joel—I’m yours—”

He groans, hips stuttering, thrusts turning frantic. He can tell he’s close, that he’s been close since he sank to his knees in front of you.

“Say it again,” he pants, slamming into you with a low, wrecked noise. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp. “Always yours—fuck, Joel—”

You wrap your arms tighter around him, pulling him closer. Your nails dig into his skin through the thin layer of his undershirt, legs locking around his waist to keep him pressed against you like you’re scared he’ll let go.

Joel doesn’t let go. He’d never let go. Not even when you moan his name like a prayer, not even when your nails rake down his back, not even when you gasp out a warning, your voice thin and needy. “Joel, I—gonna—”

“I know, baby. I got you.” His hand snakes down between you, finding your clit and rubbing quick circles over it, desperate to feel you come. “Wanna feel you. Need to—fuck—need to feel you, sweetheart. Please.”

You shatter in his arms with a broken sob, clenching hard around him as your body jerks, overwhelmed and too raw to hide it. Joel feels you pulse around his cock, the tight warmth of your cunt milking him.

It’s too much, and he’s coming with a groan that sounds like it’s been clawed from his chest. He buries himself to the hilt, hips jerking with every pulse, breath catching in your ear. “Fuck, fuck—” he pants, voice hoarse, “—love you, I love you, I thought I lost you, baby, I can’t…”

You’re both trembling when it ends.

Joel holds you there for a long time, forehead resting against yours, still buried deep inside you. He still won’t let you go. Not yet.

Eventually, when he’s calmed, he pulls back just enough to look at you.

You expect that same look from earlier—rage, fear, guilt—but it’s not there. Just love. Just deep, aching relief.

“I can’t lose you,” he says quietly. “I wouldn’t survive it.”

You reach up, trace the curve of his brow, the edge of his jaw. “You won’t have to,” you whisper.

Joel kisses you again. Softer this time. Sweeter. A delicate press of lips against lips. His fingers stroke your cheek, pulling back enough for his eyes to trace along your face. He follows the line of your brows, the shape of your nose, the soft curve of your lips.

He can’t feel anything other than love.

Gentle. Solid. Steady.

It’s only love.

mini nat's note: everyone please send good vibes for my hell sent ch*m final on monday...i literally need all the luck i can get. thank you so much for reading! mwah.

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

I don't know whether you write poly relationships or not, but imagine Mydei and Phainon completing who will get their wife pregnant first.

୨୧ ．warnings : nsfw/smut, creampie (vaginal & anal), threesome, biting, sex toys, bondage, phaidei themes, crying, biting, gagging, chocking, hair pulling, pet-names (pretty, etc.) and other stuff !

୨୧ ．note : not proofread & i dunno if this is ooc. banner art is a doujinshi and you can find it on X from : sakuranotomoru !!

Your body trembled between them, heat prickling your skin as Mydei’s rough hands gripped your waist while Phainon’s fingers tangled in your hair. They weren’t fighting with swords, but the way they pressed against you—cocks hard and aching, grinding possessively against your thighs—felt just as intense.

“She’s mine first,” Mydei growled, his sharp teeth scraping against your shoulder. His grip tightened, as if he could claim you by force alone. “I’m the one who gets to fill her up.”

Phainon scoffed, his breath hot against your ear. “You think she belongs to you?” His voice was smooth, taunting, but his movements were anything but patient—he shoved Mydei’s hand aside, yanking your hips against his own, his cock throbbing against your soaked cunt. “I should breed her first. She’s already dripping for me.”

You whimpered, caught between them, their bodies pressing against you, heat and strength overwhelming your senses. Your mind was hazy, dumb from the way they touched you, from the way they were so desperate to claim you first.

“Say it, pretty,” Mydei murmured, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to look at him. His golden eyes were filled with hunger. “Tell him who you want filling you up first.”

Phainon’s fingers traced over your slit, teasing, taunting. “Choose wisely,” he whispered, a smirk curling his lips. “Or maybe we’ll just have to see who fucks it out of you first.”

Your body shuddered, pleasure coursing through you as their cocks twitched, pressing against your entrance. They weren’t going to stop. They were going to fuck their answer out of you.

The heat between them was suffocating, your body trembling as their hands explored every inch of you. Mydei’s grip was firm, fingers digging into your hips possessively, while Phainon tangled his hand in your hair, yanking your head back with a sharp tug. The pain mixed with pleasure sent a shiver down your spine, a pathetic whimper escaping your lips.

“She sounds so fucking sweet like this,” Phainon muttered, tilting his head as he watched you struggle in his grasp. “All dumb and desperate already.” His free hand slid down your stomach, fingers teasing over your clit, making you jolt. “Who do you think will ruin her first?”

“She’s not going anywhere until she’s dripping with our cum,” Mydei said darkly, his hands slipping up to grope your tits, thumbs flicking over your soft nipples. “If she can even take it.”

Phainon smiled goofily. “Oh, she’ll take it. She doesn’t have a choice.”

Before you could whine, Phainon forced something between your lips—a gag, tight and firm, muffling the desperate sounds spilling from your throat. Your eyes widened, wrists tugging instinctively against the restraints that now bound them above your head.

Mydei chuckled, his sharp nails dragging along your thighs. “She’s already drooling. Cute.” He pressed a kiss to your exposed neck before biting down, hard enough to leave a mark. “I wonder how much she can take before she goes completely dumb.”

Phainon leaned closer, his lips grazing against Mydei’s in a fleeting touch, teasing. “We’ll find out.”

His fingers wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head spin as Mydei spread your legs wider, positioning himself between them. Your muffled cries only made them more eager—tonight, they weren’t just going to claim you. They were going to break you.

Your body trembled, wrists bound tight above your head as Phainon’s fingers squeezed around your throat. The gag in your mouth muffled your whimpers, drool slipping past your lips as Mydei’s hands forced your legs apart.

“F-Fuck—please,” you tried to speak, but it came out garbled around the gag. Your eyes were glossy, mind spinning from the lack of control—exactly how they wanted you.

“She’s so needy already.” Mydei smirked, dragging his cock along your soaked slit, teasing you with every slow grind. “Wonder how much she can take before she completely falls apart.”

“She’ll take everything we give her,” Phainon murmured, voice dark, dangerous. He leaned closer to Mydei, their bodies pressing together against yours, and his lips brushed against the other’s jaw. “But don’t pretend you’re patient either.”

Mydei exhaled sharply, golden eyes flickering with something more than just lust. His grip on your thighs tightened, but his attention momentarily shifted to Phainon. “Jealous?” he taunted.

Phainon smirked, his hand slid down, fingers wrapping around Mydei’s cock, stroking him slow, teasing. Mydei sucked in a breath, his hips twitching, his hold on you faltering just for a second.

You moaned against the gag, watching them, your core clenching with need. The sight of them so close, so hungry for each other, only made your body ache more.

“Look at her,” Mydei groaned, his cock throbbing against Phainon’s grip. “She loves watching us.”

Phainon chuckled, pressing a heated kiss against Mydei’s lips, their tongues tangling in a messy, desperate clash. You squirmed, whining, your body on fire from the sight, from the feeling of being trapped between them.

“She’s ours,” Phainon murmured against Mydei’s lips, his fingers tightening in your hair, pulling hard enough to make you whimper. “And we’re gonna fucking ruin her.”

Mydei groaned, rutting against you, his cock teasing your entrance. “Together.”

And then, finally, they gave you exactly what you wanted.

Phainon’s touch was deceptively soft, fingers stroking along your cheek as you whimpered against the gag. His blue eyes gleamed with amusement as he took in the sight of you—bound, drooling, completely at their mercy.

“Oh, you poor thing,” he cooed, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Are we being too mean to you?” His hand drifted lower, skimming over your tits, rolling your sensitive nipple between his fingers. “I can feel you shaking, you know. Are you that desperate?”

You let out a muffled sob, nodding frantically. Your body was burning with need, slick dripping down your thighs as Mydei pressed the thick head of his cock against your entrance, teasing, never quite giving you what you needed.

“She’s always like this,” Mydei muttered, voice rough with impatience. His grip on your hips was bruising, thumbs pressing into your soft skin. “She wants it so bad, but she’s too dumb to say it properly.”

Phainon hummed, tilting his head as he considered your pitiful state. “Well, we did gag her,” he pointed out with a chuckle. “Can’t expect her to beg properly like this.” His fingers slipped between your legs, dipping into your soaked cunt, feeling just how desperately your body craved them. “Oh, my,” he sighed, teasingly slow. “You’re practically pulling me in.”

You moaned at the feeling, hips jerking against his hand, trying to get more—but Mydei’s grip was firm, keeping you exactly where he wanted. “Don’t give her what she wants so easily,” he growled.

Phainon only smiled, pressing a soft kiss against Mydei’s jaw. “And here I thought you liked it when she cried for it.”

Mydei let out a low groan, his cock twitching against you. He was losing patience. His golden eyes flicked down to where you were spread open beneath him, trembling, desperate. “I’m fucking her first,” he muttered.

Phainon chuckled, amused by Mydei’s possessiveness, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he leaned down, pressing a tender kiss against your forehead. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’ll take care of you after he’s done breaking you.”

And then, with a sharp thrust, Mydei buried himself inside you. The stretch burned, pleasure and pain melting together as you screamed against the gag, your body struggling to take all of him at once.

“There we go,” Mydei groaned, his hands pinning your hips down as he bottomed out. “So fucking tight.”

Phainon kissed your temple again, his fingers wrapping around your throat—not tight enough to choke, just enough to keep you grounded. “That’s it, love,” he whispered, watching your eyes roll back as Mydei started to move. “Take everything we give you.”

Mydei was relentless, his thrusts deep and brutal as he fucked you into the mattress. His grip on your hips was firm, bruising, making sure you took every inch of him. You could do nothing but sob against the gag, body overstimulated, your wrists tugging weakly against the restraints above your head.

Phainon, ever the contrast to Mydei’s raw intensity, was gentle in comparison. His fingers trailed soothingly over your face, tucking damp strands of hair behind your ear as he watched you with amused, violet eyes.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured, pressing a delicate kiss to your temple. “But I wonder, can you take more?”

Your breath hitched, a whimper escaping against the gag as Mydei groaned above you. “Of course, she can,” he growled. “She’s our perfect girl, aren’t you?”

“Nghh—yes ‘m your goood girllll…” You nodded frantically, mind too far gone to process anything but the need to be completely filled.

Phainon chuckled softly. “Such a good girl.” His hands smoothed down your back before parting your ass, his fingers teasing over your untouched hole. “You’ll let me have this, too, won’t you?”

The realization sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core, and you moaned, your body twitching at the thought of being stretched even further.

“Look at her,” Mydei grunted, his thrusts slowing as he glanced at where Phainon’s fingers played with your hole. “She fucking likes it.”

“She’s just greedy,” Phainon teased, pressing a single finger inside. Your walls clenched around him instinctively, and he cooed. “Oh, sweetheart. So tight.”

He took his time preparing you, stretching you carefully despite Mydei’s impatience. His fingers moved slow, teasing, pressing against that sensitive spot until you were arching into him, drool slipping past the gag.

“Enough teasing,” Mydei growled. “Get in there.”

Phainon only smiled. “Patience.” But his own cock twitched, aching, and soon enough, he was positioning himself at your entrance, the blunt head pressing against your tight hole.

You gasped as he pushed in, the stretch unbearable at first, the pressure making you tremble between them. Mydei groaned, feeling the way you clenched even tighter around him.

“Oh, love,” Phainon sighed, voice still so sweet despite the filth of the moment. “You’re taking us so well.”

You were completely full—stuffed to the brim, their cocks stretching you beyond what you thought possible. Tears slipped down your cheeks, but the pleasure overwhelmed everything else.

“Fuck,” Mydei cursed, his hips snapping forward. “She’s perfect like this.”

Phainon chuckled, wrapping his fingers gently around your throat, tilting your head so he could watch the way your eyes fluttered. “She’s ours,” he murmured. “And we’re never letting her go.”

Then, together, they fucked you.

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[misserabella]

could u pls write a fic/blurb of virgin spencer having fantasies of being dominant 🩷 btw live ur work!!!

my first orgasm goes to you! ♡

cw; +18 content, minors dni!!, watching of p0rn, bondage, dom and sub dynamics, spencer’s livid mind, imagining of spanking, male masturbation (spencer), dirty talking (he talks to himself while he thinks of you)…

okay… so spencer doesn’t know how he’s gotten into this situation.

he’s not one to… indulge in this kind of activities.

intelligence is correlated with sexual desire. most evidence indicates a negative correlation between intelligence and sexual activity. researchers find that higher intelligence is associated with a delay in the initiation of a wide range of partnered sexual activities, from holding hands to sexual intercourse —that’s why he was still a virgin— . statistically though, scientists have discovered that, the higher the sex drive of the individual.

but spencer could probably count the times he has masturbated in his 25 years of life with one hand. he just… didn’t get the need.

well, that was a lie. there was obviously a need. a physical one. he, like any other man, woke up with morning wood every morning. but there wasn’t a… psychological one. he had never… fallen in love. sure. he could find beauty in a woman. even a man. but… he just didn’t…

couldn’t finish.

he had tried. made research. tried again…

and when he couldn’t make it. he would gave up.

spencer reid has never had an orgasm.

until today.

after trying pretty much everything. he tried the thing he wished he’d never have to use: porn.

just a few clicks and he was into one of the million of pages for it. and there was a lot of… content. a lot of options in which you could choose from.

but one video caught his attention. it was about dom/sub dynamics, and a little bit of bondage. he had informed himself about them, and curiosity won as he clicked on it.

his eyes widened when the view of a beautiful —and completely naked— woman caught his eyes. her wrists were tied to the posts of the bed in which she was laying, cries and mewls leaving her lips along with some ‘stop’s and ‘it’s too much!’s. in between her thighs, a man of his complexion —although spencer was more skinny, lean, but skinny—, laid, devouring her cunt as if he were starved, arms keeping her pinned, still, as the woman tried to scape from the pleasure and overstimulation, hips jerking against the man’s face, thighs shaking, tears streaking down her face.

but what really did it for spencer was not the sight, it was the fact that the woman looked like you. same hair and eye color, same complexion, same full lips… if he took off his glasses he could…

no. that was wrong.

you were his coworker.

it didn’t matter if he’s had the biggest crush on you since you had joined the team a year ago, or that he was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with everything that made you… you.

he had never fantasized about you. well, he had. how couldn’t he, you were beautiful, and smart, and kind, and… and he couldn’t control his subconscious mind while being asleep or what he would dream of. so of course he had had wet dreams about you.

but he had never touched himself with you in mind. he believed that you didn’t deserve to be objectified like that.

so he wouldn’t.

he tried and focus on the video. on the moans, on the groans and touches. and it worked. he was hard. he teased himself over his slacks, slowly, a breath leaving his lungs before pulling down the zipper and pulling down his pants and underwear, releasing his semi and taking it in his hand with a sigh.

he focused on the video, cheeks reddening at the embarrassment he felt for be doing this. but he had to try.

slowly, he started to jerk his cock, long drawn out faps from the tip to the root. he moaned as he played with the sensitive and weeping slit on the head, before continuing.

but after minutes and minutes of trying, his high wouldn’t come. he groaned and stopped. of course it wouldn’t come.

a flash of you passed through his mind and thoughts of you in the position of the woman in the screen, with him being in between your thighs, making you feel good, making you feel so good you couldn’t take it. but he would make you take it.

his cock twitched, and he groaned as he started moving his hand right back up. he was just so desperate to cum. it hurt. and he just couldn’t not think about you. he did all the time. also. you wouldn’t know right? it would just be this one time.

he took off his glasses, and went back to the video, where now the man was pushing up and in between his thighs, pulling a scream from the woman when he thrusted inside her, fast and hard.

spencer’s pupils were blown, his breathing ragged. it’s as if he could see you, see him. fucking you just like that man was fucking the woman. pounding into her swollen, overstimulated and squelching cunt over and over again, pulling his legs up against her chest in a mating press, reaching so deep he was on her cervix.

‘i can’t please. i can’t! it’s too much!’

spencer whimpered, going faster, hearing the woman cry. would you cry too? would you beg him to stop? would you beg him for more? how would you sound moaning his name? screaming it?

“fuck.”

please spencer, i can’t take it anymore, it’s too much!!!

he could almost hear it. your sweet voice lost in pleasure. could feel your plush soft skin under his fingertips as he’ll spank your thigh, taste the salt on your skin as he’d suck on your neck and chest.

“take it. fucking take it. you know you want it. you know you want this cock.”

he got lost in the moment, pretending with his eyes closed that the moans of the woman were your moans, moving his hand at the punishing ruthless rhythm the man fucked her.

jesus, this felt good…

more spencer, give me more!

“you want more?”

yes, please, please spencer, fuck me more, fuck me harder!

“holy fuck. yeah, i’ll fuck you harder.” his fist moved faster up and down his cock, slicked in his precum. “i’ll fuck you so hard you’ll have a hard time walking for days.” he tightened his hold. “fuuuuuck.” he moaned your name. “you’re so tight. so perfect for me. taking it so well… you were made for this. for taking my cock, hm?”

yes, yes, only for you spencer… i want you to cum inside. please cum inside. breed me, spence.

he groaned, his eyes rolling, a new unknown tight feeling growing in his lower stomach, his dick leaking and twitching like crazy.

“you want me to cum inside? inside this pretty little cunt? want me to breed you? leave you full and dripping?”

he could picture you, nodding, babbling, pleading.

“then take it. take my fucking cum. gonna fuck it so deep… right into your womb. fuck. take it take it take it!”

and with a last moan, his world was breaking up, vision whitening, whole body spasming as thick heavy loads of creamy white cum shot out of his cock, making a mess out of his wooly vest and hand. he was moaning, groaning and gasping, continuing to move his hand through his high, until nothing else was coming out. the video had ended long ago.

he looked up at his blurry ceiling. and groaned.

fuck.

he had just had his ever first orgasm.

and the reason had been you.

@cafekitsune ‘s separators!

@kittyisick ty for your support angel, hope you like it!💋

[aurorawhisperz]

You’re All I Need (r.c.)

contains: swearing, angst, mentions of pregnancy, family drama.

father!rafe x mother!reader

a/n: if this goes well and finds its way into my busy schedule, i’ll turn this into a series! and guess who just hit the two-decade mark.. 🎉🎂

summary: you’re sick, exhausted, and barely holding it together while caring for your daughter, juno, alone. desperate, you call rafe, your ex and her father, for help.

who am i to want you now that you’re leaving?

•

almost a year ago, you and rafe had gotten into a big fight over the summer that left both of you saying things that couldn’t be taken back. by the time he was gone, you thought it was over for good. he stormed off and it felt like the end.

that was the same summer you found out you got knocked up.

when you finally told him about the baby, he swore he wanted to be there, for both of you. but you couldn’t do it. you didn’t his half-assed attempts at playing family. so you told him he could be in the baby’s life, but not yours.

the day your daughter was born, nothing felt real. you named her juno, inspired by a movie you’d watched a hundred times during your pregnancy. you didn’t need rafe there that day. at least, that’s what you told yourself.

and for a while, that worked. until tonight.

the fever is unbearable, heat radiating from your body as you lean against the wall to steady yourself, your legs trembling beneath you.

juno cries loudly, sharp and continuous, her small fists waving in anger from her playpen. juno was only a few months old, but the sounds she made tonight seem louder than anything, or maybe it is the throbbing in your head that is making everything clearer.

you tried to calm her down—rocking her, even her close until your arms felt like they might give out but your fever had drained every ounce of strength out of you.

rafe was in the middle of a business call when his phone rang. he saw your name on the caller ID and immediately sensed that something was off. he excuses himself from the meeting and quickly picks up.

“what’s up?" he asks, his voice filled with concern and curiosity. “do you wanna have juno tonight?”you ask, not entirely aware of what you’re doing. “i don’t don’t know..I’m just..” then you sigh. “she’s been saying ‘dada’ all day and she refuses to eat.”

rafe winced at the loud noise. juno’s cries are clearly heard from the other end. it was clear that you were having a hard time, and he felt concerned for both you and juno.

“yeah, ‘course, i’ll take her.” he replies quickly, then rafe doesn’t waste any time. telling some lame excuse to his clients, gathering his things and completely bailing on the group of people in the meeting room.

the drive to your place felt excruciatingly long, but he kept his foot on the gas, determined to get there as fast as possible. rafe offered you and juno a spot at tanneyhill but since you were too petty towards him at that time, you declined.

He rushes to his car, his mind racing with thoughts about you and Juno. The drive to your place feels excruciatingly long, but he keeps his foot on the gas, determined to get there as fast as possible.

finally, he reaches your home and practically jumps out of the car, making his way to the door and banging on it urgently.

"(name)? it’s me! open up!" he calls out, the sound of juno’s cries echoing in his ears.

when you open the door, rafe’s eyes slightly widen in worry at your appearance. he could see the paleness in your face and the exhaustion in your eyes. he quickly steps inside, his eyes scanning the room for juno.

"are you alright?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "you look absolutely exhausted. what’s going on with you?”

“i’m fine, she’s in my room..” and rafe saw all the tell-tale signs of a fever as he watched you lay down on the couch. he knows you’re not as ‘fine’ as you claim but doesn’t push the issue for now.

a year ago, rafe cameron was chaos incarnate. consumed by his demons, or maybe he was the demon. the outer banks was his kingdom, and as much as you don’t want to admit it, the rafe walking up the stairs to go see your daughter isn’t the same man you walked away from last summer.

decades of being ward cameron’s son don’t just vanish but having a daughter changed rafe in many ways no one thought was possible. he’s more conscious, more quiet, like he’s constantly trying to prove more to himself than to everyone that he was better than the man who raised him.

you’ve seen him with juno, the way he holds her like she’s the only thing that matters in the world.

rafe watches you as you lie down on the couch, he frowns when he sees how weak you look.

he turns and heads straight to the room where juno is crying. he walks over to the crib and leans over, gently scooping up the little girl, holding her close to his chest.

"hey, little one," he coos, his voice soft and soothing. "your dad’s here." juno immediately stops crying as rafe picks her up, her small body calming at the familiarity of his touch and voice. rafe rocks her in his arms, gently shushing her and whispering words of comfort.

"there you go," he murmurs, his fingers gently stroking her soft hair. "no more cries now, i’ve got you."

he walks back to the living room, holding juno close to his chest as he approaches you on the couch.

"hey," rafe says softly, his tone showing concern. "you really don't look well." he moves closer, gently resting a hand on your forehead to feel your temperature. as he suspected, your skin was hot to the touch.

you look up to see him with juno on his hip. “just take care of her for the night.” and your eyes nearly flutter shut.

rafe saw through the way your eyes struggled to stay open. he saw how sick you truly were, but you're trying so hard to hide it.

"damn it," he mutters, his voice tight with worry and frustration. "baby, you’re in no condition to take care of juno on your own right now. you need to rest, and i can't just leave knowing you're not okay."

rafe reluctantly looks down at juno in his arms, her tiny face looking up at him with wide trusting eyes. he then glances back at you, still lying on the couch, weakness written all over your face.

"i will," he replies firmly. "but first, I'm putting you to bed. you need to rest and get better. then I'll take care of the baby."

he heads up and carefully sets juno on the crib for a moment and then walks downstairs, over to the couch, gently scooping you up in his arms.

“put me down..” you whine. "no" rafe replies firmly, his grip on you tightening slightly. "you’re burning up with a damn fever. no condition to be worrying about juno right now." he carries you towards your bedroom, his arms holding you securely against his chest. though you protest, he ignores your weak struggles.

once he reaches your bedroom, he gently lays you down on the bed, making sure you're comfortable and settled. he pulls the covers up over you, tucking you in and smoothing back your hair from your forehead.

looking down at you, he can see how exhausted you really are, the fever taking a toll on your body. but his focus quickly shifts to the crib where juno is starting to cry again, her hunger growing stronger.

rafe watches you for a moment, concerned. the feeling of your skin under his touch tells him how high your fever really is. he glances over at the crib, juno’s cries growing louder.

"stay right here," he instructs you firmly. "i’ll feed our baby, then i’m coming back to check on you."

with a sigh, rafe picks juno up from the crib and brings her to the kitchen. he goes through the motions of preparing a bottle for juno, mixing the formula with warm water and shaking it gently until it's ready. he then sits down next to your bed, leaning back against the headboard while he carefully feeds juno the bottle.

his eyes occasionally flick to you, checking on your condition. even though he's busy feeding the baby, he keeps a watchful eye on you, noticing every shiver and every sign of discomfort in your sick state.

after a few minutes, juno is satisfied, her tiny belly full and content. she starts to drift off in rafe’s arms, her small eyes growing heavy.

he carefully passes the baby back to the crib and turns his attention back to you. he returns to your bedside and sits down, his eyes studying your pale and weary face. the sight of you in this state was devouring him from the inside.

your eyes flutter open. “rafe, take her to your house..” then you turn to the side, your back facing him.

rafe looks down at you, gently taking your hand in his own, it broke his heart a little. the fact that you're asking him to take juno now.

"baby," he murmurs, his voice gentle. "you’re still burning up. i can't just leave with juno while you're like this."

it was always like this with rafe. back then, whenever you didn’t want him to care for you, when you pushed him away, built your walls high, and told him you didn’t need him, he’d force it anyway. he had this annoying way of ignoring your protests, showing up when you least expected it with that hot stubborn determination in his eyes.

if you were sick, he’d be at your door with soup, even if he didn’t know how to make it. if you were upset, he’d sit next to you in silence, waiting until you caved. it didn’t matter how hard you tried to convince him you were fine; rafe never listened. he cared in the only way he knew how to care; recklessly, even when you swore you didn’t want him to. that part of him hasn’t changed at all.

“come on, she’s your only priority at the moment.” you try sending him away. his grip on your hand tightened a little at your words. “don't be fucking ridiculous," he retorts, his voice stern. "juno will be fine with me at my house. but you're not. you’re sick and need rest and care. i’m not just gonna abandon you like this. not happening."

“you don’t have to stay anyway… you’re not my husband or boyfriend or anything. you’re just her dad.”

rafe bites down at your words. he knows he’s nothing more to you than juno’s dad, but hearing you say it so bluntly still stings.

“no, i’m not your husband or boyfriend,” he replies, his tone sharper than intended. “but damn it, i still care about you, even if you don’t want me to.”

before you can respond, a shiver racks your body, your fever making you tremble. rafe notices immediately, his frustration giving way to concern.

“jesus, you’re burning up,” he mutters, leaning closer to place the back of his hand on your forehead. “why didn’t you tell me you were this bad?” he doesn’t wait for an answer. standing up, he moves to the kitchen, returning with a cool cloth. he gently presses it against your forehead, his jaw tight with worry.

“you’re in no condition to be alone right now,” he says firmly. “especially not with a fever this high. you need someone to take care of you, whether you like it or not.”

“take her,” you whisper, your voice weak. “i can take care of myself. you don’t have to do both.”

“damn it, will you just listen to me for once?” rafe snaps, his voice low but laced with irritation. “you’re not fine. you’re barely holding it together, and you want me to just walk away? why are you so goddamn stubborn?”

“i don’t need your help,” you insist, glaring at him weakly. “just watch juno. that’s all.”

rafe exhales sharply, trying to keep his temper in check.

“what’s it gonna take for you to get it through your head that you need support too?” he demands. “i care about both you and juno, you idiot. why can’t you just let me help you when you clearly need it?”

“and why does this concern you?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. his eyes narrow at your question, frustration bubbling over again.

“why do you think it concerns me?” he bites out, his voice rough. “you really have to ask that? you think i don’t care about you? you think i only see you as juno’s mom?”

you manage a breathy smirk, too weak to move but pleased nonetheless. “i knew it… son of a bitch.”

“knew what?” he challenges, his tone sharp. “that i actually give a damn about you more than you think? if you know, then why are you still fighting me on this? why are you so damn stubborn about letting me help?”

your smirk stays on your face, though your eyelids are already drooping from exhaustion.

“yeah, i care about you,” he admits, his voice quieter now. “you drive me absolutely fucking insane with how stubborn you are, but i still care. happy now?”

when you don’t respond, too tired to argue anymore, he shakes his head and adjusts the cool cloth on your forehead.

“i’m not leaving,” he says, and there’s no point in arguing. “someone has to take care of you since you clearly can’t be trusted to do it yourself.”

the room feels smaller with him in it, like his presence is closing in on you from all sides. he settles next to you, the mattress dipping slightly, and it’s awkward, too close for comfort, too familiar for what you are now. exes. nothing more.

“you’re gonna get sick,” you mumble, your voice scratchy and weak. “you don’t have to do this.”

“don’t care,” he says, not even looking at you. his voice is calm, steady. “you’re burning up. if i get sick, so what?”

you try to sit up, even though your body feels like it’s made of lead and your head pounds with every slight movement. the fever’s still got you in its grip, but lying there next to rafe feels like too much. too intimate. too close.

but the second you push yourself up, the world tilts. your balance wavers, and before you can steady yourself, your head drops against something solid.

his shoulder.

rafe lets out an annoyed sigh as he watches you struggle to get up, knowing full well that you're too weak to stand on your own.

"damn it, woman," he mutters as you collapse back onto him. "what did I tell you? you’re supposed to be resting, not trying to get up and walk around like a lunatic."

he gently wraps his arm around you, supporting your weakened body against him.

"just stay still and don't move," he whispers. "you’re in no condition to be up and about. you need to rest and recover. you know i’ll take care of you, right? stop trying to do everything on your own."

rafe gently runs his fingers through your hair, his touch light and soothing.

your hand finds its way to rafe’s arm, fingers gripping him weakly, as if holding on to him will keep you steady. rafe freezes at the touch, his gaze dropping to where your hand rests against his skin. it’s a simple gesture, but it feels like everything all at once.

he doesn’t pull away. instead, he shifts slightly, his own hand coming up to gently squeeze yours, his grip warm and steady, like he’s anchoring you.

“you’ll get better,” he murmurs. “just give it time and let yourself rest. let me look after you for once, okay?”

you think about the way things used to be. sneaking off when you had the chance, meeting him at the beach under the cover of darkness. stolen kisses, the kind that made your heart race. rafe was always the one who pushed boundaries, the one who made you feel alive in ways you hadn’t thought possible.

“are you sleeping over?” you ask weakly, your voice barely above a whisper.

rafe looks down at you, the question pulling him out of his thoughts. he takes in your pale face, the tired lines around your eyes, and sighs. part of him wants to say no, to avoid whatever this is turning into, but he knows he can’t leave you like this.

“yeah,” he says finally, his tone gentle but firm. “yeah, i’m sleeping here. someone needs to keep an eye on your stubborn ass so you don’t try to do chores at three in the morning.”

you let out a weak laugh, but it fades quickly. “you shouldn’t be here,” you mutter, shaking your head slightly. “it’s—it’s awkward. it’ll just make things weird.”

rafe arches a brow, his lips twitching into something between a smirk and a frown. “why are you acting like something’s gonna happen between us?” he counters, his tone light but laced with something deeper. “it’s fine. stop overthinking it and just… lay down. you’re not gonna win this argument.”

before you can protest, he gently guides you back down, his hand steady at your back. the warmth of his body against yours is impossible to ignore, but you’re too drained to fight it.

then, out of nowhere, he leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. the gesture is so tender it takes your breath away, but you’re too tired to react.

as your eyelids grow heavier, your mind drifts back to the first time rafe said he loved you. it wasn’t in a quiet, romantic moment, it was in the middle of an argument. his voice had been loud, angry and raw, but it was real. rafe always let things spill out when he couldn’t hold them back anymore.

now, as sleep pulls you under, you hear his voice again, quieter this time.

“i miss you,” he whispers.

you don’t respond. maybe you’re too far gone, maybe you don’t want to. but maybe you miss him too.

[kxsagi]

HII i loved the “rizz? what is that?” post so i was thinking if it were the other way around, like the reader saying a suggestive pick-up line but they don't really know the double meaning and think it's something innocent ( I hope I explained it well... )

“𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐝”

a/n: YESSS i gotchu bae

ft. isagi yoichi, kaiser michael, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, shidou ryusei, bachira meguru

isagi yoichi

“yoichi… if i were a watermelon, would you spit or swallow my seeds? 😄🍉”

isagi nearly dies. he literally chokes on AIR. 

he jolts, grabs the table, and stares at you like you just said the word “orgy” in front of his mom. “wait. WHAT?” 

you just smile like it’s a hallmark commercial. “i saw it on pinterest! i thought it was, like… romantic and unique!” 

yoichi’s whole soul is leaving his body. he’s making mental deals with god. 

“baby. baby. are you serious? do you know what you just asked me?” 

you blink. “if you’d spit or swallow… my watermelon seeds?” 

“… you’re so cute. and so scary.” 

he’s genuinely sweating. googles it while you’re not looking to make sure it’s not that dirty and then cries harder when it is. 

writes it down in his notes app under: “things she says that accidentally send me into heat.” 

kaiser michael

you’re cuddling in bed, scrolling on your phone when you turn and say, “mihya… are you a drill? because you’ve been filling my holes in all day 🥰” 

kaiser freezes. just STOPS functioning. he looks like he’s buffering. 

“what did you just say to me?” 

“you know, like emotional holes! the gaps in my life? you're healing me~ 💗” 

he sits up like he's in a courtroom. “sweetheart. i’m begging you to never say that in public.” 

you’re like “wait why? is it weird?” 

he snorts so hard he almost pulls a muscle. “you basically said i’ve been going jackhammer mode on you 24/7.” 

“JACK–??” 

“no no no don’t backtrack now. it’s canon. i’m a drill. i’m the drill of your life.” 

starts flexing his biceps every time you walk into the room like “you ready for construction time, princess?” 

you can’t live this one down. not ever. 

itoshi rin

“rin… are you a light switch? because every time I see you, you turn me on 😄” 

rin stops moving entirely. he’s halfway through opening the spice drawer and just… goes still. 

his eyes shift to you slowly. his soul already leaving his body. “… what?” 

“you know. like… you light up my world or whatever 💡🧡” 

he just stares. blinking hard. he’s trying to decide if he’s dreaming or if you actually just said the one thing that makes his cold little heart short-circuit. 

“you just said i turn you on.” 

you hum. “because you’re sweet and nice and warm like a light switch!!” 

“light switches aren’t warm. also, that means… something else.” 

“… like what.” 

he doesn't answer. he just drags a hand down his face and walks out of the room in pure emotional panic. 

he spends the next 30 minutes reading a psychology forum on whether you said it on purpose or if you're just a menace wrapped in sunshine. 

spoiler: he thinks you're both. and he's obsessed with you. 

itoshi sae

“sae, are you a good parking spot? because you’re hard to find… and i wanna put it in you 😚” 

sae spits out his drink. 

he blinks. once. twice. then stares at you. 

“… what did you say?” 

“you’re a good parking spot!” you repeat, smiling, “you know, rare. and everyone wants to find you.” 

“and put it in me?” 

“uh huh!! the car, duh!” 

he looks at you like you just committed treason. “you do realize people say ‘put it in’ in an entirely different context, right?” 

you freeze. “like… sex?” 

he nods solemnly. “exactly like that.” 

you shriek and fall backward off the couch while sae is just sipping his tea with the SMUGGEST grin ever. 

he’ll bring it up forever. at the most inappropriate times. 

“this place is crowded. might not be able to put it in.” 

you scream every time. 

nagi seishiro

“sei… do you like starbursts? because i’m gonna let you unwrap me 😋” 

nagi tilts his head. he’s laying on your lap and you just said the most sexually charged sentence known to man with the innocent tone of a cartoon bunny. 

“unwrap you… like a snack?” 

“yeah! like a candy 🥰” 

“you know you just told me to take your clothes off, right?” 

you blink. “wait. NO. THAT’S NOT– wait, IS THAT WHAT IT MEANS??” 

he rolls over to hide his grin. “too late, now i’m imagining it.” 

“sei–” 

“can’t unhear it. you said it. it’s law.” 

he starts looking up starburst-flavored body lotions. 

texts reo: “she said i can unwrap her. i think this is what love is.” 

mikage reo

“reo, if you were a vegetable… you’d be a cute-cumber! 🥒” 

he freezes. deadass mid-moisturizer. “… you said what?” 

“cute-cumber!!” 

“you said that to my face. in my skincare room. with GOD watching.” 

you pause. “wait… did it mean something else?” 

he goes to the urban dictionary. you read it. you gasp. “THAT’S ILLEGAL.” 

reo is dying laughing. “you thought you were being sweet. meanwhile, i just had a full-blown spiritual crisis.” 

starts writing it on sticky notes and putting them on the fridge. 

you walk into the kitchen: “stop putting ‘cute-cumber’ post-its next to your protein powder.” 

“i’m a man of pride.” 

shidou ryusei

“ryu… are you made of cake? because i wanna eat you from the inside out 😋🍰” 

shidou short-circuits. he yells. “HUHHHH??” so loud it scares the neighbor’s cat. 

he starts pacing. throws his shirt off. flops onto the couch like he’s in a romcom-induced coma. 

“no way. NO WAY YOU JUST SAID THAT.” 

you blink. “what? it’s a compliment! because you’re sweet!” 

he sits up. “baby…you just said you wanna devour me carnally.” 

“CARNALLY??” 

“YEAH!! like you want me for dessert in a porno.” 

you throw the popsicle stick at him. “I THOUGHT IT WAS ABOUT CAKE!!” 

he’s cracking up. recording this whole conversation for future blackmail. 

posts a story captioned: “she wants me like cake. i’m so back.” 

bachira meguru

“meguru… are you a campfire? because you’re hot and I want s’more 🏕️” 

bachira makes the most dramatic gasp. hands to his chest. “you wanna WHAT??” 

“have s’more of you!! like s’mores!! because you’re so warm and toasty and–” 

“NOPE. TOO LATE. i’m now imagining us naked in a tent.” 

“MEGURU STOP 😭” 

he immediately gets all giggly and chaotic, poking your cheek with a marshmallow. “you said it. i’m hot. and you want more of me. that means i’m the main course.” 

he starts calling you “campfire girl” and buys you a plush s’more with googly eyes on it. 

whispers “you want s’more, huh?” every time he pulls you into a hug. 

you live in a never-ending loop of regret. he lives in bliss. everyone else suffers. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[nhmkhnh]

HEY EMO GIRL! 

PAIRINGS: DOM!VI X SUB!FEM!READER

PREFACE: so pretty don't be coy, come on fuck me emo girl!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: ʕ·ᴥ·　ʔ hellooo chat i’m back. and yes, i did swear not to write smut… soooo i’m just posting my pre-written drafts instead hahaaaa loophole fully activated 😌 enjoyyy!! 

WARNING(S): lowercase, explicit content (minors & men dni) 

TAGS: emo!vi ;; punk/goth!vi ;; obssesive!vi ;; strap-on sex ;; choking kink ;; overstimulation ;; praise / degradation ;; strap riding (v.receiving) ;; sloppy oral (r.receiving) ;; marking kink ;; face fucking (r.receiving) ;; dirty talk central. 

navigation. 

1. she only smiles for you.

vi’s resting bitch face is legendary. deadpan. hood up. music blaring. nobody dares to talk to her on campus—except you. and every time you do? that hard shell cracks. she smirks, lip ring catching the light, voice dropping an octave just for you.

“look at you, baby. givin’ me a reason to pretend i’m okay.”

she only ever softens when you're around, and everyone notices. she's your big, tatted, emotionally unavailable emotional support goth gf. you’re her peace.

2. you're the only one allowed in her bed.

vi’s mattress is on the floor, black sheets, posters peeling off the wall. no one’s allowed in her room. ever. except you.

she doesn't say it out loud, but when you curl up next to her in one of her oversized band tees, she turns the volume down on her playlist, tugs you into her arms, and mutters against your skin:

“you fit better than the drugs did.”

sometimes she doesn’t even touch you sexually—she just wants to hold you, nose in your hair, hand tucked under your sleep shirt like she’s scared you’ll disappear.

3. jealousy hits like a punch.

she swears she’s chill. she’s not. one time you laughed a little too long with someone else and vi was already pulling you aside, jaw tight, voice low and rough in your ear:

“you think he gets you? think he knows what you sound like when you beg?”

she never raises her voice. but when she gets jealous? she gets mean. possessive. her voice goes soft and cruel. she’ll pin you to the wall and make you look her in the eyes while she reminds you who you belong to.

4. she likes it when you cry.

not in a sadistic way. but in a "you trust me that much?" kind of way. the first time you cried in front of her, thinking she’d judge you, she just kissed your wet cheeks and whispered,

“good girl. let it out.”

and then she cradled you like you were glass and she was built to protect broken things. her love is quiet, aching. she doesn’t know how to say “i love you,” so she shows it—in bruises, in touches, in staying awake until you fall asleep first.

5. she calls you her sweet thing (but only in private).

out in public, you’re “babe,” “you,” or just a grunt and a head tilt. but behind closed doors? when her hands are under your shirt and your thighs are shaking around her head?

“sweet thing.”

drawled slow like syrup, lips against your thigh, and every time you hear it you whimper.

she loves how soft you are. how gentle. she needs it—needs you. her hands are rough, her past is darker than she’ll ever say, but with you? she slows down. she becomes something almost tender.

6. she gets off on making you ask.

vi never initiates. she doesn’t have to. she’ll just sit there in her tank top, tattoos out, thighs spread lazily on the couch, and wait. wait for you to squirm. to crawl into her lap.

“you want something, baby?”

she makes you say it. every time. and when you finally break and beg for her to touch you, she grins. real slow. like she knew you’d fold eventually.

“that’s what i thought. c’mere.”

7. she’ll ruin her reputation for you.

everyone thinks she’s cold. detached. probably mean. but then they see her kneeling behind you at a party to tie your shoe. carrying your bag. sitting next to you in class, drawing little hearts in your notebook while glaring at anyone who stares too long.

she’d set the world on fire for you—but she’d rather light your cigarettes and kiss your fingertips. you’re her secret softness. and if anyone even looks at you the wrong way? they’re done.

8. when she snaps, she snaps.

you push her sometimes—accidentally. you're a brat without meaning to be. and when you act like you're not hers? when you flirt or tease or pull away?

she loses it. quietly.

pulls you into the nearest room, slams the door, and suddenly she’s got your hands pinned above your head, her voice a low snarl:

“wanna be cute? be cute for me. only me.”

she’ll ruin you slowly—kiss by kiss, bite by bite, fingers under your skirt while you whimper her name. and when you're trembling and spent, she’ll press her forehead to yours and whisper:

“say you’re mine again. louder this time, baby.”..

❢ smut headcanons.

1. she fingers you with her rings on (on purpose).

she knows what she’s doing. that thick silver ring with the skull? yeah, that one’s intentional. she’ll press it just right against your gummy walls while two fingers curl inside you.

“feel that, baby? that’s me. you’re gonna think about this ring every time you sit down.”

you do. you really do. sometimes you still throb just seeing her hands.

2. her strap game is feral.

her strap is always black, thick, and veiny—like her attitude. she’s got multiple sizes, but for you? she brings out the one that makes your voice crack.

she’ll push in slow, watch your face crumble, and then smirk.

“so fucking pretty when you split for me. you’re taking it, yeah? you’re not gonna quit on me now.”

she doesn’t stop until you’re limp, soaked, and drooling into the pillow.

3. she lives to make you cry.

not out of pain. out of overstimulation. she’ll eat you out until your thighs are twitching, then go again. and again.

you’ll push her head away and she’ll just grab your wrist, pin it to the sheets, and moan into your pussy.

“one more for me, sweet thing. one more. be good.”

you come so hard you forget your name.

4. she gets soaked when you beg.

vi is a sucker for hearing you whimper. especially when you're desperate. her favorite?

“please, vi. please fuck me. please, i need it.”

she’ll literally grunt, grab you by the throat, and shove her strap in so hard your back arches off the bed.

“that’s my fucking girl.”

5. she puts you in her lap to ride her strap.

tank top on. dog tags swinging. tongue pressed to her cheek as she watches you struggle to take all of it.

she won’t move—you do the work.

“come on, baby. you wanna act like you’re so needy? prove it. bounce on it like a good girl.”

she holds your hips down and grinds up until you're sobbing into her neck.

6. she chokes you gently… then not so gently.

her hands are so big. and when you’re bratty? she wraps one hand around your throat, pushes your back into the mattress, and stares down at you with her lip ring between her teeth.

“say sorry.”

you do. but she keeps squeezing. just a little.

“say it like you mean it.”

you come while gasping for her.

7. she marks you on purpose.

vi’s teeth are sharp. and her possessiveness gets worse during sex. she’ll bite down on your shoulder hard enough to bruise while railing you from behind.

“you’re mine. all mine. i don’t want anyone else even looking at you.”

you wear turtlenecks for a week after.

8. she jerks off while watching you suck her strap.

on nights when she’s feeling particularly mean? she’ll sit back, spread wide, strap on, black briefs pushed down, and watch you crawl between her thighs.

you suck it like it’s her real cock, moaning and gagging while she fists her own hair and moans your name.

“look at that pretty mouth. fuck. you were made to choke on me, huh?”

she doesn’t stop until your mascara’s ruined and you’re a breathless, drooly mess.

[holeforzenin]

SATORU SHARING YOU WITH HIS BEST FRIEND

"Such a nasty fucking slut aren't you baby? Enjoying my best friend eating my load out of this greedy cunt while I watch, what a dirty girl" his infamous smirk plastered on his features, looking down at your fuck out expression on his lap as Suguru's slurps on your dripping cunt while he's on his knees, two fingers stuffing your hole while he's lapping your wet folds. It was absolutely filthy, Gojo decided to let Suguru witness him fuck you silly so he can visually see how to properly fuck a girl since he recently got in a newly established relationship and well, he doesn't have that much experience on how to pleasure his girlfriend but honestly, there was no fucking way you could even tell anyways cause God he sure knew how to work his tongue.

Geto pulls away with a grin while he drills his fingers in and out of you, "Damn you weren't wrong Satoru, her cunt is so fucking good, so sweet and tasty" he smirks looking up at his best friend while dragging his tongue over his lips to lick up your juices. You cunt clenching around his fingers due to the lewd praise from your boyfriend’s beat friend.

"See I fucking told you sugu", Gojo gives him a cocky grin while bringing his thumb down to rub sloppy circles on your puffy clit while Geto continues fingerfucking you, he watches how your legs start shaking as your moans gets louder and louder.

"She's also so fucking sensitive, aren't you princess?", he obviously knew there was no way your gonna respond or say anything, it was just too much, earlier Gojo fucked you so fucking hard and good it didn't even feel like reality anymore, then not long after he stuffed your cunt full with his cream, Gojo made a brave suggestion that Geto should clean it up as a joke well look what that resulted to, tears stepping out of your eyes, it was so much, Geto was eating your cunt like a homeless man that just gotten his favorite meal that he haven't ate in a long time, ravishing and exploring your wet pussy with his tongue, hell he was even kissing and making out with it and you couldn't do anything about it because of the strong grip Satoru has on your thighs to keep you firmed, you’re on the verge of cumming, but the thing is, this time it felt so weird and different.

"Ohmygodohmygod fuckk!" you cried out as if you were panicking, "what is it pretty girl, are you gonna cum or does it feel that good?" Suguru asked, eyes fixated on your lewd expressions as he increased his pace, curling and scissoring his fingers against your tight velvet walls. God, he knew exactly what he was doing.

He looked up to Gojo and it was like they can read each other's minds or something, Gojo started thumbing your clit faster, the loud squeak of your wet cunny along with your uncontrollable moans filling the room as they continued overstimulating you. Suguru brings his hand up to pinch your nipples while Gojo goes closer to you to suck on the other.

"Uughh fuckkk" you hiccupped as your eyes roll back, body arch against Gojo's chest, a cold shiver hits your spine as you felt something wet circling your puckered hole, Suguru's tongue swirling around your tight sensitive hole while it winks and flutters against the pad of his tongue, fuck you never felt so intense before, it was just crazy.

"I'm cumming! Im cumminggg!" you screamed, eyes rolling back as you felt some type of liquid gushing out of you, spraying onto Geto's face and all over his hair but that obviously he didn't stop him one bit, matter a fact it motivated him, both of them smiling at each other as Suguru pounds his fingers into you at an impossible pace, your clit practically numb from Gojo playing with it. After they were both satisfied with ruining you, Suguru sucked up your juices and cleaned your dirty cunt with his tongue.

"Didn't think the first time you'd squirt would be with me and my best friend?, What a little dirty slut you are, sweetheart" Gojo whispers in your ears before planting a kiss on your forehead.

"So, ya think you know how to please a woman now?" your boyfriend questions Suguru, looking at him with a sly smirk.

"I don't know man I thinkkk I need more visuals and experiments if that's alright with you" Suguru grins teasingly at his friend, hoping he understands what he meant.

"Of course bro, that's fine by me, thats what best friends are for". Gojo winks at him playfully.

[sturniqlo]

Motherly Instincts- M.S

summary: mom!y/n has trouble putting the baby back to sleep, dad!matt sees that's she's getting overwhelmed and near the edge of breaking down. BLURB

cw: slight cursing, ANGST; crying, being overwhelmed, postpartum depression, FLUFF; soft kisses, reassurance, comforting

an: i tried my best to not use a name for the baby but i kept getting confused when i used the baby and y/n in a sentence so i chose a random name | lowercase intended | a continuation(?) to spilled water

masterlist | join my taglist

-----------------------------------------------

"got the baby back to sleep?" matt asked and opened his arms back up for y/n to crawl into him. "mhm." she hums, and snugs herself into his arms. he wraps his arm around her shoulder and she leans her head on his chest. y/n's eyes keep going back and forth between the movie playing on the television in front of them and the baby monitor that sits on the coffee table.

"hey, she's okay, i promise you. i'm sure she's fast asleep by now." he whispers and places a kiss on her forehead. "i know, but what if her swaddles comes undone. or what if it's too tight?" she bites the inside of her cheek, worrying.

matt frowns slightly, for the past couple of weeks, y/n hasn't really been herself. she's more quiet, she gets irritated quickly, she only interacts with the baby when it's necessary "i just- she's so fragile, you know?" is her excuse.

in reality, everything is right. y/n has been trying so hard to create a bond with her baby girl. she's tried so hard but, there's something inside of her- almost like a voice- telling her that she isn't fit to be a mother, that her baby doesn't like her. she sees how matt and his brothers have a bond with her own baby, who she grew for nine months. it gets to her.

y/n always has to excuse herself and cry in the bathroom when she sees her baby crack a smile with someone who isn't her, or when mia isn't fussy when someone is carrying her. there has been multiple occasions where mia doesn't let y/n carry her and she squirms in her arms but, when she's given to matt, she isn't fussy anymore. it breaks y/n's heart.

2:36am

the clock on y/ns nightstand reads. the speakers of the baby monitor begin to fill the room with the wails of baby mia. she mutes the monitor so matt won't wake up. swinging her legs over the bed, she puts her slippers on and walks to the door to leave the room. entering the nursery, the cries only get louder. she goes to the crib and sees that her pacifier had fallen next to her small head.

"hi, baby. mommy's here." she whispers, she carefully picks her up in her arms and grabs the pacifier and tries to put it back in her mouth. mia takes it and y/n sighs in relief. she cradles her for a couple more seconds until she sees the babys face churn in discomfort, the pacifier coming out of her mouth and hitting the floor, cries fill the room again.

"oh no, let's get this cleaned up." she tries to stay calm and squats down to pick up the pacifier. before she heads down she places mia down on the changing table and undos the swaddle. "do you need a diaper change, is that it?" her shaky hands unclip the onesie and starts to take off the diaper.

cleaning her up and changing her into a new diaper, her cries don't stop. y/n feels a lump start to form in her throat and she blinks her tears away. "are you hungry, baby? let's get you a bottle." she puts her back in her arms and grabs the pacifier so she can clean it while she's downstairs.

y/n runs one of her frozen breast milk pouches under warm water and proceeds to pour it into a bottle once it's warm and melted, however with a crying baby in her left arm, and a shaky right hand, the bottle falls on its side and the pouch of milk slips from her grip. "shit." she curses and a tear slips down her face. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry." she tells the crying baby in her arm. grabbing a different frozen pouch she manages to pour all of it into the small bottle.

putting the nipple of the bottle into the babys mouth, she refuses and her cries get louder. y/n tries not more time and mia takes it for a couple of seconds and repeats what she previously did with the pacifier. y/n places the bottle down next to the spilled milk and cleans the pacifier before heading back up into the nursery.

she moves side to side patting the baby lightly on the bottom, trying to soothe her to sleep. "i- i don't know what you want." she whispers, looking down at the baby's blue eyes that resembles matt's so much. however, these pair of eyes are sad and leaking tears.

in their shared room, matt flips over and tries to put an arm around y/n. he feels the spot empty and cold, waking up and sitting up he begins to come conscious of his surroundings and hears the cries of his baby. his bare feet meet the cold wooden floor and he heads out the room into the nursery where he sees y/n wiping tears from her eyes and hears the wails of the baby.

"babe, what's going on?" his raspy voice says. y/n looks up and sees matt standing there. "she's- i don't- she won't stop crying, i don't know what she wants. i've- i've tried everything, she won't stop, matt." his heart aches at her quivering voice. "it's okay, let me have her." matt walks closer to his two girls and y/n hands mia to him.

once the baby is in matt's arms, her cries stop. this makes y/n's eyes well up even more. "hey, why don't you go to our room, i'll be there in a sec, okay?" he grabs her jaw and kisses her forehead. "o- okay." she nods. as bad as it sounds, matt wished that she hadn't stopped crying right away in his arms. he saw the way y/n's eyes welled up again. he wished it would've taken him some time to get the baby to calm down.

y/n remembers of the mess downstairs and heads down to the kitchen. wiping both the milk and her tears, she hears matt coming down the stairs and she turns around. "hey, is she- is she asleep?" she says, trying her best to smile. "yeah, here, i'll clean this up." matt grabs the napkins from her and he cleans it up. "is it okay if i go back up?" y/n asks.

"of course, i'll be right up." matt turns around and nods at her. matt waits a couple of minutes before going back upstairs so y/n can have a moment to herself.

"you okay?" matt says as he closes the third bedroom door. y/n places the baby monitor back down on her nightstand after unmuting it and turns around to matt's voice. "am i a good mom?" she blurts out and sits on the edge of the bed. "what? of course you are. you're the best. why do you ask?" he goes to sit next to her. "i feel like i'm not. i mean, mia doesn't even like me. she doesn't let me hold her whenever i just want to. i cant even put her to sleep when she wakes up. i- you put her straight to sleep by just carrying her, i can't do that." she cries into matt.

"y/n, baby, you're the best mom ever." matt says and she shakes her head. "matt, you're not listening to me, i can't- i'm- i'm not good enough. i don't have motherly instincts. i'm- i'm the worst."

matt shakes his head and gently grabs her face in his hands. "baby, believe me when i say this. you are the best mommy for mia. did you change her diaper just now?" he asks and she nods. "did you make her a bottle?" she nods. "did you give her, her pacifier?" she nods again. "did you go to her when you heard her crying?" she nods. "see, you do have motherly instincts, my love. nobody told you what to do, you just did it." he smiles at her. "please, believe me, babe."

"and, it's okay if we can't figure it out right away. we're first time parents, of course it's going to be hard. we're learning." her cries have now turned into sniffles. matt wipes away the last of her tears and kisses her nose, making her giggle lightly.

"feelin' better?" matt murmurs against her hair. they had moved from sitting on the edge of the bed to matt cuddling her, kissing her hair from time to time. "much better. thank you, babe. i- i think i have postpartum depression." she whispers the last part. "oh." he says. "i want to get help, i don't want to feel like this anymore. i want to enjoy these moment with her. she's not going to be this little for so long." she looks up at him.

"you get all the help you need. i'll be with you every step of the way, alright? me and mia will be right next to you." she smiles at his words and he presses a soft kiss to his lips. "thank you." there's a beat of silence until matt speaks. "please don't ever say that she won't be this little for so long. one moment she needs us to change her diaper and next thing you know, i'm walking her down the aisle." y/n gasps. "okay, let's not go that far. she's not even two months old yet."

"you're right."

[namelessgakusei]

EP. 1.1 IGNITION

Devil May Cry x Reader insert

Warnings: It's DMC. Based on the New Netflix Series. Spoiler warnings for the actual show. Not proofread.

EP. 0 (masterlist)

EP. 1.2 COMBUSTION (cont.)

Synopsis: After a botched demon hunting, you and Dante hoped for some reprieve in Fredy's diner, only to come face to face with Dante's long dead twin brother.

It was the usual busy night. Streets are filled with people going on about their lives, narrowly avoiding each other as the sidewalk remains packed despite the time. A baby coos from her stroller as her mum navigates the crowd, innocently unaware to the stress her mother has on her face after bumping to strangers too many times. One of them even spat that she should excuse herself instead after colliding to her too hard that her bag fell to the ground.

"Asshole." She calls while gathering her things, oblivious to what happened to her daughter in the small moment she let her eyes off of her. Now changed to a husk of a mimic, the "baby" cries for her dropped rattle that rolled off to an alley. "Goddamn it Ellie, what now?" Despite the suspicious and unnatural way the toy moved away, the woman only sighed to herself as she went to pick it up.

Shadows cut her train of thought as they moved past, right behind her. Frozen in place, she could only slowly looked back as gurgling noises started to be heard. Something lunged at her and the woman screamed.

The woman struggled in the chokehold that the demons manifesting from the shadows have on her. With animal skulls for faces, they laughed at her pleas to spare her daughter, but before they can get a bite, the one holding her got shot at the face.

"Hey look! The Three Stooges came out to play!" A white haired young man clad in a red long coat came out of the darkness and shot at the demons who lunged at him, easily dodging their claws with the twist and kept raining his bullets on them. A demon tried to sneak up an attack from behind, only to get a barrel shoved to its throat, exploding from the number of bullets it released; while the other got bombarded with lead on the stomach. The remaining demon tried shooting sharp, skeletal limbs to his direction to impale, but he maneuvered just as easily as he jumped from a wall, getting a clear shot of the demon's head.

Despite the demon using the woman as a shield, the young man grinned, "Jackpot!" and shot, with the bullet breaking through her earring and straight to the center of the demon's skull, killing it.

The woman coughed and heaved for breath, crawling away in fear when she saw the demon disintegrating, and coming face to face with her savior. The man stood smugly as he looked down on her terrified state. But silence ensued.

"Eh, the way this usually goes is, I do that then drop a killer one-liner." He breaks the pause with an awkward groan, scratching his head as he looks away. "But I'm drawing a complete blank, right now."

"This never happened to me, I swear." The woman looked dumbfounded at his actions, and soon her fear turned into mild annoyance, only flinching when he suddenly turned to her direction with a grin, saying that he got one. "Pretend I just shot that guy."

"Man, Skeletor did not hold up since the '80s." The woman sighs wearily, making him backtrack with a nervous assurance.

"Dante. Dante. Stop, that's embarrassing." A voice called out from the fire exit staircase. Clad in a white coat similar to Dante, this individual looked more level headed that their companion, although they're visibly cringing at his expense.

Sighing softly, you jumped down the emergency exit, holding quite a large briefcase, and slowly made your way towards the woman, kneeling to her eye level as to not scare her any further. "Are you alright?" You smiled and offered her a hand.

Reciprocating your smile, she took your help and stood up. "I don't know how to thank you. You saved our lives." But then her eyes trailed towards Dante and her expression fell into confusion. "That is why you're here, right? To save us?"

"More or les— Augh!" Your partner glared and pouted when you jabbed his side and cut him off. "Yes, ma'am."

"There have been other attacks in the area. Our client hired us to look into it." You flashed your signature smile, a sure way to placate any stressed civilians that had unfortunately got tangled in your line of work. Though the implication of your work seem to interest her, making her inquire what really is the two of you are up to. Dante smirks and answers instead.

"Demon hunting."

This information seemed to scare her more, as she visibly backed away, trying to make sense of what's happening. "You're telling me that they were actually—"

The presence of something nonhuman made you spin behind, certain that a demon is close, only to see a baby tucked in a stroller. Dante seemed to notice your apprehension, cutting his conversation short with the mother to examine the source of your frown. "Cute kid." He grins.

Your brows furrowed. "We really should be getting home now." The mother says while picking up her scattered things. That baby doesn't feel human. "Shouldn't we, Ellie? Say goodbye to the nice people." Before you can say something, the said "baby" transformed into a demon and lunged at Dante.

"Dante!" You pushed him out of the way, only to get your arm caught. His instincts kicked in upon the sight as he draws his gun, alerting the mother as she pleads for her daughter's safety. The demon reverted from being a child but before you could explain, the mother threw her bag at your faces, temporarily stunning you as she runs away.

Dante chased after her, but she already disappeared into the crowd. "Damn it."

The opening of Fredy Diner was the reprieve that the two of you have after that botched demon hunting. At the hour it opens, Dante opened the door, with you trailing behind. There weren't many patrons around, just four, including the both of you. At least the waitress seemed particularly happy after hearing your arrival, already serving Dante's usual dessert and your morning coffee.

You grimaced at his sugary confection, commenting on how he can stomach it in the early hours of the day, only for him to jab at your coffee tasting so bad you can't help but wake up. An extra napkin was served alongside his ice cream, making you two look at each other in confusion. But upon seeing that the waitress' number and kiss mark was on it, Dante shrugged and used it to wipe his mouth, much to your dismay. "Poor lass..."

The worn down television buzzed in a faint volume as you two basked in the peaceful ambience. The show suddenly stopped in favor of a breaking news, showcasing the events of last night within Vatican City. "This is the first image released from last night's Vatican City bombings that have shocked and horrified the entire world." You narrowed your eyes as you sip your coffee, immediately recognizing the suspect to be a demon before the newscaster can give any more information. They usually lay low around the dark areas of the world, this is the first you've seen of them actively make an appearance. "—The suspect appears to have two strange protrusions on his back that are shaped almost like wings." Just as you were about to comment on it to Dante, you froze.

You noticed it before him. No, he noticed the way your eyes slightly faltered when you turned your chair around. Without a word, the two of you moved fast, with him grabbing the civilians, and you jumping behind the counter as a truck of gasoline was thrown at your direction, blowing up the diner.

Everything was a mess, but at least you got into shelter before everything blew off. Dante pushed the debris that landed on top of you all with a grunt while you barked at the civilians to flee, opening your suitcase to provide your partner the weapons he need.

"Dante."

Your voice overlapped with another when you handed him a gun, eyes darting to his figure. You never saw Dante tense up, much less look horrified.

"Leaving so soon?" A silhouette emerged from the flames, slowly making their way towards the two of you.

"We have much to catch up on, brother."

Brother? Dante's brother?

"No. You're..." Dante turned around with wide eyes as memories of that night flashed in his mind.

"...dead."

A man who looks exactly like your partner stood in the middle of the carnage.

[blasphemyandbackshots]

what will you do, when your boyfriend is absolute cringe? — jjk version

satoru gojo—cringe level: legendary

tries to ‘accidentally’ bump into innocent people while out with you and loudly says, “oh nooo, don’t mob me, i’m on a date with my beautiful girlfriend 😏.”

says, “babe let’s take a selfie,” then uses every filter on snapchat. he picks the dog ears one and pants like a puppy.

insists on calling you ‘his little infinity’ in public. says things like “you can’t touch her unless you break my domain 😘.” you just wanted sushi, not a battle declaration.

sends your photos to nanami with captions like, “look how hot she is, don’t be jealous, mr. accountant.”

kento nanami—cringe level: dry dad energy™

tries to make jokes and they never land. “i’m feeling very… cursed today. must be because i’m under your spell.” silence. dead silence.

wears matching couple shirts. not ironically. “if mine says ‘king of curses’ yours should say ‘queen of my heart.’”

refers to you as ‘my beloved’ in every sentence. people think you’re in a period drama.

sends you passive-aggressive weather reports. “the temperature today is 12°c. wear a scarf. i won’t be responsible for your cold.”

toji fushiguro—cringe level: dumb jock with zero shame

tries to sext you in emojis. it’s just the eggplant and three knives. you have no idea what that even means.

refuses to call anything by its real name. calls breakfast ‘protein-up time’. calls your lips ‘mouth pillows’.

when you wear anything cute, he flexes and says, “yeah, i did that. you’re welcome, world.”

will absolutely send gym thirst traps and caption them “so you don’t forget what’s yours 💦💪.” sends them to the group chat by accident.

megumi fushiguro—cringe level: reluctantly adorable

tries so hard to be cool around you but absolutely chokes. stares at you, then looks away too fast and walks into doors.

denies being jealous but mutters “i’ll kill him” under his breath when anyone flirts with you.

will text you “u up?” at 8:13 pm then panic and say “sorry wrong person” and ghost you for two hours.

his idea of flirting is saying, “i guess you’re alright.” then staring at the floor for 6 years.

yuji itadori—cringe level: golden retriever with no filter

tells random strangers that you’re dating. waitress: “what would you like?” yuji: “i’d like whatever she wants. she’s my girlfriend. isn’t she pretty??”

dances anywhere if he hears music. grocery store. dentist’s office. funeral (he swears it was just a reflex).

wears a ‘world’s luckiest boyfriend’ shirt on your anniversary. you didn’t even get him one.

gets teary-eyed when you kiss him and goes, “wow. that felt like love… do you think sukuna felt that too?”

yuuta okkotsu—cringe level: sweet boy but intense & fast™

brings you flowers every single day. like it’s a competition. you now own 13 vases.

gets so nervous around you he recites rika’s curse vow by accident instead of ‘have a nice day’. you just blinked.

once cried because you complimented his handwriting. “no one’s ever noticed that before… you’re so… so…” cue intense anime sobbing.

tries to talk dirty but his voice breaks and he immediately apologizes and bows. you just wanted to kiss. not a formal ceremony.

toge inumaki—cringe level: silent rizz but when it goes wrong, it goes wrong

texts you only in emoji code. it’s cute until you realize 🍙💥💀 might mean ‘i miss you.’ or ‘i blew up a building.’. unclear.

tried to dirty talk you using only ‘salmon’ and ‘bonito flakes’. it was confusing. but strangely hot.

you said “i love you” once and he panicked so hard he said “tuna mayo” and ran out the room.

will dramatically mouth full love speeches in slow motion like it’s a silent movie. background music plays from his phone. the secondhand embarrassment is in 4d.

suguru geto—cringe level: smooth-talking cult leader energy

flirts like a guy who read one too many romance novels. “every time you speak, the cursed spirits retreat. coincidence? i think not.”

performs unnecessary hair flips and stares into the distance as if someone is always filming a documentary about him being misunderstood.

calls you ‘my little curse queen’ in public. once said it at a bakery. the cashier blinked twice.

will 100% do a dramatic slow clap when you walk into a room. every single time.

choso kamo—cringe level: emotionally earnest but awkward emo boy

writes you love poems at 3am and reads them out loud with complete sincerity while you’re trying to sleep.

once made you a playlist called ‘songs that make me think about your blood’. you had to lie down after that.

tries to recreate romance movie scenes but keeps picking the wrong ones. tried the ‘titanic’ scene in a bathtub. nearly drowned.

hugs you in front of everyone for 30 seconds longer than socially acceptable and whispers, “you smell like safety and also my destiny.”

ryomen sukuna—cringe level: eldritch horror who thinks he’s hot on tiktok

tries to be ‘mysterious and sexy’ by saying things like “you’re lucky i don’t kill everyone you love just to have you to myself.” sir. therapy. now.

uses his domain expansion to make fireworks in the sky that spell out ‘mine’. you screamed. so did the neighborhood.

will take over yuji’s body mid-date just to flirt. “he’s too soft. let me show you how a real man treats you.” you were just trying to eat takoyaki.

posts shirtless mirror selfies captioned ‘god body. devil tongue. her problem.’ blocks comments so no one can call him out.

mahito—cringe level: feral theater kid with no social awareness

practices different personalities like a method actor to ‘see which one you like best’. one day he’s a victorian butler. next he’s a skater boy.

sends you cursed objects as gifts. you cried when a jar started whispering your name. he said, “it’s the thought that counts, baby 🥺🫶.”

made a scrapbook of your hair. not a lock. not a strand. like. all the hair you’ve ever shed in his presence. he calls it ‘the archive of her beauty’.

if someone flirts with you, he shapeshifts into them and says, “is this what you want?” you had to leave the restaurant.

[venusbyline]

Hear me out! Just hear me out!

Alicent sending Teen! Innocent! Sister to Oldtown to receive proper training in being a Lady of the Realm and Wife. ( so they have to be apart for a year ) And Teen! Aegon being so desperate for his Teen! Innocent! Sister when she returns, with still a month before they can marry, that the little pervert leaves her ‘gifts’.

Cumming in her panties, humping her pillow, leaving books about consummation on her bed, cum soaked small clothes, lacy chemises that he wants her to ‘wear’ for their wedding night, etc.

Like a sick twisted cat leaving a dead animal as a gift.

But, when she brushes it off / ignores it as she’s been taught it’s ‘improper’ to retaliate or acknowledge it as a Lady / his future wife. He takes it further, dangling over the ledge of improper and proper etiquette while in public.

Accidentally brushing against her when walking past - even though there is plenty of room, hugging her from behind - only to subtly grind against her when she kneels down to pray in the Sept, whispering all the sick and twisted things he’s gonna do to her when they marry in her ear.

 What do you think?

Oh Gods that was sooo hot, I love it. Honestly, I'm so obsessed with teen!Aegon being a disgusting pervert or a pathetic whiny boy.

Pls guys keeping sending me your horny thoughts about HOTD characters!!! 🔥🔥

⚠️: Targcest (older brother/younger sister), underage dry humping, exhibitionism, dubcon, virginity kink, corruption kink, young!Aemond mentioned.

I admit I do not think teen!Aegon's patience would last long. He is been without his little sister for a whole year, having to settle with just fucking whores and forcing himself on random servants. Now that she is finally back, he NEEDS her so much. Poor boy just wants to fuck her virgin cunt until she cries and squirts all over, but the sweet girl is being even more stubborn and prudish than before, and Aegon gets so mad at Alicent because of that.

When his sister simply ignores all of his perverted gifts, Aegon stops trying to convince her and starts acting dirtier. He will caress his sister's inner thigh under the table during family dinners, even when she looks at him so confused and innocent. He will rub his hardness against her body when they are near each other, ignoring the embarrassed looks from the servants and the way she tries to push him away, or even the disgusted and frightened look on Aemond's face when he walks into his older brother's chambers and sees him cumming in one of his dear sister's underwear to give back to her later — Aegon had to convince Aemond not to tell their mother or Ser Criston. Actually, Aegon convinced the stubborn younger boy with an agreement that he could even let Aemond eat their sister out after Aegon was already married to her. Now, little Aemond is a mix of shyness and arousal, so excited for this day too.

Anyway, Aegon soon loses the brief of control he had left when he goes looking for his younger sister and finds her kneeling and praying in the Sept. Fuck, he wants to rip that green dress of hers and take her right there, so the Seven can see that plump little cunt blooding and dripping onto the sacred ground. Aegon does not care about the good manners she learned in Oldtown; he does not want a religious puritanical wife like their mother. He takes advantage of her distraction during the prayers to kneel right behind the innocent frame, his slender fingers covering her pretty mouth before she can scream at the sudden touches. The smell of lit candles increases Aegon's arousal even more. The boy looks like a hound, rubbing himself against the young princess, nibbling on her earlobe.

"I should fuck you right here, sweet sister. For all the Gods to see me take your innocence..." Aegon growls the whispered dirties, feeling his long silver hair getting sweaty, hips humping her from behind. He uses his free hand to lift the silk green dress, enjoying the pleasure of her warm skin against his. She whines muffled protests, however, the older one just ignores her pleas for a while. "I have tried to be patient with you. But I cannot wait any longer, I want to fuck you until your tight cunt is all raw, reddish and dripping with my seed. I am going to get you pregnant even before our wedding ceremony."

Maybe he could have really done all of those things? Of course. But I bet his heart softened a little when she started begging, crying his name like a innocent child. Then, despite the frustration, Aegon limited himself to continuing to rub his thick cock against his sister's ass, squeezing her breasts over her clothes. The boy takes the opportunity to cum on her soft skin, slapping her buttocks and kneading the flesh there afterwards, a silence but sick promise that even if he will control himself to wait one more week, he will fuck the girl all the time after they are officially married.

[letsdosciencetoit]

WIP Wednesday - 5 + 1 BuckTommy - Part 2

Five times the 118 finds out that Tommy is married, and 1 time they find out Buck is, too.

Part 1

2. Maddie

Post partum after baby Robert has been both easier and more challenging than before. 

It’s easier now because covid is a distant memory, there’s no city wide black out, they have a house, and they have a well-established network of family and friends who might as well be family stopping by and helping out.  She knows what she’s doing, and what to expect to an extent, too.

It’s harder, too, though.  When Robert cries, she can’t drop everything to help him, because she has Jee to consider, too.  Jee is 4, and craves her independence, but also needs help and is prone to meltdowns that seem to be without provocation.

As hard as it was on Chimney, Buck leaving the 118 has been a godsend to her.  He’s on a different shift than Chimney now, so he’s able to come by when Chimney is working and help her with Robert and Jee. 

Buck is more than happy to take baby Robert off her hand so she can spend some one-on-one time with Jee.  He’s happy to help get Robert down to sleep so that he and Jee can bake cookies in the kitchen.  Buck always seems so happy and full of energy when he comes to visit, but when the kids don’t occupy him, he’s more quite than she’s used to. 

She used to be able to read Buck better than she can now. Something shifted when she implied he had feelings for Eddie. She’s aware she maybe overstepped, but before she could consider apologizing she’d lost her voice, then Bobby died, and then Robert was born, and she just hasn’t been able to check in the way she wanted to.

Buck has Robert and Jee at the park while Chimney is playing basketball with the other first responders. Maddie takes the opportunity to have a shower, unload the dishwasher, and then puts her feet up to catch up on a little sleep. 

She wakes an hour later to Jee climbing into bed with her.  She opens her arms and pulls Jee to her.  “Where are Robert and Uncle Buck?” she asks, her voice a little gravely.

“Unky Buck is making sure Bobert goes for a nap,” Jee offers, and Maddie knows she’s going to be so sad when Jee finally starts saying their names properly.

“Do you want to have a nap with me, Jee?” Maddie asks, brushing Jee’s hair out of her face. 

“No mommy. I want to watch Bluey,” Jee declares, like Maddie was crazy for thinking otherwise.

Maddie gives her daughter another squeeze, and moves to push herself up off the bed.  “Okay sweetheart.  Lets get you a snack, and we’ll get Bluey on the TV for you.”

When they come out of the room, Buck is backing out of Robert’s room, pulling the door shut with a quiet click of the latch.  He grins softly at Maddie, and she has no doubt that Buck loves her kids as if they were his own.  

“Out like a light,” Buck offers.  “He was absolutely in love with watching the leaves on the trees.   The fresh air and stimulation did him some good.”

 “Jee looks like she had a good time, too.” Maddie smiles back.  “Thanks for this. Do you want to stick around until Chimney’s back? He’s going to pick up Thai for dinner.  I can ask him to grab something for you too.”

Buck gives her a rueful smile and a small shake of his head. “No, thanks Maddie. I’ve got to grab some groceries.  I’m planning on cooking dinner at home tonight.  Tell Chimney I say hi, though.”

***9-1-1***

Chimney gets home about 45 minutes after Buck has left.  He’s practically vibrating as he walks through the door, and Maddie has come to realize this means he’s learned something he doesn’t want to know and he needs to share the burden.  She keeps quiet, knowing he’s going to spill as soon as he gets his bag put away.

“Tommy’s married!” he blurts as he comes back into the kitchen.  Jee is thankfully distracted and painting.  She periodically still asks about “Unky Tommy,” and Maddie doesn’t want to have to explain to her again why they don’t see him any more.

“I’m sorry,”  Maddie responds. “Tommy’s married?  To who?”

Chimney shook his head.  “I was a little blindsided, I didn’t think to ask.  All I know is they got married a month ago, and he looks so disgustingly in love.  Do we need to tell Buck?  We can’t tell Buck, can we?  We just got our fridge space back.”

Maddie pauses, and thinks it over for a second. “Buck finally seems to be in a good space with his new station.  I don’t think we need to mention anything to him.  It’s not like the two of them really cross paths these days.”

Chimney deflates. “I want to be happy for Tommy. He seems really happy.  I just wish it wasn’t at Buck’s expense.” 

Part 3 Part 4

[kxsagi]

Hello \(^O^)/

can i make request about babydaddy bllk? (specifically sae my man🫦🫦🫦🥵🥵🔥🔥) plis? thank u, love u!

“𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲? 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲, 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲?”

a/n: i want a baby with isagi

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, shidou ryusei, kaiser michael, bachira meguru, karasu tabito

isagi yoichi

isagi printed out a parenting checklist before the baby was even born. laminated it. color-coded it. 

but the second he saw his baby all swaddled up and blinking like a sleepy potato burrito? brain: gone. 

he cried. actual tears. like he just watched a world cup final. 

calls you “mama” now in the softest voice ever. “mamaaaa, guess who rolled over today??? he’s basically an olympian.” 

obsessed with milestones. he’s got a whole spreadsheet labeled “baby boy's stats 🍼🔥” 

but he’s also lowkey dumb about baby stuff like: “so uh… does the soft spot ever get… hard? do we water it?” 

keeps trying to teach the baby soccer, but ends up with a pacifier in his shoe. 

one time he fell asleep while burping him and you walked in on them both passed out upright on the couch like twin corpses. 

narrates diaper changes like a sports analyst: “... and he’s going in for the wipe– OH! a rogue kick to the chest!! what a move! daddy’s down!” 

his phone is 90% baby pictures. 10% baby videos. all with the caption “my reason 🥹❤️” 

itoshi rin

rin was fully ready to be a distant father at first. “i’ll provide. i don’t need to be all cuddly.” 

and then you placed your baby in his arms and she cooed and he just short-circuited. 

it was like watching the grinch’s heart grow three sizes. 

calls her “my girl” in the softest, lowest tone that could melt solid ice. 

constantly holding her like a bomb, but won’t let anyone else touch her. 

once got so mad at shidou for making her cry that you had to hold him back. 

reads her old european literature like a bedtime story. “you will grow up to be smarter than everyone. daddy will make sure.” 

if you catch him holding her while his forehead is pressed to hers and his eyes are closed? girl just marry him again. 

baby girl is the only one allowed to pull his hair and survive. she once drooled in his mouth and he just went: “guess we’re sharing fluids now. that’s fine.” 

itoshi sae

the man had your baby's name engraved into a cartier bracelet before you gave birth. 

pulled up to the maternity ward in sunglasses and said “is she cute yet?” 

was not prepared. she opened her eyes and he looked like he saw god. 

“oh. she’s expensive.” 

immediately takes 300 photos. hires a private photographer. commissions a painting. 

teaches her to ignore annoying people by giving them side-eye. “see that, princess? that’s called judgment. you’ll be great at it.” 

baby cries? sauntering over like: “let’s go buy you something to fix that.” 

sleeps with her lying directly on his chest like a designer accessory. refuses to move even if his arm goes numb. 

the type to whisper “daddy loves you more than anyone” while handing her a birkin rattle. 

if she doesn’t like a toy, he fires the toy manufacturer. 

nagi seishiro

this baby is attached to him like velcro. she’s in his hoodie. in his lap. on his head. 

once you turned around and found him asleep with the baby inside his shirt like a kangaroo pouch. 

naps together so much you start calling them "the nap twins." 

sings lullabies in a monotone voice, but somehow she loves it. 

“go to sleep… don’t cry… too much energy… daddy’s tired…” 

lets her chew on his hair and just goes, “guess she’s teething. that’s chill.” 

can play video games with one hand while cradling her in the other. 

she slapped him once and he said “valid.” 

if you try to take her during nap time, he just pulls her closer and goes “no. i need her warmth.” 

mikage reo

bought a baby rolex. “she can’t tell time yet, but she deserves luxury.” 

his baby bag has compartments for: wipes, diapers, and emergency gold bars. 

hired an interior designer for the nursery. baby has a chandelier. 

she sneezed once and he booked an appointment at the pediatrician, a private clinic, and a homeopath. 

constantly filming her like a vlogger. “hi guys, today baby mikage is eating puréed mango for the first time! say hi, princess!!” 

baby girl sneezes: “bless you, heiress of my heart.” 

choreographs her little dances and makes everyone clap. 

keeps getting you matching outfits like “family slay day!” 

secretly worries she’ll grow up and marry someone who isn’t rich enough. “i need to build a moat. maybe a baby bodyguard.” 

shidou ryusei

was banned from diaper duty at first because he kept yelling “SHE POOPED OUT A WHOLE GROWN MAN???” 

but then she gripped his pinky and he turned into a puppy. 

does backflips to make her laugh. if she cries, he starts barking. 

teaches her nonsense like “kick anyone who doesn’t give you snacks.” 

paints her nails bright pink and yells “SHE’S A PRINCESS, YOU GOT A PROBLEM?!” 

accidentally gave her a sip of juice laced with chili powder (he forgot it was his). cried harder than she did. 

tucks her in like: “sweet dreams, little menace. bite someone in your dreams for me.” 

calls you “hot mama” in front of the baby 24/7. 

secretly practices baby sign language so he can be her favorite parent. 

kaiser michael

refuses to call her “the baby.” only refers to her as “my heir.” 

makes her little crowns out of tinfoil. 

got matching custom jerseys that say “KAISER 1” and “KAISER 2.” 

tried to teach her german as a newborn like: “repeat after me: ich bin besser.” 

brags about how good her genes are like she’s a show dog. 

doesn’t let people hold her unless they “pass the vibe check.” 

if she so much as frowns, he goes into “who hurt you?? WHO DID THIS??” mode. 

took a video of her yawning and edited it with dramatic music and captions like “a queen awakens.” 

if you fall asleep with the baby? he tucks a blanket over both of you and whispers “my whole world.” 

bachira meguru

his baby is his sidekick. he calls him “bug” or “my gremlin.” 

built him a mini art studio with finger paint, sparkly glue, and glitter that will haunt your floors forever. 

they have their own handshake. it ends with both of them blowing raspberries. 

turns every stroller walk into an imaginary mission. “we are astronauts now. avoid the sidewalk cracks, those are lava.” 

sings to him like it’s a concert. “this one’s for my no-teeth king!” 

gets emotional when he smiles at him. “he chose me. i’m so special.” 

if he’s cranky? he draws a mustache on his face and says “sir? your mood, please.” 

the baby once fell asleep drooling on his face and he whispered, “art.” 

karasu tabito

baby strapped to his chest in a carrier? check. sunglasses on her face? check. dad swagger? activated. 

calls her “little homie.” 

teaches her fake vocabulary. “this is a snack. say it with me: schmackle.” 

carries her around the grocery store like a backpack and narrates everything in an announcer voice. 

uses baby socks as puppets to do stand-up comedy. 

if she drools on him, he’s like “she baptized me. i am born anew.” 

has a million nicknames for her: booger bean, stink nugget, boss baby, lil’ goblin. 

accidentally taught her to blow raspberries after every kiss. now she does it to everyone. 

will 100% defend her baby drama. 

“your baby stole her toy? that’s WAR, karen.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢