#touch starved roach

[duckyjokes]

"Touch starved Roach" I yell into the mic. "Touch starved Roach who's really touchy and is constantly holding onto his friends" I'm booed off the stage.

"No, he's right!" I look up to see none other than Gary Sanderson him-fucking-self

[almostempty]

Never made it as a wise man

(joel miller x f!reader)

Description: Joel solves your car troubles for free, and you try to return the favor with a homecooked meal. When you accidentally interrupt his jerkoff session, you take a chance and help him out.

Note: y’all are out here answering god’s toughest questions, like what if emotionally unavailable Joel was loved unconditionally? or what if Joel was the Mothman?, and I deeply appreciate that. 

However, today, I am here to answer a question that nobody asked– What if Joel was a divorced dad rock kinda guy? 

You know, like, listening to Nickelback on an old-school boombox in his garage, or unironically singing Creed on the way to work, or bonding with Ellie over Papa Roach? And also, (inspired by a genius) what if he was a little bit pathetic? 

Anyway, I present to you: divorced dad rock dilf, Joel, ta-da! (my humble submission for @hellishjoel‘s hot dilf summer challenge) obvs dedicated to: @auteurdelabre

ao3: read here | masterlist: here | part 2 here | part 3 here

Tags/warnings: AU no outbreak divorced Joel x f!reader, Sarah is not mentioned, but Ellie is your adult coworker, reader is clueless about cars and so am I, gratuitous smut and horny thoughts, implied jorkin’ joel but no witnesses, hand job, fingering, premature ejaculation, touch starved kinda loserish but hot divorced dilf joel, he’s a real tiddy guy in this one and idk why it just happened, pwp, is it a crackfic? maybe, but i meant it wholeheartedly so idk  

WC: 4.2k

You pull onto the long driveway, hoping to see Joel’s truck. You forgot to text first to see if he would be around, but he did tell you to come by if you ever needed anything. You mostly just hope he’ll be willing to accept your gift. 

Last week, he’d helped you out by fixing your car. He told you what the issue was, but he might as well have been speaking another language when he described it. You had already brought coffee and a plate of cookies to your coworker Ellie to thank her for dragging you to Joel’s to ask for help. Being in a new town was hard enough, but you had no idea how you would handle the price for diagnostics, let alone whatever the repair would’ve cost. You tried to offer Joel the cash you had as a thanks, but he wouldn’t accept it. You tried to argue with him, but Ellie told you it wasn’t worth arguing with him. He wouldn’t budge. Instead, he had offered to change your oil for you, making you feel even more indebted to him. 

At first, the most you got out of Ellie for intel on Joel was that he was the one responsible for you having to listen to “One Last Breath” and “Lips of an Angel” at ungodly early hours. Ellie claimed that her music taste was deeply influenced by Joel, and somehow, Ellie is always in charge of the music at work. When you rolled your eyes calling it divorced dad rock, she let it slip that you were right about that. 

That explains a lot when you remember the brief time you spent in his house and shop. The house was clean inside but not tidy. Stray beer bottles and travel mugs dotted the counter and coffee table. But the shop had all the Divorced Dad Barbie accessories. 

The project car and crates of assorted parts. The beer fridge and the plastic lawn chairs in the corner for bullshitting with whoever stopped by. The boombox on the workbench with the stack of CDs. And the fading calendar from another decade with the naked woman kneeling on the beach. 

You hadn’t been able to stop your eyes from darting to her sultry expression and swimsuit model-perfect breasts when Joel had been explaining what he was going to do to your car. You wondered if the heat burning in your cheeks had given you away, but he didn’t notice then. Ellie sure did, though, and she had rolled her eyes at you, noting it had been up so long she even forgot it was there. 

Luckily, Ellie didn’t notice your eyes lingering on Joel’s body. You weren’t trying to be a creep, but the way his arm flexed when he opened the hood of your car gave you some feral brand of intrusive thoughts. The ratty band t-shirt and the faded jeans were working for him, too, or at least they were doing something for you. Time slowed when your eyes trailed over his arms and down the muscles of his broad back. He just seemed so… solid. You finally understood what your friends back home meant when they said they wanted to climb a man like a tree. You had jumped a little when Ellie slammed the fridge behind you and shouted at Joel about how he can’t just live in the shop drinking shitty beer and eating beef jerky. She had grabbed your arm to drag you to the house for an iced tea while he worked. 

Her comment sparked your idea. You figured Joel must be a utilitarian type. He probably lives on frozen pizzas–or even worse, those Hungry-Man frozen TV dinners–instead of making himself something fresh. Maybe he’s one of those guys who got really into smoking meats instead. Either way, you hope the lasagna you made from scratch and the other tray of cookies will be an acceptable thank you for his help. He can’t refuse it if you already made it, right? 

You pull up next to a truck, assuming it’s his, and that he’s home. Before you grab the tray, you pause to check your reflection and adjust your breasts in your white tank top, making sure your cleavage pokes out as temptingly as possible. 

You check yourself in the mirror with a look. Why does it matter what you look like? It’s not like you’re trying to fuck your only (almost) friend’s dad, right? Although she calls him by his first name, not Dad, so maybe there’s like a loophole or something if she’s adopted. You think about the calendar model and her perfect tits hanging on the wall over his tools. It can’t hurt to just do a little harmless flirting, right? Maybe you aren’t even his type anyway. 

After knocking on the door a couple of times, you frown, wondering if he’s not home. On the way back to your car, with your head hung in defeat, your ears perk up at the sound of something clanging in the shop. Of course! 

You skitter back to the front porch to leave your goods by the door and head for the shop to find that divorced DILF–Joel, you mean. It’s sweltering out, and sweat is beading on your chest after only a few minutes in the heat. The closer you get, the more easily you can make out the sound of his little CD player blasting another brooding, raspy ballad sung by a white man with a troubled love life. 

The garage door is shut, so you knock on the door on the side of the building. You wait a minute before testing your luck and opening the door yourself. Assessing the shop, you don’t see your man, sorry, Joel, at first glance. The music blasts, and the calendar model gives you the same impish smirk through her false lashes and a layer of dust, but there’s no Joel. The evidence clearly dictates that he’s in here somewhere, as his tools are strung around his project, the lights are on, and a beer with a sweating label sits on the edge of the workbench. 

You aren’t trying to be sneaky. You didn’t think to holler and announce your presence over the music. Plus, you didn’t fully get your bearings the last time you were here. Now, you can pick up a few more details as your eyes absorb everything they can about anything that gives you a hint about who this guy is. 

The guy that’s been haunting your dreams for a week. Last week, when you walked back to the shop with Ellie to check on your car, you nearly tripped, watching Joel wipe the sweat off his face with the bottom of his shirt. You had just caught a glimpse of the trail of hair disappearing under his jeans, but it was enough to replay in your mind every night as you created your little scenarios to carry you off to sleep. 

The scent memory was somehow worse. It was so easy to transport yourself back in time with the thought of the sweaty musk and the grease or oil smeared on his fingers. It shouldn’t turn you on, right? 

You remember thinking he seemed so knowledgeable when describing the issue. You had no idea what he was talking about, but his low voice and patience were enough to tell you he could talk you through anything. 

You notice a few other details as you enter his sacred space today. The woodworking projects, the band posters, and the pictures with Ellie and other family members tacked to the wall over another workbench. 

Still, no Joel, however. 

You circle the partially disassembled project truck and see a door to another room. It would be the office if the shop were a professional business. There’s a window along the wall, but instead of a boss watching an employee, it’s you hoping to see that brawny man and his dark curls. 

As you step closer, you nearly squeal. There he is. Well, at least, you can see the broad shoulders and back you’ve been picturing above you in bed. You practically skip to the door. It’s already open a crack, and you give it a knock, calling his name as it swings open from the force of your rapping knuckles.   

The next moment is a blur. 

“Shit, fuck, hold on!” Joel shouts gruffly as he slams the door in your face. But you already heard it. The phony wailing noises that came from the busted speaker on his phone. 

You still face the closed door, trying to process the interaction before he wrenches the door back open. He’s breathing rapidly, chest rising and falling, as he looks at you with wide eyes that quickly narrow. 

“What are you doing here?” he barks. 

Your hands fall to your sides, and you start to step back, ready to turn and run. 

He catches your fear and tries to adjust, but you’re faster. 

“Sorry,” you mumble as you turn and try to dash away. Joel’s quick, too, though, and he grabs your wrist. 

“Hey, wait,” he loosens his grip when you spin back towards him, “I just didn’t hear you comin’. Wasn’t expecting you.” 

“Sorry,” you repeat, stuttering as you continue, “I-I just, uh, just wanted to say thanks for your help last week.” You stare at the floor. Unsure why you’re embarrassed, you feel so small after he saw your face and practically shouted at you. 

“All right,” he rumbles. You’re too busy staring at the crack in the concrete floor to notice how his eyes are glued to your exposed skin. Or to see the blotchy red flush that crawls up his neck and toward his face. 

But your brain starts to catch up. Joel might’ve snapped at you, but you’re the one that caught him in the act. You don’t lift your head, but your eyes trail over his stained and faded jeans until you’re studying his crotch. 

Bingo. It’s almost too easy. You can make out the outline of his erection tucked up in his waistband. Even more glaring evidence is the open fly. You wish you had caught what he was watching. How does he like it? What does he search for when he wants to jerk off in the back office on a hot Saturday afternoon? 

He clears his throat, and you snap your attention to his face. “Was there somethin’ you needed?” He asks. 

“Yes.” You tell him you’ve got a lasagna that should get into a fridge before it reheats in the sun. He follows you toward the front door and into the house, not missing how your hips sway as you lead. 

Once the tray is shoved into the fridge, nestled between some takeout containers, he turns to thank you. “You didn’t need to do all that,” he gruffs over the cookies and homemade meal. 

You step back to lean against the counter, littered with mail and more coffee cups, and let yourself check him out up close. His faded Creed t-shirt has holes around the neck. He’s got that same sweaty man musk going on, and you wish you knew why that stirred your arousal, but your pussy lacks logic. 

“I know, I know,” you reply, “but you really saved my ass with the car, and I wanted to do something for you. You know, some way to pay you back?” 

“All right, well, thanks,” he trails off. He doesn’t seem to know what else to say. Maybe you should be on your way already, but he’s not ushering you out the door. 

This time, you do catch when his eyes drop to your chest. There’s no way you’re imagining the tension between you as you stand in his kitchen while he stares at your barely clothed tits, right? Fuck it. You’re gonna go for it. 

You take a step towards him. “I wasn’t sure if it was really enough,” your voice is soft and tempting, and your sweet perfume wafts towards him like a lust potion. Joel swallows thickly as you approach.

He knows you must’ve put it together, but he tried to delude himself. Maybe you couldn’t hear the theatrical screams of the woman he was watching get railed before he slammed the door in your face. He hopes all you heard was Chad Kroeger’s voice screaming, “This time I'm mistaken

For handin' you a heart worth breakin'” from the stereo.. on the other side of the shop. 

“You worked so hard,” you continued with one final step, and now you’re nearly toe-to-toe in front of him. “There has to be something else I could do.” You’re so close to him. He forgets to respond. It takes all his power to keep his eyes on your face. 

You have a wild urge to taste the sweat on his neck, but you keep your tongue to yourself. He hasn’t made any move to encourage you, but he hasn’t stopped you yet either, so you figure it’s worth taking a risk. 

“Maybe you’ve got a problem I could help you with.” You go for it, reaching your hand out to palm at the bulge in his jeans. 

Again, too many things happen at once. Joel snaps out a “What?” in disbelief. His hand circles your wrist tightly. His hips jerk, involuntarily bucking into your palm. Your glossy lips part into an “o” shape at the size of his not-quite-hard cock. And now you’re both locked into this position like statues. 

His fingers stay firmly wrapped around your wrist, but he doesn’t pull you away. Your fingers squeeze over his jeans, and your eyes flash wide as you can feel his cock twitch and stiffen at your touch. The touch that rapidly overrides your better judgment, drowning you in want. Your clit twitches itself in response, your nipples strain under your thin tank top, and your eyelids feel heavy immediately. 

“What are you doing?” His voice crackles like he hadn’t just used it. You slide your hand to pop the button on his jeans, and he releases your wrist as you flip it to slip your fingers under the waistband of his boxers in search of his cock. 

“Let me help,” you say in more of a whispered tone. The searing heat between Joel’s legs makes you salivate. Your fingers graze coarse curls before you acquire your target, wrapping your palm and fingers around his thick shaft. His size has your cunt throbbing in your shorts. 

Joel’s eyes are squeezed shut. He looks nearly in pain. You pull your hand back out to let the pool of saliva on your tongue drip into your palm. 

“Jesus,” he breathes out, watching your lewd maneuver. “You wanna help?” He repeats your plea in the form of a question, a little dumbfounded. He’s trying to figure out what’s happening right now. 

“I do,” you answer in a honeyed voice as you dig your hand back into his pants. He’s unable to respond with words as you swirl your palm over the head of his cock, mixing saliva and precome, but his body eggs you on. He bucks into your fist, and you work quickly, pumping his throbbing length. The slick noises are muffled by the layers of clothing, but the grunts that catch in his throat shoot piping-hot desire straight into your core. 

He looks a little desperate, eyes slammed shut again, jaw slack, arms hanging uselessly at his side. And for god knows why, the entire scene pulls a moan from your lips. The sweet sound snaps Joel back to attention. His hands shoot straight to your breasts, cupping them gently to feel them bounce against the motion of your arm wrestling with his jeans to keep stroking his cock. 

They’re so close to spilling over your tank top on their own. Joel can’t resist tugging the thin material until they spill over the top. The sight alone nearly has him coming in his pants. But then you moan so loudly when he squeezes them both and pinches at your nipples, and he really can’t stop. 

“Fuck, fuck, wait,” he spits out, but it’s too late. His hips jerk erratically, thrusting into your slick fist, and he’s coming. It coats your hand and wrist and makes an absolute mess.  You relax your grip when his whole body seems to shudder and gently remove your hand. He tries to choke his groan of frustration before it surfaces, but he immediately pauses his shame spiral when he sees you suck your come-coated fingers one by one. 

“God, that’s so fucking hot,” you tell him. At the same time, he’s muttering curses at the sight of you. You’re feeling a little giddy that all it took was your hand and showing your tits to have Joel losing control and spilling his load for you. It has your mouth curling into an impish grin. 

He’s got the sight of you half topless in his kitchen, licking your fingers, looking awfully proud of yourself, etching into his memory. Before the blood can return to his brain, he grabs you tightly by the ribs and walks you backward towards the counter. He lifts you onto it and wrenches open your shorts, yanking at them as you lift your hips so he can slide them off of you and drop them onto the kitchen floor. 

Yes! Yes! Yes! The horny little goblins in your brain shriek and chant, incited by the rough and impulsive way Joel gropes at you. It’s barbaric, and that delights you. 

Sitting on the counter, you give him such perfect access to put his mouth on your breasts that he forgets what he was going to say. He mouths at each of them wetly, his beard tickling you as he’s busy sucking marks into your delicate skin. He sucks and bites at your strained nipples until your loud whines turn into a sharp gasp, and he pulls back. 

The heavy-lidded look on your face has him diving back in for more, and you groan and arch into his touch. You rake your fingers into the curls at the back of his neck and tug at him. He grunts and moans into your skin, and it drives you wild. You need to feel him closer. 

You grab the worn cotton on his shoulders until he lets you slip the shirt over his head and drop it onto the counter next to you. It gives you the briefest moment to take in the sight of his built chest and shoulders and softer midsection with that trail of hair you had memorized. You need to taste the salt on his skin. 

Spreading your legs wider, he slots his hips against yours at the edge of the counter, and you run your tongue along his neck. You slide one of your hands down the smooth golden skin of his shoulder, and the other nestles back in his messy curls as his mouth finds yours. 

He tastes like cheap coffee and the peppermint nicotine gum parked above his teeth along the left side of his mouth. You know it’s wrong that you can’t get enough. But you're helpless when he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, and you mindlessly roll your hips, seeking any relief. 

He’s grumbling in your ear about how it seems like you need help now, but you couldn’t care less about the words coming out of his mouth. His deep voice alone could get you off. You let out an uninhibited whine at the thought. 

“Jesus Christ,” he pulls back. His head hangs, staring at the floor. He shakes it in what you assume is disbelief. You don’t want to wait for him to think any further. You grab his hand, pulling it between your legs.

“Really, fucking, hot.” You echo your earlier declaration. Doing your best to sound assertive. You figure at least your soaked panties will prove your point. 

“Fuck,” he stifles a groan. You’re so wet it coats his fingertips through the thin material. He nudges his fingers into you, over your panties, and you whimper for him. The fabric sticks to you and makes an obscene sound as he toys with you for only seconds. “Oh, you do need my help. Hm?” 

You nod, spreading your legs wider for Joel to have access. He scoffs at you, displayed eagerly atop his kitchen counter. “Just desperate for me, aren’t ya?”

You snap your legs back shut with a glare. 

“No way,” you press, jabbing a finger into his chest, “you don’t get to laugh at me like I’m a slut for you when you just came in your pants for me.” 

His nostrils flare, and blotchy red patches creep up his neck again. You aren’t sure what kind of bear you’ve just, quite literally, poked. 

“But you are, aren’t you?” He challenges. “You came all this way in this excuse for a shirt, just for me.” 

He wedges his hand back between your closed thighs, and you relax just enough to let him work his way back to your core. Your breathing gives you away when it hitches and stutters as he traces his fingers along the hem of the fabric between your legs. You let your legs fall a little wider apart, and he sinks a finger beneath the hem and right inside of you to the knuckle. 

A whiny noise rolls in the back of your throat. 

“Shh,” he sinks a second finger inside of you, and your muscles spasm and contract, “that’s better, hmm?” He slowly pulls his fingers almost all the way out and then plunges them back in. He repeats this, and your core tenses as you writhe for him. 

“You need more?” 

“Yes.” 

“Yeah, you do.” He adds a third finger, and the slight stretch makes you hum. 

“You just need to be filled up, hm?” He teases you. Awfully confident now for a guy you just caught watching porn on his phone in a grimy back office in the middle of the afternoon. 

But your noises and impatient movements spur him on. His sticky cock is filling out his jeans again. He nearly drools at the thought of the wet walls of your cunt, currently wrapped around his fingers, sliding over his cock instead. He knows you want it, too.

“Don’t you?” He asks like you could read his mind.

“Hm?” You hum absently. Empty headed. You’re still taken by the entire pulpy, messy scene. 

Reveling in the vulnerability of being spread open on his cluttered counter as you’re both half-dressed and panting in the other’s hot breath. Any semblance of the lightness of your mood is quickly replaced with a blinding need. His fingers work into you, making obscene sounds, and then you add your own fingers. Circling your swollen clit just as he lets you in on his vision. 

“You wanna bounce on my lap. Fill this pussy with my cock.” 

“Yes,” you hiss as you hover at the edge. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” he watches your fingers working deftly over your swollen clit. The encouragement tips you over. Your body jolts erratically as you contract around his fingers, and bright sparks of pleasure course through you. 

“Yeah, you’re gonna ride me like fuckin’ champ,” he decides. You pull at his wrist when you start to feel overwhelmed, and he slides his wet fingers over your soft inner thigh. He’s ready to grab you and carry you to the couch when both of your heads snap to attention at the sound of a door slamming in the driveway. 

“Shit,” he grumbles, looking for the clock on the stove before he remembers it’s definitely not set to the right time. You move nimbly, shimmying into your shorts, snapping your straps back over your shoulder, and brushing your hair out of your face. 

“Hey, wait,” he calls for you, but you’re on the move. 

“Let me know when I can pick up the baking dish,” you call over your shoulder. Luckily, Joel’s next guest seemed to know him better. They were off to search the shop first, so you didn’t collide with anyone before you got to your car. Joel stayed locked in the kitchen, catching his breath while you started to pull away. He didn’t see that you stole his dirty Creed shirt off the counter before you skipped out the door. 

When you grab it later to wear to bed, a naughty little smile tugs at the corners of your lips. When you pull the worn fabric to your nose to inhale deeply, you wonder if it’s one of those weird pheromone matches or something because you’re sure the sweaty man musk should be wrinkling your nose. 

Instead, it makes you think of his big arms and chest filling out the shirt. And how his shoulder and back muscles ripple under his sun-bronzed skin. What they’d look like coated in a sheen of salty sweat as he railed you, bent over his workbench, under the watchful eye of the calendar model and her flirty smize. 

The image has you interrupting your own scenarios-before-bed time. Maybe Joel needs a model from this decade. You giggle, bunching up the t-shirt to snap a tasteful shot of some underboob cleavage, with the faded Creed logo on full display. 

You send it off with no context, figuring it’s self-explanatory. It’s less than a minute before your phone buzzes, and you feel the intoxicating rush rip through your body before you pick it up to see just the heading on your lockscreen: 

Joel

Attachment 1 image

part 2 here | part 3 here

divider by @cyberangel-graphics

Please let me know if you enjoyed or hated this or a secret third thing (???) heheh

[soluversworld]

Caught him in 4k! Oh wait, Both of you are...ones! - Solivan Brugmansia x Yan! G.N Reader (Smut)-(Rewriting due to mistakes)

Genre: smut, (I got a heads up. I have added female pronouns some points, I'm really sorry

Summary: —REQUEST COPIED

Reader is the same from the Sol series!

I apologize for this late, I hate this smut. I hate my writing, self doubt era came again..If you're Edgar poe allan's fan You might...enjoy a little.

I HATE THIS, THIS IS SUCH A BAD AND OLD DRAFT PLEASE, DON'T COME AFTER ME. sol is kinda top in this

( Reader is a g.n!)

words : 13k (WHY)

Content & Trigger Warnings (TWs/CWs):

Sexual Content / Heavy Suggestiveness

Sensual Touching / Physical Intimacy

Mutual Exploration / Inexperience

Strong Language / Dirty Talk (implied or actual)

Blushing / Flustered Behavior

Piercing Play (mentioned/suggested)

Power Dynamic Shifts (playful, consensual)

Mentions of Arousal (non-explicit but direct)

Emotional Vulnerability & Clinginess

Faint D/S Tension (soft dom/sub dynamics – non-explicit)

Heavy Romantic Tension / Love Confessions (implied)

Fade to Black or Cut-off Scene (depending on how you end it)

Did not proof read/Rushed.

“Take care of Sol for me, okay?”

And just like that, he walked away.

You slipped into your apartment, shutting the door behind you. The darkness wrapped around you like a second skin. You groaned, fingertips brushing the wall as you searched for the switch.

The silence buzzed in your ears.

You flicked on the lights and were greeted, as always, by the warm, flickering glow of a single bulb that probably hadn’t been changed since the dawn of time. Your apartment—your god-awful apartment—looked just as miserable as you left it.

Peeling wallpaper curled like dead skin off the corners of the ceiling. The floor creaked with every step you took, protesting your presence like the building wanted you out just as badly as your landlord did.

The place. Your apartment.

Handpicked by Mr. Z himself—how generous, right? A second-floor rat hole near the park, not far from your school. A commute on rainy days, a walk on sunny ones, like you lived some idyllic city-life dream.

It didn’t allow pets. Something about "past complaints"—as if the neighbor’s roaches weren’t already squatting rent-free in the walls. The broken window in your room? Still unfixed. And if the landlord caught wind of that, he’d chew your neck like a starving mutt.

But it wasn’t just a crappy apartment. It was yours.

Or... it was supposed to be.

The land.

The land your father entrusted to you. The land Mr. Z came to take, that smug little bastard with his crisp suits and crocodile grin, calling himself a “nice guy” while casually tossing people off metaphorical—and sometimes literal—ledges.

You had no idea why he was so willing to shoulder your rent, your food, your tuition, your entire fucking life. But deep down, you knew the truth. It was never kindness. Never charity.

It was a game.

A trade.

Your land... or your head.

You stood in the middle of your shitty apartment and tried not to shiver. Not from cold—but from how close you were to snapping. You clutched at the thought like a lifeline. That land. That land was everything. It was the one thing still tying you to your past, to your family, to your sense of self. And losing it?

You would break.

Your hands trembled. Your mind spiraled. A sharp twist of pressure built in your chest, scraping against your ribs like rusted wire. You could feel the insanity curl up your spine like vines—

—until you remembered Sol.

The pressure cracked.

You remembered how Sol tilted his head, how his voice curled around your name like a secret. You remembered his laugh. His eyes. How safe and dangerous he made you feel all at once.

And just like that—you started laughing.

You pressed both palms to your cheeks, barely able to hold your face together, tears streaking down in hot, erratic lines. Your mouth opened in a soundless gasp before it broke into messy, shaking laughter.

“FUCK...” You wheezed, half-sobbing. “Fuck, Sol...”

You dropped to your knees, the cracked tile biting into your skin. Your body rocked with hysterical laughter, voice raw.

“Heheheh—ahhh!!” You screamed. “FUCK—HAHAHA—FUCK!!”

You scrambled to your desk like a lunatic possessed, yanking out your sketchpad, markers spilling like blood across the surface. You started to draw him.

Your fingers didn’t stop moving, even as your breath hitched and stuttered, even as you cried harder and harder, smile widening until it hurt.

“Sol,” you whispered between gasps and giggles. “I saw you. I got you. I have you...”

And maybe that was the scariest part.

You weren’t scared anymore.

You were thriving.

You held your thumb, biting down on it like it could muffle the whimpers bubbling up in your throat. One hand clutching the bandages he'd left behind, still faintly smelling like him—like sweat, like warmth, like danger. You crushed them to your chest like a lifeline.

Ah... ahh... It was too much. It wasn’t enough. You wanted more. More of him. More touches. More of that soft, sinful voice that wrapped around you like silk and chains.

Your body rocked forward, a small, broken sigh slipping through clenched teeth as you leaned over your sketchpad. The lines on the paper blurred, not from poor technique—but because your eyes were swimming.

Your hand kept moving. Drawing him. Like your fingers were puppets and his memory was the puppeteer.

"A-ah..." you choked out again, lip trembling but pulled into a wide, cracked smile. Your cheeks ached. Your chest hurt. Your lungs burned. But you didn’t care.

He made you smile. He made you smile.

And that was terrifying. And that was beautiful. And that was real.

You huffed, then giggled—this sharp little exhale that turned into a manic sound that could've been a sob or a laugh or both.

Your face dropped into the crumpled bandages as you whispered,

"Why the fuck do you do this to me..."

And all you could do was draw him again. And again. And again.

You clutched the bandages to your chest, the fabric warm against your trembling skin—soaked with the scent of him, like fire, like ash. There was no relief, no escape from the madness that churned inside your bones, for you had been marked, bound in an invisible thread by a presence both suffocating and sweet.

Your thumb, trembling and pale, bit into your own flesh, the taste of salt and blood a poor attempt to smother the ache rising from within. Each movement was a silent plea, a frantic whisper to make it stop—or to make it drown you completely. Ah… ahh… It was not enough. The hunger within you, the hunger for more—more of him, more of this maddening, intoxicating thing—grew unbearable.

Ah, the drawing! The lines on the paper blurred like forgotten dreams, impossibly distorted through the heat of your fevered mind. You could feel your hand shaking as it moved, guided not by reason, but by a wretched longing to capture something of him that you could not possess. His form, his smile, his scent—how desperately you sought him in this crude reflection.

“Ah…” A sound, a whimper that escaped your lips, twisted between a sob and a laugh, hollow and broken. The act of drawing—was it an attempt at salvation or a cruel ritual that tethered you to your torment? Your chest heaved, and the corners of your lips pulled, stretched into a grin that was not your own. A grin that he had planted deep within you, like a seed of poison that bloomed with every passing thought of him.

The ache in your cheeks, the weariness in your body, could not quench the fevered delight that surged within you. He had made you smile. He had brought you this strange, sickly joy—this thing that cracked your soul wide open and spilled it for the world to see, for the world to consume.

And yet, in the depth of your torment, there was no true horror, no bitter revulsion. Only the strange sweetness that clung to you, like a drug that tasted of ruin. Your heart raced. The laughter spilled from you like a madman's confession, sharp and jagged, the weight of it bearing down on you like a thousand unseen hands. Why? Why did he do this to you?

The question, like all the others, hung in the air, unanswered, abandoned in the void where reason had long ceased to reside.

You wanted to laugh. Ah—ah!!

The sound ripped through your throat like a gasp turned inside out, manic and breathless, dancing the razor-thin line between agony and ecstasy. Your shoulders shook. Your jaw ached. The kind of laugh that bubbles up when you're far too gone to cry. The kind that doesn't ask for permission—it erupts, uninvited, like wildfire through a paper house.

Your fingers twitched, still dragging that pencil over paper like a ritual knife carving holy symbols. His eyes. His mouth. That stupid smirk that made you want to scream and kiss and bleed all at once.

"Ah—ahAHA—!" Your head tipped back. Your knees hit the floor. You clutched your sketchbook like it was a holy relic, like it was the only thing anchoring you to a body you weren’t even sure was yours anymore.

He was there. Not really— But in the lines, the scent, the burn in your lungs as you whispered, “Sol… Sol, you bastard…” A shaky breath. A grin. “What did you do to me?”

You laughed again. You had to.

Because the truth was dripping from your lips like honey-laced venom:

You liked it. You liked this. You liked him.

And that… That was the funniest part of all.

You decided to skip dinner. Again. Your stomach growled like a feral animal, but you ignored it—because food meant risk. Food meant trust. And trust was a noose you weren’t ready to slip around your neck.

You hadn’t even touched the second batch he left you. The first might’ve been drugged. Might’ve been poisoned. Might’ve been laced with something that tasted like care and went down like control.

And Sol... your dear Sol... he’d smile through it all, wouldn’t he? He’d say something sweet with those devil-dipped lips, tilt his head in that soft, curious way, like,

“Don’t you trust me?”

And you’d say yes—even if every fiber of you screamed no. Because the worst part wasn’t the fear. It was the want.

So you didn’t eat. You wrapped yourself in your blankets like armor and pretended to sleep.

Not for rest. Not for peace. But to watch him.

You kept your breathing steady, shallow, perfect. The way your body stilled, the way your lashes fluttered—convincing enough for someone who wanted to believe you were asleep.

You listened. You watched. The way he moved. The way he stood over you, like a god admiring his creation. The way the shadows kissed the curve of his jaw, how he looked down at you with something terrifying and holy in his eyes.

And in that moment, you kissed his bandages. Pressed them to your lips like a prayer, like a confession. They were still faintly warm, carrying the echo of him—his presence, his pain, his claim.

You tucked them away. With your secret stash of photos. The ones you took when he wasn’t looking.

Then, finally, you slid under the covers. Curled up in the dark.

And went to bed.

Still pretending. Still smiling. Still his.

You closed your eyes, but sleep never came. It never could, not with the way your mind thrummed, electric, on edge—waiting. Hoping. Terrified.

And then—the sound.

Clink. The window. Your window. Slight, deliberate. Like the whisper of a knife slipping between ribs.

Your breath caught. Not out of fear—no, that wasn’t it. Not really. It was him.

He’s here.

Your fingers clenched around the pillow like a lifeline, knuckles whitening. You kept your body still, perfectly still, except for the frantic hammering of your heart. Maybe if you focused on pretending, you could convince even your own nerves.

"Hm...? Still broken, huh?" That voice—his voice—low and smug and impossibly soft. It slithered around the room like smoke. "You should be careful, pumpkin..."

You almost bit your tongue holding back the laugh. Fucker. Smug, smug, smug.

You teased him in your heart, biting the inside of your cheek to stay quiet. He thinks you’re asleep. Let him. Let him play his role. He’s more dangerous when he thinks he’s the only actor on the stage. He’s more honest. More him.

You swore you could hear the grin behind that mask of his.

Clad in black from throat to toe, with a mask of matching shade obscuring his face—except those eyes. God, those eyes. Red like a dying sun. Like the first blush of spilled blood. And they were glowing.

Glowing with love. Twisted, possessive, pure.

He moved closer, each step slow, reverent. Like he didn’t want to wake you—like he wanted to devour you whole.

And then—his touch. A single finger, tracing down your cheek.

Gentle. Precise. Claiming.

Your skin tingled. Your breath nearly hitched—but you kept it steady. You had to. Your heart? That traitor was doing backflips in your ribs.

He hovered there, beside you. Watching. Worshiping.

Sol: "Look at my sleepy sweetheart..."

The voice—his voice—slithered through the chamber like a dying hymn, each syllable weighted with a reverence so profound, so profane, it might have been uttered by a mourner at a lover’s grave. His tone was not one of cheer, nor of mirth—it was the tone of a man who beheld divinity in ruin, of a soul cradling its own damnation and whispering sweet nothings to the flame.

You lay still, a corpse feigning sleep, breath shallow, lashes shuttered over trembling pupils. The air hung heavy, cloying, perfumed with rot and roses. You could feel him before you heard him—felt the heat of him as though your body were naught but tinder awaiting the match. And oh, he was fire. A slow, crawling blaze. Not the kind to light a room—but the kind that swallowed it whole.

He stepped closer, and the night moved with him. Clad in black, cloaked in silence, his mask was the color of the abyss, hiding a face carved from longing and lunacy. But his eyes—ah, his eyes—were exposed. Red as a wound. Fever-bright. As if every heartbeat carved poems into his chest, and each stanza bore your name.

Sol: "Makes me wonder who supplies Hyugo those sleeping pills."

He scoffed, low, amused, the sound curling like a grin pressed against your ear. You wanted to scream with laughter—those shitty pills don’t work, Sol, not on me, not when I’m like this. But your mouth was sealed, your jaw locked in some twisted covenant of silence. You could only pretend, could only endure—and ache.

He reached for you. Not as a man reaches for a woman—but as a moth reaches flame. Slow, reverent, inevitable.

The mask fell away.

And then his face—that face—lowered, descending like a ghost of your most debased desires. He leaned in and breathed, breathed, burying his face into the tender hollow of your shoulder. A kiss fell there, light and damning, and the shiver that racked his body was not from cold.

It was need.

He inhaled. A deep, trembling, hungry inhale. And then he shook.

Like a man who had just tasted opium and couldn’t tell whether he was floating or buried alive. You felt it—the quake of his form, the tightening of his fingers, the stuttering hum against your skin. He drew you into his lungs like the scent of rain before the flood. His drug. His madness. His.

Your body burned—your fingers clenching in your pillow, the only tether between you and the scream coiled in your throat. You wanted to moan, to shudder, to call his name with all the madness he inspired in you—but instead, you lay there in martyrdom, in silence, in delirium.

Sol: “Fuck… you smell so good…”

The words were broken glass dipped in honey.

Sol: “Pardon me.”

His lips brushed your cheek, and your soul left your body in a quiet, choking cry that never reached air. Your pulse thundered like cathedral bells during a storm, and still you held on—fingers white-knuckled in fabric, breath held like a secret between two graves.

You were not asleep.

But God, you were dreaming.

And Sol—your blessed, ruined Sol—was the dream that would gut you from the inside out.

Ah—ah! The cry lodged itself inside your throat, thick and trembling, like a hymn unsung, trapped in the cathedral of your body. The ache curled tighter in your chest, wrapping around your ribs like thorns as he leaned closer, ever closer. His shadow loomed over you like a stormcloud starved for lightning. You couldn’t breathe. You didn’t dare.

His hand—warm, calloused, trembling—slipped into yours. So slowly. So gently. A reverent act. A prayer disguised as a touch.

And oh, you wanted to squeeze back. To lace your fingers through his and hold him like he held your very breath in his palms. But you couldn’t—you mustn’t. This charade, this silent theatre of sleep, was your only sanctuary. If he knew—if he knew—the spell would shatter, and you would be lost, devoured whole by the flame you've been kissing in secret.

And then, he kissed your neck.

Soft. Tender. Possessive. The contact stole the breath from your lungs. A lightning bolt made of lips and heat. He lingered there, buried in your skin like a whisper that left bruises. And you—helpless, trembling beneath the weight of his love and your own starvation—nearly broke.

Your face. Oh God, your face. You didn’t know what expression had spilled across it, only that it must have betrayed you. Must have shown too much—too alive, too consumed, too awake. Did he see?

He paused.

Sol (in a murmur, sweet and broken): “Look at you… even in sleep, you ache for me.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to throw your arms around him, to weep into his chest and tell him, yes, yes, I do, I ache, I burn, I’m drowning in you. But your fingers only curled harder into your pillow, bones aching from restraint. He kissed your hand next—tenderly, worshipfully—as if you were porcelain and he was a priest.

Sol: “F-Fuck... you’re so sweet. It’s not fair.”

He laughed then. A low, breathless thing. Not cruel. Not amused. It was the sound of a man who had found heaven in the shape of a sleeping person—and didn’t knowthey were burning alive in their silence.

You could feel your thighs trembling. Your spine was ice and flame. And still you played your part, the sleeping beloved, untouched by the tempest that pressed its lips to your skin and called it mercy.

But in your mind? In your chest? You were already ruined.

And somewhere beneath that blanket, your fingers twitched with the ache to touch, to hold, to moan. But you didn’t.

Not yet.

Sol: “Quite ticklish, aren’t you…”

The words fell from his mouth like sin dipped in honey—gentle, taunting, worshipful. And still, he pressed forward, a man drunk on the sacred altar of your skin.

His mouth returned to that spot—that spot, right where your shoulder met your neck, the very place where your breath hitched like a dying prayer. He kissed, then licked, and kissed again—slowly, deliberately, until the tender flesh bloomed with a feverish red. A mark. A wound. A brand. His.

Sol (low, bitter): “Those filthy scums think they could touch you…”

The softness was gone. In its place—rage, veiled in grief. The sheets beneath his hands crumpled like paper under flame as his fingers curled, trembling. His breathing turned ragged, heavy with possessive anguish.

Sol: “You’re mine. No one else. No one else.”

Each word was a vow.

—each syllable trembled like a blade held to the throat of fate itself.

Sol (a whisper, venom-soft): “You belong to me…”

His voice was not loud. Oh, no. It was a hush—a murmur that crawled beneath your skin and wrapped itself around your spine like a silken garrote. The kind of whisper that could undo kingdoms. The kind that could kill.

His fury did not burn; it smoldered. A low, steady ember in the pit of his chest, threatening to rise, to consume. But not you. Never you. You were the altar at which he knelt—bloodied knees and all.

Sol: “If I ever see those bastards again…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

His hand—gentle now—rose like the tremble of a dreamer in the throes of fever. He brushed a loose strand of hair from your cheek, movements reverent, as if you might shatter under anything less than worship. Then he pressed his lips to your forehead, a kiss so delicate it felt like a prayer.

And then—oh gods, and then—his mouth grazed the corner of your lips. Just there. A ghost of a kiss. A promise. A brand.

A shiver tore through him like a tremor through the bones of the earth. His breath hitched, caught between hunger and reverence.

You wanted to cry. You wanted to scream. You wanted to tear the sky in half and pull him inside your chest and never let him go.

Your fingers curled deeper into the pillow, the only tether you had left to the lie of sleep.

You wanted to hold him—oh, how you wanted to hold him.

But still you lay there, silent and still, skin alight, nerves screaming, as his breath ghosted over your neck again.

Sol (softer now): “You’re everything…”

He buried his face there again, at the cradle of your throat, where your pulse fluttered like a secret bird beneath your skin.

He kissed it once more. Slow. Possessive.

And you nearly broke.

Your thighs clenched beneath the sheets, your chest ached, and your throat pulsed with the weight of a scream you dared not let out.

Ah—ahhh…

Your heart beat like the wings of a trapped moth—wild, doomed, and so, so in love.

After sometime, he began to put on his mask.

WHAT

NO?

WHY!?

Your body moved before your mind could catch up.

One hand darted out, fingers closing around his wrist. The other pressed against his chest—his heartbeat kicked hard under your palm, like he’d been caught mid-sin.

He froze.

Not like a man caught in the act. Like a ghost realizing it had been seen.

And then—your lips brushed his neck.

Not gentle. Not asking. A brand. A spark struck to dry leaves.

His breath hitched. Sharp. Audible. His whole body trembled above yours like the strings of a violin pulled tight—too tight.

You felt the heat rise off him in waves.

A heartbeat passed. Then another.

He whispered your name like it hurt.

Like a confession, a prayer, a curse.

His eyes—those impossible eyes, red and gold and glassy with disbelief—met yours. Wide. Unmasked. Wounded. Worshipful.

You saw it hit him all at once: you were awake. You had heard him. You had kissed him.

And you weren’t running.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, dragging him down, mouth ghosting his jawline now, hot breath against flushed skin. You wanted to drown in the scent of him, the weight of him, the ache in his touch.

He was shaking.

You’d never seen Sol shake.

He opened his mouth—maybe to speak, maybe to apologize—but all that came out was a choked sound. His hands hovered uselessly at your sides, like he didn’t know whether to hold you or fall apart.

Your forehead pressed to his. Skin to skin. No more lies.

And he whispered, barely a sound:

“…don’t leave me.”

You pulled him closer.

Not a word was spoken after that. There didn’t need to be.

That final thread snapped somewhere behind his eyes, the horror and the hunger crashing together in a kaleidoscope of realization. You didn’t forgive him.

You matched him.

“You’re not scared,” he whispered, almost reverently. “You’re not running.”

You laughed softly, cupping his face again like he was something sacred—fragile porcelain wrapped around dynamite. “Scared? Oh, Sol, I ran toward you.”

And he broke.

Right there. That beautiful, quiet little fracture. The air between you both was trembling now—charged like lightning trapped in a jar. You saw his pupils dilate fully, swallowing the gold in his irises like ink in water. His throat bobbed with a shallow swallow, and then—

“You...” he said again, like if he repeated it, maybe you’d finally flinch.

But you just smiled wider. Like a saint. Or a devil.

“I'm not dumb, Darlin!" you whispered, brushing your thumb over his lower lip. “You didn’t notice, did you? That I was baiting you just as much?”

His breath hitched. “You wanted me to—?”

“I wanted to see how far you’d go,” you cut him off, your voice featherlight, yet sharpened to a blade’s edge. “And darling, you exceeded expectations.”

He stared at you, that smug little mask he always wore peeling away at the corners. For the first time, maybe ever, Sol looked like he didn’t know what came next.

But you did.

“You asked me why I don’t hate you,” you said slowly, your lips ghosting just over his again, barely a breath apart. “The truth is…”

You leaned in, pressing your body just close enough that he could feel your heartbeat crashing against his chest like a war drum.

“Actually fuck that! I just love you! So tell me, Sol,” you purred, your voice dipped in sugar and venom, “What the hell are we gonna do with each other?”

He finally moved—only a twitch—but it was everything. His fingers clenched in your shirt, his mouth opened like he was about to confess or damn himself, but you didn’t give him the chance.

You licked the corner of his mouth, slow and deliberate. Just enough to make him freeze.

“Oh, you poor thing,” you. , brushing hair back for like a lover, like a goddamn maniac. “You thought you were the monster in this story.”

He choked on a breath.

“But I think I just proved,” you whispered, nose brushing his cheek, “that we’re both wearing the same mask, darling.”

Then, you pulled back just slightly—just enough to meet his eyes. Both of you locked there, staring into something so horrifically perfect, it almost felt holy.

“So…” you said, your voice breathless, trembling with affection and madness, “why don’t we seal it?”

He blinked. “With what…?”

You grinned like the end of the world. “A promise. A kiss. Blood whatever! I don’t really care. Just make it hurt a little, Sol—so I know it’s real.”

You couldn’t help it—you were losing your mind for him. The way Sol looked at you with those eyes—soft, adoring, like he didn’t see the frenzy boiling under your skin. Like he didn’t realize you would ruin everything just to keep him close. Just to have him like this.

And yet.

You leaned in slow, your lips brushing the corners of his mouth again and again—taunting, torturing, giving him nothing but scraps. Little kisses like broken promises. You were so cruel.

He shivered each time, chasing after your mouth like he needed it to breathe. His hands wandered desperately over your back, trying to pull you closer, closer, like he didn’t understand that you’d already crawled inside him—mentally, emotionally, obsessively.

“Hah,” you giggled, that sharp little laugh you gave only when your heart was spiraling. Your voice dipped into something unstable. Sweet. Possessive. “Do you even understand how much it hurt when you kissed everywhere but my lips?” Your breath hitched. Your eyes glistened, wide and glassy. “The corners,” you whispered, like the word itself made you tremble. “You kissed the corners, Sol. Did you know what that did to me?”

You thought he’d be scared. You thought he’d flinch. But instead—

He looked beautiful.

So beautiful you wanted to crush him. Preserve him. Pin him open like a butterfly and say “mine.”

And then, finally—finally, your lips crashed against his. No teasing. No space. Just the kind of kiss that says you belong to me and I’ll break you before I ever let go. You held it, mouths locked together like you could pour your love down his throat.

Only when oxygen clawed at your lungs did you break away, panting.

Sol gasped—so pretty when he gasps—then surged back in. His tongue traced your lower lip, trembling, gentle, desperate. It shocked a breathy sound from your throat, high and too sweet. But your body didn’t hesitate—of course it didn’t.

He tugged you down by the back of your head, pulling you deeper, swallowing every sound you made. You were still on top of him, legs bracketing his hips, his mouth warm and wet and starved for you—just like you were for him.

Tongues tangled. Spit shared. You kissed him like you wanted to carve the memory into your bones. Like your heart would stop if you didn’t.

You shifted your weight to one arm, just enough to free your hand—because you needed to touch him. Not wanted. Needed. Craved it like air. Your fingers ghosted down the front of his shirt, the rough weave scratching delicately against your skin like it was daring you to go further.

But the way he wore it—tucked in all proper, all teasingly inaccessible—almost made you laugh. Was he trying to make you work for it? You didn’t mind. You liked peeling him apart.

Pinching the hem, you tugged the fabric free from his waistband, deliberately slow. Watching him. Waiting to see if he’d stop you. He didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

Your hand slid beneath the shirt, palm pressing flat against the heat of his stomach. His skin twitched under your touch. His breath stuttered—oh, he was trying to hold it in. Cute. That only made you push higher.

Sol let out a shuddering gasp and leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. His breath—hot and uneven—brushed against your lips, your cheeks. You drank it in like it was sacred.

Your hand moved higher, fingertips skimming up until they found the firm curve of his pecs. You let your palm settle there, then squeezed—not gently. You wanted to feel him tremble. You wanted him to know it was you who made him weak.

And he did. His fist found your nightwear, fingers curling tight in the fabric, pulling at it like he couldn’t stand the tension building in his chest. His lips parted—but whatever he said was lost in a breathy, strangled sound. Mumbled. Meaningless.

Didn’t matter.

You translated for him. The whimper in his throat. The way his body leaned into your touch, even as it shuddered. You knew exactly what it meant.

He liked it. He liked you.

Your fingers roamed again, tracing every muscle, every dip and ridge like you were memorizing it for the last time. Sometimes you squeezed, just hard enough to watch him flinch—just hard enough to remind him he was yours. Entirely, irrevocably yours.

And he was so good for you. So beautiful, shaking under your touch like that.

God, you loved him.

You’d carve his name into your soul if it meant never losing this feeling.

Sol pulled you in like he couldn’t bear a single molecule of distance. His arms locked tight across your back and waist, holding you as if he was afraid you might vanish, might dissolve in the heat of the moment if he didn’t anchor you.

When his lips met yours, it was anything but gentle. The pressure—his mouth, his arms, his presence—closed around you like a vise. His legs shifted against yours, slotting into place along your sides, and for one brief moment, you thought: He’s letting me drown in him.

And then—without warning—he moved.

Your stomach flipped as Sol rolled you both over in one fluid motion, suddenly slamming you against the mattress with a low thud. You gasped, the breath ripped from your lungs not just by the motion but by the sheer force of him—the way he hovered over you now, the air thick with heat and tension, and something desperate clawing at both your chests.

The kiss had broken—but barely. A thread still tied you together, breath mingling, lips centimeters apart. His eyes remained closed like he was savoring the memory of the kiss… or afraid that if he looked, he’d see regret on your face.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

Not when he was above you like this. Not when your body screamed finally, finally, finally.

When he finally let his eyelids flutter open, heavy-lidded and glassy with emotion, he blinked down at you.

And something shifted.

Because that’s when he realized. Realized what he’d done. The position. The weight. The pinning. The overwhelming closeness. And how you weren’t pulling away.

How you were staring up at him like he’d just handed you the entire world.

How your fingers gripped his biceps like they belonged there.

How you wanted more.

“Ehh, Sol,” you muttered, breath still hot and heavy against his lips, “you can actually top.”

He froze. Blinked. You felt the tension ripple through his whole body like a wave crashing—and then retracting.

His face went red.

The kind of blush that climbed from his neck all the way up to his ears, like his body was trying to reboot but the wires got crossed somewhere in his brain. His grip faltered just a bit. His mouth opened—no words.

Oh no.

You ruined it. You ruined the moment.

…Except—you didn’t think so. You thought he was adorable.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, suddenly hit by an overwhelming urge. “You’re so cute I’m gonna die.”

Before he could react, you reached up and squished his cheeks together with both hands, making him pout involuntarily.

“Jesus Christ, look at you! You’re blushing! Over me!”

“Y-Y/N—!”

You giggled. Cackled, actually. Then you leaned up and kissed the tip of his nose like you were branding it, your lips lingering obnoxiously long just to watch his brain implode in real time.

He went stiff. Completely red. Entire systems down. Emotion.exe stopped responding.

Sol.exe has stopped working.

“…You’re not normal,” he mumbled, stunned. But his hands were still on you. And his eyes were soft. And his heart was sprinting.

“And yet you’re still on top of me,” you whispered, eyes gleaming, voice soft but dangerous. “Who’s the real weirdo here, Sol?”

He didn’t answer.

Sol’s breath hitched like he’d just been shot—by you, no less, loaded gun of a smile and that kiss to his forehead still echoing in his bones. He clutched at your sides like you were vanishing fog, blinking too fast, lips trembling around syllables that never made it out alive.

“You.. I… you r-really mean—” kiss Another one. Right to his temple this time. Gentle. Grounding. And ruining him.

His face flushed all the way to his ears, blotchy and blooming like a fever dream. Pupils blown wide, chest rising like he was preparing to confess to something unforgivable—or to worship.

And then your eyes dipped down. Your grin twisted. That deranged little sparkle lit behind your lashes.

“Oh... Sol,” you purred like you’d caught a secret. “You’re really…”

He looked mortified. Not from shame—no, shame couldn’t shake a boy like this—it was desperation. He was trying not to die. Trying not to implode right here in front of you.

Your laugh—God, that laugh—shattered the moment like a mirror.

“You’re hard already?” You cooed. “That forehead kiss really did you in, huh?” His hands were trembling now, clutching fabric like he could anchor himself through sheer will.

“I– I didn’t mean— it’s not— you kissed me and I just—!”

“Shhh,” you cut him off, thumb stroking over his cheek. “Even though I wanna take the lead…” Your voice dipped lower, silk wrapping around a blade. “I wanna see what you can do.”

You felt him twitch.

“I’ll have my turn later,” you whispered, almost reverent, almost cruel. “But tonight? Tonight we’re gonna help ourselves to everything. Slowly.” You leaned in close, nose brushing his too..

He exhaled like he’d been gut-punched by God.

His voice was barely there, breathy and wrecked already, like the mere idea of asking might ruin him:

“Can I… can I kiss you?”

God, as if he had to ask.

You leaned in, voice low and honey-slick, almost cruel with how soft it was: “You don’t have to ask.”

And then your hand—slow, deliberate—dragged up the inside of his thigh. You felt the jolt run through him, like a shiver made flesh, hips twitching the tiniest bit under your touch. His breath caught like he’d been holding it all night just for this moment.

He kissed you.

But not shy. Not sweet.

Starved.

It started slow, lips brushing like he was scared you might vanish mid-breath, but then he melted—tongue tracing yours, cautious at first, then bolder, desperate. His hands found your waist, fingers splayed wide, clutching like he needed you to stay real beneath him. You tasted the heat off him, tasted the tension and want and the way he kept breathing your name in pieces between kisses.

Your fingers gripped tighter on his thigh, and he gasped into your mouth, swallowing it back with another kiss, deeper this time, wetter, messier. His tongue moved with a purpose now—slow licks, teasing flicks, a rhythm he built between stolen gasps and muffled whimpers.

He kissed like he’d been dreaming of it for months. Like you were the only god he’d ever pray to again. Like every second without your mouth was a curse undone only by this.

And when you finally pulled back, breathless and dazed, your lips swollen and his pupils devouring you whole—

You whispered against his mouth, “Sol… you kiss like you’re gonna die without it.”

He just moaned softly, forehead dropping to your shoulder, and shook.

Your hand threaded through that wild mane—black with streaks of radioactive green, warm from the heat pooling between you. His hair was soft despite the chaos, falling like ink between your fingers, that middle bang brushing your nose as you tilted his head just right.

You murmured, "Let me see you," and he did—eyes fluttering open, and fuck, they glowed. That twisted sunburst of color: burnt orange at the core, ringed in blood-red. Like staring into the last seconds before a supernova.

Then, oh… oh, you got greedy.

You kissed the spider bites on his lip first—just a soft nip, enough to make him shiver, then soothe it with your tongue. He whimpered, voice cracking like a prayer slipping into sin. Next? That long upside-down cross earring. You took the chain between your teeth and tugged it. A small sound escaped him—half gasp, half please—as your fingers trailed down his neck to his choker.

You nipped that buckle too. Clink. Your teeth caught the edge, and he twitched beneath you, body tense, breath caught somewhere between a sob and a moan.

"Fuck," he whispered, his voice barely hanging on. “You’re—ah—cruel—”

“Oh!!!" you purred, kissing up the line of his jaw, “we’re not even halfway.”

And then came the piercings.

You kissed each of them. Every little stud, hoop, and ring you could get your mouth on. You nipped, licked, and grazed teeth along every piece like they were your own personal playground. You even whispered to each one like they were separate lovers.

Left ear first—lobe stud, then the helix. Your tongue flicked over the metal, and he arched. Right ear next—double helix, slow kisses between them, then one quick bite that made his hips jerk. Then? The necklace—that key. You bit down on it and dragged your mouth up the chain like you were unlocking every inch of him.

And gods, when you finally tugged up his shirt and saw those nipple piercings—

You moaned like you’d found treasure.

“Awh, Sol… these? These are mine now.”

You nipped one with your teeth, and he cried out, thighs clenching, head thrown back so fast it nearly knocked you off-balance.

He was shaking. Writhing. You hadn’t even touched the hard part of him again yet.

And that was the plan.

"You're gonna beg, sweetheart," you whispered, lips brushing the metal again. "One piercing at a time."

You kissed them—slow and savoring. Each nipple ring cool against your lips at first, but that changed fast, your breath warming the metal, your tongue flicking against it just to hear him gasp. The piercings twitched with every flick, every soft suck.

His hands fisted the sheets, hips lifting without permission, a helpless grind into nothing. "Fuck—" he hissed, voice strangled, barely hanging on.

Your tongue circled one of the hoops, slow as sin, before you sucked—deep and filthy, like your mouth had every right to claim it. He whimpered, and the sound was wrecked. Like he was unraveling beneath you.

“Sensitive?” you teased, dragging your teeth along the ring before biting down just enough to make his back arch. “Thought you could handle a little attention.”

You switched sides, letting your mouth trail across his chest, kissing the space between—slow, possessive, like you were mapping him out. When you reached the other piercing, you didn’t wait. You closed your mouth around it and sucked hard, lips tugging until he moaned so pretty for you, like he'd forgotten how to breathe.

One hand stayed on his chest, keeping him steady. The other slid down—slow, slow—to rest just above his waistband. Not touching yet. Not giving—just threatening. Teasing.

"You’re falling apart and I’ve barely even started," you whispered, breath ghosting hot across his chest. "Gonna let me ruin you, Sol?"

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His mouth was open, pupils blown wide, chest heaving under your lips.

So you kissed the ring again—gentler this time, a silent good boy—and smiled against his skin.

"Don’t worry," you murmured, "I’ll take my time."

Your palm hovered just above the heat between you, barely grazing, and still—you felt it. Throbbing. Desperate. So hard it almost ached to look at. Sol’s breath hitched the second your fingers brushed over him, even through the layers. His hips twitched up, chasing the contact like he couldn't help himself anymore.

“I wanna help you,” you breathed, voice thick, trembling. “I wanna make you feel good, Sol…”

His name tasted like devotion and danger on your tongue. Your eyes, glossy and glassy, locked with his—and God, the way he looked back at you, pupils drowned in red and gold, lips parted, flushed and shining from where you'd kissed him raw… He looked like he’d break if you stopped. Like you were the only thing keeping him together.

"Please," he whispered, broken and breathless. “I… I need you…”

You pressed your forehead to his, panting together, your breaths hitching and stuttering in tandem. Two heartbeats pounding in sync, two souls tangled in fever. Your free hand came up to cradle his jaw as your lips ghosted over his—kissing without kissing.

Then you said it. Sweet and deranged, like a promise only you could deliver:

“This night’s for us. We’re gonna do everything, Sol… every slow, messy, perfect thing…”

And your hand slid lower, down, down—ready to show him exactly how much love you had to give.

Your breath hitched—not from the crushing hug (though god, Sol really didn’t know his strength), but from the heat radiating off him. That sound… the unmistakable, slow click of a belt being unbuckled. You froze, blinking up at him as he pulled you even closer, burying his face into your neck, like he was trying to hide the sheer intensity blazing across his flushed skin.

“Y-you don’t have to know everything…” he whispered, voice low, strained, shaky with nerves and want. “I’ll… I’ll teach you. If you’ll let me.”

Then you peeked under the covers—and there it was.

Throbbing.

Your cheeks flushed so fast it felt like a fever. You couldn’t look away. His cock twitched, hard and leaking, resting against the slope of his thigh, flushed so dark it almost looked angry. You swallowed hard, lips parting on a shaky breath as your eyes darted back to his face.

Sol wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t teasing. He looked completely wrecked just from being seen.

“You’re so beautiful like this…” you said before you could even think to be embarrassed.

His arms tightened around you like he was afraid you’d vanish.

Your hand wrapped around him again—this time softer, a trembling curiosity guiding your touch. Sol gasped, his whole body jolting like you'd struck a nerve, forehead pressing hard against yours as he choked back another moan. His lips hovered just above yours, parted, hungry, desperate.

“D-don’t hold so tight,” he whispered, the breath of it fanning across your cheek, voice raw and pleading. “J-just… yeah. Like that…”

You adjusted instinctively, sliding your palm down the length of him with slow, reverent strokes. The way he reacted—hips twitching, lips falling open with another helpless sound—made your stomach clench with molten need. God, he was beautiful like this. Ruined just by your hands. Yours.

He groaned your name like it was the only word left in his vocabulary, each syllable dripping with devotion. His head tipped back, throat exposed, sweat-slicked skin gleaming in the low light. You couldn’t stop yourself—your lips found the curve of his jaw, then his throat, tasting the salt of his skin as he shuddered under your touch.

Your pace quickened. He was getting louder. So were you.

And when he kissed you again, it wasn’t careful. It was consuming. Teeth, tongue, heat. A clash of need and reverence, of wanting to devour and worship at once. You moaned into his mouth..

He cried out your name like it was a prayer and a curse in one—shattered against your hand, clinging to your body like a lifeline, hips stuttering as he finally, finally let go.

Warmth spilled across your clothes, thick and hot, soaking the front of your nightwear..

Both of you froze.

Sol’s eyes fluttered open, glassy and dazed, then dropped to the ruined fabric between you. His entire face flushed crimson.

“...Oh f-fuck,” he whispered hoarsely, voice still broken from the high. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

You stared at the mess, then back up at him. Your smile was slow and wicked.

“Well, someone owes me laundry,” you murmured, leaning in to steal a kiss from his swollen lips. He melted into it immediately, pliant and eager, still twitching from the aftershocks.

Then you pulled back just enough to whisper, breath hot against his mouth:

“How are you gonna make it up to me, Sol?”

His eyes widened—then darkened. Hands trembling, he cupped your cheeks, like you were something holy. Something he’d ruin again and again just to worship better the next time.

"I'll....!"

His breath hitched as you tilted your head, offering your neck like an invitation, like a challenge. And Sol? He was never one to back down from a dare—especially not when it tasted like your skin and sounded like your voice moaning his name like sin.

“You sure?” he whispered, voice hoarse and reverent. His fingers ghosted down your sides, just shy of where you really wanted them. “You know what happens when you tell me I can start…”

You didn’t answer with words—just arched your hips, smug and wicked, watching his pupils blow wide. That was answer enough.

Sol’s hands moved with a hunger he could barely hide anymore, sliding under your wear to trace the slope of your waist, then curling possessively around your hips like he was afraid you’d disappear.

“You tease me like that,” he muttered against your collarbone, lips brushing the heat of your pulse, “and expect me to behave?”

He bit down gently, enough to make you gasp—then soothed the sting with his tongue. Marking you, loving you. He trailed kisses down the side of your neck, slow and messy, until he reached the hollow between your shoulder and throat. He sucked a deep bruise there, then pulled back just to admire his work.

“Mine,” he whispered. “Mine.”

His hands slipped lower—one grounding you by your hip, the other sliding down between your thighs, teasing the waistband like he wanted permission even now. But you’d already handed him the reins. And the rope. And maybe the whole damn chariot.

You gasped when his fingers dipped in—just one at first, slow and gentle, testing. You clenched around him immediately, and his breath caught.

“Oh my god,” he moaned softly, forehead pressing to your shoulder. “You’re already—fuck, you feel so good.”

He didn’t even give you time to catch your breath before the second joined in. His rhythm was deliberate—patient, almost reverent—but the way he curled them? Filthy. Perfect. Designed to make you sing for him.

And sing you did.

Every whimper you gave, every gasp and curse and half-begged Sol, had his cock twitching against your thigh again. But he didn’t rush. Not yet. He was watching you—fixated, obsessed, cataloging every flutter of your lashes, every hitch of your breath, like you were a song he was learning by heart.

“God, you’re so beautiful when you get like this,” he whispered, lips brushing your jaw. “All smug and cocky one second, then falling apart for me the next…”

He kissed your cheek, then your temple, then buried his face against your neck, fingers picking up speed as your hips rocked into his hand.

“I wanna ruin you slow,” he murmured. “I want to. Make you cry out so sweet no one’ll ever look at you again without knowing you’re mine.”

You moaned his name—raw, needy—and that was it. His pace faltered, then grew firmer. Deeper. Devoted.

You could feel the heat coiling tighter in your belly, dragging you under with every curl of his fingers, every dark promise against your skin.

His fingers hovered over your chest, tracing the lines of your body with a slow, deliberate touch. It was almost torturous, the way he teased—lingering, never quite touching where you needed it, like he was savoring the way your body reacted to each brush of his fingertips.

"You feel so good," Sol murmured, eyes dark with desire as they dropped to your chest, his breath hot against your skin. His lips followed the trail his fingers had just left, trailing kisses down the curve of your neck and then across your collarbone, moving lower with each slow exhale.

The pressure on your chest was light at first—barely there, like he was testing the waters—but you knew better than to mistake it for innocence. His touch was possessive, controlled, a slow burn that had you gasping, heart racing.

He grazed over the soft fabric of your shirt, fingertips just brushing your skin, making you crave more. "You like this, don’t you?" he asked, his voice low and teasing, like he was enjoying the power he had over you, the way you melted under his touch.

Without waiting for an answer, Sol's hand slid beneath your shirt, cupping your chest with a possessive pressure. The heat from his palm spread through your body like wildfire. He didn’t hold back, kneading and massaging gently, just enough to make you shiver, to make you ache for more.

He loved the way you responded—so responsive, so eager to give him what he wanted. His thumb brushed over your nipple, once, twice—deliberate, circling, drawing out a whimper from your lips. He smiled at that sound, pressing his chest to yours, the weight of his body only adding to the intensity.

"I won't let an- Not him....Especially him....," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. His other hand slid to your thigh, squeezing, giving a subtle push to coax you closer to him.

"Y/n.."

You gasped, your chest rising sharply with each breath as his touch became more insistent, more demanding. Each stroke sent a shiver down your spine, and you could feel your body responding, tightening, yearning for more of his hands, his touch.

Sol’s mouth found yours again, messy and desperate, and he groaned into your lips as his hands kept working you over, feeling every inch of you like he couldn't get enough. His fingers were all over you now, pulling at your shirt, tugging it off with impatient desperation.

Sol’s hands roamed over your body, the facade you’d been holding onto—your smug control—started to slip, thread by thread. His touch was unrelenting, driving you closer to the edge, pulling out the needy parts of you that you usually kept buried beneath layers of deflection.

Your breath hitched as his fingers slid down to the sensitive spot on your inner thigh, the heat radiating from his touch setting your skin ablaze. You tried to hold it together, tried to keep your usual cool, but it was becoming harder and harder with each passing second. His teasing was pushing you past the point of control.

“Sol...” Your voice came out breathless, softer than you meant it to be, a desperate plea slipping from your lips before you could catch it.

He paused, just for a moment, his fingers hovering on your skin as he looked up at you, his dark eyes locking onto yours. The corner of his mouth lifted, but it wasn’t that cocky smirk you were used to—it was softer, almost knowing. Like he could finally see through you, see that all that smugness you’d been holding onto was just a shell.

“Are you finally gonna let go?” he whispered, his voice laced with something far more tender than you expected, despite the hunger in his eyes. “You need me, don’t you?”

You tried to bite back a moan, tried to hold onto the last shreds of your defiance, but it was impossible. The need was there—aching, overwhelming, raw—and you couldn’t hide it anymore. You gave him a look that was no longer playful or mocking. It was pleading, exposed, a silent surrender.

“I do,” you whispered, your voice breaking slightly. “I need you.”

Sol’s breath caught, the realization dawning on him as he saw the shift in you—how you were no longer in control, no longer the one who was teasing and taking what you wanted. Now, you were the one needing, the one falling apart in his hands. His eyes softened, and for the first time, you saw the raw intensity of his desire match yours.

“I need you, too,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, filled with something deeper than lust—something possessive, something real. His hand moved again, more urgently now, as if he couldn’t wait any longer.

The shift in the air was palpable now, the balance of power changing in the space between you. He was no longer just teasing you—he was giving you what you craved, just as you had given him everything he wanted. Your walls were gone, shattered by the intensity of his touch, and now all that was left was the raw need you both shared.

He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear with a sinful sort of gentleness. “I said I was gonna go in,” Sol murmured, voice thick with promise—and before you could even gasp out a “Wait—”

—his fingers pushed in.

The sudden stretch made you jolt, hips instinctively jerking forward into his hand. The gasp that left your throat was half surprise, half moan, and your fingers clenched tight around the fabric of his shirt.

He didn’t stop—no, he curled them slow, deliberate, like he was already memorizing the shape of you, the way you reacted, every twitch and breath and tremble. You bit your lip, but that smug composure you wore so well? Gone. Utterly demolished.

Sol noticed. Oh, he noticed. And he looked so smug about it.

"Thought you were the one teasing me," he whispered, kissing your jaw, his fingers moving with aching patience. "But you're already falling apart on me, Pumpkin."

You tried to glare. You really did. But all that came out was a whimper as he added a second finger, your body tightening around him, breath coming in short, shaky bursts.

“You're...!” he murmured, dragging his lips down your neck, tongue teasing the skin before he bit down just hard enough to leave a mark. “I'm making you feel like this. No one will ever...!”

Your head tipped back against the pillow, overwhelmed—by the heat, the stretch, him. Your legs fell open just a little more without thinking, hips starting to rock in slow, desperate rhythm against his hand.

"You're clenching so tight, Pumpkin." he muttered, mouth brushing your ear again, "Like you don’t wanna let me go. Like your body knows it’s mine.”

You let out something between a curse and a plea, and Sol—bless his sinful heart—just chuckled low in his throat, fingers working deeper, stroking just right.

His cock pressed against your sex, hot and heavy, his other hand still between your thighs—fingers slick with everything you gave him. His breath stuttered, voice low and wrecked as he leaned in, lips ghosting over yours.

“You’re ready, aren’t you?” he murmured. “So damn warm around my fingers… can only imagine how good you’ll feel around this.”

Your fingers clutched at his shoulders, nails leaving faint trails as your body trembled under the weight of him. You barely had a second to respond before—

He pushed in.

Slow, relentless, deep—filling you with every inch, drawing a strangled sound from your throat as your forehead dropped to his shoulder. The stretch had your whole body clenching, trying to breathe through the overwhelming fullness, the way every nerve lit up under his touch.

“F-fuck,” Sol hissed into your neck, voice thick with awe. “You take me so well… like you were made for me.”

That did something to you. Your whole body reacted—pulling him in closer, tighter—and he groaned, caught between control and desperation. One hand slid up your chest, teasing and playing with every sensitive spot he could find, making your hips rock helplessly into his.

He started to move. Slow at first—deliberate, dragging each thrust out to feel every inch of you shudder around him. You couldn’t pretend anymore. The smug mask you wore had shattered, replaced by whimpers and gasps and the way your nails bit into his skin.

And he was drinking it all in. Obsessed. Devoted.

He kissed you again—hot and hungry, his tongue slipping against yours, coaxing more of those beautiful sounds from your lips. He needed them. Needed you.

“Too much—ah! S-Sol…!” you choked out, barely holding onto words as your body arched into him, trembling and raw with every overwhelming sensation.

His rhythm faltered, just for a breath, and his gaze flicked up to meet yours—concern and lust tangled in those deep, dark eyes.

“Wanna be on top this time?” he rasped, voice soft but hoarse with need. “You can set the pace... take what you need.”

You tried to nod, but the moment you moved, your limbs faltered. You were boneless, wrecked, trembling from the aftershocks still rolling through your nerves. “I… I-I—” you tried, but the words melted against your tongue, leaving you breathless and aching.

He kissed you. Slow and reverent. A kiss that tasted like yes.

You shifted, trying to reposition yourself with what little strength you had left—but your body shivered from the stretch, the heat, the sheer intensity of him still buried inside you.

“Hey, hey…” Sol whispered, arms catching you gently. “Let me help you, pumpkin.”

He guided your hips with a care that almost made you cry—like you were something precious, like he could fall apart just watching you fall apart. The moment you finally sank down on him again, your back bowed, a sharp cry slipping from your lips as your hand flew to your mouth—biting into your thumb and nail just to ground yourself.

“Fuuuck,” he groaned, watching your reaction like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “You feel incredible... Look at you.”

Your breath stuttered. His hands cradled your waist, steadying you, but you could feel his restraint unraveling with every passing second.

“You’re doing so good,” he breathed. “You’re perfect like this. Want me to move with you? Or… just let you take what you want?”

You swallowed hard, still biting your thumb, unable to answer—so you just rocked your hips experimentally, and shuddered when the sensation ripped through you like lightning.

Your moan came out shattered.

And Sol?

He looked like he’d die happily just to hear that sound again.

Your forehead pressed to the crook of his neck, lips brushing over the sensitive skin there as you tried—tried—to move.

He held you close, arms wrapped tight around your back like he could fuse you to him, breathing heavy and ragged against your shoulder. “You okay?” he murmured, his voice low and trembling.

You nodded against his neck. “Y-Yeah, I just—” You shifted your hips, slow and shaky, but even that made your breath hitch and your legs quiver. The overstimulation hit like a wave, rolling up your spine and curling your toes.

Then again. Just one more push. Just one more move.

Your thighs shook. You bit your lip. Everything felt too good, too much, and it made your muscles jelly.

“Shit,” you hissed, nails digging into his back. “What’s… wrong with me?” You half-laughed, half-whimpered, breath catching in your throat. “Why am I so—why are you so damn deep?”

Sol’s arms tightened around you instantly, and you felt it—the way his breath stuttered, the way his heart slammed in his chest right against yours. That wicked, warm chuckle rumbled through him.

“Guess I just fit you too well,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear. “Or maybe you’re just that gone for me, huh?”

You whimpered, biting your knuckle again. He tilted your head back gently, nose brushing yours, voice thick with a mix of awe and filth.

“You’re not broken,” he said, kissing your cheek, your jaw, your throat. “You’re just so full of me you don’t know what to do. Let me help.”

And before you could protest—he rolled his hips up into you.

Slow. Smooth. Deep.

“Guess I’ll have to help a little,” Sol murmured against your ear, voice honey-slick and low.

His hands moved to steady your hips, fingers splayed wide as he guided you slowly—gently—down again. Your breath hitched hard, every nerve flaring as you sank into the heat of him. He was already shaking, just from watching you fall apart above him.

“You’re really trembling inside,” he groaned, awe and reverence tangled in his voice. “Pumpkin… I never thought we’d be doing this. Not like this. Not so—” His voice cracked as he looked up at you. “So close.”

You tried to say something back, but all you could do was whimper, your voice lost somewhere between need and disbelief. Your face was burning, your whole body flushed from the inside out.

And Sol saw it—every flicker of emotion, every twitch of your lips, every clench of your fingers in his hair.

His thumb brushed your cheekbone. “Your face right now…” He looked wrecked. Adoring. “I wanna satisfy you more. Make you fall apart again. And again. Until that smug little mask drops for good.”

You leaned down to kiss him, slow and deep, your fingers curling in the sheets. Sol met you halfway, hands still guiding you, breath syncing with yours as the rhythm built between you like a secret language only your bodies could speak.

n Sol’s eyes—something darker, more needy than you’d seen before. His hands were still guiding you, but they were trembling now, almost desperately, as if he was afraid you might slip away from him. His chest rose and fell with each strained breath, and his gaze never left your face, burning with intensity.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, voice rougher than before. “I can feel every inch of you. Your heart, your breath, your body... I can’t get enough of it.”

His lips brushed against your throat, hot and possessive, as if marking you, claiming you with each kiss. It was almost as if he couldn’t stop himself, like he was driven by something more than lust—need. You could feel it in the way his hands tightened on your hips, pulling you closer, urging you deeper. His lips trailed along your jaw, desperate but gentle, like he was savoring every second of this.

“Don’t... don’t pull away,” Sol gasped, his voice low, strained. “I need you... I need you with me. Don’t go anywhere. Not now, not ever.”

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you tighter against him, the heat of his body radiating like a furnace. He kissed you again, his touch becoming more urgent, more possessive, until you could feel the weight of his emotions crashing into you—raw, unfiltered, as if he were willing to burn everything just to keep you here.

And in that moment, you realized: it wasn’t just his body that he was offering—it was his soul, his vulnerability, his fear of losing you.

His words were barely a whisper against your skin: “You’re mine, right? You’re not going anywhere...”

"Sol... shit, I—" Your voice cracked on the edge of a gasp, spine arching helplessly into his touch. "I’ve never been so—so greedy... I need more..."

Your words were barely coherent, trembling out of you like confessions in the dark. You clung to him, breath hitching with every aching movement. Your whole body felt too hot, too sensitive, too full—like one more touch would shatter you completely.

And Sol, sweet Sol, was smiling down at you with a look so tender it hurt. His fingers were still working you open, slowly, lovingly, obsessively—his other hand cradling your cheek as if you might break. You looked up and—fuck—you were gone.

“Hey, Y/N,” he whispered, voice syrup-sweet, eyes glittering with something deranged and soft all at once. “Look at me.”

You did—and instantly regretted it, because those eyes—those spiraling, impossible eyes—locked you in place. That inner ring of burning orange, surrounded by crimson-red, swallowed you whole. Your breath caught. You couldn't look away if you tried.

��Swear to me,” he murmured, his voice suddenly trembling at the edges. “Swear you’ll stay with me. Always. I need to hear you say it.”

“I—I’ll stay,” you gasped, lips brushing against his. “I’ll stay w-with you, Sol—Sol!! AHHH—!”

Your words broke off in a cry as another wave hit, tearing through your body. His name was the only thing left on your tongue. Your thoughts dissolved completely, leaving behind only raw need and that voice—his voice—telling you how good you were, how much he wanted you, how much he needed you to stay.

Sol kissed your cheek, then your neck, then your lips again, all while whispering like a man possessed: “That’s right. Mine. You’re mine, pumpkin... forever.”

His arms wrapped tighter around you, and you could feel his heartbeat hammering against yours—wild, unhinged, terrified in its own way.

No one had ever held you like that. No one had ever wanted you like that.

Sol started to move—slow at first, like he was savoring the moment, savoring you. Every shift of his hips sent another shock of heat through your already overwhelmed body, and you couldn’t stop the gasps that tumbled from your lips, couldn’t hold back the broken whimpers as the pleasure spiraled way past what you thought you could take.

You were barely conscious of your own voice—just helpless, dazed sounds between half-finished words, desperate declarations tumbling from your mouth like confessions in a fever dream.

“C-can’t... can’t think—ah, Sol—! I wanna stay—I belong to you—!”

Those words snapped something inside him.

He froze for half a second—just one—but his breath hitched, his grip on you tightening as if he was anchoring himself in your heat, your need, your truth

His eyes were wide, glassy with something raw—something shattering. And then he moved again, with more force, more need, like your words had sunk straight into the core of him and detonated.

"Say it again," Sol gasped, voice cracking like his heart was too full, too fragile. "Say you belong to me—"

You couldn’t even speak. Your body was trembling, helpless in his arms, your face pressed to the crook of his neck as he held you like he’d never let go. All you could manage was a choked, breathless whimper of his name, and that was enough. Too much.

He kissed the side of your face like he was praying. Like you were sacred. Like he'd break if he ever lost you.

"You’re mine," he whispered hoarsely, a promise and a plea. “You’re mine and I’m yours and—gods, I don’t care if this world burns, just stay with me.”

You tried to nod—tried to respond—but the waves crashing through your body stole everything. Your breath. Your thoughts. Even your strength. You could only cling, nails digging into the fabric on his back as your body arched into his, as he moved faster, deeper into whatever bond had fused your souls together.

Sol was unraveling. You could feel it—every sound he made, every tremble in his voice, every desperate grind of his hips said the same thing:

"I love you. I need you. I can’t lose you."

And just when it felt like your world would collapse from the inside out—

He buried his face against your neck, gasping raggedly. "Y/N—!!" His voice cracked as he reached his peak, breath hitching, movements slowing into deep, shaking pulses. You felt him fall apart around you, within you, every bit of that obsessive love spilling out in every broken whisper and trembling kiss.

And even in the aftermath—panting, sweaty, and trembling in his arms—you knew:

This wasn’t just need.

It was devotion. It was possession. It was love—sharp-edged, overwhelming, maybe even dangerous.

You didn’t even know when it shifted—when your legs were pushed back, when his weight settled over you like a storm you couldn’t escape, didn’t want to. Sol’s hands gripped under your knees, spreading you open with a reverence that burned. His gaze locked to yours, wild and worshipping, like he could see straight into your marrow and wanted to carve his name into every inch of it.

"Look at me," he panted, voice low and ragged. "I need you to feel how much I want you—how much I need you. Like this. Always like this."

Then he sank back in.

Deep. Full. Unyielding.

You cried out, fingers scrambling at his shoulders, overwhelmed by the sheer stretch, the impossible closeness. His body caged yours, chest pressed flush to yours, his mouth kissing your tears away even as he wrecked you with every thrust—slow at first, almost reverent.

But it didn’t stay slow.

He snapped his hips forward, hard, fast—desperate.

The sound of skin on skin echoed, lewd and dizzying, your broken moans swallowed by his kiss. His arms trembled with restraint, but his pace never stopped, hips grinding in deep with every stroke like he was trying to brand himself into your bones.

“I can feel you,” he gasped against your mouth. “Clenching around me like you were made for me—like you belong to me.”

Your body gave no answer, only a choked sob of pleasure that made his pupils blow wide, made his control unravel at the seams. He hooked your thighs tighter around his waist, angling himself just right until stars exploded behind your eyes.

And when you cried out his name again, broken and raw and holy, Sol lost it.

He slammed into you with a grunt, forehead pressed to yours, hands trembling as he moved faster, harder, chasing something that felt more like a fall than a climax. “That’s it—take it, take all of me—”

You were shaking, overstimulated and breathless, but he wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t. His rhythm turned erratic, deeper, needier, like every thrust was a vow:

Mine. Mine. Mine.

And then he shattered.

With a strangled cry, he drove in to the hilt and came undone—his entire body trembling, hips twitching with every pulse of release, his face buried in your neck as he chanted your name like a lifeline.

“Y/N… Y/N—fuck, I love you—I love you so much I can’t—can’t breathe without you—”

You held him as tightly as you could, every part of you aching, humming, complete. He stayed buried deep inside you, wrapped around you like he couldn’t bear to let go, like pulling out would unravel everything.

And maybe it would.

Because this wasn’t just sex.

This was him giving you everything.

His obsession. His madness. His love.

And in that dazed, dizzied haze, as your body trembled in the aftermath and his heart thundered against yours, one thing was clear:

You were never getting out of this.

And gods help you…

You didn’t want to.

You didn’t even get a moment to breathe.

Sol was still inside you, still trembling from his high, but his mouth was already moving again—soft kisses, scattered like devotion across your jaw, your cheek, your lips. And then, without a word, he rolled his hips.

Slow. Deep. Heavy.

Your body jolted. A strangled sound caught in your throat, half-moan, half-beg, but it never made it past your lips—because he kissed you.

Hard. Messy. Desperate.

Tongue claiming, teeth grazing, swallowing every ruined sound you tried to make. You couldn’t even gasp. You couldn’t breathe. All you could do was feel—his hips grinding into yours again, filling you to the hilt, his body somehow more feverish, more hungry than before.

“You can take it,” he breathed between kisses, voice dark and reverent, wrecked by love and lust and something far too raw to name. “You’re perfect—gods, you feel so perfect like this. So full of me.”

Your nails dragged down his back, helpless, overstimulated, trembling from how much you needed him, even as your body screamed from the intensity. He moved deeper, slower this time but with that same unbearable pressure—like he wanted to melt into you, fuse your bodies until there was no more him or you, just us.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, even as his hips rocked into you again. “I can’t stop. I should—but I can’t. Not when you’re like this. Not when you feel like—like home.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, reverent, lips dragging over yours like he could taste your soul on your tongue. You whimpered against him, tried to speak, to moan—but the pleasure was too much, the fullness too overwhelming. All you could do was sob softly into his mouth as he started to move faster, desperate for another high, another chance to lose himself in you.

“You’re mine,” he breathed against your lips, fucking you through the aftershocks, through the haze, through the surrender. “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

“Sh-shit—Sol—wait—!” you choked, but your voice cracked on a sob as his hips pounded into yours again, no room to think, no room to breathe, just the sound of slick, obscene rhythm and your own whimpers catching in your throat.

You tried to push at his chest, not really meaning it, just needing something to hold onto—but he only groaned, low and wrecked, and leaned down to kiss you—soft, almost sweet, completely at odds with the way he was driving into you like a man possessed.

“Just a little more,” he panted into your mouth. “Just a little more,Pumpkin—come on, stay with me.”

You couldn’t. Your back arched, legs trembling, pleasure shattering through you again so fast it knocked the breath from your lungs. You moaned something—his name, maybe? A plea?—but it was swallowed by the way he bit down gently on your neck, groaning against your skin like he was trying not to lose himself too fast.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he gasped, still thrusting, still holding you so sweetly, like you were precious even as he ruined you. “We’re gonna be together, okay? From now on. Just us.”

He licked over the bite he left, kissed your cheek, and kept going—slower, now, but so deep, like he was trying to carve himself inside you permanently.

“We’ll eat good food. We’ll be happy. You won’t need anyone else, Y/N,” he murmured, voice shaking with something more than lust. “You’re mine. I’m yours. No one—no one will love you like I do.”

You stared up at him, dazed, lips parted to respond but all that came out was a soft, broken cry as your body clenched around him again.

He smiled, so soft, eyes wide and in love and unhinged.

“And you won’t love anyone like you love me. Right?” he whispered.

You tried to say yes—tried to breathe it, to nod, anything—but your body betrayed you, trembling and writhing beneath him, lost in the feeling of him pushing in, pulling out, fucking that question into you like he needed the answer etched into your bones.

And he took it as a yes.

He kissed your temple, lips brushing the sweat-slick skin like a promise.

“That’s right,” he whispered. “No one else. Just us.”

His name tore from your lips in a gasp, and with one last, deep thrust, he came—hard, pulsing inside you, shaking as if he'd just been brought to the edge of some abyss.

His body tensed, fingers digging into your skin as he gripped you close, holding you like his very existence depended on you being there—on being his. He buried his face against your neck, leaving soft, ragged kisses as his breath hitched in the aftermath, his body trembling with exhaustion and still needing more.

You could feel him inside you, warm and spent, but there was no relief—not really. You weren’t sure where he ended and you began, the line blurred by the way your bodies intertwined, by the way he held you so tight, so desperate, as if there was nothing left for him to hold onto except you.

He whispered your name, broken and raw, so tender despite everything.

“You... you’re mine. I’ll keep you safe. Keep you close. Never let you go,” he murmured against your skin, his breath warm and shaky.

Your mind was a haze, thoughts swimming as you struggled to gather yourself, but he kept you there, pressed against him, unable to move, unable to break free from the pull he had on you.

“I love you. I need you,” he said softly, his voice cracking on the last word.

And then, as if the intensity of what had just happened wasn’t enough to bring him to his breaking point, he pulled you even closer, his lips brushing your ear.

Sol’s grin was like a damn sunbeam, glowing with something that was all devotion and satisfaction, his chest still rising and falling quickly as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, like he couldn’t get close enough to you. The moment was everything to him—the sweet aftermath, where the world felt soft, and all he could do was hold you and drown in how good you made him feel.

You were too dazed to speak, too lost in the warmth of his body against yours, the softness of his breath on your skin.

His lips were gentle as they pressed against the sensitive spots of your neck, leaving kisses so soft, so loving, it almost felt like worship. He pulled you in closer, not letting you go, even though you couldn’t form a coherent thought at the moment.

“You did so good, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice still thick with need but now touched with tenderness. “So, so good. I’m so proud of you.”

He said it like it was a sacred truth. His words melted into your skin, every word a claim, a reminder that you were his—and he wasn’t letting you forget it.

His arms wrapped around you again, pulling you tighter, his grip firm but with an underlying softness that only spoke to how deeply he cared. He tucked you against his chest, his heart still beating hard against you, as if it couldn’t slow down just yet.

“I’ll always take care of you,” he murmured into your hair, his voice muffled and full of warmth. “You don’t have to worry about a thing, Y/N. I’ve got you.”

You felt like you might melt into him, his warmth spreading through you, his kisses and soft reassurances so grounding you couldn’t help but sink into the safety of his embrace. There was a sweetness to him now—clingy but in the most affectionate, secure way—as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

He wasn’t letting go. Not now, not ever. And you couldn’t deny how right it felt to be so completely his.

You could barely keep your eyes open, the world spinning and your body so spent from the intensity of everything that had just happened—but something inside you snapped.

The laughter bubbled up, low and deranged, escaping your lips before you could even think twice about it. It was manic, almost delirious, but it was real. You were feeling it—feeling him, feeling that wild, crazy need to take control now, to flip the script just a little.

Sol, his face still buried in the crook of your neck, froze for a moment. His breath hitched as he pulled back slightly, eyes wide and glowing with that possessive hunger, that unshakable devotion.

“What… what are you—?” he started, but you silenced him with your eyes.

You could barely keep yourself together, but there was fire in your chest. You were done being so lost in him, done just lying there while he took the reins. No, this time, you were going to show him.

“I wanna take control too,” you muttered, voice raw, the grin pulling at your lips almost feral. “This isn’t over yet, Sol. Night’s ours. Let’s love each other too much, okay?”

His eyes widened, pupils dilated, the grin curling on his lips as he tilted his head slightly. He was shocked—and yet, the way his hand slid over your side, the way his thumb brushed against your skin, made it clear: he loved it.

“Fuck, Y/N… you think you can handle me?” His voice was low, teasing, but that gleam in his eyes said something else entirely—something darker, something like he was ready for you to burn everything down with him.

His arms were still tight around you, but now, it was almost like he was daring you. Daring you to take the reins and lead him somewhere new, somewhere he was all in for.

You woke up, your body still humming with the aftershocks of last night. But something was... different. You looked around, confusion clouding your mind for a moment—until your gaze fell on the pretty man beside you. The one who had stolen your breath away with his wild, captivating energy.

Sol.

His hair—black with those electric green streaks—looked even more striking in the soft light of morning. It cascaded in a half-up-half-down style, those bangs framing his face in a way that made his eyes even more arresting. His irises—oh, gods—those hues of orange and crimson, like they could see right through you, like they were made to entrap you.

You couldn't look away. Even as he lay there, peaceful, so effortlessly beautiful in his sleep, you found yourself staring, not even caring if it was a little unsettling. He was yours now. You couldn’t stop the way your heart raced at the thought.

You reached out and gently patted his head, your fingers grazing the strands of his hair, feeling the soft texture. It was almost too much, too perfect, too real. And just like that, those vivid eyes blinked open, meeting yours with that sleepy confusion, before they sharpened and narrowed, those mesmerizing eyes locking onto yours.

"Good morning, Sol..." you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips as your pulse quickened. You had to explain. You had to claim him.

"We need to take a bath... Y’know?" Your voice was light, teasing even, but underneath was something darker, a promise of what was to come.

For a moment, Sol stayed silent, his gaze steady, those eyes studying you. There was something about the way he looked at you now—it was almost like he was waiting for you to confirm what this was, what you were. But you didn’t give him the chance.

You held him gently by the face, your fingers brushing against his skin, before pulling him closer, locking eyes with him as if you were both trapped in this moment. This love.

“This isn’t a dream,” you murmured, voice turning darker, more twisted. “We’re together now, Sol. You’re mine, and I’m yours. Forever.”

Your smile, deranged, yandere-like, spread across your face as you whispered it again, your hands gripping his face more firmly now.

“I love you. I love you so much, Sol,” you confessed, the words leaving your lips like a vow. Your voice was almost manic, desperate. "No one else could ever love you like I do. No one can have you but me. You're mine—body, soul, everything. And I'll never let you go."

You could feel the heat of his skin against yours, his breath mingling with yours, and you wanted to savor every second of it. The world outside—irrelevant. All that mattered was that Sol was here with you. And you were never letting him leave.

You leaned in, pressing your forehead against his, your breath shaky, heart thudding in your chest.

"You're mine, Sol. Always. Forever. And there's no way out, is there?"

You managed to hobble to the bathroom with Sol’s help, giggling the whole way like you weren’t on the verge of collapsing. He bathed you both gently, sweetly, as if you were glass he’d cracked with his love last night and was now trying to piece back together. His touches were reverent, every kiss to your shoulder like a whispered apology and a promise.

And then—he said it.

“Let’s skip university today.”

You blinked at him.

"Together?"

He grinned, still wet from the bath, towel hanging low on his hips, eyes sparkling like he’d won the damn lottery. “Yeah. Let’s just... be us. Just for today.”

You could’ve cried. But instead you nodded and muttered something like, “Okay... only if you make curry.”

That made him laugh. A full, warm laugh, like you hadn’t completely shattered him the night before with how much you loved him.

Later, he was at the stove, humming while the smell of spicy, warm curry filled the air. You tried to help. Really, you did. But when you tried to stand—

“Ah—!” you winced, collapsing right back onto the futon, legs still jelly.

“Hey—hey, hey!” Sol rushed over, panic rising. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said, grinning way too wide. “Can’t walk because you... you know.”

His face flushed a deep crimson, but he didn’t deny it.

Then, as he was stirring the curry, his voice came soft. Too soft.

"...Did you look after me too?..I mean"

Your grin widened—slow, almost foxlike.

You raised your hand and pointed to the cupboard in the corner. Sol tilted his head in confusion, then padded over.

When he opened it...

Silence.

He stared.

There, in a neat but deeply unhinged box, were dozens of photos of him. Drawings—some accurate, some bordering on manic. His used bandages. Pieces of fabric from his worn clothes. The one with a heart drawn around his face in red marker. Oh. And the other side?

Your notes.

Obsessive, stalker-style notes. Favorite foods, times he left campus, places he sat when he was sad, one particular napkin , Multiple drawings of him "Y/N + Sol 4ever" scrawled beneath.

His hands trembled as he picked up a drawing of himself you did from memory—wildly off-proportion, but filled with adoration. The kind of adoration that could turn a person feral.

You tilted your head and asked sweetly, “Why’re you red, Sol?”

He didn’t answer.

He collapsed.

Like, full-on faceplant.

“SOL?!” You scrambled (as best you could) over to him, panic blooming. “SOL ARE YOU OKAY?! BREATHE, BREATHE—OH GODS I BROKE YOU—”

You pulled him into your lap, frantically patting his cheeks as his body shuddered, somewhere between laughter and a panic attack. His face buried in your chest as you whispered urgently, “You’re mine, Sol. Don’t break. I can’t fix you if you break—!”

But Sol just let out a breathy, dazed laugh.

“I—I was the-” he muttered, staring blankly at your shrine box. “I thought I was the insane one. I thought I was obsessed. But you—you—”

You grinned, cradling his face, nose touching his. “You love me, right?”

He blinked at you, dazed. “Yes—of course—”

“Good.” You kissed his forehead. “Because You loved me first. I’ll love you forever. And if you ever leave me, I’ll carve your name into my skin and haunt you!”

He just stared. Still red. Still broken.

Still so yours.

And somewhere in the kitchen, the curry began to burn. But neither of you cared.

[cherie-doll]

Can you write a scenario where the reader (non binary) is extremely possessive and touch-starved, always needing physical affection/reassurance from their partner? They get clingy when the partner is busy or distracted, insisting on cuddles, kisses, or just being held.

Your writing is amazing. It would be so cool to see more characters from COD: Ghosts—just a thought, no pressure.

Aw, this is a really heartwarming request! You guys have got some great ideas <3 And tysm! I added a few more characters from cod:ghosts in hopes that you can enjoy reading about them. I didn't add all of them but settled on these, im still not sure if i'll add them to my lineup for future posts but thx for the idea!

!!: not proofread btw

=͟͟͞♡ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, Hesh Walker, Logan Walker, Merrick, König, Horangi, Nikto

‹𝟹 Price can't ever go out in public alone. You get too lonely waiting at home for him, so it's only reasonable you tag along and make him hold your hand or have an arm around you at all times. He doesn't find it one bit annoying, it makes him smile softly every time his hand loosens around yours and you're correcting it. In a way, it's something that makes him proud. You always seeking to feel him is nothing but a pleasure and privilege to him. Which is why he doesn't ignore you when you silently come to him when he's in his office at home. The moment he feels your arms go around his shoulders, he knows it's time to put the paperwork down and let you sit in his lap for some quality time together.

‹𝟹 Simon and you liked to just lay quietly; the soft pattering of rain against the window as you were enveloped in his embrace. The warmth you felt comforting you right now was coming from him rather than the blanket thrown over you. You took a deep breath; basking in this peaceful moment. This evening could not have been spent better had it not been for Simon's phone vibrating. It must have been multiple calls and texts he was getting because it nearly fell off the nightstand. He kept his phone on 'silent' but it irked him to still be receiving notifications. You frowned when you felt him pulling away from you to grab his phone. You immediately felt the cold on your back as he got up. Well, you weren't going to stay and wait for him! You got up, trailing after him like a puppy follows their owner around. He furrowed a brow but you only replied with silence as you took one of his hands. "Is your call that important? Come back to bed with me" Well he wasn't about to say no...

‹𝟹 Johnny always jokes about how you can never keep your hands off of him. And it's true, but not for the reasons other people may think. You deeply value the intimacy of enjoying one another's presence in a tender and caring way. He knows this too, which is why he'll put himself aside and relax when he knows you need it. And you don't like to receive this from anyone else; only him. Which is another reason why he won't ever push you away even when it can be seen as pushy or annoying to others, because where else are you supposed to get that reassurance from? He doesn't mind stroking your hair, at some point even petting your head like a cute pet because it is surprisingly comforting. You are never more at peace than when you get home after an overstimulating day and get some love from your favorite person.

‹𝟹 Kyle knows that when you're extremely anxious for his hold, you're like a magnet that will be attracted to him no matter what he's doing or where he's at. You won't always be so blunt about your needs but he understands it when you just come over and lay on him. No questions asked from his part, he'll stay silent if that is what you need right now. You can lay there as long as you want and he'll give you the kisses and cuddles you need. He even enjoys it when you spontaneously do it, maybe even surprising you with a kiss on the cheek as soon as your face is within reach. You feel relieved when you feel his fingertips graze your skin, so relaxing it lulls you to sleep. You fall asleep and it'll become his sole mission to not move so as to not wake you up. It could be hours later that you wake up feeling like it was the best sleep you've ever gotten.

‹𝟹 Roach is already pretty clingy himself so he turns weak af the second you ask for him to stay in bed a little longer. He'll be silently mumbling about how he needs to get up now, but you so desperately want him to meet your eyes. He's purposely avoiding them, knowing the moment he meets them he'll give in. You tug at his clothes, asking softly in the way that you know will pull at his heartstrings to let you cuddle just a little longer. What's the rush? You can already sense him on the verge of giving in, but still he won't look at you. His heart already pounds just having you call out to him like this. How much more do you yearn for his warm embrace. It takes another moment for him to act carelessly and maybe a little selfishly to dive under the covers again.

‹𝟹 Alejandro loves physical touch as is, but he definitely noticed how you sought it. And it almost felt like instinct for him to start wanting to give it to you whenever you asked. He didn't want you seeking it from anyone else, all you had to do was extend your hand out to him and he'd pull you in and give you all the kisses and embraces you could ever ask for. And what if he's busy and can't get to you? He always leaves reminders of him scattered about for you to use. Since you're so keen on your senses to perceive his love; maybe going to bed with his clothes and hearing his voice over the phone help you fall asleep. He wants to remind you he's still there and willing to give you anything just for you to feel safe. He needs you to feel secured with him, needs it as much as you seek shelter from him. You're perfect for one another.

‹𝟹 Rodolfo had been doing this with you even before you had begun officially dating. Sometimes you'd desperately want touch, so much it disturbed your sleep and no matter whatever you did it didn't work to just keep pushing it down. You would be fumbling with your fingers, asking for him to help you fall asleep. It started small, like holding your hand until you drifted off to sleep. But came the time when that wasn't enough. And him, being the sweet and caring person he is, would not mind occupying that cold and empty spot in your bed if it would give you reassurance that you were safe. Over time that arrangement became permanent and so naturally did it happen. Now you never had to worry or be anxious, even when he was occupied with other matters. He never overstepped or neglected his time with you, knowing his priorities helped him protect the time he had reserved specifically for you.

‹𝟹 Phillip had been away for longer than you had expected. There was something that required his attention; attention that usually went to you. You had held him back, both hands on his arm and with pleading eyes asking if he really had to leave you. His demeanor softened, and how could be possibly say no? You were his weakness, but some things required his care right away. He left with the promise that he'd be back in two hours max. He walked out thinking you'd occupy yourself with something to do, but the reality was that you couldn't focus on anything other than when he'd be back. You kept opening and turning off your phone, hoping a message from him would come through saying he was on his way. You huffed and frequently looked outside. When you finally heard that door open you ran as fast as you could. Phillip barely had a moment to put the snacks he had bought on the way back down before you were running into his arms. You did not let go as he struggled to take off his shoes and jacket. Until he finally sank into the couch did he chuckle at seeing your grip as tight as ever on him.

‹𝟹 Makarov was quite confused the first time you had held onto him. He had gotten up only to find that he couldn't take a step forward without feeling a tugging on his clothes. He looks back to see you sitting up and looking up at him, almost pleading with your eyes for him to do... what? He looked down at you in confusion, his eyes trailing from your hand tightly gripping onto him up to your face that was observing him. You awaited for his reaction. In a way, he liked seeing you clinging onto him, as if it were crucial. He liked feeling like he was needed, that you adored his touches and attention. But he also liked giving it to you. It was adorable to him in a way, your reluctance to let him go even for a moment.

‹𝟹 Keegan sometimes didn't know what to do with you. He could spend his entire day off in bed with you, enjoying the feeling of your skin against his and you'd still refuse to let go of him if he wanted to get up the next morning to go out. You were practically glued to him, whining and complaining if he made any moves to get you off of him. It's not your fault that you couldn't resist the urge to cling onto him when he was right there within your reach!! He would sigh as if it was the most tedious thing ever but on the inside his heart was clenching at seeing how much you needed his touch. You swear you'd go crazy if you weren't able to see or touch him every morning. What helped you sleep at night was knowing that he was right there beside you, holding you.

‹𝟹 Hesh somehow always notices when you're craving his touch but hesitating. Despite you being quite clingy with him, you're hesitant to start it. You don't want to seem so desperate when you so badly wish for it. He chuckles softy and then brings you closer, he watches as your eyes dart away, as if surprised. He knows you're secretly melting on the inside though, but he also feels you slowly opening up to him. You're getting comfortable already; leaning into his touch and resting your head on his shoulder. Even if it's a little embarrassing to admit sometimes, you like to think that he cares so much for you that he notices when you want to be close to him.

‹𝟹 Logan was usually the one asking for affection from you. He liked receiving it almost as much as you. But he felt the way you also rubbed up against him when he would lay his head on your chest, feeling like you needed this more than he did. And he would stay still, hoping it would give you the warm sensations he received from you. Like a cat that knows what its owner needs at the moment, he kept close to you and did not move. He allowed you these moments a lot more frequently and would try to initiate it as much as he could if it made you happier.

‹𝟹 Merrick used to get quite annoyed with it, until he realized how much it mattered to you. It had been a long time since you had felt the comfort from a loved one, and you had also been learning how to ask for it. Once he realized this, he had no trouble giving it to you. It became natural for you to come up to him on evenings when even though he was tired, he'd always leave a spot for you because he knew you'd occupy it. You no longer had to ask him, he knew it by your body language when you wanted to spend extra time with him. Sometimes words didn't even need to be said, all he needed to do was shift his body to fit yours and you'd be content.

‹𝟹 König isn't one to use his words much if he needs to give you reassurance or comfort. And in a way he is relieved when he realizes he doesn't have to do that. Sometimes you startle him when you reach out and take his hands, guiding him to wrap his arms around you. It's like he stops his breathing for a moment to see what you'll do. But once he sees you stop and just let out a sigh showing that you're content with the position you're currently in, he'll try to relax too. He's a bit awkward because he's not sure if you want him to pat you, stroke your cheek perhaps? But he learns overtime that any touch from him is what you want.

‹𝟹 Horangi has no problem with you being all up on him all day long. He doesn't let it interfere in his routine. He can go about his day with you from behind, arms around his waist as he's trying to wash the dishes or get something from the fridge. You'd be fine with it if you weren't so set on getting his attention to come back to you. So it turns into a game where you're calling out to him and asking if he's almost done with his current task. He'll give a reassuring pat on your head and turn his attention back to what he's doing. He's not intentionally ignoring you, he just has trouble keeping still unless he's tired. So for now you'll have to settle with being dragged along behind him until your battery is charged.

‹𝟹 Nikto is competing with you for who can be more clingy. At times, you are both interlocked and neither of you wants to be the first to let go unless you absolutely have to. He enjoys following you around, being your shadow so that he can slip in next to you at any opportunity that arises and get some hugs from you. He just likes holding you, and he wants to feel you do the same to him. It's like you both actively are calling out for one another, and it is impossible to ignore it. With a single glance you can tell when the other needs to be held for a moment, Nikto more specifically implemented this habit between you two. You still tell him when you would like to have a moment with him and he no questions asked will drop what he is doing to take care of you.

[hurrraaid]

I need you to know that I absolutely adore whenever you draw Soap giving Ghost scritches, whether that be playing with his hair or letting him nuzzle into his hand. Does Roach ever do the same, or is Ghost only that vulnerable when it comes to Soap?

Ghost is 100% touch starved but will only accept it when he's too exhausted to pretend otherwise.

Roach definitely knows this so will wait for his opportunity to pet the big angry puppy

[archangeldyke-all]

masterlist 4

holy shit?!

ceo sev having a wet dream about you 💼

adhd reader

sevika helping black reader do her hair

bottom masc reader (sev breaks the headboard hehe)

more anal hcs hehe

sev helping reader with chest dysphoria

roach verse-- jinx brings home a stray 🪳

reader with vitiligo

fake dating eeek!!

pregnant reader and sev say goodbye to the old house 👶

sleep talker reader

sev forgets her tits

argument sex with cowboy sev 🤠

treating butch sev like a girl

insecure virgin reader first time with sev

princess sevika knight reader 👑

princess sevika trying to strip knight reader 👑

sevika getting chubbier

fixing her hair

the notes in sevika's lunches

sweetheart reader

club mom reader and sevika post-fight club hookup 🪩

ceo sev sees you in her shirt 💼

calling sev pretty boy

first time with trans sev

cuddle headcanonsss

sevika using your butt as a pillow hehe

adhd reader using sev as a bodydouble

getting spitroasted by ran and sevika ⚔

masturbating in plug sev's passenger seat 🍃

matching bracelets

introducing her to skincare

coming home with a puppy

little fucker's wedding 👶

u and ran fucking while sevika's on the phone ⚔

random hcs

bookworm reader

princess sev gets jealous over knight reader 👑

more random hcs

reader with postpartum depression 👶

arranged marriage between princess sev and princess reader 👑

reader who's scared of getting sick

sev gets turned on by infodumping reader

butch reader!!

some slayer hcs 🐕

the night after your royal arranged marriage 👑

trans sevika getting her first bj

reader who crochets

sev's fave petnames

sevika and little fucker go to the daddy daughter dance 👶

sevika tries online dating

sevika keeping people from touching ur pregnant belly 👶

comforting crying sevika

sevika has a dream where you cheat

little fucker being a little fucker 👶

sev helps drunk reader take off her makeup

sensitive butch reader

riding princess sevika on her throne 👑

reader with mobility aids

butch reader carrying sevika to bed

sev giving reader birthday head

touch starved reader

reader with a goofy laugh

bringing butch blue collar sevika her forgotten lunchbox

coming out as non-binary to sevika

ceo sev accidentally eats pot brownies 💼

little fucker on the little farm 💐

reader with acne

transfem flirty anxious reader

u and sev being whiskey aunts

how sev lights your cig

your parents regretting arranging you and sev's royal marriage 👑

fake hating each other

flirty anxious transfem reader and sev's first time

sev caring for u when you r sick

calling sev pretty girl

aftercare with ran and sev⚔

golden retriever masc x sev

reader cussing out silco for overworking sev

sev taking the strap hehe

silco meets little fucker 👶

great outdoors reader

sev making chubby reader understand how much she loves u

fall lover reader

sevika helping you gain weight

ride or die reader

pregnant sev!! 👶

how u and sev react to little fucker making out with her gf 👶

helping little fucker with her math homework👶

sev showing off shuffling tricks

divorced sev and reader dating again 👶

how the twins like to cuddle 👶

sevika loves to fish

pt reader and boxer sev pt. 3

divorced sev and reader moving in together :) 👶

bouncer sevika carrying reader home

fucking sevika in both holes

lactation kink with sevika breastfeeding

werecat sevika 😾

[shmalk]

OKAY IM CURRENTLY WRITING THIS SO DON'T EVEN WORRY YOUR PRETTY LITTLE HEADS <3

afab!reader x poly?141

bartender!reader who maybe works at the pub, or runs it, or maybe second in command, whose tall and lanky, and kind of clumsy but still the best rollerskater around (maybe the bar makes its employees use skates, maybe not)

and then the first person to meet reader is ghost, whose instantly obsessed, and you're not sure how, but eventually you're finding yourself stuck under him while he plows into you, hands tangled in your hair as he pulls you back just to fuck more of his cum into your poor, spent cunt-

next is probably roach, such a poor boy, and he's so touch starved that you can't help but tug him into your office, settling on your knees infront of him to take him into your mouth until he has tears in the corner of his eyes and his hands are practically ripping threads of your hair out as he begs in overstimulation please, god, fuck, please - i can't - i need to - wanna cum so bad f'you-

soap doesn't even bother trying to be slick about it, walking in when the bar isnt even opened just to tell you that he knows what youve been doing with the lieutenant and his sergeant, how he's going to tell everyone unless you bend him over the bar - just like that - plowing your hips against his as your strap reaches every goey spot that makes his legs shake and his eyes roll into the back of his head-

and gaz! such a sweet boy who offers to help when he sees you lugging kegs around, so you hand him one, and show him the way to the cellar until he's on his knees, you bent over one of the empty kegs and his face pressed between your folds, his tongue coated in you and your sticky sweetness, desperate to swallow everything you can give him.

john price is different, he's the one you have to look out for, coming in with his boys after a mission - you've not seen any of them for a few weeks and you're worried they've up and left you - when all five of them come in, the boys just wanting to show off their pretty little bartender whose so sweet and soft-

it's not long until he has you bouncing in his lap, despite being taller than him, one hand wrapped around your throat and the other holding a cigar. he doesn't care if the bar is crowded and anyone could turn around and see him tear a hole through the crotch of your jeans, if they could see him line himself up at your entrance, maybe shoving two fingers down your throat as he bounces you up and down.

I AM !!! RAVENNOUS !!! FOR THIS !>!>!>!>

[decaffeinatedcandycane]

Random COD headcanons - AU

Ghost likes to mess with the thermostat. He keeps the room warm and watch as the recruits squirm in their seats. He wonders if someone will ever ask him to change the tempreture?

Price blames whoever is near the thermostat for the change in tempreture and "threatens" them.

Soap started food fight and when caught, blamed it on a banana peel.

Kyle steals confiscated products and return them back to the owners for favors.

One time Soap fell in the showers and the boys made prison jokes for a week.

Rorke used to work in the same summer camp where Graves spend his vacations. If Rorke was younger, they would have met.

Kyle misses a toe from a firework accident, when he was a teen. Told his mom an enemy soldier ripped it off.

Captain Price and Ghost met when they were sergents. They were briefly in the same base and bonded after Ghost fought of a dude and the captain covered for him.

Keegan and Ghost in the same room is hilarious. They have a bet who can make the most people unsettled in a month.

Roach talks to the stars whenever is alone in nature. He recites them poetry.

König clothes are handmade. He refuses to go to a store and try on different clothes, because of his size, small dressing rooms and the lack of choices.

Nikto hates cheese, so he lies to people he is lactose intolerant and have to use their bathroom, whenever they make fun of him for it. They never do again.

Roach eats cookies and chocolate milk before bed. He also watches cartoons with Soap and Gaz.

Captain Mactavish leaves his door unlocked, when he feels touch starved, in case, someone wants to snuggle with him. Mostly Ghost and Roach.

Roach will give you kiss goodnight, if you do not lock your door.

Sergent Soap is a dog for cleavage. Captain Mactavish prefers ass. Show them both and they will follow you around like puppies.

Price sends himself flowers and pretends a secret admirer did. The boys poked fun at him, so he scared the shit out them by writing "from Makarov" onto the card.

Nikolai eats only homemade food and makes his own alcohol. He has excellent survival skills and can Nara Smith his way in every situation. He shops in expensive stores, but tests the products on others before purchase.

Kyle has a PhD and can be an elementary school teacher.

Rorke hates every exotic fruit and fragrance that he comes across. He complains when something is not authentic and backs up his claims with a highly traumatic personal experience from his slavery.

Captain Mactavish smokes the rival brand cigars to Captain Price. They often glare at each other whenever one of them is smoking.

König often forgets and bites his food through his mask. Then, he rips a hole where his mouth is because he is amongst people and his pride refuses to accept defeat.

Horangi listens to people conversations and uses some stories as his own, to get out of stuff.

Simon can't read well. He had a stutter when he was young, was made fun off, so he went mute for few years. Never liked reading books anyway. Learned to say the entire alphabet in order in his late 17s.

Price faked a heart attack to get out of an important social event. Laswell caught him, so he bribed doctors to tell he has anxiety.

Soap is the messiest, not dirty except if he plays outside, bastard ever. Unless he is stressed. Then he is the mom with the coasters.

Soap has a pink apron and wears it while he does laundry, to cover up. Yes, he is fully naked. Captain Mactavish does the same thing.

Both Mactavish soldiers are close and give each other advice. They accept themselves as the same person.

Alejandro talks nonsense with Spanish sounding when he gets bored. Says they are special Spanish words.

Rudy is obsessed with pasta. If he is in a room with pasta, he will take continuous glances at it and take a plate as soon as he can. This is how Alejandro sucks up to him when he fucks up - with food.

[glimmerspirals]

have a really hard time drawing rn, so here's an assortment of Belos headcanons of varying importance

horrilbly allergic to apples, shrimps and honey. forgot about the first one, never tried the others.

has something against muscular women, short people and gingers.

unnerved by clowns, and that's why there were no jesters in his castle (other than collector)

can pick locks, both with and without magic. not exactly proud of this fact.

was a bug kid, mostly favoring worms and roaches. never liked bees, though.

had a pet stag beetle that somehow ended up in the demon realm.

pretty good at cooking

informed people know that human junk will make a great gift for him - especially technology (which he'll disassemble and study in his free time) and books.

soooo many absent-minded doodles of caleb!!!

at first he kept a journal to trick people, but with time found it actually enjoyable. wrote a few more diaries, but burned them afterwards.

he loves wing motif so much....... this man will put wings on ANYTHING. someone stop him (not exactly a hc but i really like that detail about him)

wants to be an angel so bad. a pair of wings would've fixed him.

would be a responsible driver

short sleeve hater

insomniac

extremely touch-starved, constantly trying to sneak touches. would fold instantly if snuggled.

silent treatment guy. can't stand being ignored himself, though. Bro has horrible abandonment issues and therefore thinks being left alone is the worst punishment ever (it's most effective on Hunter (who doesn't know any better) and Collector (who's afraid of being abandoned as much as belos))

[pynkhues]

The Steady Murmur (always in my head). Lestat x Louis. Interview with the Vampire. Post s2. Explicit. 28k words. For @vampirefest, prompt fills: 1. coffin, 3. clothed sex, 6. shower/bath, 12. touch starved.

-

Deafening, the sound of her.

A pounding at his ear drums, an aching ream of resonance singing round and round the shell of his ears. Whipping winds howling at his eyes until he can barely see, bloodied tears pooling at his lids, catching in his lashes, courting dust, dirt, debris, the smell of the Mississippi hauled outta her riverbed and up in the air, drowning him as he tries to steady his feet. He can’t vamp. Not with his hand still holding fast to the knot of Lestat’s robe, not when the hurricane would force him, them, any direction it wanted, toss them around like a cat with a muddy-shelled roach, and vaguely he realizes that he has no idea where he’s going.

-

Louis and Lestat leave the shack the night of the hurricane, seek refuge in a store, navigate too many memories, argue, ache, and maybe figure out the start of a way forward.

Read The Steady Murmur (always in my head) on ao3 here.

[loveergirll]

Hi and good morning! (for me at least^^) Im coming in with a question! Alright, here I go. Who of the boys, do you think, would be receptive to body worship? Or you buying THEM things, they may not need but you wanted to be nice to them kind of way? Maybe with Roach and Rudy included, because Rudy really needs more love^^ Lots of Love --Fink

Hi Finkkk hope you had a good morning :)

I think that the 141 guys would flip their lid if you tried to spoil them tbh cuz that’s their job >:(. The only one that’s a maybe is soap, but it’d probably be a no. He likes to provide for his partner and spoil them rotten not the other way around yknow? In bed he’s definitely a switch so just call him a pretty boy and he’ll literally cum in his pants.

Also between Roach and Rudy, I feel like both of them would be pretty open to it, Roach more so. I see roach as kinda touch starved, he’s a chill guy but awkward with flirting. If you actually took the time to buy him gifts I think it’d make his year and he’d treasure whatever you got him forever.

Even if it’s just a rock you found on the side of the street, he’d keep it in his pocket and play with it when he misses you on missions.

You’d have to take the lead with him, especially in bed. He’d literally explode if you just like actually showed interest in general so if you actually made it to second base? He’s a goner.

But regardless, he’s kind of a yapper in bed?Definitely big on praise, so I think he’d LOOOOOVE body worship.

I think Rudy would be too I just don’t think he’d let you spoil him yknow? Rudy would kind of go brain dead when you’re riding him, he’d just watch you as he lets out little groans and whimpers. So praising him while you’re doing that? He’d spill his load into you in seconds.

Anyways hope this is what you wanted! Sorry if it’s not the best, this was just a quick little imagine that I wrote when I woke up this morning :)

Lots of love, Cherry

[aquak1ra]

🏮13: COCKROACH TERMINATOR

The clashing of metal was all that could be heard in the dojo. Raphael and Y/n were sparring together. The tension between them had grown ever since what happened the other day. The young kunoichi couldn't stand it anymore, she'd rather keep his friendship than worry about the what ifs. 

"Stop avoiding the issue Raphael!" she yelled as her katana was blocked by his sai. 

"I am not avoiding anything dummy! Focus on our training" he pushed her away with his sais as her katana flew to the other side of the room.

"Just stop! I needed to talk to you about something." breathing heavily she somersaulted to get her katana. 

"Why don't you take off your mask it's pretty hot in here" he gets into fighting position. 

"I have been trying to show you, turtle boy" taking off her mask the young teen shows him her (red and [your hair color]) hair. 

"Woah, what the shell happened to your hair? Did you have an existential crisis?" His emerald green eyes scanned her new appearance. 

"Dude, I wish I did this to myself. It wouldn't be as weird as waking up with this on my hair" she crosses her arms as she gets close to him. "That's not the only issue why are you avoiding me?"

"Argh, you really don't know how to give up" staring at her (e/c) eyes he sighed. "Look I am sorry for what I said that day. Ya weren't a burden...ya will never be one" he said truthfully feeling his breath hitch as she hugged him tightly. 

His heart beat wildly...he felt strange around her. And it was killing him inside, he didn't know what was happening to him. Breathing in her scent made him dizzy. Raphael didn't want to ruin his friendship with her. Her body pressed against his plastron was all he needed to crumble. 

"Crimson...about what I said when I was poisoned..."

Her heart rang with anticipation for some reason. It creeped her out after all she was a young teen with no representation of love. Y/n's dad wasn't in the picture and her mom seemed fine without him. Dry swallowing the  girl's body suddenly felt weak. 

"What about it?" Her voice rang through his ears. 

"Look...I" he hesitated separating from her embrace. "I wanted to tell you not to worry about it. The poison made me an idiot. What.. I mean is I...well. I didn't mean it that way. You are my best friend and I'd hate to ruin our friendship due to that" 

Her mind crumbled for some reason...Feeling like a fish out off the sea. She forced a smile as he pat his shoulder. Acting all cool she made her signature finger guns.

"Phew, and here I thought our friendship was ruined" Raphael looked at her with a small smile. 

"Don't say that, that will never happen" Raphael touching her red locks suddenly made her flinch. "What's wrong crimson?"

"Uh, nothing is just...well I feel like the kraang did this to me and it's creeping me out" she said not really lying but not telling the truth. 

"We should tell Donnie about this." He lets her and hair fall as it frames Y/n's face nicely. 

Getting out of the dojo to go to her room. She collapsed on the floor questioning her emotions. They were just friends why would those words feel like a katana piercing through Y/n's heart? Scanning the room the young girl's hand reached a photo of Y/m/n.

"I miss you so much mom. Your presence here is all I need..." Sighing the teen girl tied her hair into her traditional bun. "These red streaks are kinda cool to be honest but my mind is still going haywire" 

"Just what were you hiding from me?" Getting up the floor and putting on her black tank top. The young girl went to the kitchen to heat up instant ramen. 

"Let's go, Leo, I'm starving! Yeah, boy! Ramen." The young turtle said with glee as Y/n got her own food. 

Leo puts the bowls to Mikey and himself. A little cockroach crawls around on the table with a camera on its head. First, it goes to Leo, then to Mikey, but when it goes on Raph, he panics.

"AAHH! Roach! Roach!" Raphael yelled afraid. 

Y/n stared at the little creature holding her heart. "Oh, hell no. Get that thing away!" she screamed dropping her ramen. 

Raph tries to stomp it with his sai but the bug scurries away. Leo and Mikey watch. Donnie came along holding his computer. 

"Those things are like a plague!" Y/n repeated getting her dragon shaped kunais from her leg holster. 

"Stop! Stop, you'll kill him!"

"That's the idea!" Raphael nodded at her. 

Carries the bug in his hands. "You can't smash this roach, ok? He's special. Really speciaaaaal~"

"Okay, I'm going to regret this, but why is he special, Donnie?" The leader in blue asked. 

"Because I outfitted him with a remote-controlled camera helmet!"

"Wow, that explains why you're special." Leonardo states making Y/n giggle. 

"We can send him into T.C.R.I and spy on the Kraang. The camera allows us to see whatever the cockroach sees."

He shows the video where the roach sees. Mikey laughs at the part where Raph and Y/n get scared. 

"That is awesome. Big, tough Raph is scared of cockroaches." He laughs staring at Y/n. "I didn't know you could turn crimson. Just look at your face dudette" she crossed her arms sending him a death glare. "Um, nevermind"

"I am not." Raphael tried to play it cool as Y/n stole Mikey's ramen. 

"Oh, really? Let's go to the video. This is my favorite part, right here. Donnie, can I get this on a t-shirt?" He repeats as he sees the young girl eat his ramen. "Hey, that was mine!" He pouts. 

"It "was"she mocked as she playfully slurped the noodles. 

"Want to see my favorite part? He tosses Mikey across the table making Y/n spit her noodles. Leonardo patted her back as she coughed. 

"We're going to spy on the Kraang with a cockroach!"

Outside and inside the shellraiser.

"Come on, roach number one. Make papa proud."

"Roach number one, Donnie you don't happen to have more roaches right?" Y/n said creeped out. 

"Shh, crimson we need to hear what they are saying"

The roach started to cut through the walls with a saw and started to spy on the Kraang.  Starting to climb up the column and looked down from below.

"Wait, what are those guys talking about? Can you get closer?"

"That which is known as the next phase of the Kraang invasion to the planet known as Earth will soon begin." 

"Next phase? That doesn't sound good." Leonardo continued to speak as your name put on her crimson soldier costume. 

"That which is the laser drill will drill a hole in the planet known as Earth. That is a hole that is 30 miles deep in the Earth."

"Whoa, whoa. They are going to bore a hole into Earth." 

"I'm guessing that's bad."

"Unless you think the city needs a giant lava fountain."

"Yep, that's bad."

"Goodbye, harsh winters-" Raphael stated. 

"Dudes, one wrong move and the earth's core will even implode" Y/n surprising Donatello. 

"We have to stop this!" Donatello said shocked. 

"To execute the plan, Kraang needs to possess that which is known as the diamond lens to make work the drilling of the laser drill." The kraang spoke. 

"What does that mean?" Raphael inputs making Donnie mad. 

"They need a diamond lens to make their laser drill work. now shhh!"

"Kraang is already on the way to that which is called the laboratory that is having the lens that is needed by Kraang."

"What?" Raphael continued. 

"One of them is going to a lab to get it!"

"Which lab?"

"Maybe, if we listen, they'll tell us!"

He accidentally knocks the roach into the mutagen. "Thanks a lot, Raph. We lost the signal!" The purple bandana turtle yelled. 

"Woah, Donnie you alright?" Y/n placing a hand on his shoulder. 

"Yeah...sorry for the outburst" he breathed calmly. "Hey, what happened to your hair?" He touched her hair bringing attention to the guys. 

"I well...we will figure it out later" she inputs backing away and covers her face with her ninja hood. 

🏮

"Uh-Huh. I think I found the diamond lab. Now, it's a bit blurry but maybe we can follow it to the laboratory." He said with enthusiasm. 

"We don't have much time till the Kraang drill fires. Let's go!"

Leo starts the Shellraiser. Something thumped under the van.

"Ka-Thump! That's a really bad sound."

"It sounded more like a "ba-dump."" Mikey replies. 

"I heard a "fwap."The hot-headed turtle adds. 

"Fwap?" Raphael slaps both the youngest of his brothers earning a eye roll from Y/n.

"Fwap." Raphael repeated. Y/n grabs her katana feeling a bit uneasy. 

They checked outside and what they saw was a brown looking corpse. It had antennae and wires coming from its body. 

"What is that?" Leonardo said bewildered. 

"Ugh. Smells like a butt sandwich."

Raph covers his mouth and gags. Donnie began to analyze the body with his pencil.

"Bro, do you usually run over corpses?" Y/n covers her 

"Oh. Oh, dear. Would you look at that? Hideous and beautiful. It's... blech! wipes the slime off his mouth. 

"So, what is it, Donnie?"

"It's my spy roach."

"Your what? Your WHAT?!" Raphael yelled as Y/n clung to the nearest person next to her. Which managed to be an equally scared terrapin. 

"It must have been exposed to some mutagen. You see how the nab helmet merged with his exoskeleton? We have never seen organic and inorganic matter fused in-in-in such an ama--"

"That's great, Donnie, we can discuss this some more when we're driving away at a thousand miles an hour." Y/n agreed bitting her nails nervously. 

"Come on, big babies. What are you worried about? We creamed it with our van. It's not like it's going to get up and come after us!"

"Mikey, you should really learn to keep your mouth shut. Everything you guys say is a jinx!" The young teen flung her arm in the air dramatically. 

As she talks, the Spy Roach slowly gets up and grabs Donnie.

"Uh, guys?! WAAAHH!!" He yelled as the cockroach lifted him in the air.

"Dudette you are on to something!" He states in panic. 

Raph screams as the roach tossed Donnie and began to approach. Mikey, Leo and Donnie struggle to fight the bug but it is stronger. Y/n stayed in place feeling goosebumps course through her body. 

"Crimson a little help, This thing's tough." Leonardo spoke noticing Y/n's red streaks glow for a second. "Argh, great now I am imagining things"

"Naturally. Cockroaches are among the most resilient life forms on the planet."

"And the grossest." Mikey gets knocked "Sensitive roach."

"Where's Raph?"

"Eat hot manhole cover!" Someone shouted getting everyone's attention. 

Raph started to fire the manhole covers and managed to knock it down. The bug began to twitch and started to approach but it got knocked down completely.

"Oh, no!" Raph continues to fire again. 

"Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Ease up, Raph. I think you got him." Leonardo stated as Y/n grabbed her head in slight discomfort. 

"You okay crimson?" He shoots it one more time. "What do we do with it?"

"Forget the roach! We've got to stop the Kraang before they destroy the Earth."

"Leo's right. We've got to go." Raphael grabbed Y/n's hand trying to comfort her. 

"Sorry guys it's just I had bad experiences with roaches" she explained remembering part of her past. 

"You just want to get away from that thing." Micheal Angelo added. 

"Is that so wrong?" the roach is gone. "Oh, no. It's gone! Come on, guys, we've got to move."

They run back to the shellraiser a Y/n breaths heavily. 

🏮

Meanwhile, the Kraang are transporting the lens into the truck.

"The box which contains the lens is heavier than Kraang thought."

"There's the van! They must have picked up the lens." 

"Ram that sucker!" Raphael said. 

They knock the Kraang's van down.

"Halt, Kraang!" 

"The halting of Kraang is not a thing that the ones who are turtles will be doing to Kraang."

"Wrong. The halting of Kraang is exactly the thing that the ones who are- yeah, just halt!"

"Which do we save first? The world or the English language?"

"Wait till you have to remember all of them" Y/n inputs remembering how her mom crammed lessons to her brain. 

"I've got the lens."

The spy roach appears on the van. Raph screams and the bug starts to fire lasers at the Kraang. Once they were down, The cockroach terminator leaped down off the van.

"Mikey, Donnie, Y/n you take the roach. Raph, you're coming with me. Raph? Raph!""

Raph is hiding in the corner.

"All right, my roachie. Time to meet your maker." Mikey said. 

"Wait, isn't that me?" Donatello stated. 

"Exactly. Go get him, tiger." The youngest turtle said as Y/n tried to run shaking from fear. 

"Mom,...wherever you are give me your strength" she yelled picking up her katana. 

The roach grabs Donnie while a few winged Kraang fly alongside. Mikey dodged as Leo tried to pull the box. but the winged Kraang caught it.

"Oh, no. The Kraang has the lens again."

The roach shoved Mikey aside. As Y/n felt a tear roll down her cheek. Fear was consuming her entire being. Her punches were faltering as the roach roared trying to exterminate her. 

"Raph, where are you? Raph, are you hearing me? Raph? Crimson is in trouble!"

Meanwhile, the Cockroach Terminator scanned to see Raph hiding behind the shellraiser.

"Why did it have to be a cockroach? Why did it have to be a cockroach?! That is a big cockroach!"

Donnie attacks moving Y/n aside to rescue her. 

"Leave it to me Red hood! We're not done with you yet, Spy-Roach!"

Mikey sprays bug spray at the bug, making him screech. He and Donnie began to spray him and whack him down as the roach fell on his back.

"Yes, nail him, Mikey!"

"Uh-oh."

But the bug spray is out. Before the roach could fire, he gets run over by a truck.

"How does that grill taste, bug?"

The driver screams seeing the bug and leaps off. The truck crashes into a warehouse. Donnie cheers.

"Now, where's the diamond?"

"Raph lost it. Raph, where were you?"

"I was busy." Raphael lied as Y/n sat on the floor holding her head. 

"Busy cowering in terror. We have got to find the drill before the Kraang cracks open Manhattan like an egg!"

Raph sighs. As they leave, Spy Roach emerges from the flames.

"It's hot...so hot" Y/n said as Donnie put his hand on her face. Donnie left his mouth agape. 

"You blew it, Raph. You've got to get your head together." He pointed out. 

"I know. This stupid phobia is going to end up getting the whole team killed. Listen, I'm sorry, Leo."

"Hey...don't sweat it Raphael I feel the same as you" Y/n drank a sip of water. 

"Guys. Okay, here's a map of known Kraang facilities, and here's the map of the fault lines in New York City. Now, if the Kraang are going to drill into the Earth's crust then this is where they do it."

"All right then, guys. We've got a little more time left before the Kraang starts drilling."

They continue to drive. They hear something thump coming from below and a buzzing sound of a chainsaw.

"What's that sound?"

"I don't see anything outside. Uh-oh. He's back!" 

"What?! Where?! Where the heck could it be? He's underneath the van. He's underneath the van!" He realized as he clung to Y/n and she did the same. 

"Is this roach immortal or something!" Y/n yelled clinging to Raphael. 

"Whoa, crimson are you running a fever again?" Raphael inputs concentrated on her. 

Below, the roach cuts through causing the shellraiser to stop.

"He cut the drive shaft?"

"How does he keep finding us?" Leonardo questioned. 

"Well, he could be using the homing signal I set up so SpyRoach could find his way back to the van." Donnie replied. 

"There's a homing signal?!"

"Dude, even I would have turned that off." Mikey counters. 

"Excuse me, Mikey. I've been a little distracted." He said irritated. "Maybe I can use the signal to tap into his camera to see what he's seeing."

"None of this makes sense. Why is he so mad at us?"

"And got it."

The camera screen shows Raph attacking. Y/n trying to kill it with her dragon kunais. Finally, it made sense that the Roach is after them. 

"Oh, crud."

"Fu~" Leonardo covers her mouth. 

"You know you really got a potty mouth on times like this" the oldest turtle lectures her. 

"I don't think he's mad at us. I think he's mad at you guys."

"Wow, that stinks for someone who's afraid of roaches!"

"I already got it, thanks. So are there any more surprises?" a blazing saw appears "He has a saw?! This cockroach has a saw! Y/n is right we always get jinxed!"

Leo slices the limb away as he takes his hand off the girl's mouth. 

"Not anymore. Donnie, the rest of us will keep the roach busy-"

"We will?" Both yell in unison as they hug each other tightly. 

"Yes! You've got to fix the Shellraiser fast. Like, yesterday fast."

Leo, Mikey, Raph and the crimson soldier are outside, even though both the red users are scared.

"Hey, SpyRoach, they are out here. Come and get them"

"Really? You're using us as bait?" Raphael asked. 

"Leonardo I'ma beat your shell when we get through this" Y/n inputs adrenaline pumped. 

Spy Roach appears. The turtles began to flee. Leo and Mikey grab the bug in a trash can but are easily thrown aside. Raph starts to run away.

"I'm not afraid! Not afraid. Not afraid... Not not... Scratch that!" He grabbed Y/n's hand tightly. "Fully afraid! I'm sorry I tried to smash you, ok?""

Both of them get cornered as they hug each other tightly. If they had to die they'd at least try to cling to their favorite person. 

"I'm sorry. We learned a very important lesson. I'll never be cruel again. Just leave me alone!"

"Raphael is right I was just scared of you! Please, don't kill us!"

"On one condition."

"Anything!"

"Be good to Michelangelo."

"What?"

"I don't like where this is going" she commented slowly opening her eyes. 

"Let him read your comics once In a while."

"MIKEY!" 

Furious that Mikey pranked he kicked and lunged at Mikey who went behind Leo.

"OW! So much for learning your lesson."

"Nice job, guys."

"What are you talking about? Where's the bug?"

They looked over and saw the bug was frozen.

"Ha! Stuck, huh? Not so tough now, are you, roachie? You're just a hollow shell. What the-"

"Holy shit!" Y/n yelled making Leonardo roll his eyes. 

"He must have molted."

"They molt?"

"Yeah, roaches shed their skins when they.. get.. bigger."

"Dude, you're not kidding."

He was right. The roach mutated. It was now white with two blackish eyes, blue digital wings and a nasty looking mouth.

"A cockroach.. Why did it have to be a cockroach? And it flies!"

"Uh, guys I just remembered why I fear them! One flew at me when I was little! Run!" She said as her lungs burned. 

They start to run away from the newly formed bug until it grabs Raph, its tongue licking his cheek. Raph stabs it and falls into a dumpster. He climbs out, screaming.

"Start the engine! Start the engine!!" Y/n hands him a handkerchief to clean his face.

They retreat into the shellraiser

"Donnie, did you get this thing working?"

"We've got bigger problems. You've got to stop that drill!"

Raph starts to fire trash balls at the bug but no luck. The young girl felt strangely hot she couldn't have gotten another cold. After the kraang examined her and took her blood out. Y/n felt strangely different and it all started with her red streaks. 

"What the?" 

Mikey kicks the spy roach out of the way.

"Take that!"

Quickly, the shellraiser started.

"I had my chance, and I couldn't face it. I just couldn't do it!" He yelled bummed out. 

"Look at the bright side. In fifteen minutes, we could all melt in a fountain of lava..." He processed the information. "Ok, that sounded brighter in my head."

"The laser drill is just past the front gate. Kraangdroids everywhere. Hope you've got a good plan."

"I'm going to ram through the gate and we'll go from there."

"Works for me!"

Leo stares at Raph, who feels pretty guilty. Y/n was trying to get a grip of reality. 

"Uh-oh. We've got company again."

"What was that? Where is it?"

Suddenly the bug grabbed Y/n into the air. Closing her eyes she repeated some calming words from her mother. 

"You've got this... You've got this" she repeated as a strange pain erupted from her chest. 

"It's got Y/n!"

"We've got to do something."

Raphael couldn't believe what was happening. His heart beat wildly seeing her figure. Raph decided to have a chance to get rid of his fear and save his best friend. 

"I'll stop him."

"You don't have to do this just to prove you're not afraid."

"I am afraid and that's why I have to do this. I'm coming, Y/n! No six-foot tall cockroach is going to eat my best friend! 

Raph leaves into his kart. Y/n struggled to get out of its grip as Raph used the go kart.

"Hey! You, up there. Looking for me? Remember I was the first one that wanted to exterminate you!" He yelled trying to save Y/n.

"Flames...there is a strange willpower within you. Use it at your advantage sweet pea..." a strange voice echoed throughout her mind. 

The bug tossed Y/n to try and kill her. Opening her mouth forcibly as a strange gust of fire came out of her mouth. Raph looks at her surprised as she lands on top of him. The roach chases them and pulls mutagen bombs from its chest and throws them at the road. Raph dodged the attack and began to use a cloaking device while the bug lost its signal. Raph thinks he lost him but his kart accidentally knocked over a bunch of trash cans, gaining the roaches attention. The creature roared and pulled out more of its mutagen bombs. Raph throws the mutagen bomb at the roach's face, causing it to crash.

"The laser drill just passed the 500-meter mark."

"Those known as the turtles are approaching."

"All right, guys. Get ready. We're going in."

They charge right in, but only to be stuck midway

"Are we in?"

"No! Raph and Crimson we're stuck! It's up to you. Get the Kraang!"

"I'm on it!" Raphael scanned Y/n she was still recovering from the fire that came from inside her. "Listen crimson I don't know what that was but if you could do it again. Please do so!"

"I....I feel so...weird"

SpyRoach blocks this path.

"This is either going to be really cool or really painful." He repeated as Y/n breathes heavily. 

He moves forward and crashes into Spy Roach, causing them to fly in the air and land on the other side of the Kraang center.

"Ok it was both." He noticed Y/n holding her chest. "You ok dummy?"

"Peachy" she replied sarcastically. 

"The laser drill is 400 meters from the Earth core."

"Not for long!"

He gets to the top. He looked over and saw Spy Roach, its face now had a tire track. Y/n breaths in air as her lungs contracted again. She feared the roach...but something inside her wanted to beat it. 

"Fire...must fire!" She yelled as her mouth opened again preparing the strange flames. 

"You've got to be kidding me! All right, insect. You think I'm scared of you? I aced your butt twice already. You want to go for number three, huh? Do you? Come and get me!" Raphael yelled with all his might. 

He throws his helmet at the roach mutant. Raph started to battle the Spy Roach, biting and punching it.

"The laser drill is at 300 meters."

Raph punches it in the stomach then starts to pull the laser.

"200 meters....!00 meters."

Raph punches the roach down and moves the orb and grabs onto the laser.

"Drill this!"

"Turn to ashes!"Y/n yelled as the fire finally came from her mouth. 

He sliced the bug as Y/n turned it into ashes. He then catches his helmet who came back and Y/n sat on his knees. Then they retreat back onto the street.

"Well, guys, you faced your fear and saved the city. Not bad for a Wednesday."

"Faced my fear? I conquered my fear! I looked my fear in the eye and I zapped it to a blimp." Raphael was carrying Y/n bridal style. 

"Wooow uh! So you're not afraid of cockroaches anymore, huh?" Mikey stated curiosity written in his face. 

"Nope." He felt Y/n put her arms around his neck. 

"Good, good then you won't mind the one I just slipped into your shell."

Raph’s eyes grew wide and ran around with Y/n screaming as everyone laughed.

🏮

"Y/n, it's strange...but your dna has some how changed after your blood got drowned out" the young scientist looked at the diagram. "No sign of mutagen is present in your blood though" 

"Dude, fire literally shot out of my mouth!" Y/n yelled feeling her hands all clammy. Her heart beat wildly, her head was spinning. The girl exhaled and inhaled. 

"Calm down dudette" he hugged her tightly feeling her body tense. "Raphael you should join in." He instructed. 

"He is right, Crimson. You need to calm down. Whatever this is we will help you understand it." Raphael hugged her as Mikey let go. The girl closed her eyes as she felt a panic attack course through. 

"It's not right... I am supposed to be human...I mean look at me I literally look like one" her eyes watered. "We need to find my mom... I need my mom. I need her to tell me what the hell I am..." Feeling Raphael's cold skin somehow soothed the burning desire to escape his grip. 

"You mean... Who you truly are" Splinter came in holding his beard. "The kraang are after you. Your mom might be key to something" 

Y/n released Raphael's grip giving him a small smile. "Thanks guys, more than ever I am thankful to have crossed paths with you" she said holding her chest suddenly. A small pain quickly abrupts. 

"Um, don't tell me you're about to shoot fire again?" Donatello stated as they quickly took cover. 

"I...(burp)" a small fire comes out of her mouth. "I shouldn't have eaten your ramen Mikey." She said as all of them sigh of relief. 

Hi, guys sorry I took so long. I hope you liked it, this story is slowly taking the path I wanted it to take. Sorry if it feels rushed but far along the story you will slowly connect the dots. 

[mykingdomforafandom]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60780760/chapters/155230339

The Raven king was hungry, hungry for power, for freedom from the cage he had been confined to. It had taken all the Gods' might to seal him away but the Raven king was smart, he knew it would only be a matter of time before he could temp mortals to release him.

Years ago John awoke in a town he did not come from, he only had fleeting memories of his life before and everything else seemed to be black, hidden from him as though he had never lived that life at all. He was known in stories to those beyond the walls of the town as a moral who had bested a monster, though very few even believed that.

The 141 had a mission, stop the Raven king before he escaped and took a form which allowed him to walk the earth. Knight Captain John Price pulled together a party of various strengths, aided by the creature who called himself The Ghost, who made even monsters quake at the mention of his name. All he needed was a monster killer and they were all set.

(Fully finished, just being edited)

Ships

John "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley

Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra/Alejandro Vargas (Background)

John Price (Call of Duty)/Original Female Character(s) (background)

Characters:

John "Soap" MacTavish

Simon "Ghost" Riley

John Price (Call of Duty)

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Gary "Roach" Sanderson

Kate Laswell

Nikolai (Call of Duty: Modern Warfare)

Alejandro Vargas

Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

Vladimir Makarov

Phillip Graves (Call of Duty)

Original Characters

Farah Karim

Alex Keller (Call of Duty)

Shepherd (Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2)

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Fantasy

Blood and Violence

Major Character Injury

Dark Fantasy

Gods

Magic

Swords & Sorcery

d&d altered story

Found Family

Slow Burn

Kissing

Touch-Starved Simon "Ghost" Riley

Emotionally Repressed

Unresolved Sexual Tension

Cuddling & Snuggling

Platonic Cuddling

Dad Price

Hurt Simon "Ghost" Riley

Vampires

Non-Consensual Blood Drinking

Hostage Situations

Action/Adventure

Semi-Public Sex

Anal Sex

Possessive Sex

Possessive Behavior

Canon-Typical Violence

John "Soap" MacTavish Has an Accent

Friends to Lovers

Past Simon "Ghost" Riley/Gary "Roach" Sanderson

Mythical Beings & Creatures

Undead

Mentions of Slavery

Bath Sex

Ghosts love language is physical touch

Awkward Flirting

Memory Alteration

Past Lives

Past Character Death

soul mates

Mute Gary "Roach" Sanderson

Eventual Smut

[roach-n]

Wish to give roach a big hug

Roach is somewhere between extreamly touch starved to touch repulsed.

Kinda like a very old grumpy cat.

A very paranoid and confused cat.

⁽ᴿᵒᵃᶜʰ ᵈᶦᵈ ᵃᶜᶜᶦᵈᵉⁿᵗᵃˡˡʸ ᵖᵃᵛˡᵒᵛ ᵈᵒᵍᵍᵉᵈ ˢᵗʳᵃᵈᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ʳᵉⁿ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵒ ᵉᵃˢᶦᵉʳ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗᵒʳᵗᵘʳᵉ ᵇʸ ᵏᶦˢˢᶦⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʳᵒʷⁿ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉᶦʳ ʰᵉᵃᵈˢ ᶦⁿˢᵗᵉᵃᵈ ᵒᶠ ᵖˡᵉᵃᵈᶦⁿᵍ⁾

[tamorisana]

i need.. naga!ghost..

starvation mentioned.

i need him carving warmth and wear ten sweaters. i need him carving warmth so he gets into roaches bed for it.

him almost always having bed sheds because of self starving for months and johnny runs a warm shower for him. to make it easier.

i need soap and roach putting a fucking grand into blankets and heating pads because they care. because they need him warm and safe.

i need simon to push himself to limit with hunger and feel like he is a monster when he eats because he is hungry.

they all would be anxious and a tid jealous when ever two of them hang out, thinking they are interwining something between said two and not hang out as much.

ghost feeling like he pushes the two away by being there...

i need him hissing at soap when he touched him without asking only to apologize and basically run away. he would hide, hate his second nature and believe what his father told him.

he doesn't deserve to be loved. he cannot be loved. no one would love someone so broken and and such monster. whats next? biting anyone who touches him?

i need his hiding under roaches bed because there is always no one and roach is on mission...

[seoafin]

Crying and sniffling falling to the ground pls u CANNOT bring up stsg getting boners from ripmc being sick around me I'm a degenerate I CANT cope w this information I literally cannot stop thinking about them cooing and baby talking and pinching and cupping her as she just lies there all stupid and dumb and takes it. too delirious to talk or fight back just humming and mewing all pliant in their arms like PLSSSSS the image of her actually being boundary-less and forthcoming about wanting cuddles and reaching up all needy and grabby handy for Geto and crawling all over him and whimpering and he's like ahahaha... i'm gonna jizz on her thigh and Gojo's just watching like this is the most Serious Shit™️ I'm gonna krill myself they're going to insta coom when they realise they can do any fucking thing rn and get away w it they could literally just be like erm ^^' say...do you think you could jerk us off and she'd just sleepyhead smile and beam at them and literally just do it and say stupid lovey dovey shit because her embarrassment filter is gone like "ahhh... these feel so nice and big and warm in my hands...? It feels like velvet... <3 Gojo, your tip is getting so cute and red... Is it okay if I touch it just a little...?" Like they'd literally just have to ask her for anything and she'd get so into it not even cus she's that horny or anything she's just like their dicks are so cute stupit brained probably starts nuzzling their cocks on her face just cus they feel nice and warm and starts deep throating on em cus her woozy fever brains like 🫵 'u starve urself this is free food' literally wakes up to Gojo or Geto's dick in her gullet just fell asleep orally cockwarming them didn't even care and probably they feel bad taking low-key advantage of her like this but it is the one (1) time they will ever have ripmc taking the initiative to squirm and nuzzle all over em like this she will never get sick again it's a one time thing she's like a roach, even tho she's suicidal even she can't krill herself she simply cannot die it's a once in a lifetime opportunity the time to diddle her and her is NOW or NEVER

as i was reading this insane ask all i could think about was that tweet where it's like "nothing better than getting head from a sick bitch" 😭😭😭😭😭😭

anyway this is so insanely hot to me just the idea of being coddled while you're too sick to do anything like push them away....combined with a lack of inhibitions on both your parts. gojo keeping you upright while geto feeds you soup. but gojo has a wandering hand and he's feeling you up the entire time while geto watches and tells you to open your mouth with a smile. checks your temperature by sticking his fingers into your mouth. you want to kiss them but you don't want to get them sick so you decide the next best course of action is to suck their dicks.