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toxicanonymity · 1 year ago

Text

EVERY INCH 4

SERIES MASTERLIST | SLASHERS MASTERLIST PAIRINGS: ghostface x f!reader; dark javi x f!reader LENGTH: ~6.6k words. The next one will be shorter.

SUMMARY: after what you did on the metro, you're ashamed and paranoid. javi crosses a line. ghostface does something he's never done before. so do you.

WARNINGS: I8+ dubcon, piv and various acts, references to noncon, somno, drugs, degradation, dirty talk, angst/shame, yearning, breeding & "daddy" kinks, descriptions of (not actual) pregnancy. Restraints, blindfold. And idk, it gets weird. Anonymous ghostface. We enjoy surprises in this series, soo WRITER CHOOSES NOT TO WARN IN FULL. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

A/N: Thank you for your patience and enthusiasm and omg all the love on the fics 🖤. Thank you negraarmadura (@theblackarmor) for your valuable input and inspiration. Also, @lunitawrites can shoulder some blame for the excessive breeding kink. Ty @saradika for the dividers.

🚨 FIC ART: banger collage by @aurorawritestoescape and action packed movie trailer by @carminepoison

Overnight, your fury and humiliation fades into gloom and confusion. Ghostface. You wake up itchy and dehydrated.

You never imagined things would go this far. You should kill him, right? Ghostface? Don’t you have to? Think about what he did to you. What he made you do. You should kill him, but you don't have the energy. And you're too angry at yourself to have much ire for anyone else.

Ghostface, a notoriously brutal killer, called you a serial rapist, and he wasn’t even really lying. How much of the metro disaster was planned? Did Ghostface orchestrate it, or did he simply seize the opportunity to watch, fascinated by your blind lust and rage?

You didn't want to know. As long as you weren't certain, you still had that little sliver hope that you didn't rape a stranger at gunpoint all on your own. But either way, you did hold the gun. Either way, you took the man’s dick out and degraded him as you forced yourself on him in the middle of a public train. Lost in the moment. Feeling like it was just you and him, Ghostface. Until it wasn’t.

The day after the metro, it feels like everybody knows what you did. Every time you close your eyes, images of crowds on train platforms blur through your mind. An infinite audience to your terrible crime.

You stay in bed, frozen, not wanting to face reality. Telling yourself it’s a dream. Sleeping off and on. Batting away uncomfortable thoughts–like when will you see Ghostface again? Is he going to call you? What will you do? You can’t get him off your mind.

Two mornings after the metro, you drag yourself out of bed, then out into the world. At the grocery store, you bump into your older pothead neighbor, and he asks if you're okay. Your heart races, thinking he must know. It takes you a moment to remember why he’s asking – your friend Marla was stabbed to death just days ago, and she wasn't the first.

In the checkout line, you space out until a man’s voice jars you from your trance. You apologize and put your items on the conveyor belt. When you’re just about to pay, you receive a text message from an unknown number, a fact which on its own makes your tummy tingle. When you read the text, your whole body turns hot:

I’ll split your ass like a tangerine.

The words land straight between your legs. As the grocer hands you your bags, he asks if you’re okay. You shake yourself out of it and nod. The grocer wishes you good luck. At least, that’s what you think he says. Good luck not getting caught? Good luck not getting killed? Good luck with what? You decide you must have imagined it.

In the parking lot, before heading home, you sit in your car for a few minutes, spaced out, wondering if you'll ever be able to go out in public again without feeling like this. Like everyone knows something awful about you.

On the way home, you can't get your phone to charge. You’re fiddling with the cord when blue lights flash in your rearview mirror, making your stomach drop. The lights turn off only after you're parked on the grass shoulder of the two lane road.

Every second feels like a minute until a tall, blonde cop in aviators gets out of his car, stretches, and strides over like he has all the time in the world. You roll down the window. He plants two huge hands on the top of your car and ducks down to look at you. For a few seconds, he doesn't say anything, just leisurely chews his gum.

Then, he shifts his stance and asks, “How ya doin’, ma’am?” Deep voice, smooth as butter.

Out of nowhere, you feel on the verge of tears. Avoiding your reflection in his shades, you swallow the knot in your throat and answer, “fine.”

He stops chewing and asks,“Yeah? You sure?”

You suck your lips together and nod.

He looks from you to the groceries in your front seat and the mess of junk in the back, then asks, “Where ya headed?”

“Home.”

He bobs his head in understanding and glances down the road, chewing his gum again.

Your heart continues to race as you watch his face for a long moment of silence. Finally, he speaks. “Well, put your fuckin’ phone down for me.” He raises his eyebrows and tips his shades forward, forcing his sky blue eyes on you. “‘k, darlin’?”

Your lips part, and you forget to blink until he winks at you and flashes a smile. Then you nod and mumble, “Uh. Yeah, sorry.”

He fixes his aviators back. “Careful out there, ‘k?” After a nod and a casual tap on your roof, he walks off. You watch him in the rear view mirror.

Are his legs that long, or is it the monochrome outfit? He adjusts his belt before getting in his car. Your chest bubbles with interest, attraction, and you curse yourself under your breath.

At home, you try to distract yourself by watching a show, but it’s just not possible. After what he did—what you did–on the train, you’re terrified to know what’s next. What you might do next in this absurd state you find yourself in where he consumes your every thought. And it hits you, the sickest part of all—why you attacked who you thought was Ghostface. Not because Ghostface attacked you, not because he tried to kill you, but because he left you after getting you worked up. Ghostface walked away from you. He left you alone and alive in that alley, and it upset you.

You find yourself at the bizarre revelation that you and Ghostface are the only people in your world that feel real right now. You’re inextricably linked. He’s the only one who really knows you. He knows your darkness.

Are you the only one who really knows him, too?

Your phone dings with a text. It’s a political campaign, but you take the opportunity to re-read:

I’ll split your ass like a tangerine.

It gives you butterflies. It sounds like him. It has to be him. That’s the only thing that helps you relax.

(Some hours and a nap later. . .)

"What would you do if you had Ghostface cornered," Javi asks, sitting back and manspreading next to you on your sofa. He's nursing a Mike's Hard Lemonade from a case he brought and crammed into your fridge, pushing aside expired condiments and old takeout containers.

You should never have let Officer Javi in when he knocked on your door. “Heard ya had a rough day,” he had remarked. “Pulled over?” he raised his eyebrows. There was something about him that made you uneasy, but you didn’t feel like you had a choice, so you opened the door.

It was impossible to miss the way he sniffed the air after crossing the threshold. You imagined he was smelling the cum of Ghostface and amateur Ghostface, even two days and several showers later.

Pulling yourself back into the moment at hand – Javi’s question isn’t easy – what would you do if you had Ghostface cornered? What would a normal person do?

You ask, "if I had him cornered?"

"What, you wouldn't do anything?" Javi challenges you.

"I wouldn't get within ten feet of him," you claim.

Javi chuckles skeptically. "You wouldn't kill him?"

“No. . . .should I?”

"I think you have it in you,” Javi replies, then drops his voice. “Or you want it in you."

Your heart skips a beat, but you don’t let it go. You challenge him, "What are you talking about?"

"You don't want to be a victim. You're determined not to be."

In a gesture that could pass for reassurance, Javi’s cold, broad hand rests just above your bare knee for a moment. Then he trails his fingers up your thigh, all the way to the hem of your shorts, close to where you’re now tingling.

His voice goes down in pitch and volume. "It's an attractive quality. . . Your lust for control." His face is dark with lust.

You take his hand off your thigh and place it on his own leg.

“See? ” he asks with a condescending twitch of his mustache in the corner of your eye.

"Pervert," you mutter.

"You wouldn't shoot Ghostface with my gun?" Javi glances down at himself. Eyes following his gaze, you do a double take at the shape in his tight pants.

Shame prickles your face, and you swallow as you admit, "Your gun was stolen."

"I know," Javi nods with just the hint of a smile. "It was turned in."

With an air of nonchalance, he takes the gun out of the back of his pants. He subtly rubs the side of the barrel against his hard cock as he pretends to inspect the firearm before setting it on the coffee table. "Now you can shoot him.”

He watches you look at the gun on your coffee table. The one that was buried in your cunt less than 48 hours ago. Javi continues, “But you won't shoot him, will you?"

"No," you agree.

"Don't want him to leave you alone."

"No," you argue, mouth getting dry. “That’s ridiculous.”

"Oh,” Javi seems to be acting. “Too scared to shoot a gun? We'll practice."

“No,” you shake your head, then ask, "How do I know he's the right one? The one who’s cornered?"

"Ah," A smile creeps across his face. "The real Ghostface, and not just some guy in a Stab costume? " He raises an eyebrow.

Over the next few seconds, your face goes ice cold.

"Shhh. It's okay,” Javi rests a hand on your back, then rubs it slowly. “I know, sweetheart.”

He knows what? Is he involved in this somehow? Your question spills out before you can stop it. “What are you getting at? What did you do?”

The large palm on your back slows to a halt between your shoulder blades. Javi pouts in contemplation, looking at the ceiling like he's racking his brain. Another twitch of his mustache. Before meeting your eyes again, he subtly shakes his head, "Nothing," then bends forward, picks up your drink, and hands it to you. He puts his hand on your back again, lazily caressing it with his knuckles this time.

Trying to calm yourself down, you take a sip. He nods encouragingly.

You ask, "Are you even a cop?"

"Yeah, I’m a cop," he laughs.

“Okay, pig. Who’s your supervisor?”

Javi’s eyebrows shoot up. “Ouch! ”

Another sip of your drink.

“Good girl,” he whispers as he watches you swallow. His eyes are right on your throat. The tingle simmers between your legs. Javi’s hand slides up your back to slowly rub the nape of your neck with his thumb and fingers while his hungry eyes scan you head to toe. How hard is he right now? You don’t allow yourself the glance.

“Listen sweetheart,” his tone shifts, “I can’t make this any easier on you.” His thumb gently glides over the peach fuzz on your neck.

“Make what easier?”

Javi’s only acknowledgement of your question is to breathe out a small laugh, then continue, “But I can make it harder.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It’s in your best interest if I keep you company tonight.”

With Javi’s crotch tugging at your peripheral vision, a mild arousal stirs in your gut, but you muster a look of disgust. “Or what?”

“Let’s not find out, ” he threatens.

You scowl and take another sip, catching a flash of satisfaction in his dark eyes. He continues to caress the back of your neck, then says, “Unless you want to find out.”

His thumb freezes right in the dip at the base of your skull. “Maybe I read you wrong. Maybe you do want to be a victim.” He taps his thumb twice and takes his hand away. His dark eyes scan your face as he reaches for the remote control.

Are you paranoid, or does he know something? You no longer trust yourself to see things as they are. You pray he’s just a creep, taking advantage of his assignment to protect you. If he were a worse looking creep, you might be more concerned.

Two hard lemonades later, you’re lying on your side on the couch, watching Rosemary’s Baby with Javi spooning you and lightly caressing your lower abdomen, right at the top of your shorts.

“Are you on birth control? ” he asks, which catches you off guard and makes your face and insides tingle.

“Yeah, gonna put that in your report?” you answer.

“Mm,” he sighs. “Bet you take it real well, too.”

A pool is forming in your panties.

“Same time every day? ” He doesn't wait for an answer before adding, “Even with all this going on? ”

No response from you.

With the softest flick of his thumb, he unbuttons your shorts.

“You really think i’m going to fuck you, don’t you?” you ask as his hand plunges into your panties. At least those are fresh. Or they were.

When Javi’s fingers reach your wetness, he groans softly. “I told you, sweetheart. We can do this the easy way or the hard way.” Rubbing circles over your most sensitive place, he lightly grinds his hardening dick against your backside. The warm pressure of his arousal makes you throb.

This goes on for a minute, then he cruelly slides his hand out of your shorts. He smells his fingers. The crudeness makes you twitch and seethe. A moment later, he’s urgently tugging down your shorts. His forearm vein bulges as he wedges his hand between your legs again. Your knees open for him, you can’t help it. His cock is pressing so hard against your ass, throbbing for you. He’s rubbing you at a steady, desirous rhythm, and your body is helping your mind forget everything.

Need is rushing through your blood. The only thing you can see is a climax in sight. Your insides swell and throb for him. You think about his cock, you want his cock, but no, you’re not going to give a pig that honor. This will have to do.

He breathes heavier, and so do you. Your hips move with his rhythm. Every once in a while, his middle finger goes down and teases your hole as he gathers more slick to bring upward. Then one time, his finger stays at your entrance. He wriggles the tip of his middle digit into you, then plunges it in with a grunt, as far as he can get.

He pumps his finger and grinds his palm against your clit. Your hips begin to rock into his hand. He mutters, “mierda” (shit), to himself as he slides his ring finger in. His thick digits stay buried inside. His cock twitches, and he calms himself, slowing down. A moan slips out of your mouth when you’re on the edge, desperate for release.

“You want this, don’t you? ” he sides an arm under your neck and across your breasts to pull you tight against him. The swell of his cock sends a wave of pleasure upward, through your chest.

“No,” you choke out, but your hips roll into his hand.

“If you want to cum, all you have to do is ask.”

“Fuck you,” you manage between heavy breaths. You’re almost there. Then, you grab his hand and hold it still against your cunt as you send yourself over the edge, grinding against his palm, gasping vocally, spasming against his hand, pathetically trying to hold back your moans.

As it fades, you want more. Of course you want more. But you won’t give him the satisfaction.

You wriggle out of his embrace to sit up and kick your shorts off your ankles.

“I’m going to wash the cop off me,” you mutter in self-disgust.

Javi is bemused. “He doesn’t make you ask, huh? ”

Heat rises to your face. You stand up and don’t even look at him. “Fuck you, Javi,” you mutter.

“Does he even make you cum? ”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” you lie.

Javi stands up, braces his thumbs on his lower back, and pushes his hips forward in a stretch. A spot of precum on his pants draws your eye as he steps forward, his engorged dick straining to get out.

After his stretch, he steps forward. His jaw clenches and his eyes are cold. He takes your jaw in his hand and looks from your lips to your eyes and back. “Everyone’s going to know who I’m talking about if you’re not careful.”

Your stomach drops, but you manage not to show it, you think. “Be gone when I’m out of the shower,” you warn as if you could do anything about it.

“Suit yourself,” he smiles slightly. “This time.” He adjusts himself with his dry hand.

You give him one last glare. Then, your eyes fall to his hand, where he’s inspecting his two wet fingers, glimmering in the low light of the movie credits. His mustache twitches, and he walks in the opposite direction of your front door. You don’t bother redirecting him. You’re just glad he’s leaving when he exits out the back.

In the shower, you start to feel woozy. Did you drink more than you realized, or did Javi slip you something? It could have been either. You end the shower sooner than you otherwise might, wrap yourself in a robe and lay on your bed. Aching to be filled, you think about retrieving a toy from your nightstand, but your sudden fatigue wins over. Not getting off to the thought of Ghostface is a victory, even if it’s on a technicality. Instead, you fall asleep, thinking about the only man you’ve thought about for weeks.

Your dreams are wild.

Ghostface is working at a grocery store, with his mask on. He has a black button down shirt under a long black apron with a name tag that says Daddy. He’s rolling up his sleeves as he walks toward customer service. It feels like he runs the place. He stops in his tracks when he sees you. You stand frozen as he approaches swiftly. He grabs you roughly by the elbow and marches you toward the produce section as if you shouldn’t even be there at the store.

He bends you over a crate of citrus fruit, and a fake thunderstorm booms from a nearby produce cooler as the vegetables get misted.

Standing behind you, holding you down on the fruit with one hand, he kicks your ankles to spread your feet open, exposing your cunt to the cool air. “You couldn't wait, could you?” He asks, hiking up your dress. You aren't wearing anything under it. “Couldn’t wait for Daddy to get home...”

There's a surge of need at the crux of your thighs, and you eagerly await his cock. Instead, what you feel is the cool, taut skin of a lime gliding against your dripping pussy.

He slides the fruit up and down your dripping seam and pauses to grind it against your clit. The man knows what he’s doing. You throb and twitch and sigh as the smooth skin of the lime warms up.

“That’s right, princess.” He wedges your legs further apart, so far apart the stretch burns. Then he resumes his work with the fruit.

One end of the lime teases your entrance, then he pushes it into you. Your body sucks it up with ease and spasms around it.

“Good girl.” His hand remains between your legs, hooking under your body to reach your clit. You whine as he rubs your sweet spot. The lime seems to thrust inside you with each rub of his hand against your front. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt.

He makes you cum on the lime, and with each of your spasms, your body sucks the fruit further into your channel.

As your orgasm fades, Ghostface zip ties your hands over your head, fixing them to the sale sign in the middle of the produce crate. He leaves you with your dress still pulled up, ass and cunt exposed, twitching with aftershocks.

“Please, wait,” You beg him to come back.

Another worker notices you and fails to hide his erection. The man’s face is pink and spellbound. He stands there and rubs himself through his pants. He looks around furtively as he does it, watching you. And you’re a vision — pathetically bent over the fruit, spread wide open, moaning and whining for your man to come back and fuck you raw.

A new sensation eclipses your awareness of the small audience. It begins to feel like the lime is growing in your womb, spreading your insides apart. You're increasingly aroused, feeling less and less control over your body as it swells with desire. You find yourself wishing for anyone to shove himself inside you—staff or customer. If only anyone with a cock would stop and use you. Please, you think to yourself. “Please,” you whimper out loud. You’re desperate to cum again, desperate to relieve all this pressure building in your belly.

An older man approaches, undoing his belt, and he looks you over as he runs his hand over the outline of his erection, deciding what to do with you. He gets close enough to spread your cheeks and examine your cunt. Your hole tremors at his touch, and you whimper. You can feel from the air that you are spread wide open. It feels like you’re going to split at the seam. After examining your parts, the man mutters, “oh,” before deciding against it and walking away.

Your whole torso feels like it could burst with the amount of tension swelling inside you. Your nipples are tight and sensitive, and you feel one of them bare against an orange under your chest. You look down to see your breasts, noticeably swollen, falling out of your dress.

The fruit beneath you begins to dig into your tummy and it hurts. It's too much, paired with the aching need between your legs. You cry out, and the other worker pages the general manager, Ghostface, over the intercom.

When Ghostface returns, he snips your zip ties then roughly flips you over so you're face-up on a big pile of fruit. He ties your hands over your head again, this time using a plastic produce bag.

“Well, look at my pumpkin,” he admires your body as he removes his gloves. Until you see the way his mask seems to stare at your middle, you don’t realize your midriff is exposed. Your dress has ridden up over your belly, which is rounder than before. It feels tight and distended, and you just feel so full. He places both hands on your belly, feeling your shape. When you look down, you hardly recognize yourself. Your nipples are leaking. The one still in your top is creating a wet spot. Your other breast has broken containment completely.

“What did you do to me,” you demand, with Ghostface massaging your belly tenderly.

He groans and reaches up with one hand. Suddenly he clamps his hand over your eyes. The next thing you feel is a mouth sucking at your exposed tit. It feels amazing, all the tension rushing out of your breast, along with the stimulation of his tongue. He breaks away with a moan.

“I knew you'd be delicious.”

So much pressure is built up inside you, you're dying to cum. He holds you by both your sides. You’re painfully spread open, inner thigh muscles aching. He puts himself between your legs. He grinds himself against you, and it makes your walls clench and convulse almost instantly with a groan that echoes.

He pulls his hips back and watches between your legs as you surrender to another orgasm. “Look at you, drizzled all over the fruit,” he marvels as he watches your fluttering hole. With each wave, you feel your belly and breasts swell a little more until you feel and look like you're in your third trimester.

“Please make it stop,” you beg. It feels so good, but you don’t want your body like this.

He rubs at your dripping cunt, his flattened fingers gliding soothingly between your puffy folds. Soon, you're grinding against his hand.

“Please,” you beg. “Take it out, take the lime out.”

“Might be too late, angel.”

“Please try.”

He relents and wedges three fingers together. The fingertips tease your dilated hole, then his three thick digits slide right in, the ease of it making him groan. The obscene squelching practically echoes as he fucks you with three fingers, and soon he adds a fourth. Your body accepts him, and welcomes the addition of his thumb. Soon his hand is reaching deep inside you, fist and forearm flexing as he searches for the lime.

“Daddy’s trying, baby.”

Your body hugs his hand. “Please,” you cry, tears running down your face, from pleasure and pressure more than pain.

“Let me see,” he muses to himself as he withdraws his hand and moves a finger down to your asshole. He teases the rim of it and you feel it open up for him like the rest of your body. Then he slides two dripping fingers in. With his fingers buried in your ass, you feel some relief. You breathe with the rhythm of his fingers, but when you see your belly heaving with each breath, you remember. “Please, please put me back to normal.”

Ghostface sighs. “Are you sure, princess?” His fingers slide out of your asshole.

“Yes,” you insist.

He crouches down, puts your legs over his shoulders, and positions himself with his mask right at your cunt. He rests his dry hand on your belly, and his wet hand grips his mask at the edges.

Just as he goes to take the mask off, the whole scene melts into a moving mosaic of fleeting thoughts.

Everything but the pleasure fades away.

Everything but the pleasure. . . and the feeling of being spread wide open. . . and your legs over someone’s strong shoulders. . .

Yes, there’s a head between your thighs, two strong hands holding you open, and a hungry mouth feasting on you with abandon. He’s grunting into your cunt with his tongue intruding into your deepest places, making your insides hum with need.

Did Javi never leave? It doesn’t exactly sound like Javi. Javi is far too measured to be so—ohh, God, that feels good. It feels so good, you barely notice that you’re blindfolded. Or that your wrists are tied above your head, securing you to the bed frame.

He licks up your cunt to suck at your clit, and he does it well. Fuck. A moan slips out, muffled by something damp and lacy. Your mouth is sore and gagged. Your heart races as he sucks, and your sensitive nub swells with pressure.

You’re still waking up, and your traitorous hips are grinding into his face. You’re close. His hands are on your thighs. You’re on the edge of climax, trying not to make any sound or sudden movements.

When his tongue slips down to your asshole, you flinch. You squirm, but the hands hold you still. His thumbs spread your cheeks, and he licks a wide circle around the rim, getting closer and closer until his tongue is teasing your hole.

Your nose twitches. You sniff the air, and breathe a shameful sigh of relief. It’s not Javi. It’s him. Thank God, it’s him. And it smells like he smoked in your room.

Ghostface pauses to mutter, “Good girl,” and the voice comes from between your legs, and from your right, as though he’s separated from the voice changer.

And separated from his mask. Wow. You never thought he’d— his warm mouth returns to your ass, and he thrusts his tongue into you. A pit in your gut deepens with each thrust of his tongue. Your eyelashes flutter against the folded bandana that covers your eyes.

You grunt and whine into the gag, then he begins to rub your clit while his tongue is buried in your ass. Before long, the tension snaps, and your vision goes from black to white. A muffled moan marks the start of your peak. His tongue slides out, and your body jerks with each spasm.

“Attagirl,” you hear from both directions.

As you finish coming, he lays a cheek on one thigh and a hand on the other, stroking your skin with his thumb.

“You were on a silver platter, princess. I had to take a bite.” Your nipples harden—you’re naked and your sweat is cooling. “You know how it is.” You don’t try to respond. “Had a feeling you wouldn’t mind,” he taunts. “And ohhh, Pumpkin. We’ve been having *fun*.”

Can’t exactly ask what he’s been up to with a mouth full of your own panties. But you wriggle and groan in disapproval. His face lifts off your thigh, and his hands are quick to hold you down and keep you still.

“Yeah, yeah,” he acknowledges your halfhearted effort, and you stop resisting. The fact that you both see through this charade puts you more at ease somehow.

When you feel his breath on your hip, it’s clear he’s not done, and you’re not mad about it. You’re in a daze—Ghostface is in your room, unmasked. Between your legs.

His teeth press into your skin, then his lips. He sucks hard, then harder, and the bruising suction makes you throb. You grunt into the panty gag. He releases your skin, then drags his lips to your mound.

He licks up your mound and presses wet, hungry, open-mouth kisses along your exposed torso, licking upward between each kiss, all the way to your breast where he pauses to suck and moan into it. You whine into the gag as your nipple hardens in his mouth and you gush and throb.

He drags his tongue up your chest, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The closer his head gets to yours, the more clearly you can smell him - his unique blend of pheromones, his sweat, the way it mixes with the weed.

And then it slaps against you. His cock. Smooth, and warm, and hard against your hip, and your chest swarms with butterflies. You moan softly. His face is in the crook of your neck. He latches on for a suck and the dull pain makes your hips lift, seeking more of his cock. You feel an emptiness, a longing to be filled.

His bare face nuzzles at your jaw. He drags his lips up your chin, to your cheek, to your ear.

“Shhh,” he whispers, despite your silence.

His lips slowly drag toward your mouth, dragging along the gag. With his mouth on your cheek, your lips tingle with an urge. And then he gets there. His mouth lingers, open against yours, his breath, hot and humid, enveloping your lips. His teeth scrape the corner of your mouth. He bites down on the gag while one hand fiddles behind you to untie it. His cock, now on your mound, swells harder against you and Good God, you need him bad.

With a backward nod, he tugs at the panty gag, then lets it fall away with a vocal exhale, thrusting his stiff manhood against you. The loss of his lips on your face resembles heartache.

Barely above a whisper, you ask, “what are you doing?” and brace to hear his real voice.

Instead, his hand seizes your jaw, forcing your mouth wider open. And then he spits in your mouth. You taste it as it slides down your tongue, down your throat, and desire stirs in your gut.

He releases your jaw. “Daddy needs to hear ya, princess.” He mutters breathily, and it echoes from your right, “Daddy needs to hear you, princess.”

You pull your knees up. He braces a hand behind you against the wall and grinds his stiff manhood against your slick mound. “Fuck,” he whispers, with no digital echo. Then, in both voices, “You want this. . . Don’t you, pumpkin?” He grinds against you, harder. “You want Daddy’s big cock,” he confirms, and you can imagine him nodding.

“Yeah,” you admit in a whisper.

“Oh, yeah,” he replies. The slow, throbbing grind of his warm cock is devastating so close to where you need it.

“Please,” you ask.

“Please what?” he replies.

“Please,” your chest tingles, “Please, Daddy.”

“Uh-huh,” he thrusts against you nice and slow. So stiff and warm.

“Fuck me, Daddy,” you plead.

He pulls his hips back, letting his cock slide and drop to where his tip notches at your entrance. “Who’s gonna fuck you?”

“You are, Daddy.”

“Yeah, that’s my girl.” His tip pushes into your yearning cunt.

“Please, Daddy.”

“That’s right,” his tone sharpens as he abruptly shoves his length into you, pushing your slick walls apart. He shudders as he bottoms out. There’s a tingling burn in the stretch, but it quickly fades as your body gives way to the intrusion. And then, the overwhelming feeling is fullness and need for friction.

His hips pull back, and your legs wrap around him, begging him all the way back inside. He slams into you, and you grunt with the impact as his flesh fills yours again. “Good girl,” he praises. His cock — How did you ever mistake another man for him? He slams in again, making you whole.

As he fucks you, your thighs tremble, and you whimper, “Daddy,” drawing a groan from him.

He rails in, and slides almost all the way out. Each time, your cunt is pulling at him, begging him back in.

“Whose little slut are you? ” He asks, his thrusts becoming sharper.

“Yours, Daddy.”

A bead of sweat hits your sternum, then your forehead.

“That's my girl,” you hear in surround sound.

A salty drop falls into your mouth.

“Daddy’s little slut,” he breathes, “can really take a cock,” and the voice changer catches the last half.

He hovers his body lower, closer to yours. A thick steam condenses between you as he pounds you unforgivingly, even from the closer angle. Your chest, your whole torso, you’re all dewy with heat. And his skin, it’s so close, you want to feel it. You neeeed to feel it.

“Fuck,” you whisper.

Yearning to put your hand on his chest, you try to wriggle out of the rope and your wrists begin to burn. Your breasts jiggle and jut into the air with the effort. His chest grazes your tits, and you gasp with the pleasure that seizes your tummy.

You take a deep breath through your nose, drowning yourself in his masculine scent and the weed that hangs in the air.

He thrusts sharply and stays all the way in, grinding against you. His chest grazes yours again as he brings his mouth to your ear, and feeling his breath makes you weak. “Cum for Daddy,” he whispers, and his lips graze your temple with another thrust. He raises his volume, catching the modulator. “Cum on this cock, princess.”

“Mmm,” You bite your lip and whimper.

“One more for Daddy.” His thick, hard manhood drags heavily through your tight, wet channel, then he grinds again after bottoming out. His pubic bone is nudging your front just right.

“Mmgh,” you whimper, “Daddy,” and the pressure bursts. You whine, overtaken by your rhythmic release, hips lifting into him. His heavy breaths seem to echo to the beat of your climax.

“Fuck yeah,” he breathes, fucking you through it. “Ohhh,” he thrusts sharply and shudders as he begins to pulse. Your spasming cunt milks his cock. Your heels dig into his back.

He shoots a thick, hot rope deep into your cunt, and with a slow thrust, another one. Then his cock cruelly slides out. Your heart falls, and your legs reflexively tighten around him. You whine, “no,” with your desperate cunt grabbing at nothing.

But it's only a split second before his dripping wet cock shoves into your ass. It’s just in time to pulse again as his girth spreads you open and he claims another hole. “Yeah,” He bottoms out and your whole body heats up. In surround sound, you hear, “Hell yeah.”

He groans as he pulses, and over a few more beats and moans, the rest of his hot seed floods your guts. Each twitch of his shaft makes you shudder. You let yourself get lost in the warmth.

He breathes vocally as he finishes. Then his nose grazes yours ever so briefly, and you bite your lip. As he slides out of your ass, his breath is humid on your cheek and the corner of your mouth. When his face pulls away, your face feels cold.

He reaches toward the corner of your bed. Then you hear him rustling around as he puts his mask back on.

“Untie me,” you beg. He gets off the bed. More rustling. When he comes back, you feel his pj pants graze your bare skin and you’re offended.

He lightly braces a hand on your shoulder as he gets closer to where your hands are tied. The cool metal of his blade hits your palm and gives you a chill. The flat of the knife presses into your skin as he slices part of the rope and it loosens. You free your hands and bring them in front of you to caress the burn marks from your attempts to free yourself. He gets off your bed again.

“You had company tonight,” he remarks.

“Uninvited,” you clarify.

“Ohhhh. *Uninvited*,” he taunts with skepticism. The location of his voice has changed—he’s pacing.

“Jealous?” You ask.

“No,” he replies. “Want him to bleed out anyway? ”

“Yeah,” you answer.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“He’s not a good guy,” you offer.

“Oh, princess. If he was a good guy, you wouldn’t let him in your pants. . .Wouldn't give it up that easy.”

“I didn’t–what–If you were here, why didn't you do anything?”

“Oh, I did a lot. Just not to him.”

“How long have you been here?”

He ignores the question. “Tell me, princess. Why would Prince Charming knock you out, and then just. . . leave?”

“I dunno,” you mumble. “But I'm glad he left.”

“Cause he got what he wanted,” Ghostface answers his own question.

“He didn't even cum”

“Oh, that's not it, princess.”

“How would you know?”

“Think, Pumpkin.”

You’ve got nothing.

“There’s gotta be one brain cell left.” He sits down on the bed to put on his shoes.

“You're not gonna tell me?”

He stands up. You hear the woosh of his robe as he puts it on and walks away.

“Wait,” you protest. But he doesn't say a word. His footsteps recede, and you tug the blindfold down to see his robe trailing behind him toward the back door.

“Asshole,” you mutter to yourself.

When you go to the bathroom, cum is leaking out of both holes, which shouldn’t surprise you. After cleaning up, you get back in bed and keep the blindfold with you. It’s faded green, stiff with sweat. You sniff it. His sweat. Your chest feels light with forbidden affection.

Then you’re back to thinking about the question he left you with.

What did Javi want? You push through the shame and replay it all in your head. And then, you see the way he held his wet fingers so carefully as he left, not letting them get contaminated. And it makes your stomach drop. He might be trying to do his job, after all. It unsettles you and keeps you up.

You curl up under the covers, hugging a pillow. The bandana is wrapped around your hand, pressed against your nose and lips. The scent is comforting. You dart your tongue out for a taste, and find even more comfort in the salty tang. Then ,you take a wrinkled corner of it between your teeth. Your lips wrap around the cloth, and your body finally relaxes fully. You drift off suckling at his sweat.

April 2025 note: If you enjoyed this part, especially the dream, and you also liked the original Every Inch, you might like my new Michael Myers one shot Wreck.

Thank you for reading! PLEASE READ THIS NOTE

Thank you for being here and sticking with me. I value each one of you. I can't overstate how much your comments and reblogs really help and motivate me. Your asks, too. I love knowing what you enjoyed most.

When people simply demand the next one (ignoring my comments about this at the end of the fic, on the fic masterlist, and in my pinned post) without saying anything about the one they just read, it does NOT make me write any faster or prioritize this story. It's actually pretty demoralizing. I work hard on these and if the only thing Im gonna hear after the next one is NEXT/MORE, what kind of incentive is that for me to do the next one? I'm glad you're excited but acknowledging what you just read is a more beneficial way of expressing it, from the writer's perspective. Please ❤️

As for what's next - no promises, no time estimates.

#ghostface x reader #javier pena x reader #dark!javier peña #ghostface #ghostface ☠️#every inch ☠️#toxicanonymity ☠️#slasher fanfiction #slasher smut #ghost face #scream fanfic #dubcon cw #danny johnson x reader #ghostface fic #ghostface smut #mickey altieri smut #billy loomis smut #ethan landry smut #stu macher smut

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dmitriene · 5 months ago

Text

based on the request from my inbox.

cw: size kink, reader mostly described as petite.

könig is so obsessed with the size difference between you both it's almost laughable, through you don't have time to tease him about it, not with the way he almost clings to you and uses every opportunity of your admiring words about his body to show how much bigger than you he really is, so you better hold back from talking about it at all, liebling, even if it doesn't really help.

he's acutely aware of how much bigger than any average men his body are, with his brawny chest and the pumped lines of his body filled with coiled, hard muscles, his meaty thighs, the height that helps him tower over the people easily, even through often his head knocks against the jamb of the doors, leaving occasionally growing bumps on his forehead.

but it's nothing, tiny nuances that cannot be compared with the all fulfilling excitement that courses through könig at the knowledge that he can so easily manhandle you, scoop your dainty body up and seat you on his forearm, it's not important at all what your height is, how much you weight, for him, you're small like a pretty bunny and light as a feather, made to sit in his arms with your legs swinging around, as you decorate his rugged, smug grinning face with light pecks from your pouty lips.

könig often does that silly thing of comparing, as if trying to brag, holding your palm against his, enormous, calloused and scarred, able to encompass the entirety of your diminutive, soft hands, carrying you all around like you're some kind of not independent, lap pet, sometimes cruel, too, slapping his engorged, fat cock over your sensitive, weepy pussy, cooing at the way your folds flutter beneath, making your whole body seize and shudder, twitching violently with a wet, needy whimper.

you kick your legs in his chest, whining at the boyish, bursting laughter könig let's out, nudging his leaking, bulbous tip against your clenching, gaping little hole, watching the way you tilt your hips, chasing the feel of his cockhead rubbing up and down, catching on your slick soaked, parting lips, breaching in inch by inch, leaving your throat seizing around a loud, crying keen as he plunges you full with throbbing heaviness of him, fingers fanned out along the curve of your pulling tummy, impaling you in rhythm of his rough, pummeling thrusts.

könig is absolutely impossible to endure, he can't behave, not with how absolutely struck he is by you, by how adorable you are, sweet like a hilfloses, kleines tier, and even through it's sounds not as attractive he hoped to, his words still make your chest tighten, all fluttering inside, so you forgive his sneaking, mapping hands all around your curves, digging in your hips, kneading at your perky ass, tucking you beneath his heavy, draping hand.

you're neither can expect him to act properly when your parents invite you for a dinner in their house, dying to meet your boyfriend, not knowing that this seemingly charming, polite man with brightest, innocent cerulean eyes would take you apart in your childhood bedroom, he's been utterly respectful during the dinner, until you decided to show him upstairs, which led to your cunt being split open by his pounding cock.

each strained, blabbering mewl and gasp silenced by the pillows you burrow in, könig's gravelly voice whispering salacious, cooing praises, he's just so smitten for you, and you can't complain, not when he fucks all your protests out of your mind, enough so you'll be just a pliant, petite thing in his arms.

main masterlist. quidelines.

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corvidcrossbow · 1 year ago

Text

~•♡•~ I Like It Long

➳ Summary: While out on a run, you and Michonne start lightly teasing Daryl for having his hair grown out. But there's a hidden reason as to why he won't cut it. (Daryl x Fem!Reader)

➳ Setting: Alexandria, post Savior war

➳ Word count: 1.4k

➳ C/W: Just smut n hair pulling

➳ A/N: This spawned from me writing the context plot of another fic and I was like… wait (And thank yall for the attention on that Mother's Day post??? Yall are so sweet 😭🫶)

My hair is really similar to Daryl's when it's partially or almost dry and it's actually my favorite thing about myself like xbsosjdjdneisnsiasjebeiisjabajissn

You loudly banged your forearm against the glass door of a long abandoned drug store, not hearing any noise inside. Vines and weeds had grown through cracks in the concrete, winding up the sides of the building.

“Sounds pretty clear,” You shrugged, holstering your bow and opting for hand-held blades as Michonne pulled open the handle. You, her, and Daryl were clearing through a nearby town while out on a supply run, opting to make quick work of the task in favor of getting home.

You three entered the building, keeping your guard up in case of any straggling walkers that weren't roused by the initial attempts to lure them towards you. The interior wasn't large, so you could comfortably split off from each other and still be close.

“Seems mostly ransacked. Not much left,” Michonne commented, katana lowered but out in front of her. This had begun to grow repetitive and boring, energy matching the grayness of the lighting.

She took a pair of hair cutting shears off the shelf in front of her, holding them up to your gaze a few isles over. “Think he could use these?” She asked as a smile played the edges of her mouth, nodding back towards Daryl, looking for mischief. His hair had grown quite long over the course of the last two years, the tawny blond darkening into a rich brown, accompanied by a shaggy cut.

“Oh definitely. Jus’ gotta determine which onna us can hold him down long enough to cut it,” You replied with a chuckle, eyes following hers to where the archer stood at the endcap of another lane.

“Shuddup, will ya?” Daryl scoffed, shaking his head with grunt. His gaze didn't break from the advertisement in front of him, trying to ignore your antics. “Ts'fine.”

“Gotta make use of whatever supplies we find, no?” You continued your teasing, trying to hide the grin on your face at his reaction. “You were sweatin’ like a pig all summer, hair tangled all over yer face ‘n what not. When was the last time you cut it?”

“Don’ kno’, don’ care,” He grumbled, and you eyed Michonne again. It's definitely been since the prison, at least. He moved on from the stand. “Plus, winter up ‘ere's gon be colder. Will keep me warm.”

“Daryl, you're ‘bout the only one who didn't freshen up since we got to Alexandria. Don't you at least want a trim?” Michonne pestered, raising her eyebrows at him and shifting her weight to one leg. “You remember Rick's whole hobo-beard.”

“Ain't got no ‘hobo-beard’.”

“But you do look like the only ‘scissors’ you know is the recently searched on your go to porn site,” Michonne chaffed, barely able to contain herself.

Daryl froze for just a second, face flushing as his head whipped to stare back at her. And you two burst out laughing, to which his expression soured.

“Give it up, alrigh’?! Ain't nothin’ wrong with mah hair!” He snapped, accent thick with embarrassment, bowing his head slightly in an effort to obscure it. He readjusted his hold on his crossbow. “Gon shoot tha botha ya.”

“Ay, ay! Jus’ sayin’. Rick scrapped the beard and… maybe you'll finally get some play too,” She winked, followed by a lighthearted snicker.

Daryl groaned again and rolled his eyes, beginning to walk off, but caught your gaze for just a second.

It's not that he didn't want to cut his hair - he didn't care about it – but he wasn't really allowed to either way. There was one major, sexy, moaning reason he didn't cut his hair.

❥-》》—————➣

“Oh, god, Daryl! Fuck! Don't stop… god don't stop,” You cried out, hands clutching his shoulders as your nails began to dig into his flesh. His grip on your hips was bruising, keeping you steady as he pounded up into you at a relentless pace. That grip was the sole thing grounding you in the reality of the present moment.

“Ain't gon stop,” He affirmed, voice gravelly. You moaned wildly, head weakly falling to his chest with exacerbated breaths, his own heaving against your temple. He leaned closer when he could, harshly sucking at your clavicle and boobs, leaving behind a litter of hickeys and little bites that colored you in reds and purples.

The springs of the bed beneath you sounded like they were gonna fold in on themselves, headboard sporadically banging against the wall as Daryl shifted down a little to hit into you at an angle, your clit brushing against him with each thrust. Your back arched overtop of him, shoving his dick into your belly.

“Baby, please… fhuuuckkkk.” You couldn't even think, every thought consumed by the feeling of him. The way he just destroyed you like it's an art he'd mastered, tip brushing against every sweet and sensitive spot inside you, walls desperately trying to cling on, balls hitting up against you, clit grinding on him, slickness coating his pelvis and your inner thighs, his clutch on you just so fucking strong.

You pulled yourself together, lifting your head to see him. His long hair was dark and dampened with sweat, matting up as it stuck to his forehead, obscuring part of his vision. But he was too focused on using you to fix it, didn't dare to remove his hands unless God willed him to.

You moved up, swiping it away, and his blue eyes instantly connected with yours, pupils blown with lust. He (somehow) sped up, starting to slam your hips up and down to meet him instead of just keeping them stationary, now just beating your cunt.

“Tha's it girl. Jus’ keep takin’ me good like tha’.”

His words made you shiver, and you partially fell forward again, nestling your face beside his and snaking an arm behind his head. Your fingers weaved through his messy hair, tangling at the scalp, then tugging harshly as another wave of pleasure ripped through you.

And he whined. There it is. His breathy gasps and grunts mingled with strained whines, and whimpers, as you pulled tighter and tighter at the roots of his locks. His face contorted, eyes nearly squeezing shut, that one vein bulging from his neck, directly on the verge of so much.

“Daryl… inside.., Dar-” You panted, cut off as everything went white and you hit your peak. Your whole body felt electrified, tensing, twitching, walls spasming, toes curling and claws clinging to his frame.

Daryl tipped over the edge almost immediately after, having just been waiting for you to cum first. He desperately pumped into you a few more times, before curving up once more and simultaneously ramming you down as he came deep in you, the warmth of his release spreading through your core, and he threw his head back with ragged breaths.

You were both left a sweaty mess, gasping for oxygen, feeling full and satisfied. Your muscles couldn't keep you up, and you collapsed onto him, loosening your hold at his scalp, his hold on your hips doing the same.

He recovered a bit quicker than you, bringing a hand up and brushing your own messy hair away the second he had the energy to do so.

“Ya alrigh’, sunshine?” He asked between hitches, hoping he hadn't been too rough. He soothingly rubbed his palm over the curve of your body where bruises were sure to form.

You nodded faintly, moving your head so you could breathe better, and you could feel him relax beneath you from the reassurance. He held you tenderly for a while, giving you time to regain your composure. Your eyes were closed in bliss. Few things beat the feeling of Daryl under you, rising and falling with his torso, hearing his low humming as he steadied himself – his softening cock still buried deep inside you, cum ever so surely beginning to dribble down.

You lazily remained in his arms, not wanting to deal with getting up, or the shower you two definitely needed. You took a strand of his hair, affectionately curling it around your finger like a tendril, then letting it go and repeating.

“Ya actually want me tah cut ma hair?” He eventually asked, thinking back to your light mocking from earlier, how you'd laughed as Michonne layered it on. It didn't matter much to him, he'd do whatever pleased you.

“Fuck no. Was just messin’ with you, Dixon,” You replied, kissing the skin of his collarbone right below you, and moving up to find his lips. “You know I like it long.”

The long hair suited him, he looked good with it. You loved to wash and play with it, brush and braid it while he laid in your lap. But mainly, it was easy to grab at, pull on – and close to nothing in existence sounded better than those whines and whimpers every time you did so.

©corvidcrossbow 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified or adapted to other platforms. My work may be translated only if asked and with proof of given consent.

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murderofravens · 3 months ago

Text

LADYBUG

pairing: dad's friend!hwang inho x fem!reader

warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. AGE GAP (reader is 20, inho is 48) hurt comfort, daddy issues, domestic violence (reader has an abusive father) psychological issues, unhealthy coping mechanisms, angst, taboo kinks, fauxcest kink, DDLG themes, sub!reader, soft!dom inho, freudian slip except it's on purpose, reader literally calls him dad and appa and every variation of that title, badly written smut, pet names, infantilization, subspace, oral fixation, obsession, plot with porn.

DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ. DON'T COMPLAIN.

summary: your father's friend has been your only saving grace through your abusive childhood. it's only natural that you fall in love with him.

word count: around 9.5k

A/N: consider this a love letter to the lee byung hun girlies with daddy issues. writing this was very self indulgent. i hope you guys like it. if you don't, consider moving on. no hate comments will be tolerated! there are bigger problems to worry about. we do not kink shame around here!

please ignore any mistakes.

p.s. feedback is a writer's biggest motivation!

MASTERLIST

the gravel digs painfully into the skin of your bare feet as you wait. you wrap your jacket tighter around yourself, teeth clattering against each other as you bounce your weight on your feet, breathing sharp. the door opens a few minutes after your incessant knocking, and mr. inho stands at the entrance, frowning. you were sure he was surprised to see you like this— it had been 2 years since you last met.

his soft hair looks messy and he's wearing a comfortable shirt with joggers. he looks so gentle, and his droopy, confused eyes snap wide open when his gaze lands upon your black eye. as if suddenly awake, he gasps your name and immediately grabs you.

"that bastard." he guides you inside, slamming the door behind the two of you. it makes you jump. "i'm going to—"

"don't." you whisper, looking up at him pleadingly. you grab his arm and your lips wobble as he glares down at you. "i don't have anywhere else to go. don't do anything rash. it really was my fault this time."

"nothing you do will justify him beating you." he snaps, settling you on the couch. he mumbles incoherent curses at his friend as he gets the first aid kid, and you fiddle with your fingers, flinching slightly as your tongue catches onto the bleeding split of your lip.

you'd sneaked out despite your father warning you not to. it was your friend's birthday, and you really wanted to be the first to wish her and give her a gift for once. she got you to stay at least till you had some cake, and unfortunately for you, on that same moment your father had decided to come home and immediately seek you out. he'd called your friend in a fit of rage, and as soon as you sneaked back inside, it was too late. to compensate, he'd knocked you into the wall and given you a black eye on top of that.

"i should put handcuffs on that bastard," inho snaps you out of your thoughts, kneeling before you. you wince as he gently applies antiseptic on your lip. "i don't understand why you won't let me. why do you let him do this to you?"

you had your reasons. the more rational ones were that your father was a sick, twisted piece of shit. a waste of space. but you had no one else. no source of income, no other place to stay. you wanted to study enough to be financially independent, and for that you needed him. you don't know any other way to live— he's isolated you from most experiences someone your age should have. you're not sure if you'll be able to get by without his roof over your head.

like always, you switch the subject.

"why are you still friends with him, then?"

mr. inho looks at you then and clenches his jaw. he simply glares for a moment. you're sure you see his eye twitch. he looks offended, and you understand why. you almost regret asking him this question— of course you knew why. you were lucky he was still friends with him. it's one of the reasons you're still alive and kicking.

"i'm not his friend. we just worked together," he grumbles lowly, "and even then i'm still around because of you. is that what you wanted to hear?"

you chuckle slightly, masking your flustered haze with a smirk.

"old man." you whisper with an endearing edge to your voice. he isn't amused. he stands up and gives you an ice pack for your eye. you slump into his couch and groan.

"when did you return from college?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

"last week," you sigh, throwing your head back. the cold ice feels comforting against your heated skin. he frowns slightly and opens his mouth to speak— but you beat him to it.

"i was avoiding you." you answer his question. inho had been to your place a few times since you came, but you made no move to approach him. out of embarrassment and well, because you were scared to see him. it's normal with people you have crushes on.

he seems to understand because he doesn't mention it further.

"are you planning to stay?" he asks gently, putting his hands in his pockets. "i can get the guest room ready. it's been a while since you had a sleepover."

your heart flutters. mr. inho is... you don't have a proper way to describe it.

he's a lot of your firsts. he's everything.

mr. inho was there when you were 9 years old and struggling with math homework. mr. inho was there when your father would get too frustrated to teach you, and he'd put a hand on his shoulder and tell him to take a break. and then he'd place you on his lap, wipe your tears and help you with the gentleness you wish your father possessed.

mr. inho was there when you turned 12 and got your period for the first time. mom had passed away when you could barely walk, so you had no womanly guidance in your stages of growing up. shameful and scared and suffering from heavy fever, you had told your father about it, and instead of comforting you, he'd simply freaked and called you a slut and made all sorts of implications. not knowing any better, you'd locked yourself in the bathroom and immediately called mr. inho's number with shaky hands. and when the door opened and mr. inho walked in with warm towels and a bag full of necessities, you had broken down in his arms and told him everything.

that was the first time you saw mr. inho punch your father. it was also the first time you had seen someone be angry over you, not at you.

to protect you.

that's when you had your first sleepover at mr. inho's place, if you can call it that. your father had shamefully rushed off to the pub after getting an earful from the older man, and you were left alone in the house. mr. inho had brought you to his place, readied the guest room and stayed by your side till you fell asleep. the next day, he'd made you breakfast, and your father had apologized, in his own way.

when you went back home, a bunny plushie was waiting for you in bed. your father said he got it for you, but you could tell it actually came from mr. inho. your father never got you gifts. never. he didn't even know you liked power rangers, or max and ruby, or that dory was your favourite fish from finding nemo.

mr. inho had gotten you power rangers trump cards for your birthday. a malibu barbie doll the next. when you grew into your boyband phase, he got you a pencil box with your favourite idol too. most of the plushies in your rooms were gifts from him— mostly given in secret when mr. inho dropped your drunk father off at your place after a long day. you'd always stay up just for a glimpse of him— not willing to listen when he told you to just go to sleep. sometimes he'd hand you a package, give you a pat on the head and a wink. and then he'd leave, just like that.

you're not sure how mr. inho and your father became friends in the first place, if you can call it that. acquaintances is a better word, but they've known each other too long for that. they worked in the same police department and had partnered up multiple times until mr. inho retired.

most officers said they made a good duo in the professional sense— but their personalities seemed far from compatible.

your father was stubborn and temperamental. he was judgemental, toxic and a brute with a superiority complex. a true narcissist at heart. mr. inho was gentle and kind. he was compassionate and understanding. he was headstrong and stood for what he believed in. he was everything you wished your father was.

you will never understand how someone like him could befriend a man like mr. inho.

you were 13 when you gave mr. inho your first gift. you made him a fucking father's day card— you used to make those for your father when you were younger, and always saw them in the trash can the next day. it hurt you so much that you'd simply stopped.

the incident with your period was a major turning point in your relationship with mr. inho. it changed the way you saw him and in a way, reawakened your creativity. so you brought out your best colors, made him a stupid little card, and gave it to him in secret. hidden amidst the pages of a book your father had borrowed from him with no intention to actually read it. you were too scared and shy to gift it to him directly— you'd simply left the card in there and hoped for the best.

the next time your father dropped you at mr. inho's because he was working late again, you found the card pinned to the fridge. you don't remember being that happy in a long time.

that was the first time mr. inho had given you a forehead kiss. it was innocent and so... normal. like it was part of his routine. he didn't know that he had permanently solidified his place in your heart for years to come.

you were 14 when you first realized you had a crush on mr. inho. it was obvious enough, you just never thought there was actually a term for the butterflies you felt whenever he'd show up at your place to discuss work with your father. all you knew was you looked at him with the kind of admiration a girl could only carry for a loving father, except your feelings had grown a little more shameless over time, your thoughts sometimes vulgar. you'd get increasingly excited at the prospect of seeing him, to the point you saved up some money in secret and bought a lipgloss just so you'd put it on whenever he visited. you'd pout and lock yourself in your room when he wouldn't acknowledge it with anything but a smile and a pinch on the cheek. it's a little stupid to think of— a little girl with a crush trying so hard to impress a grown, married man.

you were 16 when you confessed, and he'd laughed— not mockingly. it was almost paternal. the universal reaction to moments where little girls with no social awareness say something silly like they want to marry their dad when they grow up. he made you feel that small again— he'd patted you on the head and told you that you're too young for him, and made a stupid joke about not planning to go to jail anytime soon. he told you that he loved you, but that this was wrong because he's a married man, and that you should be with someone your age. that this is a stupid crush that would fade with time. that you simply feel this way because you haven't met enough boys.

that had stung, but you forced yourself to get over it.

time passed but the crush did not fade by a single percent.

you tried to get yourself a boyfriend— and ended up comparing any potential date to mr. inho. none of them could match the intensity he carried, the way he cared for you like a father. the strength and authority he possessed. you remember one time when your father was out on a case and mr. inho had decided to babysit you— he'd taken you out for ice cream. a group of rowdy boys were littering the place and laughing among themselves. one of them tripped and crashed into you and you dropped your ice cream. you were too scared to ask for another. mr. inho had paused and shot them a deadpan glare— and the boys stared back before slowly advancing, picking up their litter and throwing it in the bin. they'd bowed in respect, apologized to you and rushed away before he could say anything further. that moment had stuck with you for years— how he could communicate with just his eyes, and people listened.

mr. inho bought you another ice cream with a smile after— with two scoops this time. strawberry and chocolate.

you looked for emotional maturity and a sense of responsibility in high school boys. it was bound to be a failure.

you were 18 when you tried to kiss mr. inho for the first time. it was stupid— it was your last act of rebellion before you went to college. you felt daring because his wife had passed not too long ago. he'd disappeared for a while after that, and his absence only made your longing for him grow. the insults and violence your father aimed at you became background noise eventually, because your mind was set on the one man who meant something to you.

in that time, you missed him so dearly, you were ready to let go of your dignity for one chance with the only man who had ever tried to care for you. you hated yourself for it still— for trying to take advantage of his kindness. he had come back a changed man— visibly stressed with dark circles etched permanently under his eyes. like he'd just been to hell and back. he looked like someone who could use a little something to take his frustrations out on— and you would have let him use you as his punching bag if he wanted. if he wanted a shoulder to cry on, you'd be there. if he wanted a fleshlight, you'd be there then too. that's how much you desired him. you thought you could make him feel better this way.

it was insensitive and utterly insane of you to do something so foolish. you were ready to be with him in any way, even if it meant as a rebound. but he'd stopped your attempt with a firm hand on your shoulder, looked at you with utmost seriousness, and told you to pull yourself together.

'don't do this,' he'd warned. and as if to stomp on your heart further, he reminded you that he loved his dead wife, and you were just a fucking kid.

you were a mess. you never tried initiating anything with him after that. you left off to college, and whenever you did come back, you made sure to avoid him at all costs, no matter how much it hurt you. you'd pretend you didn't see him text you about how college was going, or if you needed any help. you refused to answer his texts asking you to meet atleast once before you left. you were ashamed of your behaviour and too scared to face him. even when you could hear him ask your father about you whenever you visited. your father would make an offhanded remark about you doing god knows what and change the subject.

mr. inho had been more of a dad to you than your own father. he was there to tend to your wounds, to threaten to beat the shit out of your father and put him in jail— but you never allowed him to actually do it. your father was all you had for now, and you're scared to live in a world without a father. you know how harsh society can be to girls like that.

a truth you weren't ready to accept was that a big part of your refusal to let your father go was rooted in your desire to keep mr. inho. your father was your only link to him. if your father went away, so would your need to be protected by him. then mr. inho wouldn't come to your rescue. you wouldn't need safety or a shoulder to cry on. what if mr. inho decided he'd done his work, and moved on with his life? you can't have that. you're not ready.

you couldn't lose him too.

"i can't stay," you whispered finally, breaking eye contact. he nodded in understanding, walking up to you.

"is he asleep?"

you nodded, mindlessly biting your lower lip and flinching at the sting.

he tsked at your action and you stood up to leave. as you walked past him, he grabbed your hand. you looked at him then, and he shook his head.

"don't go to him," he whispered, pulling you closer. you wanted to run, to cower in on yourself. you were sure he didn't mean to appear so lovely. but he did. mr. inho was always lovely to you. tears pricked in the corner of your eyes as you looked at him. why does he keep doing this to you? the last memory of you two is painful. but you're still here.

"just say the word and i'll get rid of him." he adds quietly, his palm squeezing your arm comfortingly. you simply stare at him— gaze full of stars like always. like he was your hero. his eyes soften and he sighs, leaning forward to pinch your cheek. you look away out of shame. to prompt you to respond, he messily ruffles your hair. the action almost makes you sob— he used to do that a lot when you were younger. his hand still feels so big compared to you. you compose yourself soon enough, refusing to fall into your adolescent folly.

"don't be ridiculous." you chuckle dryly, snatching your wrist from his hold. you grab the part of your arm that he had held and squeeze— hoping it would magically capture the essence of his grip and lock it away in your senses forever. he sighs tiredly and straightens up, his face hardening.

"i'm sorry." you whisper softly, immediately melting under his disappointed gaze. you regret your harsh behaviour. you show up bleeding at his doorstep at 3 in the morning and he lets you in— and this is how you treat him?

"you know it's not that easy." you add, voice small.

he grunts, rubbing a tired hand down his face.

"i'm sorry i bothered you," you can't help yourself, shifting to look at him more clearly. "i didn't have—"

"—anywhere else to go?" he finishes your sentence flatly with a clench of his jaw. he sounds exhausted, and it makes you want to cry. he scoffs slightly, "stop saying that. my door is always open for you. it always has been. since you were a kid. you know that."

you feel smaller and smaller with every sentence, and you nod sheepishly in agreement. it's true— he has always been there for you in a way no other man ever has. but still you can't help but fear that one day he'll grow tired of this cycle, of you, and straight up leave. he'll get bored of this dynamic and of looking after you and abandon you. you don't want to lose him. the difference between him and your father is that the latter is connected to you by blood— you can use your legal rights if he decides to abandon you. whereas you can't even imagine a world where mr. inho doesn't want to be around you. you don't want to imagine it. it's locked away in the treasure chest of your worst fears. so you simply reject any possibility of that opportunity to arise. would mr. inho still be around if your father didn't hurt you? would he still be around if he didn't feel sorry for you, if you didn't need him to protect you?

you'd rather things stay this way than consider the other scenario.

you avoided any encounter with him for two years, ignored his texts and calls, and now you appear at his door unannounced with a black eye and he still took you in. would he do the same if you had come bearing gifts instead? the idea replays in your head like a broken record.

would he?

you're an insane fucking mess.

he insists on driving you home. you can see the emotions in his gaze— don't leave. make the right choice. but you ignore it like you have for the past few years. you leave despite his pleas, and go right to sleep once you get into bed.

you can hear yelling. the voices are rushed, panicked almost. the floor creaks with each step, and you clutch your plushie close as you press your ear against the door. there's arguing, clattering. the sound of something breaking. more panicked noises. you can hear a siren in the background. your heart rate begins to rise, and when you hear another scream, you snatch the door open.

mr. inho stands over your father's corpse, panting. his knuckles are split and bleeding— splatters of crimson splattered across his face and body. your father's face is quite literally unrecognisable. you look at the broken plates by mr. inho's feet, and the glass shard in his hand. another shard jammed right in your father's chest. and then you scream.

your own scream wakes you up. sweat breaks out across your body and you take heavy breaths— looking around your room. your head hurts. your heart squeezes painfully inside your chest, and it prompts you to get out of bed to grab a glass of water.

you check the time. it's almost noon. shit.

your father is at the kitchen table reading the newspaper when you walk in. he does a double take— mouth curling with distaste as he spots the sight of your face.

you did that, you asshole.

you two don't say a word to each other. he folds the newspaper and places it on the table before breaking the news.

"i'm leaving the city for a case soon."

you pause, turning to look at him.

"i'll get someone to keep an eye on you so you don't whore yourself out to the whole neighborhood like you did last night," he adds casually, like he's talking about the weather. you want to lunge at him, grab the nearest object and toss it at his head. you want to scream 'im a virgin! im a virgin! the only thing that has ever fucked me over is the fact that i'm your daughter!' till the whole neighborhood hears.

"don't disappoint me when i come back."

you ignore his remarks, "when will you be back."

he laughs, "i'll drop in as a surprise." his sly eyes narrow at you playfully but you know better. "catch you in the act if you do something to embarrass me."

he sighs dreamily, tossing his head back, "this is gonna be a big one. i'll definitely get a promotion this time. finally something with real money."

you clench your jaw and focus on making breakfast, trying to erase the flashes of your dream from your brain. the doorbell rings and your father greets mr. inho— who doesn't return his enthusiasm. your father's head is too far up his own ass to think someone might not actually like him so much— he believes anyone who talks to him once becomes his fan. and so he does everything he can to maintain that relationship with them. you suppose it's how he's managed to keep mr. inho around despite it being clear that mr. inho doesn't like him that much anymore. maybe your father only keeps him around so he can flex his promotions as time passes. maybe he keeps him around so he has someone to babysit you. either way, you're just glad he's here.

your father doesn't know how close you and mr. inho are. he knows that the relationship between you is purely... platonic and familial, in a sense.

platonic. you almost chuckle. of course it's platonic. mr. inho rejected the idea of anything other than that.

you try not to be bitter about it.

your father believes you two only see each other during these meetings of theirs, which were more frequent when you were a kid. you're thankful because you're sure if he found out you and mr. inho got along, he would remove him from your life too like he did with all your friends.

mr. inho brought soju. you chop the veggies for your omelette and they chat in private for a while before your father finally leaves— and mr. inho locks the door and joins you in the kitchen. that's when the realization sets in. you almost laugh.

"did he pick you to keep an eye on me while he's gone?"

mr. inho smiles— a twinkle in his eyes as he sits at the table. it's not often that he smiles like that, but whenever he does, it punches the breath out of you.

"just like old times," he remarks with a pleased smirk. "better behave yourself while i'm here, kid."

his words are playful— clearly teasing. but they have your breath hitching. for some reason, you like it when he says them, you wouldn't mind him ordering you around like that. you swallow hard and the sudden shift in your brain chemistry has you fumbling— and you accidentally cut your hand with the sharp knife.

"fuck!" you yelp, dropping the knife. he is immediately at your side, grabbing your hand and guiding it under tap water.

"shit—" he hisses, frowning, "why do you keep hurting yourself? be careful."

you pout slightly, your heart pounding against your chest. he raises your hand to his mouth and mindlessly sucks the blood off. you freeze, eyes widening— breath catching in your throat.

"saliva prevents blood clotting," he explains gently. when he's done, he puts a hand on your waist and turns you to the table. "sit. let me make you breakfast."

"i can do it—" you protest, but he gives you another one of his warning glares and that shuts you up.

you hum and watch him in his element. he's folded his shirt sleeves up to his elbows, confidently grating some cheese on your omelette. you sigh dreamily to yourself, forcing your gaze to stay only at his concentrated face and not at the veins mapped across his strong arms.

when he's done, he places the plate on the table. expertly, he takes a knife and a fork and cuts a piece, and holds it up to you. when you go to grab the fork from him, he tsks and pulls it away.

"let me," he says softly, "i'm finally seeing your face after two years. why don't you let me take care of you, hm?"

you freeze, looking at him dumbly. he takes the opportunity to feed you, and you chew softly. he snorts, takes a bite himself.

why is he talking like this to you? does he not know you're insane about him?

"you can't just say things like that to me." you mumble between bites, voice low.

he ignores your comment, feeding you another piece.

"got yourself a boyfriend back in college?" he asks, his mouth curled into a smirk that he makes no effort to hide. "is that why you were ignoring your old man?"

your heart pangs and you swallow comically slow. you ignore his second remark too. he's talking so casually— you know it means nothing. you can't help but feel like it's cruel of him to act this way towards you, like he doesn't know how much you long for him.

"tried," you shrug, "they never stay. they can tell i have too many issues."

he laughs heartily and you smile. you like making him happy. it's a stark contrast against the last memory you have of him.

"you're not that hard to handle," he adds with a wink, patting your head. if he notices you leaning into his touch like a cat, he doesn't mention it. when he gets you a mug of juice, you drink it obediently, and he tends to the dishes.

"the weather's good today," he remarks casually, "you wanna go out for a walk? i'll buy you some ice cream. just like old times."

that puts the brightest smile on your face. you nod enthusiastically and rush to your bedroom to get dressed— and you try to ignore the flutter of your heart when his laugh follows along with you.

hwang inho is an insane man.

you'd dressed up pretty— your father's absence allows you to indulge in your more... girly clothes. ever since you hit puberty, he never let you wear dresses— called you a slut whenever you tried. as if to protect yourself, you'd grown used to dressing in a more tomboy-ish manner around him.

for this occasion, you put on your cutest dress and your favourite lipgloss, only to be met with mr. inho dressed up in a fucking black shirt with a suede jacket thrown over his shoulder. he looked so chic, it almost pissed you off.

he should not be allowed near black shirts. you don't want anyone else to see him this way.

you don't notice him blinking in a daze when you step down the stairs, and you don't notice the bobbing of his adam's apple when you bend down to put on your shoes.

he doesn't let you. almost immediately, he's gently placing a large palm at your thigh and kneeling before you. your breath hitches again and he gives you a look that is hard to decipher before guiding your foot into your polished mary janes.

"you look different." he mentions quietly, lowering his gaze to your feet.

his thumb tenderly brushes across your ankle, as if examining the softness of your skin. you release a shaky breath as he secures the straps of your shoes.

"a good different?" you ask shyly. you don't want him to think of you as too childish, too immature. you don't want to look like a kid playing dress up. you want to look like a woman to him. a beautiful woman who knows how to dress and look pretty.

he stands up and settles you with an unreadable look. he blinks a few times before composing himself and nodding. if you didn't know better, you'd think he looked flustered.

"a good different."

the walk outside is silent. perhaps it's because things just suddenly felt so intimate between the two of you. or perhaps it's because he's looking for something to say. you aren't, atleast. you're happy walking alongside him in comfortable silence, your hands brushing against each other's but never really touching. you wish he'd grab it and never let it go.

"still prefer strawberry ice cream?" his teasing voice breaks you out of your stupor. you smile.

"of course i do," you huff, looking up at him. you decide to tease him back. "you're still lactose intolerant?"

"should i be honest?" he sighs, looking straight ahead. he's wearing sunglasses, so his eyes are hard to read. "i tried some strawberry ice cream sometime back. some expensive brand. tossed it away after a bite because it tasted like nothing, so i'll never understand why you like it."

his voice lowers— grows almost quiet. a confession.

"i was missing you."

your steps falter and you stare at him. he walks ahead, before turning to face you. you grit your teeth, hold back all the words that are threatening to spill from your tongue.

you missed me? you ate strawberry ice cream because you missed me? you thought of me? i missed you too. i'm sorry for how reckless i've been. i'm sorry for ignoring you. i love you, i love you. please make me yours.

i'm so pathetic.

he cocks his head to the side and holds out his hand. you look at it, then at him, then you reach forward and grab hold of his finger. he chuckles and you hold back a smile as you swing your hands together and walk over to the ice cream stand. he pays and lets you pick.

he receives a phone call, and to your dismay, your hands separate. he holds up a finger telling you to wait before walking a few steps away so he can have his privacy. you resist the urge to pout and go through the menu. the girl behind the counter looks at mr. inho like most girls do— with barely disguised lust.

"holy shit, your dad's hot." she remarks in awe, voice hushed as she holds out an ice cream cone. "is he single?"

your heart flutters at her assumption— you don't blame her. it wasn't the first time he was mistaken as your dad. you've heard a lot of those comments whenever you'd go on walks with him when you were younger. but now, it also fills you with an emotion akin to jealousy. you glance over your shoulder and watch him talk seriously on the phone. you look back at the girl and grab the cone, and give her a sugary sweet smile.

"no," you answer sweetly, "he's dating me."

you hold back the urge to laugh at her bewildered face as you happily skip to him. he looks at the two of you curiously and you grin at him as you grab his finger again.

"what was that about?" he asks, pocketing his phone and you shrug, cheekily licking the ice cream.

"nothing," you hum, walking with a skip in your step. "i missed you too."

he throws his arm over your shoulder and pulls you close, and you resist the urge to moan when you inhale the smell of his cologne— he always smells otherworldly. ridiculously rich for some reason. rich and comforting and like home.

this time, you convince him to sleep over. even though he was strictly against staying in your room for too long out of respect, you managed to draw him up. he looks around and takes a seat at the bed. your room is still pink— girly in it's essence. you had the craziest pink phase when you were a kid and it bled into everything you owned, from bedsheets and clothes to your walls. mr. inho had also been a major enabler in this situation— he'd gotten you a lot of pink trinkets and toys. your father never allowed you to modify your room after the first time.

"it's like a unicorn threw up in here," he jokes, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks around. you roll your eyes fondly, adjusting the sheets. his eyes fall upon your bunny plushie— and you watch his face fall.

"i know it was you who got this." you decide to say, looking away. "you didn't have to do that for him."

"i did it for you," he corrects you, picking it up. it's still in good condition, although its ears have become more droopy, and you've drawn hearts on its plain button eyes. "it was a bad night for you. no kid should have to go through that."

your face softens, eyes getting glassy. cautiously, you take a seat beside him. you fidget with the hem of your dress, not really knowing how to continue conversation with him. you feel a little self conscious now that you're alone with him in your room— after years. the close proximity makes you want to touch him— to crawl into his lap and just stay there. with your saviour who always knows how to make you feel better. your sweet, considerate old man. you want to know what it feels like to be touched by him, to be held by him, to be—

"i like your dress."

the words almost give you a whilpash. your head snaps up and you hold back the enthusiasm in your voice. "really?"

"really," he smiles kindly. your dress rides up as you sit straighter and his eyes fall upon the silver of your skin, and naturally his hand reaches out and adjusts the fabric so it covers your knees. your breath hitches, and his voice lowers into a soft mumble.

"you're such a pretty girl."

you swallow hard— it's like someone is holding your head underwater. you can't fathom how much you needed to hear this— and especially coming from him, you think you're going to die.

i would let you do anything to me.

"really?"

"really." he whispers. something in his gaze shifts, and he looks away. he clears his throat.

"i wanted to come see you in college," he admits, placing the plushie back on the bed. "but you kept ignoring my texts. i wasn't sure if you wanted to see me. you avoided me like the plague whenever you came back, even though i don't blame you."

you look away in shame, tucking your hair behind your ear.

"i'm sorry," you whisper, nervously biting your lower lip. it doesn't hurt anymore. "i felt ashamed after the way i acted when.. you know."

"i understand," he hums, blinking at you. you're glad he doesn't say it directly, you're not ready to confront him like that right now.

"thank you for everything you've ever done for me," you add, shifting on your feet. "and i'm sorry for avoiding you."

a small smile appears on his face.

"look at you," he quips with a chuckle, "you've gotten so mature."

you huff, grabbing the plushie and hitting him with it. he plays along, pretending to be dramatically hurt with every hit. it goes well until you're leaning forward for easier access, and his attempt to snatch the plushie from your hold makes you trip. you crash right into him and he falls backwards onto the mattress, taking you down with him. your face smushes against him, and the way your heartbeat skyrockets would've been comical if you didn't feel him stiffen under you.

you take this opportunity as a golden ticket— burying your head further into his chest. your arms clutch the fabric of his shirt, and you take a deep breath, closing your eyes as your body relaxes in his hold. he calls your name softly.

"what are you doing?" he asks, voice strained.

"sorry," you whisper, nuzzling your head further into him. you're willing to throw your dignity out the window for just a moment in his arms— you don't care anymore. you're not past begging.

"please— please, mr. inho, just— let me hug you for a minute, please."

you feel his breath hitch and you sniffle. you force yourself back to reality. you don't want to actually make him uncomfortable. already contemplating killing yourself, you begin to pull yourself away, when his arms suddenly wrap around you.

"mph!" you huff, feeling your body being pulled forward. a big hand comes up to cradle your head against his chest, and another curls around your waist.

"so dramatic," he whispers, his hold tightening. "ill hold you."

"oh my god." you whisper, melting in his arms like putty. you quite literally purr as your body goes limp, and you sigh contentedly, a small smile appearing on your face. like he's your lifeline, you hold onto him tightly.

"my little lady," he whispers. his voice makes your stomach feel warm— it's so velvety and soft. "what's up with you, hm?"

"nothing," you mumble, burying your head in the crook of his neck. you breathe in the comforting smell of him, squeeze your eyes shut as you commit the feeling of being held by him to your memory. "feel so safe.."

he hums, his fingers gently running through your hair. mr. inho is not that tall a man but he still makes you feel so small— so small and so safe, just by his mere presence.

"nobody ever made me feel like this," you admit, your voice cracking. you can't help the emotion seeping into your voice— you're in his arms, and he's petting your hair like you're his child, how are you supposed to breathe? "ive always felt so scared with him but— but with you—"

your voice breaks off as you sniffle again, and you bite down on your tongue as you remember your father. you don't want to think of him right now— you don't want to ruin this moment by crying.

"that bastard doesn't know how lucky he is to have a daughter like you," inho grunts, pressing his cheek against your head. he pulls you impossibly close, cradles you like a fucking baby. "he doesn't deserve to be your father."

the words have you freezing— your body tenses and your breath hitches. nobody has ever said these words to you— you've felt worthless all your life. like a burden, a mistake. like a piece of shit on the shoe that is your father.

inho's hand stills in your hair, and his head tilts towards you so your eyes meet. your lips wobble as you stare at him, and his eyebrows furrow with focus. his thumb brushes against your cheekbone.

"sometimes, i wish i was your father instead," he admits, his voice hushed— like a secret. his gaze runs across your face; almost distant, full of an emotion you can't pinpoint. if you didn't know better, you'd think it was longing. it makes your heart race. "i would never let anything happen to you. you'd be my sweet little girl forever."

the moment those words leave his mouth, you feel like you've been electrocuted. it's like any semblance of rationality has left you— your breath punched out of your lungs and your heart feeling like it's being squeezed. you feel a sharp pain in your chest. the feeling is indescribable. your brain feels like it's shut down. there's nothing there— no thoughts. just pink goop and memories of mr. inho sliding through your head like a powerpoint presentation.

you're not thinking with your mind, that much is clear. he's said the words you've been feeling forever, but never truly had the guts to admit out loud to avoid making things weird. it's like you're being seen for the first time. and with that sentiment, you're leaning forward to press your lips onto his.

he grabs your hair and yanks your head back, separating your mouths with a wet smack. your eyes are dazed as you look at him, and he takes a sharp breath as he glares back at you— nostrils flared, gaze serious. you don't know he's holding onto his last ounce of self control.

"don't do something you can't take back." he warns, voice hoarse.

this is the third time he's rejecting you— it's making you want to kill yourself. your lips wobble pathetically, eyes immediately getting teary as you lean into him.

"please—" your voice cracks, lips parting as you chase his mouth. he restrains you with a firm hold on your hair, mouth twitching. it doesn't hurt, just stings a little. it only makes you long for him more. the visible distress, the conflict on his handsome face only makes you want to cry. you recall his words again, and like a baby, your brain turns into static. all you can think of is how badly you wish he was your father instead. you're not ashamed to beg. you'd do anything, absolutely anything to be his. no matter what way. you just want to be his. perhaps, that's why the words just slip out of your mouth.

"please, dad—"

the moment he hears it, his expression falls. you don't give yourself the liberty to feel shame. all you feel is desperation, sadness. because it's over— you've embarrassed yourself and he's going to think you're fucking weird and you're going to lose him and—

your head is being pulled forward and he's crashing your mouths together. you gasp, eyes widening with surprise, and suddenly he's flipping the two of you over. your back crashes against the soft mattress and he climbs over you, slipping his tongue into your mouth. you moan, your back arching under him. he groans, tilting his head for easier access. your tongues clash together and he kisses you like a man starved. it's utterly lewd and you're gone.

he pulls back with a wet smack, strings of saliva dropping down your chin.

"fuck—" he gasps, voice raspy, "say that again— call me that again."

your heart flutters. you're still out of it, unable to process what's happening.

"m-mr. inho—?"

"no!" he snaps- squeezing your cheeks together and making your lips pucker up. you mewl.

"call me the other thing—" he squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his jaw, as if fighting a war within himself. he's conflicted. "fuck— the other one. call me that again."

you moan as his hand slides down to your neck, and you're immediately slipping. you can feel your brain get fuzzy, and everything feels like it's a blur. years of desire, yearning, and longing for him pours out of you like a dam, it seeps into the title you've subconsciously given him ever since you were a kid.

"dad." you whisper again, and he groans, pressing his forehead against yours. the way he's crumbling before you makes you feel more confident, and soon enough, the words blabber out of your mouth almost boldly. "dad— dad, dad, dad, papa, appa —"

the rushed string of words has him chuckling softly— his eyes crinkling with mirth. endeared, he's leaning down and immediately kissing you again. you moan unabashedly into his mouth, and his hands reach down to your dress and slide the fabric up, up, up. his hands splay across the soft skin of your thighs and he relishes in the way you fall apart under his touch. he breaks the kisses momentarily only to mumble sweet little words against your skin.

"my sweetheart—" he whispers, his hands cupping your cheeks, and you slip further into your little headspace. he presses a kiss to your forehead, and you choke on a sob.

"my little baby." he presses another kiss to your cheek. you're further gone. you can't see anything but him anymore. his words drop you further into the safer side of your mind, where there's no one but him— him holding you, loving you. keeping you safe and sheltered. "my angel."

"dada—" you whimper, unable to hold back the desperation in your voice. you sound timid, soft. everything hurts— you love him, you love this man so unbelievably much that it's starting to make your heart ache. he grabs your legs, makes them wrap around his waist. settles his bulge upon your clothed crotch and gently grinds. it makes you moan. "o-oh my god—"

"my little girl," mr. inho coos, pressing soft kisses all over your face. you release a shaky breath, your hips recklessly chasing his own. the action makes him falter, his voice growing shaky. "i got you, i got you, my baby."

"appa," you sniffle, tears running down your face. this one visibly makes him nauseous in the best way possible— it scratches the itch in his brain. you can tell by the shift in his jaw, the slight gasp that leaves his lips. he didn't react this way to other other ones— he likes being called that the most, and it works as fuel for your desires. he licks your tears away, and you hiccup, unable to hold back the violent rush of emotions you feel. "i love you— i love you, why couldn't you have been my dad instead!?"

the last line comes out of you like a wail, and unbeknownst to you, it breaks his heart. he presses his forehead against yours, holding onto your face with utmost tenderness as you exchange breaths. his hips glide against yours tantalizingly slow, and you've never been this horny in your entire life.

"i wish it was you instead," you blabber on, voice cracking. "i wish it was just you, not him! i wish it was just you! i hate him, i need him gone! i love you! i wish it was just you—"

"shh—" he coos, silencing you with another kiss. his hips gain momentum, and he grunts shamelessly as he grinds against you. your eyes flutter as you look at him dazedly— face flushed, lips swollen. your eyes are bloodshot. he gives you a comforting smile.

"i got you," he whispers, pressing another peck upon your nose. you whimper, leaning into his touch. his voice is just as full of desperation. "appa's got you. you're my little girl. my daughter. not his. only mine. got that?"

that does it for you— it's like you just got the only validation you ever needed in life.

"yes- yes, yes, yes, yes, please, i need you—" you hiccup, and he pulls back, his thumb rubbing your clit through your panties. you grind up into his hand, your arms reaching up to pull him closer, "appa—"

"shh, be my good little girl and come like this," he whispers, pressing a hand down on your stomach. you squirm violently under him, the added pressure and his words making the band in your stomach want to snap in the most delicious way possible.

"oh my god—" you whine, throwing your head back, "please, appa, i need your cock—"

"no," he laughs, and his hand comes up and cups your face, his thumb pulling down your bottom lip lewdly. "not now."

"appa, please!" you sob, your hips writhing. he slips his hand into your panties and furiously rubs your clit. as a way to silence you, he slips his thumb into your mouth and your lips wrap eagerly around it. you start sucking it in earnest and he falls forward onto you.

"fuck," he groans, pressing his forehead against yours again. his thumb presses down on your tongue, gently pushing in and out. his other hand teases your entrance, harshly slips one finger inside and it makes you jump. he tsks. "uh uh- stay still— that's it bubba, suck my thumb... juuust like that, fuck, that's my good fuckin' girl—"

the praise makes you heady in the best way possible, and the moment his thumb circles your clit again, you're coming almost violently. you almost bite down on his thumb and he grins— pulling his hand out and kissing you again as he thrusts his finger in and out of your cunt, overstimulating you.

"t-too much—" you whimper into his mouth, and he chuckles breathlessly, pecking your lips over and over again till they hurt.

"yeah?" he coos teasingly, though he slows down his movements, allowing you to come down from your high. "thought you could take it? little baby's not so tough anymore, huh?"

you whine again, face flushed. a dazed smile appears on your face as your chest heaves. your panties are a mess, and he brings his hand out, licks his fingers clean. you watch him with hooded eyes, blinking slowly. he smiles, spits on his fingers before bringing them to your face. eagerly, you grab his palm and slip them into your mouth, sucking obediently.

"you're so messy," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple. his fingers gently thrust in and out of your mouth and you roll your tongue around the digits, tasting the slight remnants of your slick on his salty skin. you've never felt more fulfilled in your life.

"appa," you mumble again, voice muffled through his fingers. he smiles fondly and pulls them out, making you whine. he shushes you and as your hand reaches his pants, he grabs it.

"that's enough for now," he whispers. "rest. i'll be fine. today's just about you."

you protest. "but—"

"won't you listen to your appa?" he adds playfully, and you blush— looking away. if you could function properly, you'd tell him to shut up.

you can barely think; you still feel like you're floating, and he can tell by the slight dreamy look in your eyes.

"let me bring you some water." he whispers, pulling away. you immediately grab his hand, looking up at him with pleading eyes— begging him not to leave you. he chuckles, gently pries your hand away and presses a kiss to your knuckles. it makes you blush. he leans down, hands you your bunny plushie and you hold it to your chest.

"i'll be back in a minute, i promise."

reluctantly, you pull away, swaying a little as you watch him leave. as promised, he walks back in after a minute with a glass of water and his phone. he holds the glass to your lips and helps you drink, and it makes your cheeks heat up. you like him taking care of you. you like how happy he looks while doing it too. he urges you to finish the whole glass and settles it on the bedside table. you tug at his shirt and he snorts before redirecting his attention to you.

he lays down on the bed properly and pulls you towards him, cradling your head against his chest. you throw your leg around his hip and he holds you close, your plushie sandwiched between your bodies. it feels nice.

"you okay?" he whispers, and you nod, burying your head in his chest. you want to say a lot of things— you want to tell him how much you love him, how much you appreciate him. how he has quite literally changed your life. you want to tell him he is the best thing to ever happen to you, and that you might die if he ever leaves you. you want to tell him that he's a great kisser, that you want him to teach you everything. that he smells amazing and that you've never felt as safe as you do with his strong arms wrapped around you.

"thank you," you whisper, voice small. you feel shy again, and he presses a kiss to your forehead. you're exhausted, that much is obvious. this experience has clearly overwhelmed you, and he watches you for a bit, his thumb gently caressing your damp cheek, wiping the now drying tear tracks on your skin.

"thank you, what?" he asks, a knowing smirk on his face. he's cruel. you blush, hide your face with a groan before answering him shyly.

"thank you, appa."

"that's my girl." he adds proudly and you beam, butterflies erupting in your stomach.

"i love you too," he whispers finally, and your eyes snap open. you tilt your head up to look at him, your heartbeat rising. he smiles softly— an unreadable look in his eyes. you resist the urge to cry again.

"i love you," you tell him again, your emotions so evident on your face. you're an open book to him. he leans down, presses kisses against your neck, making you giggle. you've never been this happy in your life.

you bury your face in his chest again and hold onto him tightly. he rests his chin on your head, and you whisper a confession against him. now that mr. inho is yours, now that you feel reassured that he might not actually leave you, you can finally admit it out loud.

"i hope he doesn't come back."

he tenses slightly, before relaxing. you don't care about his opinion on your admission— you're just glad to let it out. his hand pats your back gently, urging you to sleep. eventually, you do.

you snore in your sleep. it makes inho smile. you're still the same as you were when you were a kid. when he's sure you're fully out, he checks his phone. he opens his encrypted mail, watches with amusement the attachment from this morning— a low quality video of your father being slapped as he loses in ddakji. the second attachment is of your father's details and his player number. he holds back a smirk.

your father is predictable. he knew the son of a bitch would take the opportunity to make money as soon as he's presented with it. he's not surprised. from what he knows of him in the past decade— he knows he wouldn't make it past the first game. if he does, he knows enough to design something that will make sure he doesn't make it past another.

after losing his wife and child, inho lost a part of himself. but he feels a little complete now. in a way, he has found both in you— and he does love you, adore you with everything he has. he doesn't intend to let anything happen to you ever again. now that you've subconsciously given him the permission, he can do whatever the hell he wants to the piece of trash that is your father. accidents and missing persons cases are easy to bury, and he doubts you'd be sad if you think your father went missing while 'working on a case.' it's nothing out of the ordinary. you have him now, afterall. what else do you need? he'll be your father and your lover. it's not that hard a task. anything you want.

he gently runs a hand through your hair, examines the fading bruise on your face. it makes his jaw clench.

you're the light of his life and he can't wait to spend the rest of it with you. he'll give you the life you deserve, fulfill the childhood that was stolen from you.

as you shift in his arms and mumble something incoherently; inho smiles. he puts the phone down and turns it off. with a newfound motivation, he presses another kiss to your forehead and pulls you closer.

tags: @gojoswaterbottle @melusinetears @mizzysx @starry-eyedxlove @ferrarifinnick @dilfismz @skibidirizzzlerrrr @cowuies @frontwomann @caramelcandescence @gemini-serpentis @showmeyourkickflip @lizaliza @namelesslosers @nightcovrd @snapeslittlewhore @thedreamingreaper @fariesrreal @sky-forts-and-burning-citadels @solsticeex

#hwang inho x you #hwang inho x reader #frontman x reader #lee byung hun #squid game #squid game x reader #squid game fanfic #salesman x reader #player 001 x reader

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harukyuu2 · 1 month ago

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hello!! May I request a fic about wind breaker (including Togame jo) scenario when they "accidentally" walk in on you while you're changing? Thank you!!!!!!!!

-‘๑’-⇢ ˗ˏˋ Woah! Sorryyy! - wbk boys seeing you change:࿐ྂ-‘๑’- !! - Haruka, Suo, Togame and Endo !! (Endo's part is pretty suggestive, implied fem!reader in some cases, small revision only :p)

"Hey, where do you have your... FUCK, DAMN—" ♡ Boy smashed your door closed without even saying sorry, too much embarassment— he cant handle it! You didnt even notice him until he smashed the door, it was like a split second interaction! ♡ You never saw him SOOO red, like— he always blushes! But today?? You can almost see smoke coming out of his head, his red has the saturation on a 100% ♡ His brain isnt working, he cant even form a sentence to you or even look you in the eyes, he feels like he's gonna explode if he does. ♡ If he didnt run out of your house by now, you can reassure him its fine, but youre gonna get embarassed mumbles until he's actually able to think without that image in his head. ♡ At the end of the day, with a looot and i mean A LOT of reassureance and patience for his blush to go down, you'll get your usual nervous boyfriend again, maybe even an apology! ♡ Still, that image of you stayed in his head for more time than necessary— and he probably felt guilty, but also youre too pretty in his eyes! He isnt sure how he got you still.

"...You know im— im sorry or whatever for...fuck, you know! not knocking or somethin'...whatever, damn—"

"Sweetie, are you ready to left alrea— Oh. Sorry!" ♡ He's actually SO CALM, he stands like "🧍‍♂️" checking on you a quick second before leaving politely, you cant even hear him walking, the only sound in the room is his apology AND THATS IT. ♡ Tbh, its surprising you catched him in a situation like that. Suo, as a boyfriend, know everything you need or what youre doing, or what youre about to do...His mind is literally connected to yours— so him thinking you were ready and it was wrong? First time you caught him out of guard. ♡ He stares at you. More than he usually does. You could catch him staring at you and he wouldnt look away! His eyes are literally glued to you (They were already, but now more than always) ♡ Now, Suo can be mature— like reaally mature, but still he's a teenager! So he feels a little embarassed, he's just good at hidding it. Not lying, the image doesnt leave his mind and he feels really inmature for it! ♡ He doesnt know how to bring the topic without making you uncomfortable, but he needs to. So, at night, when youre about to fall asleep, pretty dozed off from reality, he finally turns to cup your cheek and sweetly murmurs— whether you remember it or not, well... he's just going to play it silly in the morning.

"That color and laces looked good on you, darling. Sweet dreams, sorry for not knocking."

"Babe, take your time, but just so you dont scold me later, fireworks start at— ...uh, sorry. Uhh, that color looks good on you! I mean, sheesh, alright— im leaving, im leaving..." ♡ SLOW ASS TURTLE. Talks with you without noticing youre changing. Another man who just stands like "🧍‍♂️" while looking at you for a whole ten seconds and he tries to fix it with compliments just for you to have to push him outside of the bedroom ♡ He hums outside of your room, wondering if he made you uncomfortable or something, relationships are something new for him too— so he has zero idea how to handle this situation at first. ♡ He wont lie that he finded you pretty, thats a normal thing! Well, he guesses...so he wont see complimenting you on it as a bad a thing, but he does understand that not knocking was wrong (and not moving quickly too) ♡ Being on his side was silent for a moment before he leaved a sigh, scratched his neck before ruffling your hair and apologized in a cute way— he learned to talk a lot better after his fight with Haruka and always expresses himself honestly with you.

"'m sorry im just saying this now, i should had knocked...anyways, you looked pretty though...i mean it! You know i love you, right?"

"Babyyyy...Hurry up so we can go on a walk already! do you want to— DAAAMNN, that one looks good on you! is that the one i gived you money to buy? i should buy you another, but in blue and— Dont push meeee...!" ♡ Clingy, whining, sassy ASSSS...He wont leave that room until you try to push him like a good damn minute. Worst of all? While you push him out of the bedroom, he would make sassy remarks of other colors you could try that would look better with a damn big grin in his face. ♡ Apologizing? Nah, he's more into the old good "teasing my girlfriend until she feels the urge to beat me!!", íf you two went to the shopping...yeah, probably points out a store that sells them only to annoy you more. ♡ Follows you around even if youre mad or something, complimenting you on the way and even if he feels playful,(Literally everyday) will squeeze your waist just to scare you and finally get your attention directed to his face. ♡ Once you two are back to your house, he's teasingly tracing the contour of your bra through your shirt, holding you close and not letting his eyes fall from yours, he tempts you through them only to finally squeeze you into an hug since he's a romantic one, of course..!

"Im not going to apologize for finding you pretty, babe. Were not in a backwards world, arent we? So stop frowning and i'll spoil you in more gifts!"

I got confused and i made headcanons D: But i'll probably make a scenario for Togame if you rlly want it !!

#wind breaker #wind breaker x reader #haruka sakura #haruka sakura x reader #sakura haruka x reader #Hayato suo #hayato suo x reader #Togame jo #togame jo x reader #endo yamato #endo yamato x reader #yamato endo x reader #wbk #jo togame x reader

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orphicsun · 2 months ago

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Could you write something about worshipping Abby’s pussy… 🫢

warnings: 18+ content, body worship kink, wrote vaguely in terms of dynamics so you can imagine sub!top reader, sub reader, top reader etc, oral sex (a! receiving), implied overstimulation/long periods of sex

You go down her body like rigid rock underneath a waterfall, trailing South from pert breasts to the lines of her abdomen and so forth. You kiss the indentations in her hips and pass love from her belly button to the beginning of her short, blonde hair.

From there, you linger below. You tease beyond her clitoral hood, tongue swirling around the attention-craving bud to hear her falter.

"Shit," she curses. It’s all she can manage. Her breath is but a series of short pants, and then a sharp whoosh of oxygen when you lavish your wet tastebuds across her slit. She drips for you.

Abby is not one to hold still; from her sat position on the edge of the bed, the split expanse of her thighs were once separated, parted like a river with your head the divergent. The firm muscles of each thigh now meet your face, and you feel the melanin in her sun-tanned freckles practically print onto your flushed cheeks. You know you're doing a good job.

So you don't hesitate in her pleasure, and you do not stall for your own, though the sight of her teased and frustrated form is enticing. Your lips seal over the darkishly pinkened pearl like a kiss, and the heat that pours from your mouth and onto the very string that ties her needs to her brain like receptors, telling her it's all in love that you give her the thing she needs.

Streams of curses is all that spills from her tea rose lips. You impale through her hole, moaning into it the words of a lover when she immediately tenses up and relaxes again, but now a cracking temple above you.

You worship Abby down on your knees any time of the day you're able to. It's on your mind when she isn’t in your reaches; just the thought of your tongue buried deep inside the pussy that aches for you drives you to do things such as beg to eat her pussy, just because the taste of her essence on your tongue is worth the teasing look you receive as you toss your dignity into the nearest bin.

The only thing that humbles her is that you don't know when to stop. As long as she allows, you spend hours of your time picking her apart from her stem to the top branch of her frame. You don't care how many times she spills into your awaiting mouth—you'll swallow down her offering as many times as she needs to get her off.

It's that fine line between lapping at her cunt for your own pleasure and craving her ravished moans. You have an alternation that you tend to so frequently, switching between overloading the sensation of all you have to give onto her clit and then withdrawing to stretch her hole around your tongue, though you know it's not enough to make her cum.

And so like a follower to a deity, you devote yourself to the idolization of Abby—of those cloudy muscles and broad features. You look up every so often from your job to see her eyes meet yours in assurance that this is your dynamic: you between her thighs, below and giving, and her offering up the view of her nipples changing from soft, velvet-to-the-touch saucers to blossoming, needful points. You don't take much convincing from the look on her face to trail your hands up and thumb over the peaks.

And when she is drained of all power, your goddess tapping out, you pull away. Abby takes in the slick gleam on your chin and prideful tilt in your smile. When you wipe your mouth, you're missing her taste once more.

taglist: @aceywaycy, @starberr1, @ruelezz, @abbysbutch, @deluxism, @prwttiestbunny, @eriiwaiii2, @starrycherie, @fruitit00tie, @x0x0xkimara, @hotpinkskitties, @mars4hellokitty, @jhyoos, @moonfloweredprincess, @morticeras, @starryeyedlovergirll, @l0veylace, @abbysmeatrider, @ferxanda, @frillynpinkprincess, @plasticl0v3r, @meow4510, @g4ys0n, @mitskimisfit, @bewareofmyglock, @witzs

want to be tagged? click here

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ludwigplayingthetrombone · 1 year ago

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Post war/coma comic about Gai struggling with his recovery

Since tumblr hates long form comics, I have to split this into 2 bc its 36 images. This is the first part, part 2 i'll either do as a reblog or a separate post right after this, stay tuned! Links to support me in pinned post <3

tw: s*icidal thoughts, injury, a little blood

Bisuke: Gai's Back!

Gai: GRAAH!

Kks: Im home Gai: Welcome back Kks: [wheels rolling] Hey,

Kks: Ga-!? Gai: Im fine. The tile is cool on my face. Kks: Wanna go lay down in bed? Gai: I am so /sick/ of lying down. Kks: Ok. What do you want for supper?

Gai: You're not going to comment? Kks: I already know what happened. You overdid it again. I should be able to keep up with chores, kakashi. Kks: You can. Just don' bull through it all in one go. Do you want to end up in the hospital again? Gai: Please don't. Kks: I know sitting still is hard for you, and "too much" is in your DNA, but you have to take this slow so you don't exacerbate your injuries, Gai. You went from hyper-aware to pretending your body limits dont exist. Gai: Like you haven't done the same.

Gai: You've proved your point. Kks: It's not about that. And you've dragged me to bed and out of bed repeatedly when I needed it. You were burning alive from the inside. Tsunade told you your immune system is out of whack. You need to take it easy. /I/ know you're capable, but are you trying to prove to /yourself/ you are? Gai: You want me to admit my embarrassment? Kks: If something serioud happens, You'll be even more embarrassed then

Gai: How could you possibly know how I FEEL?! How could you EVER KNOW HOW I FEEL?! Kks: I DON'T! But I've /been/ the one ouking and sobbing on your bathroom floor because I couldn't take living anymore! And I don't want that for YOU!

Kks: I'm sorry, Gai. Gai: I'm sorry

Kks: I can't stand knowing you're in pain, and I can't get you help. If there was a way, I'd do anything. Gai: You do so much to help me already.... And I yelled at you Kks: I've screamed at you so much, that was pretty tame. I wish I was like you with things like this. Not great with what to say...... But I can listen.

Gai: I hate feeling so weak. I'm tired all the time, in constant pain, I can't even walk-..... I can tell tenten and the boys worry despite my efforts to appear positive. Kks: They're just not sure how to react. They know you hate being babied, but don't want to push you into hurting yourself. You hate being told you can't do something. They love you. You get stronger everyday, everyone is cheering you on.

Gai: I know it's irrational, but... I feel like you gave up the Hokage position to take care of me. Kks: Haa!? I'm grateful if anything. I'd be retired too if I could. That'd be amazing. I'm dreading just helping Tsunade but as long as you're by my side, I'll be fine. We're still equals, rivals, friends, partners

Gai: Even if I can't- Kks: /Always/ wil be, dickhead. Gai: You worry about me hurting myself? Kks: I know you think about it

Kks: We're the same in that regard Gai: I would never act on this, please believe me, these thoughts are rare........... Kks: It's ok, Gai. Gai: Sometimes I think i should have just died. I feel so out of place on the streets I used to feel so at home at. I never asked to live. I didn't plan to. I just don't know how to-...

Kks: I understand that. Though, dying didn't feel any better. Gai: I know I didn't fully pass like you did. I didn't see papa. Just for a moment, I wish I could have seen him.

Kks: As much as I'm sure he wants to see you again, It's too soon. Dai'd slap the shit out of you for wanting to waste your youth just to see him. Gai: [chuckle] probably. Kks: I have those thoughts less and less now, but they're still there. "why am I the one who survives?" "Burden" "Gai will come to his senses eventually"

Gai: FALSE!! None of my grief is with you! I love living here with you! My love for you only burns hotter each day! You're so lovely inside and out! Kks: Maa What did I do to deserve such praise from teh mouth of the hottest man in Konoha?? Gai: YOU STILL THINK I'M HOT?! Kks: YOU-! [CACKLE]

Kks: Your bad taste is the only reason I had a chance before someone snatched you up. Gai: The worst. Kks: Thought we'd irritate eachother, but it's been pretty smooth. Even though you still get played by the dogs. Gai: You really wanna throw those stones?

Gai: They play you just as easily. don't lie. Kks: My point is, whatever you need from me, you have it. No questions asked. Even if you yell and scream, i can take it. You held me together when I was unraveling, and I'll never forget it. Didn't trust anyone else to see me like that. Broken

Gai: I never saw you as that. Kks: I'll never see you as that

#kakagai #kakashi hatake #maito gai #naruto #my art #team gai #tenzou yamato #angst

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hitomisuzuya · 3 months ago

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Best friend or childhood friend scummy scara jacking it while talking to us on the phone..? He's trying to not make it obvious but he makes so much noise and stuff maybe whiny scara...? 👉👈

scaramouche x fem reader. smut. masturbation. sexual fantasy descriptions. scummy scara.

long ago, scaramouche decided he didn't just want to be friends with you anymore. he wants to be the one fucking his cock inside of you. ever since he hit puberty, he has only been interested in you. you have starred in every one of his fantasies, he is successfully able to picture what you would look like in his favorite pairs of panties at any given time (the sames ones he has jacked himself off into multiple, multiple times unbeknownst to you).

he has a whole journals dedicated to the various ways he would fuck you in great detail.

phone calls with you often serve him well. with one simple sentence like, "tell me about your day," he could listen to the fucking cute pitches in your voice, converting them to what your moans would sound like if you were split open and soaking on his cock. with his eyes closed, he would fist his cock thinking of fucking you. it was routine like breathing to him.

scaramouche swore his lip was going to start bleeding if he bit it any harder to swallow his noises. his cock throbs unbearably in his fist as he squeezes his eyes shut. you sound so fucking cute prattling on about some cat you saw today.

"i wish i could have taken him home with me, but i couldn't. you know my dad hates cats. i had a pretty quiet day. i missed you though," he sucks in a quiet breath hearing this soft little noise you made after you said you missed him. like you were shy about saying that, but it just came out.

"forced family function..stupid shit, you know how it goes," he barely manages out shakily. quiet is definitely what you wouldn't have been if you'd spent the day impaled on his cock instead, crying about how good it feels.

"scara? are you okay? you sound like you are panting," you ask with such sweet concern. it's so cute how naive you are. making you all the more corruptible to him.

whining softly, his hand squeezes around his throbbing cock. "you don't know how badly i want you," his thumb circles his leaking cockhead, his legs shaking as he pinches and massages precum around on it. in his fit of lust, the words just came out. "you don't know what i am thinking about right now," rutting into his hand, he increases his pace.

you sound caught off guard at first, a blush dusting your cheeks. still though, you are quiet for a moment before you said, "like what kinds of things are you thinking about?" curious arousal prickles through you. you've been thinking about scaramouche a lot lately.

scaramouche couldn't stop the infuriatingly whiny moan that keens from him. "th-thinking about your pussy drooling on my cock, fucking into you so deep that it.." he trails off in another whiny moan, praying he doesn't drop the phone fucking his cock into his fist, "..feels like i am rearranging your insides. playing with those pretty nipples while you bounce yourself stupid on my cock, sucking on my fingers, and begging me to cum inside."

lying back on your bed, you are embarrassed at how fast you start to get wet. your hand dips into your panties to play with your clit. your best friend whom you've crushing on for years is confessing his lewd fantasies to you.

"how pretty your pussy would look with my cock pumping in it while i fuck you into submission from behind..you'll know your place..fuck i am gonna cum," he moans, "let me come pick you up..please," he winces hearing another whine sound from him, "let me fuck you..i need to so..so..bad," he couldn't take it anymore.

"okay," you reply with little hesitation, your fingers slippery on your throbbing clit. you writhe a little massaging as you circle your thumb around it. "i won't make myself cum yet," you suddenly moan softly. your body felt gripped with the need to please him in that way.

cum spills into scaramouche's hand. "stay the night. stay the weekend," he whines, chasing what is guaranteed to be the first of many orgasms tonight. "i'll fucking make you cum," since his mother is gone for the weekend, he would spend plenty of time fucking you on her bed.

#genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin imagines #fem!reader #scaramouche #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x y/n #modern au #scummy scara

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baambied · 4 months ago

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𝑹 𝑼 𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑬?

𝒆𝒙 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

❝ SEVIKA ❞⠀

mdni cw possessive!sevika cursing yearning

protective!sevika makeout session

ex!sevika × fem!reader

𝒆𝒙!𝒈𝒇 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 -- who let's out an audible scoff whenever she hears your name mentioned, making it seem as if she totally isn't affected by breakup between you two but in reality she's listening intently and completely focused on whatever the person is saying about you.

"it's whatever - you can talk about her doesn't bother me. ."

𝒆𝒙!𝒈𝒇 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 -- who, despite all the disagreements , arguments, and the whole relationship ending, she still cares so deeply for you , she knows her love for you would and will never fade even if thousands of years go by you'll always be on her mind.

𝒆𝒙!𝒈𝒇 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 -- who hates when you still come to the same bar she introduced you to, seeing you sitting at the bar with your friends instead of you sipping on a beer while on her lap as she plays a game of cards.

𝒆𝒙!𝒈𝒇 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 -- who swiftly follows you out the door of the bar to walk you home - well walking a few feet behind you as you make your way home without you noticing - making sure you dont get hurt by anyone.

𝒆𝒙!𝒈𝒇 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 -- who still pays for your drinks at the bar without you knowing, going up to the bartender and asking them to put whatever you order on her tab.

𝒆𝒙!𝒈𝒇 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 -- who's glare you can feel from a mile away when some random person comes up to you offering to buy you a drink.

𝒆𝒙!𝒈𝒇 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 -- who goes up to the guy while their coming out of the bathroom and threatens them to never step a single foot near you again or she'd made sure they will never be able to step foot in the bar as long as they live.

𝒆𝒙!𝒈𝒇 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 -- who still has all those little cute love notes you wrote her during the relationship, and small items you've given her during that time. . . she keeps them in a box in her closet, not daring to threw anything so precious away.

𝒆𝒙!𝒈𝒇 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 -- who still 'anonymously' send you flowers every valentines day since the day you two split up. . she sends you your favorite type of flowers because she remembers you mention the name a few times during the relationship.

𝒆𝒙!𝒈𝒇 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 -- who can't help but smile when she's still the person you count on for certain things. You who are not that proud of this, but anytime you are in trouble or need help, sevika is the one you immediately call because even though you two broke up - you know you're still able to trust her - some man keeps bothering you anytime you're on the way to work so you call sevika about it and next thing you know you never have to see that man's face again.

𝒆𝒙!𝒈𝒇 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 -- who isn't the type to immediately talk or flirt with other women after a break up ? You were the only woman who was able to make to turn her head so far to the point her brain started thinking about marriage - there was just no way another woman could have the same affect you had on her . . . nor would she allow another woman to even get close to her.

𝒆𝒙!𝒈𝒇 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 -- who still has the pretty lingerie set you surprised her with on her birthday. . . It was around the beginning of your relationship, so she still remembers the shy expression on your face as you lay in the middle of her bed.

𝒆𝒙!𝒈𝒇 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 -- who keeps all the recipes of the sweet deserts you used to make her, she attempts to replicate them, but every time she does, she's meant with utter disappointment as the food doesn't taste like yours.

𝒆𝒙!𝒈𝒇 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 -- who still has a picture of you in her wallet , and a little note you wrote her once when she went to work angry, you didn't know how to make her feel better so instead you left a short note in her wallet for her find later in the day.

𝒆𝒙!𝒈𝒇 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 -- who threatens (or even lays a few punches on) any man who talks bad or suggestive about you - even when asked who is she to you the woman can't help but say "don't speak about my girlfriend that way" and when you find out and confront her about it youre not even suprise when she just gives you a look and says "would you rather those fools make moves on you? i just said that to get them off your ass.. don't take it personally. "

𝒆𝒙!𝒈𝒇 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 -- who notices one time at the bar, a man got way too close for your own comfort , and sevika - being able to read you like an open book could tell by the expression on your face you were very uncomfortable with the lingering attention from the man. . .and the next thing you know was the man being knocked out cold onto the ground.

𝒆𝒙!𝒈𝒇 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 -- who let's you shout at her for punching the guy and causing a scene when you could have taken care of it yourself - and in response to your yelling sevika just stares at you in silence . . her mind just thinking about how you look like a real-life beautiful angel standing in front of her.

𝒆𝒙!𝒈𝒇 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 -- who still has the bracelet that is the color of your eyes around her wrist, it was something you and her did months ago - you having a pretty bracelet with gray pearls on it while she has a bracelet with pearls the same color of your eyes.

𝒆𝒙!𝒈𝒇 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 -- who gets incredibly annoyed when she can't find a lighter to spark up her cigar, she soon gets even more annoyed when she realizes your the one who usually carries a lighter so you could spark it.

𝒆𝒙!𝒈𝒇 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 --who can still smell the scent of your gentle vanilla scented shampoo on one of her pillows from when you used to sleep over her house.

𝒆𝒙!𝒈𝒇 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 -- who walks you home after you had one too many drinks , stumbling over your own feet as her mechanical arm was secured around your waist , slurring out incoherent words to her as the two of you walked down the street. . . sevika couldn't help the small smirked that pulled at her lips.

"i - d-dont need *hiccup* -you!" Your sentence coming out slurred as it meant sevika's ears.

"Oh really now?" The broad woman responded back with a shit eating grin, she was amused at this situation - and a little surprised because you weren't one to drink until you couldn't even walk straight so this was new.

"no! I'm fine-"

"shh shh shh doll, let's get you home. ."

𝒆𝒙!𝒈𝒇 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 -- who ends up taking you to her house instead since you were to out of it to find your keyys , she let's you take her bed . . tucking you in her dark red covers , while she slept in the small couch in her living room along with the pillow that still had the scent of your gentle vanilla shampoo.

𝒆𝒙!𝒈𝒇 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 -- who wakes up early to fix up some breakfast for you, making some eggs and cutting up your favorite fruits to have on the side . . . and making sure there was water and pain reliever on the side for you to take.

sevika ears perk up when she hears the soft padded of your feet under on the floor. She could tell you were making your way to the kitchen.

you walk in the kitchen, eyes immediately finding sevika who was by the sink placing a frying pan inside - the smell of fried eggs hitting your nose as you stepped in further.

"what am i doing here? sevika-"

"There's pain reliever on the table beside you."

you open your mouth to say something - anything but sevika was right, your head was hurting like a bitch. . . and it wasn't common for you to drink to the point you had a bad hangover the morning after, and you knew sevika was aware of this, making you feel slightly embarrassed and you felt slightly uncomfortable as you were still in your clothes from last night.

you grab the pills in your palm, bringing them to your lips and swallowing them dry, this quick action made you go into a small coughing fit.

"Jesus- there was water right here.." sevika softly grumbled under her breath as she grabbed the glass of water and brought it towards you , bringing it to your lips - gulping down the water humming at the feeling of the room temperature water hit your dry throat.

during this, your eyes couldn't help but flicker up to sevika's. . almost immediately, you felt a warmth wash over your body - butterflies annoyingly flapping their wings around the pit of the stomach. . old sparks from when you two were together reignited, and the warming - loving look in sevika's gaze made your knees buckle.

it seemed sevika felt the same, both your heart pounding in usion , sevika couldn't look away from your eyes - almost mesmerized by the depth in them. . . studying you almost.

both of your eyes staring into each other , filled with so much emotion - holding so much emotion all at once . . you both wanted nothing more than to let those emotions out.

next thing you know, sevika's lips are on yours, the abandoned glass cup of water now on the ground shattered into pieces , causing sevika to swiftly move her arm under your legs carrying you up and placing you on the counter , your body squirmed as you felt her hands on your waist - still in your cute miniskirt from last night you could feel it riding up by the fast movement.

the kiss was uncoordinated , sloppy even . . driven by pure urgency and desire - a sense of need and longing as if the two of you were waiting for this exact moment. Your fingers making it seem way into sevika dark hair, tugging is softly as you leaned more into her.

"missed you so much. ." sevika states , her sentence coming out more like a growl as her lips made its way away from your now swollen lips and to your neck - you felt flutters in stomach at her words because. . . you missed her too , a part of you is genuinely shocked that you went on for a few months without her by your side.

"i - i could have taken care of - myself last night. ." Your words fumbling with a mix of whines at the feeling of sevika's teeth gently biting your flesh on your neck , "okay. ." sevika responds with a single word to your statement.

"and. . you didn't have to punch that guy , i could have hand- handled that. ."

"okay. . okay baby , i know. ."

silence took over the kitchen, just the sounds of sevika sucking on your skin and the sounds of your breathy soft moans floating in the air , and you can't say that you're shocked that you're making out with sevika - aka your ex girlfriend while sitting on her counter. . . because somehow a part of you always knew the two of you would find your way in this predicament somehow, it was almost like everywhere you went sevika was in the same room - coincidence or not . . it was like you two were destined together , like a magnet pulling at one another.

and here as you sat in her arms, hands in her hair while her lips worked on your neck. . . you couldn't help but feel like this was all supposed to happen and honestly you wouldn't want it any other way

you were her's , and she was yours.

reader crazy for breaking up with sevika in the first place smh 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

#sevika headcanon #sevika x f!reader #sevika x reader #sevika arcane #arcane smut #arcane sevika #sevika x female reader #sevika x fem reader #sevika x fem!reader #sevika #sevika headcannons #ex girlfriend sevika #sevika x you #sevika x oc

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impish-baby · 4 months ago

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Hi! I hope you make sure to drink some water, eat a little something, and keep warm. May I request a fic where let's say the hero's sidekick gets kidnapped by a group of villains? When they wake up in an unfamiliar place they panic and start to regress but they're trying to hide it when they begin to get interrogated...(they're failing miserably at hiding it)

Maybe the villain and sidekick are hybrids? Up to you. Thank you and keep safe!

In April, I open my bill - platonic yandere! villians × sidekick! reader (pt.1) - 🪶🗡

You're so getting benched after this.

It's not even your fault that you were caught! Maybe you begged a little to go out on a mission, but it was supposed to be a simple stake out, not an ambush. Nobody has let you out on the field without a babysitter since you started training! And the one time you are, you're kidnapped. Great. You'll never hear the end of it.

To make things better, there's a power suppressor strapped to your ankle. Cowards. It not like you're already bound to the damm chair you woke up in, they just had to go the extra mile. Maybe they see you as an actual threat? A tiny bit of pride swells in your chest.

You are a threat! You're part of the best hero team there is, doesn't matter that you aren't debuted out to the public yet, you're still an important member!

.....they're going to come save you soon, you know it.

There's no way you've been passed out for very long, a few hours at most, right? Yeah, it won't be too long now.

On the bright side, you're not beat up! A small donk to the back of the head and that's it. Your wings ache from being fixed to your back, but at least you'll be able to stretch them when you're back to base. Gotta look at the positive things.

When the door clicks open you're just expecting to see the same idiot goons that grabbed you in the first place, not the nemesis of your mentor.

You take it back, there's absolutely no positives.

"My, you are certainly a treat.. I should've given Helix and his crew more credit." Asphodel has a pleasant smile on his face, it's the opposite of comforting. "You're the one that's gotten the city all in a buzz, huh? The little sidekick Apollo took so graciously under his wing.."

You're not scared. You're not. You're terrified.

So much blood has been split by the villian you could fill an ocean and still have some leftover. He's cruel, careless, the last hero he sinked his claws into was dropped unceremoniously on the steps of the capital building. The only thing your team might be retrieving is a corpse.

"So, dearest, I'm awfully curious. Everyone is really. Why don't you tell me a little about yourself?" A plush stool is dragged in front of you so the villain can sit, his own wings spread out gracefully behind him. Lucky bastard.

When you only glare silently he chuckles, his smile turning into a smirk. "Aw, are you shy? Poor thing, here, I'll go first to ease your nerves." Asphodel holds put his hand like he expects you to shake it, "I imagine you know my name already, so I won't bore you with telling you things you're already aware of, but I have very special plans for you. It's such a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

You'll die alone. The last thing you'll have done before going out is getting in a stupid argument with everyone because they said you weren't ready to do things solo. At least you can't tell a dead person I told you so. Nobody can blame you for the wetness slipping down your cheeks either.

"Oh, are those tears already?" He feighns surpise, placing the previously outstretched hand over his heart. "I thought you were a hero in training? How unbecoming of someone under the city's golden boy's tutelage."

A pathetic chirp almost leaves your lips before you bite your tongue. You just want your nest. You want to wake up like this was a horrible nightmare and have Apollo baby you like you're a delicate fledgling again.

"I haven't touched a single hair on your pretty head and already you've started with the waterworks." He gives a disappointed sigh, "perhaps that's why you've been here a week with no pesky heros showing up, they finally have a chance to be rid of a weakling among their ranks."

A week? No. No, someone would've come for you by then.

"Hm?" He leans towards you, cupping your cheek surprisingly gentle. It still makes you flinch. "You don't believe me, do you, dear?" Asphodel hums, leaning back and pulling a phone from his pocket. "Here, see for yourself."

The mission was Monday, it's 10 pm on Saturday now.

A news report just rubs salt in the wound, there's not one mention of your name. Not a missing persons report. There's nothing to attribute that someone's been looking for you at all.

"It's a little mean of them, isn't it?" He turns the video off before putting the phone back into his pocket, "Abandoning you here with me, don't fret though, darling."

A broken chirp finally does leave you when he reaches to pet your head, his eyes widening almost as much as yours are. "Oh. Oh. That does make my job so much easier."

He stands up in a blink of an eye to reach under your costume, shushing you softly. "It's ok, I'll only be a moment." Asphodel gasps when he brushes your feathers, stepping back and wagging a finger at you. "Naughty thing, do you know how bad for you that is? Goodness.."

You're still frozen still with fear and shock, not even moving when he starts to untie you from the chair. "Honestly.. we'll hope that you haven't done any permanent damage, it'll be a shame if you're grounded because of this."

You were told that it's safe. That you still used your wings enough, so you didn't need to worry about your flight being affected. You trusted Apollo and the others more than anything.

"There we are.." Asphodel also goes ahead and takes off your cloak for you once the restraints are gone, cutting two slits into the back of your undershirt with his talons so your wings can slip through. "Perfect, that must feel so much better."

It does, or it would if he didn't immediately start picking through your feathers.

"Hush," he's being careful, straightening anything that's out of place with a practiced hand. "I'm helping, my dove. You're safe, those old nasty heroes that betrayed you don't matter. Just focus on me."

You don't mean to melt into his arms, but all the emotions you feel mix into a confusing mess. Being held makes it go away a little.

"Good, you're such a good little one, aren't you?" He coos, words dripping with honeyed sweetness. "You don't think about anything else other than feeling safe with me, that's all you need to know."

(a/n: apologies..I got away from the prompt with this I think qwq hopefully it was still enjoyable! I'll do something more with reader regressing if there's interest)

#platonic yandere #famial yandere #platonic yandere x reader #yandere x reader #yandere agere #forced agere #forced age regression #yandere age regression #you've got mail! 📨#oc: cuckoo song 🪶

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felibrary · 1 year ago

Text

wish you were sober

synopsis: in which you drunkenly confess to aventurine and he doesn’t believe you, rather believing that he’s not worthy, less even deserving of your love. despite that, his insecurity, you're under the belief that aventurine deserves all the love in the world. love - something that you want to introduce to him and show him “what it means to love you.”

pairing: aventurine x reader | wordcount: 2.3k (i’ve gone insane) | content & warnings: hurt/comfort, alcohol; they're both drunk, insecure aventurine, unestablished relationship, they label themself as friends but reader barely knows anything abt him LMFAO, dual pov, DO YALL GET THE REFERENCE IN THE SYNOPSIS LMFAO??, rushed ending icl, half assed-ly proofread; oneshot

a/n: yesterday i listened to wish you were sober by conan gray and was like “damn.. this’d fit sunday” but then i asked azul what he thinks cause i couldn’t decide between su**day and <aventurine3. and they replied with that it’d be so much more angsty with aventurine (okay not quote on quote but you get the msg) and i dislike su**ay anyway!! so boom! (y’all are still getting another sunday fic..yay..ig.....)

tags: beloved @azullumi <3 and @cherieiu (stop punching me)

“i love you.”

your confession doesn't come over as surprising for aventurine, he anticipated it. just like how the ebb awaits the flood, yearning for it but disappearing as soon as it arrives. missing out on each other for just a split second, as the other party sweeps and slips away from the grasp of the other. nevertheless aventurine is glued to his seat on the rich sofa.

colorful poker chips are splattered around the rich mahogany floor tiles, bottles of vodka and wine, some already with their cork removed and empty, others who haven't even been opened yet. a chandelier adorning the ceiling of the big room, its lightbulbs glowing dimly in the caliginous room, illuminating it.

one of the lamps flickers while the others continue to shine brightly - too brightly aventurine thinks, if he were to watch them any longer he’d feel like melting. the closer he got to you the sun, the deeper he'd fall into the bottomless pit he managed to crawl out of.

the room reeks of alcohol. is the temperature rising? he feels like every time the last number on the digital clock changes the warmer it gets. his blond bangs stick to his forehead and beads of sweat are running down his flushed cheeks - that answers his question.

it’s hot - humid even. he's not sure if he's able to bear the heat in this narrow atmosphere any longer. he tries to blow the sweat away by waving at his face with his hand, trying to cool off his face - a futile attempt. god, what's this a/c even good for, if it can't do it's damn job.

he opens his mouth with the intent of wanting to say that you're lying, that you shouldn't say stuff like that when you're drunk and that you'll regret later. but he doesn't, he refrains from doing so. instead he gulps down the words immediately, letter for letter. they're a bitter pillow to swallow. flowing down his throat like the wavering water running down a stream - intoxicating, similar to the alcoholic liquid you've downed.

the blond looks at you through half lidded eyes. you lift yourself off the ground, he takes notice that you have a hard time doing so, legs slightly trembling as you remove them from the floor tiles. (you've always been a lightweight he thinks)

as you make your way over to him, standing up and wanting to sit yourself next to him on the large black leather sofa. you clumsily bump against one of the almost empty shot glasses that still lies on the floor. tripping over the small glass as your foot comes in contact with it. the glass that still contained some of the red wine you've poured in, not too long ago, tumbles as easily as a domino tile, falling upon the smallest touch. making the flimsy piece immediately meet the ground.

it breaks into a few sharp shards and the remaining alcohol starts seeping out of it, staining your once white socks with crimson colored alcohol. “ah m’sorry!” you mumble as you quickly bend down to gingerly pick up the fragments, placing them in the palm of your hand carefully, so that they won't cut you and leave slits.

aventurine takes another peek at you as you tidy up. your face is flushed, your cheeks tinted in a bright red and you let out incoherent sorrys, blabbering incomplete phrases. he wants to tell you that it's alright. that he feels the same and reciprocates yours feelings, that you don't have to apologize and he'll help you.

but he freezes.

the words that he wants to tell you, the ones he's been longing to say don't leave his mouth. neither does he move. instead he coughs, continuing to watch you while you clean up. a tissue has found its way into your right hand, helping you soak up the alcohol. (its his hand that should be intertwined with yours, not the tissue)

his throat hurts.

(he's not in the right mindspace to acknowledge if it's because of you - the unsaid words that he didn't reveal to you yet or because of the alcohol.)

it's dry and lacks any kind of refreshing liquid that'd quench the drought that occurs in his throat. he contemplates, thinking about the choices he has. swallowing down his own spit isn't worth it, it makes his throat burn even more.

he comes to the decision to pour himself another glass of alcohol. (debatably his worst decision until now.)

twirling the almost translucent liquid in his glass, before fully gulping it down in one go. a bit of the alcohol escapes the depths of his mouth, running down his chin and messily staining his porcelain-like skin.

he doesn't like the bitter taste, he can't seem to befriend himself with it. (neither can he befriend him with himself) although it's not the worst, he's just not able to find a reason to like it. after all, after a single sip it starts to sting as it enters his mouth.

the scent isn't great either, it smells strong, too strong for his liking, a scent that reeks of cleaning detergent and not to mention, it prickles on his tongue and burns as it slides down his throat when it makes its way into his blood. but there's one thing aventurine can't deny: it's efficiency.

it fulfills its purpose well making him lightheaded and dizzy, to the point of forgetting everything.

all sounds are drowned out. even the lame pop songs playlist you turned on because you insisted that “it'll set the right mood” is barely audible for him now. his ears hurt hellish, he wants to put his hands over his ears to escape the white noise. the sound that plays in his ears is similar to the one of when an airplane starts boarding - an unpleasant noise.

the only sound that remains for aventurine’s slightly drunk state is your voice. it echoes through his ears. your drunk confession playing over and over in his mind like a broken record, anticipating the day it'll be fixed, so the misery it is in ceases.

his sloppy and sluggish movements - the way his hands tremble as he pours himself another glass, the nervousness that forms inside his body and the blush that spreads as quickly as a wildfire on his cheeks - they're tormenting him, and he blames none other than the alcohol for it.

“a drunk mind speaks a sober heart, drunk words are sober thoughts, when you're drunk you reveal your true desires” his ass. the both of you are just friends. friends that are acquainted through work, nothing more, nothing less. aventurine couldn't bear to lose his only friend, after all he's already lost everything.

(anything he'd never want to lose will eventually be lost. it is as if fate had decided that everything that is worth wanting, everything that he wants to have and keep, will be lost the moment he gets his fingers on it. to aventurine there’s nothing worth pursuing at the cost of prolonging a life that is full of anguish.)

his father whom he never got to meet, his mother and sister whom he was forced to leave behind and kakavasha, his younger self. all will be lost - everything was lost. if he wasn't careful now, one slip up on the thin ice or feet accidentally trampling over the floor full of eggshells, he'd not only lose himself in the process, but you too. his one and only friend.

crossing this line he set for himself, as he drew it along the earthy ground with his calloused fingers, trembling as they traced over the mud.

walking past the border that was created to keep everything and everyone distant from him, as he stood on the other side turning his back from the world, walking away and waving, to bid his goodbye from them.

the wall he built around him to shield him from the world, protecting everyone from the ugly thing that was kept inside , protecting himself from the people that only want to torment him.

forgetting all of these things, leaving them behind for you would mean showing you who he really was. a frail human being that hides himself behind a mask. the theater curtains revealing the person who played the role of the man who had called himself aventurine for the past years. placing him in the spotlight and giving the audience a show they'll never forget, like the fool he is.

aventurine doesn't think that he is loveable, that he's undeserving of love - your love.

you think that aventurine deserves all the love in the world. providing him with said love, embracing him and showing him how pure love can be.

the blond caught your eye right away. he was charming, funny and handsome. aventurine turned into your little work crush, your motivation to convince yourself just to see him.

the road was rocky and full of obstacles, set up by none other than aventurine. it gave you a better perception of who he really was and it intrigued you even more. why does he hide himself away from the world? why does he convince himself to not get anyone close to him even though he longs for the touch of another person? who is aventurine, really?

you can't answer any of these questions and neither are you certain if aventurine really can but that doesn't stop you. you continue to climb up all the way to know who he is, who the person you fell in love with really is.

love, is weird isn't it? it comes in all different shapes and forms.

if someone were to ask you why you like him, you wouldn't know how to answer, because neither do you know.

but nevertheless you still like him. why? how come you like someone that you don't even know, someone that is foreign to you, almost like a stranger. even though the both of you label yourself as “friends.”

you're not sure what the color is that infuses his irises, he keeps them hidden beneath his glasses. despite that, you long to stare into his eyes and let all the plain and dull parts of your life get painted in the same colors of his hues. a color that brings you comfort and cures your sorrow. it's the hues that you want to stare at as you tuck a golden strand of hair behind his ear, in return he grants you a small but genuine smile.

a smile that you want to see more often, one that you want to keep for yourself.

as for his scent, every person has their own unique and special scent. you plead to the gods above that he’ll let you bury your head into the crook of his neck and absorb his smell so it becomes the only scent that lingers around your nose.

there are so many more things that you want to know about him but you're unaware of. one might say that you're odd for liking - no, loving someone that you barely know.

a stranger, a foreign person whom you know little about to almost nothing about, is the person that you love. absurd isn't it? but love is weird, love can be pure and ridiculous, but it can also be painful and heart wrenching. love is a feeling that not only brings joy to oneself but also causes pain. but it's a feeling that you never want to get rid of - not until you introduced aventurine to it. showing him what love has to offer and has in store.

in the iridescent light aventurine remains to look as ethereal as ever. a scent of vodka lingers around aventurines figure, the smell is strong, but you couldn't care less. his hair is disheveled but nevertheless continues to shine in the dazzling light. he lets out a tiring yawn and you couldn't imagine aventurine any more beautiful than in this moment.

vulnerable and for your eyes only. making it unable for you to tear your gaze away from the sight before you.

he's like a shooting star, if you don't continue to watch and follow it and blink, even if it's just for a single moment - it's all over and you'll never see it again.

“stop looking at me like that.” aventurine mumbles quietly, almost whispering. upon hearing that, you make your way over to him, glass shards long forgotten as you place them on the small coffee table in front of the sofa.

your arms reach out to aventurine, clutching your hands on his shoulders. your grip is sluggish but you don't falter and continue to hold him. “like what?” your lips are slightly parted and your gaze is drowsy as you counter aventurine's question with a question of your own.

“like that.” he placed the hand that just rested on his thigh, on your cheek, slightly caressing it. “you're just gonna hurt the both of us if you keep this up any longer.” he's not sure where the boldness came from, he blames it on the alcohol once again; it finally seemed to kick in.

“‘m not lying” you hiccup. tomorrow i’ll tell you how much i love you, no matter if it's once” a cough exits your throat “or a hundred times.” the words that leave your mouth are slurred, they're incoherent and muddled up. your grip on his shoulder weakens, hands slipping off and head falling against his chest.

..did you seriously just black out?

aventurine can only sigh at that. a small smile finds its way onto his face. he snakes his arms around you waist, snuggling his face into the crook of your neck and hugging you with the remaining power he had left before falling asleep. guess there'll be a lot to unpack tomorrow but for now he allows himself to indulge in this shared moment between the two of you.

e/n: hope yall enjoyed this as much as i hated writing this!! (i wanted to throw up) i acc hate how i wrote this. it's not as choppy as when i started writing it but it still feels so rushed and so idk.. anyway reblogs with comments are very much appreciated! >< ALSO that one paragraph written in brackets..guess whose speech it was inspired byyyyy (hint: bsd!!)

#toorurs #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail fluff #hsr fluff #hsr aventurine #aventurine hsr #aventurine x reader #aventurine fluff #aventurine angst #aventurine imgines #aventurine headcanons #hsr imagines #honkai star rail imagines #hsr headcanons

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