#Rag bolt

[raajrajasharma]

Upgrade Your Bathroom with a Trendy Rack Bolts in india | Frikly

Elevate Your Bathroom with Premium Rack Bolts from Leading Manufacturers at Frikly. Discover a wide selection of branded Rack Bolts online, offering unparalleled quality and style. Whether you seek a sleek and modern design or a bold and unique statement piece, our collection has it all. Transform your bathroom into a stunning sanctuary with our lowest-cost options, without compromising on quality. Shop now and buy the perfect Rack Bolts for your space, exclusively at Frikly!

[aria0fgold]

I saw a black blob moving very slowly at the corner of my eye so I was like: "??? What is that?" I glanced at it and the first thing that my head processed was "Oh a kitten" and then a split second after that thought my brain finally activated and went: "Wait a sec-- the gate is closed--" So I finally properly processed what it actually was and it was a rat... orz... Immediately chased it away and MAN do these guys fit in such tight spaces.

[comicbooksaregood]

Identity Crisis

Volume: 1

Issue: 1

Variant Cover: Rags Morales

DC

[theragsagainstthemachine]

So apparently there’s a thing called InhumansOctober. Ok, here’s a Blackbolt, Triton, and Crystal I dusted off.

[sw5w]

And Back Again, It's the Mighty Dud Bolt with That Incredible Racing Machine, the Vulptereen 327

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 00:56:13

[anantaru]

genshin man (your choice ofc) overstimulating reader ☺️🫵🏻☺️🫵🏻

・✶ ｡ including — alhaitham, kinich ☁︎ synopsis — he likes overstimulating his darling, he loves it, even <3

warnings — overstimulation, sweet talks with alhaitham <3 teasing genshin man, kinich is a little mean, fem! reader

— alhaitham

"if you could only see yourself the way i see you," alhaitham murmurs as his lips brush against your ear ever so tenderly— and his voice was like a soothing balm hovering on top of you, grounding you in the present moment even as your senses spiraled into near insanity.

with purpose, his hands move and explore your writhing skin, discovering every sensitive spot on your body as his hips thrust with vigor, the messy, wet squelches of your cunt making you arch your back as the bubble inside your belly threatens to pop.

with alhaitham, there was no rush in his actions, only a deep, profound care to give you the most intense pleasure until your body borders on overstimulation and love. his fingertips trace delicate patterns over your skin as his eyes, filled with an intense yet tender focus, watch how your legs shake and quiver around his narrow waist.

you continue to arch into his touch and whimper when you catch his lips curve into a small smile each time your pussy squeezes him, his gaze never leaving your face. he wanted, no, needed to see every expression you made, every moment of pleasure he could draw from you until you lose control of yourself, the feeling of his erection pressing into you over and over being unlike anything profanely possible.

"just let go for me, yeah?" he whispers, his voice like a husky command that sent a cold shiver down the entirety of your spine, "i'm with you, here with you," as he continues to grind his cock into you, the lazy, yet skilled drags of his shaft rushing around your spongey walls as you mewl out his name.

there was nothing you could do other than cling to his shoulders, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as the sensations were beginning to turn overwhelming, each touch, each kiss, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you and feeling like a mountain was tied against your frame, looming and threatening to crush you.

his hands moved lower to find your swollen clit to pinch and press into the little pearl before rubbing you fiercely as it that had you crying out in deep pleasure until you just couldn't take it anymore.

your body felt so tense, the pleasure building to its pinnacle as you messily released all over his cock, intense waves of pleasure bursting through you as you simply shattered, your body convulsing in his strong arms as alhaitham held you through it all, his merciless touch on your clit never faltering as he rubbed you through your blissful orgasm.

— kinich

kinich's eyes sparkled with mischief as he traced a finger down your arm, his touch light and teasing while his grin was somewhat playful, quite menacing as well if being honest, yet promising a night of unrestrained pleasure until he could see you fall apart for him.

"you look so tempting to me, i can't wait to feel you over and over and over," the man purred, his voice resembling a seductive whisper as you leaned into his warmth, his breath hot against your neck as he kissed a trail down to your collarbone before biting into your flesh.

it's obvious he knows exactly how to drive you wild, how to make you beg and cry.

in a matter of seconds, you tremble underneath him, toes curled and your hips grinding up so your clit could rub into his pelvis as kinich chuckled at your eagerness, finding it rather amusing as it fueled the ego inside of him, "patience, ever heard of it, hmm?" he teases as his lips brush against your ear, "don't you realize we have all night?"

his fingers induce electric bolts into you as they danced over your skin with ease, never lingering in one spot for too long as he found it to be the most pleasurable if he was able to tease you until you would literally break— because you see, each touch was a tantalizing promise of the pleasure to come, leaving you breathless and yearning for more and kinich utterly adored that.

"how odd, you're so sensitive there," he remarks with a giggle as he messily thrusts into your cunt before grinding his hips down whenever he was fully inside, "i wonder why," as his voice turned in a husky whisper, his eyes meeting yours in a trice, a spark of amusement and desire in their depths and taking you by surprise.

"ugh, i love seeing you like this, so vulnerable,"

kinich's grin was wicked, insane, his eyes never leaving yours as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. "more, come on," he whispers, "i want to see you fall apart for me, you think you can do that?"

and with a final, teasing thrust— so strong, in fact, that it made your boobs jiggle up and down, he sent you over the edge, your voice dying in your throat before you felt something pop in your stomach and fuck, it was so effortlessly quick like he didn't even need to try to make you feel this way.

©2024 anantaru  do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[ebodebo]

Nuts And Bolts

—mechanic!ghost with psychologist!reader…MDNI

Stepping out of your office and onto the town's bustling streets, you admire the Christmas decorations the city has set up. But, it does nothing to settle your soured mood.

Simon and you had gotten into an argument the previous night, and you haven’t heard or seen him since. You assumed he went to his car garage to let off some steam, but, as his wife, why the hell were you left to wonder about your husband’s whereabouts?

To set the scene, it had been an ordinary night. You had gotten off work before Simon, so you thought you would prepare a nice dinner with a glass of red wine.

Simon swings open the door as you season some vegetables, dawning an unpleasant expression. You turned to face him, raising a brow.

“What’s the matter?” You ask, setting your tongs down to walk over to him. He simply shakes his head and heads straight for your shared bedroom.

You tilt your head and head straight towards the bedroom after him, unable to let him writhe in his agony alone.

“Simon.” You stand in the doorway, observing him as he sits on the edge of the bed. He doesn’t so much as spare you a glance, making you worry.

You make your way to him and sit on the edge of the bed next to him. “You want to talk about what you’re feeling?” You insist, making him finally look at you.

“Stop it.” He firmly states. Your eyes widen at his tone.

“What?” You ask, keeping your tone soft to avoid antagonizing him.

“You’re tryin’ to do that shit again.” He scowls, standing up to walk back through the bedroom door. You quickly follow suit as he continues.

“Trynna’ pick my brain.” He walks over to the liquor cabinet and grabs a bottle of whiskey.

“Like I’m a fuckin’ patient.”

“No. I—” You intently pause, thinking. “Okay, you seem upset, stressed even.” You watch him grab a glass and pour some whiskey into it.

“Alcohol isn’t a good way to cope.” You say, adopting your signature calm voice you use on your patients.

He laughs dryly, even though the burning amber liquid coated his throat.

“And, there you go again.” He sighed, looking up at you.

“I’m trying to help you, Simon.” You insist, reaching out to gently grab his forearm, though he quickly retracts from your touch.

He lets out another dry chuckle before setting down his glass and walking to the coat rack to grab his coat. You attempt to question his whereabouts, but he fills in the space first.

“I don’t need a shrink. I need my wife.”

And, with that, he left. Leaving you to stare helplessly at the front door, not knowing where you went wrong and not knowing where to go from there.

You recounted yesterday’s events in your mind all day today, even during patient sessions. You always left your personal matters at the door, but this was different because you were genuinely dumbfounded.

Even walking out of work, you still thought about the whole ordeal. However, your thoughts were absolved when you saw the familiar mechanic shop sign out of the corner of your eye. They would be closed about now, but, knowing Simon, he would still be there.

You walk into the garage part to see a body under a truck, working on it. You delicately press the little bell, you insisted he get, on the desk closest to the doors.

“We’re closed.” God, it had only been a day, but you missed his voice.

“Even for me?” You question, feeling a little shy. He paused his movements before scooting himself out from under the truck. Your eyes shamelessly glazed over his body, looking at what he was wearing: an old white shirt covered in grease and gray sweatpants with oil marks.

“No, not for you.” He stated, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he grabbed an old rag to wipe his hands clean.

You gave him a half-smile. “Been working overtime, I see?” You try to keep your tone playful, but judging by how he slightly frowns, you can tell your voice has defiled you.

“We should talk.” He stated, with almost a cringe on his face. You nod and sit on a chair adjacent to him as he leans on the hood of the truck he was working on.

“I’m sorry.” He sighs out, clearly disappointed in himself. “Was havin’ a shitty day and brought it onto you.” You look up at him and give him a frown.

“I’m sorry, too.” He snaps his eyes to yours, a puzzled expression taking over his face.

“For what?” You gently tug on your bottom lip before answering.

“For treating you like a patient and not my husband. It’s not fair to you.” You sigh, avoiding his gaze.

“Sweetheart, look at me.” He lightly demands. You bring your head up and bring your eyes to lock with his.

“This isn’t your fault. I was bein’ a dick.” He walks over to you and reaches for your hand, which you grasp. He guides you from the chair so you’re standing before him, looking up at him.

“Are you gonna come home?” You softly question as he stares into your eyes, mentally kicking himself for making them look so sullen.

“Wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else.” He says, bringing his hand up to sweep a stray piece of your hair away from your face, leaning down to kiss your lips sweetly. You could feel your skin sizzle from only a slight touch, internally sighing as he pulled away to speak.

“Should get goin’ then.” He says, walking over to the truck's hood and gently slamming it shut. “Johnny’s gonna come check the exhaust.”

“When’s he coming?” You absentmindedly ask as you watch Simon slip off his white shirt, observing his toned body.

“Eh, half an hour.” He casually says, turning away from you to walk over to the cabinet to grab a clean white shirt.

“So, we’re alone?” You question, bringing your hands up to untie the front of your blouse.

“Uh, huh.” He agrees, still rummaging through the cabinets, back towards you. You hum a sign of approval as you open your blouse, then move to unclip your bra, your breasts spilling out as soon as you do.

He finally finds a clean shirt and turns toward you, eyes widening as he sees you, chest bare. Your pulse quickens as he stares, unsure of his thoughts. When he doesn’t speak for a moment, you start to lose the confidence you had garnered.

“Is it too much?” You shyly ask, starting to feel insecure. He can’t speak; his mouth has gone dry at the sight of you. He drops the shirt in his hand and walks over to you, bringing his hand up to trace the curve of your breast.

“Fuck.” He manages to get out as your breathing becomes more ragged and your pupils dilate at the sensation.

“It’s never too much.” He answers your earlier question, cupping the bottom of your breast, making you sigh. You bring your hands up to grip his shoulders as he caresses your breast.

He leans to press a hot kiss onto your lips as he rolls your nipple between his pointer and thumb, making you moan into his mouth. He roughly grips the back of your thighs and picks you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he hauls you over to the hood of the truck.

He hikes up your skirt and hurriedly connects his lips back to yours before kissing down your neck, gently sucking on the tender skin, making you whine. He sinks to his knees in front of you, bringing one hand up to grab ahold of your calf, raising it slightly so he can slip the heel off your foot.

Once he gets one heel off, his other hand drifts to your other foot, slipping the heel off as he plants kisses up your ankle, and calf, stopping at your mid-thigh before nipping at the pantyhose encasing your cunt with his teeth, making a tiny hole. He slightly raises his hands and uses his pointers to split the pantyhose further.

“Hey! Those were Falke.” You urge, referring to the German-made, almost three-hundred dollar silk tights he had soiled.

“I’ll buy you more.” He amends, gripping the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers, slipping them down simultaneously. His cock immediately shot up, so visibly hard. You brought your hands to gently pump him up and down as his hands went to massage your tender breasts.

He groans at the contact, gripping your breast a little firmer. You moan at that contact, pulling his cock a little firmer.

“You’re killin’ me, baby.” He chokes out, gripping the back of your neck as he roughly kisses your lips. With your hands still on his cock, you gently pull him closer by it, making him hiss as you guide it to your slit.

“I need you in me.” You whine as he brings his hand to twirl in your hair. In one swift motion, he thrusts into you. You both groan at the swift contact, even throwing your heads back.

His movements continue; over and over again, he thrusts into you, making you dig your nails into his skin, desperate for stability. You knew you wouldn't last long and could tell Simon wouldn't either. It has been only been a God-damned day, and you ached for him. Nothing but him would suffice your craving.

“So, fuckin’ good, baby. So, fuckin’ good.” He gruffly repeated, making you clamp around him tighter until you felt that familiar all-consuming euphoria you had so ached for.

As you reached your peak, Simon followed suit, coming with your name on the tip of his tongue. You were both panting, even after both of your orgasms subsided. You looked up at him as he tied your blouse back so your breasts were concealed, bra be damned.

“You did good.” You praised as he reached down to pick up your abandoned skirt from the floor.

“Yeah?” He lightly laughed out, finding humor in your statement.

“Yeah.” You nod as he grips your waist and pulls you off the hood of the car.

“Can you walk?” He questions, his hands still on your waist to help steady you as he carefully slips on your skirt.

“No. Might need you to carry me.” You sigh as you bring your hand up to fake an anguished expression.

“Uh, huh.” He rolls his eyes, though they contain no actual annoyance, as he goes to pick you up bridal style.

“Let’s get you home, Drama.”

a/n: this is the pipeline i’m here for

ur honor i’m just a girl

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[sidekick-hero]

“Hey, have you seen Harrington? Guy’s totally wasted. Can't even stand. Tried to get up, fell down like a goddamn turtle. Garrison's over there throwing chips at him. It’s hysterical, you gotta check this out, man.”

The upside to being the guy everyone calls ‘the Freak’—the guy no one wants to talk to unless they’re looking to buy—is that Eddie can disappear whenever he wants. And tonight, he’s been in full stealth mode, almost ghost-like in the way he drifts through the shadows of this overcrowded house party. When he’s not standing on lunch tables at school, giving speeches, or taunting the assholes who think they run the place, Eddie finds that people tend to forget he’s even there.

Which makes it real easy to hear all kinds of things he probably shouldn’t. Not that Carver's announcement is any kind of secret, not with the way he’s broadcasting it to the entire room. Ever since Harrington lost his King Steve status, the rest of the jock squad has been scrambling to claw their way to the top. It’s desperate. Pathetic, really, if you ask him. But no one’s ever asking Eddie for his opinion.

He should get out of here. Most of his stash is gone, and it’s getting late. There’s leftover mac and cheese in the fridge with his name on it, and if he bolts now, he might just catch the midnight rerun of The Thing.

Eddie tries to ignore the mental image of Harrington—Steve, Steve—sprawled out on that grimy carpet, covered in crumbs and dirt, drenched in stale beer. He must feel defenseless. The kind of defenseless that Eddie knows too well, the kind that gets you laughed at, or worse. But just because Harrington buys a dime bag off him every week doesn’t mean they’re friends. Even if they’ve had a few surprisingly not-awful conversations. Even if Steve’s actually kind of funny for a rich kid, for a jock.

There’s no reason for Eddie to care about what’s happening to Steve Harrington, just like Steve never cared about him.

So why the hell are his feet carrying him toward the living room instead of the back door? Why is he elbowing people out of the way, pushing through the circle of gawkers around Steve? Why are his hands grabbing Steve by the shoulders, hauling him up, and dragging him out before anyone even knows what’s happening?

And why, for the love of God, is he driving to his trailer with Steve snoring in the passenger seat, instead of dumping the guy at his parents' mansion and going home?

Eddie wishes he knew. But his body’s on autopilot, and he’s watching it all happen like he's outside himself, like he’s not the one doing it.

The trailer park is quiet, too quiet for a Saturday night, but that’s January for you—cold as a witch's tit, and getting colder. The van’s heater barely works, and Eddie can see both their breaths fogging up the air, little puffs of steam in the dark.

Eddie cuts the engine, and the sudden silence fills the van like a held breath. Steve shifts in the seat, muttering something incoherent, his head lolling against the window. For a split second, Eddie considers just leaving him here. Would serve him right, honestly. Let King Steve wake up alone, freezing his ass off in a busted van in a trailer park at the edge of town. But then Steve lets out a soft groan, and Eddie can’t help but roll his eyes.

"You're a real piece of work, Harrington," he mutters under his breath, pushing open the driver's side door.

The cold air hits him like a slap, biting through his jacket and sending a shiver down his spine. He makes his way around to the passenger side, yanking open the door and catching Steve before he can tumble out. The guy's heavier than he looks—dead weight, limp as a rag doll. Eddie grunts, struggling for a grip, and finally manages to sling one of Steve's arms over his shoulder.

"Okay, big boy, up you go," Eddie mutters, half-dragging, half-carrying Steve toward the trailer. Steve's head drops forward, his hair brushing Eddie’s cheek, and he smells like a mix of beer, Steve's usual cologne, and something else—something clean, like laundry detergent or fresh air. It's weirdly comforting, and Eddie has to shake himself out of it.

Inside, the trailer is dim, lit only by the glow of the old TV Eddie left on. He kicks the door shut behind them, maneuvering Steve over to the sagging couch. Steve flops down with a heavy thud, eyes still closed, mouth slightly open. For a second, Eddie just stands there, looking at him, wondering what the hell he’s doing.

Why didn’t he just leave him there at the party? Why did he care?

Maybe it's because Steve looks different like this. Not the smug, popular guy who used to strut down the halls like he owned the place. Not the guy who had everything and then lost it all. Just... some kid, really. Some scared, drunk kid who probably doesn’t know where he fits anymore.

“Alright, Sleeping Beauty,” Eddie mutters, leaning down to untie Steve’s sneakers. “Let’s get you comfortable before you choke on your own puke.”

As he pulls off one shoe, then the other, Steve stirs, his eyelids fluttering. For a moment, his gaze is unfocused, hazy, but then his eyes lock onto Eddie’s, and there’s a flicker of recognition.

“Munson?” Steve’s voice is low, rough from whatever he’s been drinking. “What the hell…?”

“Yeah, it’s me, genius,” Eddie says, trying to sound annoyed but failing to hide the faint smile tugging at his lips. “You got yourself in a bit of a mess tonight, Harrington.”

Steve blinks, slowly piecing things together. “Why’d you bring me here?”

Eddie shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Seemed like the right thing to do, I guess.”

Steve snorts, like he doesn’t quite believe him. “Right. The Freak playing Good Samaritan. What’s the punchline?”

Eddie’s smile fades. It inexplicably hurts to hear Steve call him that. “There’s no punchline, man. Not everything’s a joke.”

Steve stares at him, as if searching for something in Eddie’s face, something to latch onto. Finally, he just nods, leaning back against the couch, eyes half-closed again. “Thanks,” he mumbles, almost too quiet to hear. “I guess.”

Eddie feels something strange twist in his chest. “Don’t mention it,” he says, a little too quickly, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as Steve. He turns away, grabbing an old blanket from a nearby chair and tossing it over Steve. “You sleep it off. I’ll be in my room.”

But even as he walks away, he can't shake the feeling that something’s shifted tonight, some invisible line crossed. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe in the morning, Steve will wake up, make a snarky comment, and it’ll all go back to the way it was.

Or maybe, just maybe, it won’t.

[s0dium]

Needing you

Gojo x F!Reader

Synopsis: Gojo comes home after a near death battle, bloody, sweaty and needing you.

Warnings: Sweaty frantic sex, unprotected sex, mentions of blood, no prep, mentions of SPOILERS

~

Gojo cant keep his hands off of you the moment he appears in front of your door.

He's sweaty, there's blood splattered on his face and clothes; god knows if its his or not. His breathing is ragged, deep, and the moment you make eye contact with him, the moment you see the vulnerability in his blue pupils and wide eyes, you dont even have to ask him what transpired. You already have a pretty good idea.

He's on you the second the door shuts behind him , lips crashing down on yours, teeth occasionally clashing and spit smearing on either side of your lips. Its messy, there is no coordination, no rythm, just Gojo trying to taste as much of you as he can. But that wasn't enough to satisfy him, he needed to feel you, touch you, press his bare skin upon yours and feel that he is alive, present, here with you. 

He tears off what ever filmsy tank top and shorts you are wearing and wastes no time shrugging off his blue uniform top. Your not even paying attention to it all; too engrossed in the kiss that has turn you into a whining a mewling mess. When your head hits the pillow you take the opportunity to wrap your legs around Gojo's waist and bring his crotch down to your cunt so he can grind his bulge against the wet spot on your thin white panties. But of course that isnt enough either, he needs to feel you, be inside you. With a grunt Gojo pulls off your underwear and lowers his boxers, just enough so his dick springs out hitting his abdomen. 

You let out a whine when you feel his leaking red tip hit your clit in an hurried attempt to align himself with you. 

“Shhh shh baby” he coos, gritting his teeth when he slips into your warm cunny.

Your thighs tremble as Gojo slams into you even and over again. His lips come into contact with what ever skin it can; leaving feather light ones on your neck and deep purple marks on your boobs and chest. 

Now your both sweaty, desperately clinging onto each other, trying to breath in the scent of his white hair, kiss, memorize every nook and cranny because god knows if Gojo doesn’t come back one day. 

You jolt with sensitivity every time the tip of his dick brushes against cervix: hitting the sweet spot inside you that made your stomach blossom with heat. Even though you’ve taken him so many times before, the stretch of his dick always makes it feel like your first. 

You can feel your self being hurtled closer and closer to an orgasm that you couldn’t put a stop too. Suddenly, in a great display of strength, Gojo manhandles you so your straddling him; the new position making his cock press against your sweet spot perfectly. 

Gojo breathing on your neck falters a bit when you press your chest and stomach flush against his.

“What are you doing, baby?”  He mumbles 

“Just....wanna be close...” you practically whisper as you start a slow grind of your hips; intending to truly savor in the pleasure. 

Your both a moaning mess, it was truly a show of primal affection; skin sticking and unsticking to each other as your bounced up and down his dick, lips attaching to each other in a wet mess and breathing ragged, fast and sometimes slow.

Suddenly, it hits you. Your stomach dips and muscles tighten. Its like bolts of electricity are being ignited through your body all at once in an frightful crescendo. Theres no time to even warn Gojo as your mouth falls open and tongue lolls out.

Oh fuck!" He gasps as your cunt clamps around him. He groans something unintelligible as his thrusts become erratic and sloppy, stopping as he bucks up into your one last time, shooting his hot load into your warm cunt

You collapse into Gojo's chest, not caring for the white liquid pouring out of you. Simply pressing your ear against his skin and listening to his heart beat, one last reminder before you dozed off that he was here, alive, breathing. 

[goxjo]

⟢ ┈ Thinking about meeting with your criminal lawyer higuruma and telling him your side of the story, but he keeps getting distracted by that shiny little thing behind your shirt

+ cw. f! reader, he calls you a chick, reader wears a skirt, nipple + clit piercing, lawyer / client, semi-public setting, MDNI

Hiromi leans back, trying to get comfy in his executive leather chair, mindlessly clicking his ballpoint pen as he listens to you ramble on and on about your little case. Whatever it is you're saying, he's certain you're innocent. But as much as he wants to force himself to care, he has since abandoned all hope of understanding your predicament. Because right now, his eyes keep darting back and forth between your helpless puppy dog eyes and that shiny little twinkling bump behind your shirt.

"Are you listening?"

"Mhm, mhm." He scratches his throat, shifting in his seat, balling his hand in a fist to hide and hopefully suppress the little big strain in his pants. "Sorry, go on."

It doesn't help that the golden hour rays point to your plain white button-down. Sure, everyone is strictly encouraged to go by a dress code. But to wear something so thin at a criminal law firm and forego a bra? This chick is nuts. But so fucking ho—

"My eyes are up here, you know."

Uh-oh. He sheepishly scratches the back of his head. It's no use denying it at this point. "Guilty."

"If my clothes keep distracting you," You speak low, slowly work your buttons down, earning a gulp from Hiromi whose breaths have grown ragged and eyes are deadlocked on your slightly exposed chest, "maybe I should just take it off—"

Hiromi hears the doorknob to his office rattle and quickly gets on his feet. "Higuruma-san. Here's that paperwork you asked for—" the door bolts open, "oh, my bad." Hiromi has turned your swivel chair around just in time, one hand behind you forcing you to lower your head, and the other- well- is hidden from view.

"There, there. Everything's going to be alright." Hiromi appears to be comforting you, patting your back before mouthing 'shh, I'm busy here!' to his colleague.

Hiromi watches as his unsuspecting colleague leaves his office, one hand still soothing your back, and the other... fiddling with the silver metal between his thumb and index finger.

"Sorry about that. Looks like my hand slipped."

"Mmm," you hum, corners of your lips upturned. "Think it could slip lower?" You pull on his tie to make him crouch to your level, legs spreading wide open, allowing him to part your panties to the side.

"Fuck me," Hiromi groans against your forehead upon feeling another piece of metal where he hoped there would be.

Needless to say, Hiromi's earned a pro-bono client that day.

[falling-endlessly]

The Lesson

Vox x Reader

Summary: Vox comes home to find you lying in a pool of your own blood.

As soon as the security cameras in your shared penthouse went dark, he knew something was very, very wrong.

His screen shut off as he focused on any nearby surveillance cameras, only to find that he couldn't get a good angle no matter which direction he turned them to. With a feral growl of frustration, he sent himself through one of the ground-level cameras, ignoring the startled yelps of unsuspecting pedestrians as he zapped into existence.

A path parted for him as he stormed into the building, flashing into the elevator and rigging it to move four times as fast.

He barely restrained himself from just busting down the door in his terrified fury, instead carefully twisting open the doorknob with a white-knuckled fist.

Silence was the second warning. The apartment was never silent, either with Vark thumping around cheerfully or you humming to yourself as you moved through the hallways or tapped away at your keyboard.

The eerie lack of background noise sent an ice cold chill down his spine. He found that he could barely breathe.

With soundless steps, he crept further into the apartment, afraid of what he might—or might not find waiting for him.

He found Vark first, nearly stepping in the growing puddle of blood if he hadn't pulled his foot back in time. Vox strangled a noise in his throat, hastily dropping to his knees as he shrugged off his jacket and tied it as tightly around the shark's mangled side as he could, trying to staunch the bleeding. A numbing thought surfaced in his mind. If Vark was in this condition, then you...

No longer concerned with being silent or careful, Vox flashed into different rooms in your apartment. The bathrooms, the kitchen, the living room.

He found you in your shared bedroom, slumped against the wall as your hair shielded your face. Vox spasmed and glitched, having to mentally force himself to shove his worries in the back of his mind in order to keep control of his movements.

"Y/n?" He whispered, afraid to approach you. Terrified of what he might discover.

You didn't respond, making the cold ball in his chest expand until it felt like his airways were freezing solid. Like his entire body was shutting down.

No. NonoNONONONO.

He half stumbled, half fell at your feet, clawed hands grasping your soft arms and shaking lightly—then harder, when you stayed unresponsive. His knees were wet, something warm—blood, his mind unhelpfully supplied—and his vision was getting concerningly blurry. His hands slid up your shoulders, ignoring the large oozing gash across your chest, and cupped your limp face, where blood was also dripping down the right side in slow rivulets.

"Y/n?" His voice cracked.

When you didn't stir, he let out a choked sob, hastily divesting himself of his dress shirt and pressing the scrunched up ball into your open wound. You didn't even flinch. Fuck.

"Come on, sweetheart, don't do this to me," he said, voice strained as he desperately checked your vitals. His heart nearly stopped when he discovered that yours had.

"Noo," he moaned, sending bolts of electricity into your chest, fruitlessly trying to restart your failed heart. Cursed his lack of proper lips that made CPR that much more difficult.

It took a while before he stopped trying, tiring himself out until crushing sadness replaced the pulsing adrenaline. Vox leaned against the wall, panting as he cradled your cooling body in his lap. He held you when your lips went blue, stroking your hair tenderly like you were still alive. He held you until the first notes of color started to replenish your cheeks once more, until your chest began to delicately rise and fall as your insides repaired themselves.

When your eyelids finally fluttered open, it was to bloodshot, red rimmed ones staring back at you.

"Vox?" You whispered softly, causing your lover to let out a ragged breath. "W-What—?" And then suddenly it all came back to you with a jolt. The demons who broke in and killed you. They didn't want anything you offered them, only to cause as much pain to the TV demon as they possibly could. And what better way to kill him than with his heart? Your bottom lip shook as the horrible memories replayed in your mind, only cut off by the warm chest your face was shoved into.

"Don't," he croaked, shaking his head. "I can see what you're doing, stop it."

Your eyes welled as you let out your own shuddering breath, weak fingers coming up to clutch at the bare skin of his back. He held you as silent tears ran down your face, holding you tighter every time your fingers flexed.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck. "I'm sorry I didn't protect you."

"They didn't want anything," you heaved, burying your face deeper in his shoulder. "Th-they just said they wanted to hurt you and—oh my god, Vark!" You immediately moved to get up, only to be pulled back down again.

"Shh, it's okay," he soothed. "The cameras are back online, I can see him moving around in the kitchen." Internally though, his heart pounded with an incredible rage. So some suicidal fuckers thought they could break into his house and lay their hands on you? Holy fucking shit, when he got his hands on them they were going to wish they'd just stayed in the shadows. That was a promise.

You sagged with relief against him, and he let you stay curled up against him for a few more minutes, before he carried you to the shower. After gently helping you clean off, rubbing your tense muscles when your hands trembled, he dressed you in the fuzziest sleepwear you owned, before depositing you carefully under the silk covers.

"Don't leave," you pleaded, making his heart ache. He acquiesced, staying until he was sure you were asleep, before his screen went dark as he lost himself in the flowing web of information that he'd built himself.

His screen flashed red as a single eye opened. "Found you."

That morning you woke up to lean arms draped over you, a defined chest pressed tightly to your back. A small smile graced your lips.

"Morning," he whispered into your ear.

"Morning," you smiled back. And when you asked the silent question, did you do it? He nodded, pulling you closer.

You leaned your head on his chest, thank you. He squeezed your hand, of course.

***

Art inspiration for the scene “Found you.” HERE (from zerochan, as unfortunately I could not find the direct post)

Artist above (Kwiisha) twitter account HERE

[lipkahome]

Top 9 Installation Accessories Important for Every Bathroom

https://serviceprofessionalsnetwork.com/top-9-installation-accessories-important-for-every-bathroom/

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Loving Suffocation.

A Continuation Of This Piece.

Written for a very lovely, very indulgent anonymous commissioner.

Pairing: Yandere!Loid x Reader x Yandere!Yor (SxF).

Word Count: 4k.

TW: Non/Con, AFAB!Reader, Slight Somnophilia, Spanking, Sex Toys, Breeding, Mentions of Pregnancy, Medical Malpractice, Oral Sex, Obsessive Behavior, Slight Gaslighting, Bruising/Marking, and Overstimulation.

You never did get to see your opera. A lack of oxygen turned your cramped world blurry and abstract, and you faded in and out of consciousness while Yor fussed over your ruined dress and gathered you up in her arms, the strip of fabric she’d tied around your neck and stuffed in your mouth – not quite a gag, but enough to convince your uncooperative vocal cords that calling for help wouldn’t be worth the effort. Sometime between being pulled against Yor’s chest and slipping out of that sex-saturated storage closet, you blinked and by the time you could find the strength to open your eyes again, you were in your apartment, in your own bed, your makeshift gag gone and your wrists bound  behind your back with a generous amount of duct tape. You briefly considered calling for help, but you were past the point of screaming. Even if you tried, the Forgers were your only neighbors close enough to hear, and you’d seen enough of enough of that family for a lifetime.

Just as exhaustion began to overwhelm your better judgement, you caught stifled footsteps in the near distance, heard the door to your bedroom creak open and shut with enough force to shake the drywall. This time, when you closed your eyes, it was in a deliberate effort to will yourself to sleep. An effort that was, of course, rendered futile by Yor’s hand on your forehead, a soft hum too tender to be purposefully deceptive. “I think they might be asleep. The poor thing could barely hold their eyes open.”

“That’s fine.” Instantly, your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach. He spoke quietly, keeping his voice low and airy, but even in worst dreams, Loid seemed to be able to carve out a place for himself. It made sense for him to make an appearance in this nightmare, too. “Can you show me where the damage is?”

You held your breath as Yor’s hand drifted from your face to your thigh. After a moment of hesitation, she nudged you onto your back, pulling the ragged remains of your skirt up to your waist. You fought not to bolt up as cold air washed over your exposed, abused cunt – not to ball your fists as you felt Loid’s narrowed eyes pry into you the way they always seemed to when you passed each other in the hall, when he got home before you could find a reason to get out of the Forgers’ suffocating apartment. You managed to hold yourself still as he clicked his tongue, edging that much closer to the foot of your bed. You could picture him leaning over you, perfectly styled blonde hair falling ever so slightly out of place as he took long, agonizing seconds to evaluate the bruises lining the inside of your thighs, the crescent-shaped marks Yor’s nails had left pressed in your hips, your waist. Calloused fingertips brushed over your ankle, but further restraint was deemed unnecessary as his attention shifted back to his wife. “And you said you found them…?”

“Unconscious,” she filled in. You could hear her shifting her weight, feigning concern as her husband evaluated you. “In front of our building. I tried to wake them up, but they panicked, and I remembered the treatment you told me about for—for hysteria.” She paused, swallowed. “I thought I could help, but I’m afraid I might’ve just made things worse…”

Loid’s response was delayed, put off in favor of inching that much closer to you. The mattress dipped as he rested a knee on the foot of your bed. Don’t move, you repeated to yourself, despite the ever-growing urge to get up and run gnawing violently at the back of your mind. If you pretended to be asleep, you’d only have to tolerate a few minutes of his attention before he got tired of leering at your conscious body. If you pretended to be asleep, they’d leave and you could start to forget this ever happened.

It got harder to be so rational as he reached out, running two fingers over your slit and splitting apart the lips of your pussy, giving himself a better view of your abused clit, your entrance – still pitifully drooling slick. You tried to remember what kind of doctor he was, but any specialties that might’ve come to mind were immediately forgotten as his gloved fingers slipped inside of you. You had to bite back a quiet hiss as he scissored open the sore walls of your cunt, his touch probing and experimental. At least Yor had the decency not to draw it out. “You reacted swiftly and efficiently. Even trained paramedics leave residual damage.” He drew back suddenly, and you fought not to jolt at his callousness. “Can you show me what exactly your…” He trailed off. You could practically hear the curiosity in his voice. “…your treatment entailed?”

Yor made a noise you couldn’t decipher. Loid moved away from you entirely, but Yor was quick to take his place. She settled into the space between your legs, her hands – shaking ever so slightly – taking up your hips, her fingertips near-perfectly aligned with the dark bruises pressed into your skin. You felt her breath ghost over the inside of your thighs, the flat of her tongue run gingerly over your slit, and you bolted upward on instinct, mouth open and ready to—

—ready to have your scream stifled and suffocated by Loid’s palm as he forced his hand over your mouth and shoved you back into the mattress. Unable to claw at his arm, to pry him off of you, you thrashed under his steadfast hold, but he didn’t seem to pay you any mind. Rather, his eyes met yours for all of half a second before flickering to his wife, sparing her a slight nod. “Patients usually react with some level of resistance. You can go on.”

Yor’s eyes widened, but any shock she might’ve felt seemed to melt away at her husband’s assurance. She was more nervous, now that she was performing for an audience rather than assaulting you in the privacy of her chosen hideaway, but the little, tentative movements of her tongue got braver over time, her eyes closing as her hands drifted from your waist to your thighs. She nudged your legs onto her shoulders and latched onto your clit, suckling with just enough force to draw a reaction out of your burnt-out nerves, to leave you trembling and struggling to swallow back pained moans and pathetic whimpers. It hurt – more than anything, it hurt – but she had your body trained, knew just what points to hit to get what she wanted out of you. More than that, your body knew that it wasn’t going to end until she reached her goal, until she had you cumming on her tongue for the— god, how many times would this make? You’d lost track after the first dozen, but even if you hadn’t, it would’ve been impossible to tell, impossible to know what she’d accomplished the first time reality started to blur and consciousness was rendered more of revokable privilege than something you’d ever be capable of holding on to without help. In less than a minute, you were grinding against her tongue involuntarily, the movement of your hips stilted and jerky. You couldn’t have called it a real orgasm, not when any pleasure you could’ve felt was so overshadowed by a searing sort of ache, but Yor seemed satisfied – drawing the back of her hand over her chin as she lifted her head, sending Loid a sheepish smile.

“I just, uh,” she started, drumming her fingers over your thigh. “I just did that until they calmed down. I’m not sure if it helped.”

“I see.” Loid, for his part, failed to let his air of stoic professionalism so much as waver.  “And how many times did the patient reach climax?”

“…thirty?” Yor let out an airy, nervous laugh. “Maybe more. It… It was a little hard to keep track, in the moment.”

“And they’re still so unruly.” He was kind enough to feign concern, to let his tone soften and purse his lips into a thin frown. For a second, you let yourself believe that you’d just stumbled into a bad situation – that he and his wife were under some shared delusion and genuinely thought they might’ve been helping you, but then you caught a spec of crimson on the collar of Yor’s dress out of the corner of your eye and thought better of trying to humanize them. “Would you mind if I took a closer look?”

The question was posed to Yor, not you. “Please do, you’re the doctor here,” she spouted, hurrying to get out of Loid’s way. Loid was more hesitant, his palm lingering over your mouth as his eyes found yours. He was cold at the best of times – his expression often hollow when he thought your attention was elsewhere, his touch enough to send a chill down your spine on the rare occasion he found an excuse to put his hands on you – but the look he sent you as he uncovered your mouth was nothing short of frigid. The threat was clear, albeit ambiguous. You had no idea what Loid was capable of, let alone what extremes he was willing to go to.

But, you knew what Yor could do – you’d caught her in the act.

And you weren’t eager to find out what’d she’d do to you at her husband’s request.

When his hand finally fell away from your mouth, you didn’t make a sound. Rather, you dug your teeth into the inside of your cheek as Loid wrapped an arm around your waist and hauled you onto his lap – his thighs cutting harshly into your stomach. The position was enough to leave your cheeks burning and humiliation tying knots in the back of your throat, but whatever embarrassment you might’ve felt was multiplied ten-fold as his hand ghosted over the buttons lining the back of your dress and your only remaining protective barrier fell away – mutilated fabric now limp and useless beneath you. You started to writhe, but the heel of Loid’s palm found the small of your back, pressing into the base of your spine with just enough force a pained whimper past your lips. Reflectively, Yor moved to reach towards you, but Loid shook his head. “It’s important to test for reactiveness,” he explained, tone flat and steely. “I can take care of bruises and cuts, but lasting nerve damage will make things—” He paused, clicked his tongue. “—difficult.”

“Oh!” Yor clapped her hands together. At least she seemed to sincerely believe that, even if she wasn’t helping you, her husband might be. You couldn’t tell what Loid was thinking, but it couldn’t have been so benevolent. “Is that what you’re doing now? Testing for reactiveness?”

“Exactly.” Loid flashed her a smile. You felt him shift, fish something out of the pocket of his suit jacket. Aching numbness had put you at a distance from his invasive touch before, but Yor’s mouth had done away with that – resurrecting the buzzing sort of hyper-sensitivity that meant you weren’t able to hide the way your hips bucked against his thigh as he slid something sleek and metallic into your drenched pussy. It was oddly shaped – one end tapered and the other flat, small enough to fit in the palm of your hand but still big enough to leave you squirming uncomfortably as Loid pulled back. “Normally, I’d use more intricate equipment, but there are a few experiments I can run on my own.”

You heard nails against metal, a soft click muffled by stiff machinery. After a second of delay, the object inside of you let out an abrupt pulse of pure vibration – harsh and sudden and awful. Your reaction was reflexive, undisguisable. You threw your head forward as you bit back a bubbling, broken moan; waves of intense reverberation beating at the walls of your cunt. There was no time to brace yourself, to grow into the piercing sting – it was already too much. The walls of your pussy clenched around the source of your agony, and before you could think to stifle your reactions, to give them as little as you possibly could, tears were blurring your vision, dripping down your cheeks. Yor cooed, kneeling in front of you and cupping your cheeks. “Poor thing…” she mumbled, before looking up towards Loid. “I don’t think they’re enjoying it.”

Another wave of pulsing reverberation, a jagged cry forced past your lips. “P-please, turn it off, take it out, I can’t—”

It took you a second to process the sound of a palm against flesh, how it might’ve been connected to the bright flash of pain just below the curve of your ass. When you could bring yourself to glance over your shoulder, his hand was raised, his expression stern. The sight was enough to make your heart ache in your chest – a sensitivity which surprised you. You hadn’t thought there was anything the Forgers could do to hurt you more than they already had.

“We’re going out of our way to help you.” It was the same tone he used with Anya when she refused to do her homework or threatened to drop out of her upper-crust academy. Whatever genuine sympathy he might’ve had for you was buried beneath a heavy layer of practiced stoicism and nearly totalitarian authority, turning the words cold where they should’ve been comforting. “It’s unfair to be so ungrateful when Yor’s already sacrificed so much of her time for the sake of your health. Why don’t you apologize to her?”

Again, you heard that same soft click, and the vibrations pulsing out of the object in your cunt doubled in intensity. You let your head fall forward, clenching your eyes shut as you struggled to spit something out. “I… I’m sorry, Yor, I didn’t mean to—”

You were cut off by a sharp moan, the feeling of Loid’s fingers tracing over your slit. Soon, the pad of his thumb found your clit, pushing dull circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves. He let out an airy chuckle as you withered into yourself, your legs spreading involuntarily as your feet struggled to find purchase on carpeting that seemed to be just an inch too far, to ground yourself on something that Loid didn’t even have to try to keep just out of your grasp. “Don’t strain yourself,” he muttered, your unwanted reward for your easy compliance. “How does this—” He pushed a rough pattern into your clit, drawing out a wavering cry. “—feel?”

Miserable. Torturous. The worst thing that’d ever been inflected onto your poor, spent body. You deflated, your chest flattening against Loid’s thighs. “…it hurts.”

This time, he let you finish before pulling back, his palm striking your ass with twice the force he’d used before. You cried out, the noise uneven and anguished, but your pain didn’t seem to rank very high on his nebulous list of concerns. “I’ve already told you not to be so ungrateful,” he said, shaking his head. “Do you know what would’ve happened if we weren’t here to help you?” Another strike, another ragged sob. “You’d be suffering on your own, in excruciating pain and spiraling into your own delusions. If we hadn’t been there to correct you so quickly, you would’ve been unrecoverable.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You were babbling, now, your apologies clumped together and nearly unintelligible. Loid cut in, pointed as ever.

“You’ve already apologized.” Two digits slipped into you, splitting your pussy open. Somehow, the added stimulation only seemed to make his device’s vibration more unbearable. “Now, it’s time to tell Yor how thankful you are.”

“Thank you—” There was no hesitation, no resistance. If you’d been able to, if you hands hadn’t been bound, you would’ve clung to her, dug your nails into her shoulder and your teeth into Loid’s thigh, anything to feel like you weren’t about to fall apart altogether. “Thank you, I’m so— I can’t— Thank you—”

It was Yor, this time – her mouth crashing against yours as her hand found the back of your head. Her tongue slipped past your lips, raking over yours with a ginger sort of tenderness and raking her fingers through your hair, drinking down every little moan and whimper her husband forced out of you with enthusiasm. She lingered there, lips moving gently against yours, as you reached your next climax – the number completely lost on you, now. When she pulled away, eyes glazed over and a dark blush painted over her cheeks, Loid hummed approvingly, fishing his bullet-shaped device out of your pussy and switching it off. Slick dripped down the inside of your thighs, your chest heaving stiltedly against his lap, and you noticed, for the first time, something large and stiff pressing into your stomach. For your own sake, you decided you weren’t going to think about it.

But, like always, Loid was quick to tear even the comfort you found in your own mind away from you.

“You did what you could,” Loid started, with heavy sigh. “But their condition is worse than I thought. It might take more than the usual treatment to set them back on the right path.” A lengthy pause, an arm looped underneath you. With more care than he’d seen fit to show you all night, Loid repositioned you on your back in the center of your bed. You were too exhausted to so much as try to protest. “For cases like this, insemination is the only known cure.”

Yor blinked up at him, more curious than confused. “Insemination?”

“Pregnancy,” Loid filled in. “It can be done artificially, but for cases this severe…”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. Weakly, you tried to sit up, but it was Yor that stopped you, this time, pressing her hand flat against your shoulder and pinning you down effortlessly. “If that’s what’s best,” she chimed, her smile wide and brilliant. “Can I help?”

For the first time, Loid’s expression seemed to warm. “Of course.”

Less than a full minute later, you were slotted against Yor, your head resting on her chest and her arms loosely wrapped around your midriff. Loid had reclaimed his position in the space between your open legs, one hand on your hip and the other toying with his clothes, shifting the waist of his now-wrinkled dress pants down just far enough to free his flush cock – already hard, already leaking pearls of arousal. The sight, paired with the breathy sigh he let out as he wrapped his fist around his shaft, was enough to dash any hopes you might’ve had of a last-minute change of heart.

You squirmed in Yor’s hold, your fists balling around your own near ruined sheets as Loid aligned himself with your entrance. You didn’t realize you were talking until you heard your own voice, fragile and desperate, nearly too broken to be comprehensible. “Please don’t, I—I’m not sick, please don’t—”

It was Yor who hushed you, this time, smiling as she pressed a fleeting kiss into your cheek. “He’s going to help you,” she whispered, tone simpering where you wished it would be sterile. “You can just sit back and relax while we—” She paused, squeezed you against her playfully. “—make sure you’re alright.”

There was a beat of silence, of stillness. Eventually, you managed to stutter out, “I don’t want your help.”

Loid let out an airy chuckle, tracing the flushed tipped of his cock over your slit. “You don’t have to want anything.” He bowed his head, leaning down far enough to rest his lips against the top of your head. “You’ll need all the help you can get, in a few weeks.”

You didn’t have time to protest, not before he thrust into you – sheathing himself to the hilt in a single stroke.

You tried to scream, but Yor’s mouth found yours in a moment, swallowing any fractured noises you might’ve been able to make. Loid didn’t seem interested in giving you time to adjust; immediately falling into a rhythm just as forceful and just as cruel as anything else he’d done to you. It wasn’t a question of if it would hurt, anymore, but how badly. The feeling of his not inconsiderably length splitting open your aching pussy alone was enough to bring tears to your eyes, and his rough thrusts, his shattering pace – all of it only working to agitate the few parts of you that hadn’t already gone numb to his assult. You clenched your eyes shut, willing yourself to go completely numb, but Yor cooed, one of her hands falling away from you only to find its way to the curve of your stomach, her palm soon pressed flat against your skin. “Miss Anya did mention wanting a younger sister,” she muttered, nuzzling into the dip of your shoulder. “It’ll be difficult to hide, ‘till it’s over with. There used to be a single mother working at city hall, but the State Security Service paid her a visit and…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “But I’m sure that won’t be an issue for you!”

“Of course not.” Loid’s voice was breathy, his attention mostly elsewhere. He did his best to stay composed, to maintain that painstakingly professionally air, but you could feel him twitch inside of you, feel his hips stutter as his pace grew that much more brutal. “We’ll be taking care of you. When you start to show, you’ll move in with us, and—” A groan, a pair of tired eyes allowed to close. “—and if you cooperate, we’ll make it so you don’t have to worry about anything aside from the baby. Any added stress will only make the pregnancy more difficult.”

Loid’s hips pressed against yours, Yor’s mouth on the curve of your neck. “Our little family is growing so quickly.” You could feel her grin against your throat, fangs ready to clamp down at the first sign of resistance. “I can’t wait until you’re better. You’ll be so happy, when you’re in your right mind again.”

Your mouth fell open, but anything you might’ve said died in your throat long before it could ever reach your tongue. There was no pleasure to it, no stimulation other than the same grating sensation and the pinpoints of pressure where Loid’s fingertips dug into your waist, but if your comfort mattered to Loid, he would’ve stopped as soon as he saw what his wife did to you. He cursed under his breath, throwing his hand forward and hauling your rigid body that much closer to his. You didn’t have a chance to brace yourself, to trick your pain-addled mind into believing there was anything you could possibly do to get away from him before he went still, something thick and searing flooding into your unprotected cunt. He lingered there, his cum leaking out of you despite your pussy’s futile attempts to cling to his cock, and for the first time, you let yourself think about what they were taking about – insemination, pregnancy, growing families and new siblings. You let yourself acknowledge the weight of Yor’s hand against your stomach, Loid’s hips against yours. You let yourself breath in, holding the air in your lungs for a moment before exhaling and going limp against Yor.

Fuck.

If you never saw the Forgers again, it’d still be a day too soon.

Yor started to pull away from you, but Loid stopped her. “Conception can be fickle,” he started, fighting not to pant audibly. “It’d be for the best if we were…” His eyes dropped to you. “…thorough.”

“Do you hear that?” Her hold grew that much tighter, her smile that much brighter. Her lips ghosted over the shell of your ear. The feeling might’ve sent a chill down your spine, if you still had the strength to be afraid of them.

“Loid’s going to take very good care of you.”

[rene-darling]

EXPLORING- him

In which you find yourself being able to closely touch and see your boyfriend's body..aka body hcs, and you examine their scars...im not sure if this is the original artist but I found the pic on scara.meowing insta

...Wanderer...xiao...kazuha...

Wanderer

The wanderer isn't one to let just anyone see his body,

Even thinking about being so vulnerable in front of someone leaves his head aching and sends a weird feeling up his spine

Letting someone see the scars he has obtained from throughout his life is something he won't ever agree to doing,

So if you wish to be able to see him, you'll have to find a roundabout way to do so,

Luckily for you, for the past few days, he's been complaining about back aches from being hunched over all day trying to complete his assignments from being a vahumana student

You offered a massage which after much pain and annoyance he agreed to.

After he agreed he turned around from you and took off his kimono, slipping it off with ease as he moved to remove the top half of his black body suit as well, cheeks slightly flushed as he was basically stripping in front of you.

He laid on his stomach starting forward, his usual snappy self is a bit quiet, it isn't every day he's laid bare in front of you for you to touch without engaging in promiscuous activities.

"hurry up what are you starin-" Suddenly the boy goes quiet as you run your hand down his spine, chuckling to yourself at his immediate quietness

Imprints of big circles are left on his back, most likely from the tubes that once connected him to his shouki no kami, large red indents are all that's left on his puppet body, and his back tenses once your fingers trace the circle following it's track.

Your fingers trace his skin where forgotten scars lay healed, scars mostly gained by cruel experiments at the hands of the doctor, his face sours when you touch them, constricting in...annoyance? Sadness? Or perhaps at the reminder of bad memories.

And when your hand traces up his spine to a strange purple symbol on the back of his neck, one that represents the electro symbol but not quite.

And as your hand touches it, it's as if a bolt of lightning is sent through his body, his hand immediately reacting to slap away your hand from it, quickly getting up and backing away from your touch his panicked eyes look into yours his breathing ragged for a moment before calming down

"I'm...im sorry" his voice comes out in a whisper, as if that's all he could manage..

Xiao

If you thought getting the wanderer to show himself to you was hard think again.

In no circumstance will he ever allow you to massage him just because his muscles feel sore

He's too proud as an Adeptus and as a Yaksha to allow that.

No matter how many long nights he's fought allowing himself relief in this form is out of the question.

It's not just his pride speaking though, he's far too selfless to allow himself rest.

Only when his karmic dept clings to him and dark miasma swirls in the air that surrounds him does he agree to allow you to touch him, albeit very reluctantly.

Only after being pushed to his physical limit does he allow you to touch his bare body, his bare body that he despises so much.

Your hands, which remain untainted by the dark miasma that surrounds him, untainted by the blood of thousands of innocents, he isn't deserving of your touch.

But he holds his tongue, letting your hands roam over his toned back without arguing, not so much as a pip is heard from the man,

He has a small frame, and an even smaller waist but the muscles he's trained from over a millennia are quite clear and pronounced

Your hands ghost over healed scars that he's long forgotten the stories too, claw marks which indicated a time his very flesh was punctured and bleeding.

Those scars he had gained admits battle, those roughly edged scars that you touched oh so very sweetly. He doesn't deserve this. In his mind he doesn't even deserve you but this especially.

He breathes deeply, it's okay, it's fine, he doesn't mind as you touch the scars he obtained during wartime, a time when he used to fight with his brothers and sisters

But his breath does hitch when you touch a scar that...even after thousands of years is stuck deep into his skin, a scar he received long before being rescued by Rex lapis.

His fists clenched as the memories flashed before his eyes,, the memories of him..his breathing increased almost to the point of him having a mini panic attack..

He only calmed himself once your hand moved away from there and to his arm as you traced the tattoo on it, gently tracing its edges as you reassured him that it would be alright.

Kazuha

Kazuha does not mind one bit if you want to see his body

He'll make a sly remark about your request of course

But he'll never deny nor say no to you

He doesn't have any insecurities regarding his body

He's confident in them and the scars he has obtained over the years of being a samurai

He'll raise an eyebrow at your request and give you a sly smile, yet when you explain your reasoning he'll smile gently and he chuckles nodding to your request set

Taking off his shirt for you and laying on his stomach, you can see his arms wrapped in bandages and some freshly obtained scars on his back are too.

Most though, are healed each one having a story behind it,

Whatever scar you trace he'll have the story behind it, from the smallest of cuts to the deepest of gashes he'll tell you, in depth how, where, and when he got it

Scars trace throughout his body down his arms that are wrapped in bandages, perhaps this day, he'll let you redo them for him,

Other than his scars his skin is soft and smooth, it's quite fair and he definitely has a tan line, his face is a bit darker than the rest of his body due to him always being out in the sun

He sometimes likes going into gruesome details about how he got a specific scar, but when you asked him about one he got on the day tomo was killed, he hesitates.

Going quiet for a moment, thinking deeply about what to say or tell, but unlike the other boys, he's more open with you and he'll tilt his head back as he recounts the story of that scar.

He won't tell you the whole story but...little by little he'll start mentioning little details here and there, leaving you some empty spots for you to figure out.

[girlrotterr]

Hunt.

ellie x fem!reader TW!: mentions of violence and blood. Summary: You were tasked with tracking a female trespasser who has been causing havoc on the WLF, killing numerous soldiers and stealing supplies. It was supposed to be a straightforward surveillance job. You weren't supposed to get caught... a/n: wanted to try a different genre &...I'm kinda obsessed?!?

────── · · · · ──────

As you bolted away, you muttered under your breath, "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Your heart pounded hard against your chest, making your head feel light and your vision blur at the edges.

The shadows of the dense forest seemed to close in around you, every snap of a twig and rustle of leaves increased your terror.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to find you! The mission from the WLF had been clear: surveillance Ellie, track her every move, and report back. For days, you’d stayed hidden, watching her every step, radioing in her location, and noting her habits.

Until she fucking caught you.

With shaking hands, you fumbled for the rifle strapped to your back, but your heavy backpack slammed against you with every stride, making it nearly impossible to grab the weapon.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as you sprinted through the forest, twigs and branches clawing at your face and arms like skeletal fingers. The forest around you being a blur of green and brown.

Suddenly, the sharp crack of gunfire echoed throughout the forest, bullets whizzing past you and thudding into the trees. Ellie was firing, her aim deadly and precise. "Goddamnit!" you gasped, terror clawing at your throat. You knew from watching her these past days just how merciless and calculated she was.

You refused to become her next victim.

You risked a glance over your shoulder and saw her slinging her shotgun over her back and drawing a pistol instead. Her movements were quick and stealthy, her eyes gleaming with a predator's intensity.

You pushed yourself harder, your legs burning and lungs screaming for air. The path ahead was treacherous, filled with roots and rocks that seemed to reach up and grab at your feet, trying to trip you. But you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t let her catch you. The memory of the cold, calculating look in her eyes as she took down her previous targets fueled your fear.

Your mind raced, searching for a way out, a place to hide, or something to give you an advantage. But the forest offered no sanctuary, only the relentless pursuit of a hunter and her prey. Your only hope was to keep running, to stay ahead of her just long enough to find a way to escape.

Ellie’s cold eyes pierced through your back, promising death if she caught up. The crack of her pistol shattered the air, a warning shot that whistled past your ear.

"f-fuck!" You gasped, quickly stumbling behind a tree.

Your breath came in ragged gasp as you frantically wrestled your heavy backpack off your shoulders. Your shaking fingers fumbled with the zipper, sending ammo tumbling onto the ground.

"Come onn, come onn," you muttered urgently, trying to steady your trembling hands as you loaded your rifle with bullets. Each click felt like a countdown to your own demise.

Ellie paused, her breath misting in the cold air as she scanned the forest. Her brow furrowed in concentration. The stillness hung heavy, broken only by rustling of leaves. She took a step forward cautiously, senses sharp and eyes darting, searching for any sign of movement or sound.

Your heart hammered in your chest, the sound thumping in your ears like a drumbeat. Your pulse thundered with the realization that she could be closing in, ready to strike. Then, with a sudden burst of courage, you steadied your aim and fired. The shot bounced off a nearby branch, missing Ellie by a hair strand.

“Shit!” She yelled frantically.

Ellie's heart raced as she ducked behind a log, fear surging through her after barely dodging your bullet. She took a moment to steady her breathing, each inhale sharp and quick.

"Damnit!" Her voice was a low growl of frustration mixed with a grudging respect for your skill. "That was close... too fucking close..."

Peering cautiously over the log, Ellie scanned for any hint of movement.

Behind the tree, your pulse thundered in your ears, heightening your senses as you prepared for Ellie's next move. With hands that trembled only slightly, you steadied your aim and squeezed the trigger, the shot echoing loudly.

Ellie reacted with quick reflexes, instinctively ducking as your bullet grazed the air where she had just been. "motherfucker..." Her curse was sharp, frustration fueling her mind.. She couldn't afford any more mistakes.

With a scoff that held a hint of admiration, Ellie retrieved her shotgun from her back, the action smooth and practiced. "I'll play your little game," she muttered darkly to herself, her gaze narrowing with deadly intent.

She carefully cocked the shotgun, the metallic sound slicing the air. Her fingers carefully curled around the trigger.

“I know you're there!" she called out, her voice ringing with command.

Suddenly, a faint rustle caught her attention—a slight to her left. Without hesitation, she swung the shotgun around and fired. The bullet rang through the trees, sending birds squawking into flight and echoing off the distant hills.

Behind the tree, you flinched as the blast tore through the air, shaking leaves loose from the branches above. Splinters of bark peppered the ground around.

"She’s batshit insane…" you muttered.

The realization dawned on you that Ellie was closing in, her determination matched only by her deadly accuracy. You had to think fast, find a way to turn the tables on her before it was too late.

On the other side, Ellie moved swiftly, her shoes crunching softly on the forest floor as she advanced. “You can't hide forever!" she shouted, her voice carrying a chilling promise.

Suddenly, Ellie's ears twitched at the distant, guttural moans that began to echo through the forest. The unmistakable sound of infected—clickers and runners—drawn by the commotion of gunfire.

"Damn it!" she cursed under her breath, her focus splitting between you and the herd. Infected were relentless, driven by primal instinct and hunger, oblivious to anything but the urge to feed.

With a quick, decisive motion, Ellie shifted her stance, her eyes darting between the direction of the approaching infected and the tree behind which she believed you were hiding. Her grip tightened on the shotgun, torn between eliminating you or infected.

You pressed your back against the rough bark of the tree, trying to steady your breathing. Your mind raced, calculating your next move. The infected were close, their unearthly cries sending chills down your spine. Every rustle of leaves and snap of twigs heightened your anxiety, urging you to make a move.

Suddenly, a runner burst through the forest, its crazed eyes locking onto Ellie. With a roar, it lunged towards her. Ellie didn't hesitate. She aimed and fired, the shotgun blast tearing through the runner's chest and sending it sprawling to the ground. The sound blared through the forest, drawing more infected towards the chaos.

Taking advantage of the distraction, you peeked out from behind the tree, spotting Ellie as she quickly reloaded her shotgun. The infected were focucsed on her position, and you knew you had a slim window of opportunity. You raised your rifle, aiming carefully.

Ellie, sensing movement, looked up just in time to see you taking aim. Her eyes widened, but she had no time to react. You pulled the trigger, the shot ringing out. The bullet grazed her arm, causing her to stumble back with a cry of pain. Blood seeped from the wound, but she remained standing, a fierce look in her eyes.

At that moment, the forest exploded into chaos. Infected surged from all directions, drawn by the gunfire and the scent of blood. Ellie fired rapidly, taking down several of the frenzied creatures, but their numbers were overwhelming.

Desperation fueled your actions as you ducked behind the tree, reloading your rifle as quickly as your shaking hands would allow.

Ellie gritted her teeth against the pain in her arm, the hot sting of the wound sharpening her focus. Realizing she had little time, she made a split-second decision. With a final blast from her shotgun to clear her immediate path, she broke into a sprint, aiming directly for your position.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you saw Ellie barreling toward you. Panic surged as you tried to lift your rifle, but before you could react, she was upon you. She grabbed your arm with a grip like iron, her eyes locking onto yours with a fierce intensity.

"They're too many of 'em!" she yelled, her voice husky and out of breath. "I won't let those fuckers kill you first."

With that, Ellie yanked you forward, pulling you into motion as the infected closed in. The sound of their growls and snarls filled the air,. You stumbled alongside her..

The infected were relentless, their numbers growing as more were drawn to the commotion. You risked a glance back, seeing the herd spilling through the trees like a dark wave.

“Keep moving!" she shouted. You barely had time to think, let alone question her plan.

An abandoned building loomed ahead, ellie didn't hesitate, her pace increasing as you neared it. She quickly pushed you through the entrance, your body skidding across the cold concrete floor. Pain shot through your hands and knees, the rough surface scraping skin and drawing blood.

"Argh!" you cried out, instinctively pulling your hands close to inspect the damage. Blood smeared your palms, the wounds stinging sharply.

You looked up to see ellie barricading the outside, shoving broken furniture against the entrance. You scrambled to your feet, masking the pain in your hands. The infected's guttural moans grew louder, meaning they were closing in on the building. Ellie finished securing the outside and then hoisted herself onto the roof. She slipped through a gap, landing lightly inside the building beside you.

But before you could react, she quickly lunged at you bloodthirsty. Her movements were quick and precise, a chaos of aggression as she aimed to overpower you. Instinctively, you reached for your pocket knife, the cold steel burning in your hand.

With a swift motion, you slashed at her back. The blade sliced through fabric and skin, causing a pained cry from Ellie.

"Fuck! ngh!" she gritted out, momentarily backing away from you. Blood seeped through her shirt, but the wound only seemed to fuel her anger.

Ellie didn't give you a moment to catch your breath. She lunged again, her shotgun swinging in a wide arc. The end of the weapon crashed against the side of your head with a sickening thud, and pain exploded in your skull. Darkness quickly became your vision, and you crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

───

You slowly regained consciousness, the first thing you felt was the pounding ache in your head, a relentless, throbbing pain. Groaning softly, you tried to move, but found your hands tightly bound behind a cold, metal pole. The rough ropes cut into your wrists, leaving them raw and sore.

Blinking to clear your vision, you took in your surroundings. The location was different—a small, dimly lit room that smelled of mold and decay. The faint glow from a single, flickering bulb barely illuminated the space. Old machinery and rusted pipes surrounded you, remnants of what appeared to be an abandoned industrial building.

As your senses returned, so did the realization of your situation. The muffled sounds of the infected outside were still present, but now distant, their grotesque growls and shuffles muted by the thick walls of the warehouse.

Ellie stood a few feet away, her back turned as she rummaged through a worn backpack.

"Where...the fuck are we?" you croaked, your voice weak and rough.

Ellie turned slowly, her expression hard to read. "Old warehouse," she replied. "Needed to get away from infected. You were slowing me down, so I had to make sure you wouldn't be a problem."

She then walked over, crouching down in front of you. She held a knife in her hand, the blade glinted ominously in the dim light.

"Talk," she demanded, her tone cold.

You met her gaze, anger flickering in your eyes. You weren't going to give in easily. You remained silent, your jaw set in a stubborn line.

Ellie's eyes narrowed, "Fucking answer me!" she snapped, moving the knife closer.

But your focus shifted, drawn to the dark stain spreading across Ellie's shirt. Blood was pooling at her side, seeping through the fabric and dripping onto the floor.

You stared at it, your voice calm and almost casual as you spoke. "You're bleeding out."

Ellie scoffed, but the tension in her eyes betrayed her concern. She glanced down at her wound, wincing slightly as she shifted her weight.

"That's not your concern," she snapped, "Tell me why you were fucking following me!"

"You can't interrogate me while you're losing blood," you replied, "You'll pass out before you get anything useful."

Ellie glared at you, her grip tightening on the knife. She was clearly in pain, her movements less fluid than before.

"I don't have time for this," she muttered, but the desperation in her voice was unmistakable.

"You need stitches," you said firmly.

Ellie grimaced, her jaw tightening with irritation. "I don’t need your advice."

You glanced around the dimly lit room, searching for anything that could serve as makeshift medical supplies. Your eyes fell on a rusted toolbox in the corner, its lid half-open and revealing a jumble of tools and odds.

"There might be something in that toolbox," you suggested, nodding towards it.

Ellie slowly limped over to the toolbox, her hand steadying herself against the cold metal of the nearby machinery. She opened the lid with a grunt of effort, revealing a disorganized array of old tools and supplies. Among the rusted wrenches and screwdrivers, she spotted the small, dusty sewing kit nestled in a corner.

Grabbing the kit, Ellie returned to where you were seated. She laid out the contents of the sewing kit—a sterilized needle, spool of thread, and a small pair of scissors—on a nearby crate.

"You're going to do it." she commanded, her voice firm and authoritative.

You stared at Ellie, disbelief and stubbornness across your face. "Fuckk no," you said firmly.

Ellie scoffed, “I can’t…reach back there." she admitted, her hands visibly trembling from the strain.

You watched her closely, completely aware of the opportunity before you. A plan came to mind —how you could turn her in this very moment, claim the upper hand. But the flaws of such a plan gnawed at you. Without backup, it was a risk that could easily backfire.

You pushed the idea aside, sighing heavily.

"Why would you ever let an enemy stitch you?" you asked, your tone suspicious. "Just minutes ago, I was trying to kill you."

Ellie's movements were slow as she began undoing the rope, her expression guarded. "Don't fucking question it," she replied bluntly, finally standing up before you, her gaze meeting yours with a challenge.

The intensity of her words hung in the air, the weight of truth echoing in your mind. You felt a surge of frustration and confusion, unable to understand Ellie's actions with the ruthless reputation she had earned among the WLF. In your weeks of observation, you had witnessed her kill WLF soldiers and crew with merciless efficiency.

"It's out of your character," you argued, your voice escalating with each word. "I've studied you for weeks. In that time, you've shown no mercy, no hesitation. Now suddenly, you're trusting one of your enemies to tend to your wounds?"

Ellie's jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation crossing her features. "You think I trust you?" she retorted sharply, her eyes narrowing. “If I wanted to, you'd be dead."

The words hit you like a blow, their implication sinking in with a chilling clarity. You realized then, with a sinking feeling in your gut, that Ellie wasn't acting out of sudden trust. She was going to use you to ensure her own survival.

───

Ellie crouched down, her back exposed to you as she held herself against a rusted metal crate. Her shirt lay discarded on the ground, revealing the crude stitches you had just finished. The wound, though now patched, still oozed blood, staining her skin and the fabric around it.

"Don’t try anything.." Ellie warned sharply as she glanced over her shoulder at you.

You scoffed, "Just fucking stay still.”

Ellie tensed but remained silent, her gaze fixed ahead as she focused on maintaining her composure. With practiced hands, you carefully inspected the stitches you had made, ensuring they were holding and that no signs of infection were starting to appear. Satisfied with your work, you began to stitch up the remaining tears in Ellie's shirt, reinforcing the fabric where it had been torn by the blade.

The warehouse around you remained eerily quiet, the only sound the occasional shuffle of debris stirred by a faint breeze.

"You're with the WLF, aren't you?" Ellie's voice cut through the tense silence.

You paused midway through stitching, the needle hovering above the fabric. Surprise flickered across your face before you composed yourself, a wry smirk tugging at your lips. "You really don't waste any time, huh?"

Ellie turned her head towards you, her expression unreadable. "The patch on your backpack gave it away," she explained casually, her eyes narrowing slightly. "So it wasn't exactly a mystery."

You rolled your eyes, a mixture of annoyance and amusement bubbling within you. Ellie chuckled softly, “The WLF think they’re so fucking untouchable," she continued, her voice tinged with disdain. "You guys don’t even bother with discretion. Yet it's the very reason why taking you out is so damn easy."

"You’ve answered your own questions," you remarked calmly, your hands skillfully stitching up Ellie's torn shirt. "Congratu-fucking-lations."

Ellie let out a scoff, a mixture of disbelief and bitter realization across her face. "It all makes sense now," she muttered under her breath, "Every time I settled somewhere new, a swarm of soldiers would magically show up the next day…”

"I knew something was off," she continued, her voice gaining intensity. She furrowed her eyebrows, "I thought I was just being paranoid until I caught sight of... well, you."

You gulped, the pit in your stomach deepening as if you were reliving that very moment. The memory of encountering Ellie, of being face-to-face with the trespasser you had been tasked to monitor.

"You should’ve seen your face," Ellie chuckled amusingly, "You were absolutely petrified."

You finished the last stitches on Ellie's shirt, securing the fabric back together as best as you could.

“Don't worry," you remarked, a smirk playing on your lips, "I'm guessing it was the same look you had when my bullet almost pierced your skull." With a grin, you handed her the now-repaired shirt. "So, I didn't miss much."

Ellie took the shirt from you, her expression unreadable as she inspected the stitches. "I didn't expect a WLF soldier to be an accurate shot," she admitted, "Most of you drop dead before pulling the trigger."

You rolled your eyes, “really?" you asked sarcastically, watching Ellie grunt as she put her shirt back on, clearly feeling the sting of the stitches.

“Because from the looks of it," you continued, your gaze lingering on the bruises and scars crisscrossing Ellie's exposed back before her shirt covered them, "I'm not the only one who's gotten lucky."

Ellie glanced down at you, "Yeah, well," she muttered "Luck doesn't happen twice."

The crackle of static abruptly screeched throughout the room. A voice blared through the radio, urgent and commanding, "Report needed for female trespasser, over."

Your heart leaped into your throat at the transmission. Without a moment's hesitation, you lunged for your backpack where the radio was nestled, but Ellie was quicker. A smirk curled on her lips as she withdrew the radio from your backpack.

"Huh," Ellie chuckled softly, holding the radio up to examine it with a mix of curiosity and amusement. She dropped your backpack to the ground and then turned to you, gripping your arm firmly and pulling you closer.

"Trail them off," Ellie demanded in a low voice, her gaze fixed on you with dark intensity. She held the radio out toward you.

[dumbbitchgalore]

pathetic!price crying in birdie's lap and begging her never to leave him 🤧

"Birdie..." John hiccups as he buries his face in your lap, holding his tears back in bay which only makes his blue eyes even more irresistable.

"Yeah, hon?" You say, caressing his hair as you hold back a chuckle.

This is not how you expected your night to go with poor John in your lap after coming home from the pub almost in tears as his teammated joke about you leaving him.

"Don't... don't go through with the divorce..." He whispers.

You snort playing into the act, "But baby... I signed them today." You mumble, stifling a laugh.

His eyes widen but before he could argue his case, he dry heaves and bolts to the bathroom. As you stand up to follow him, you hear the most guttering vomitting noises coming out of the bathroom.

"Oh my god, I'm coming honey!" You yell back, gathering a few rags and some ibuprofen for the eventual splitting headache that will don on him.