#everything goes back to them [sobbing]

[tiptoeing-the-fractures]

Rise and shine gorgeous its time to get your game on.

[tojisun]

hello 2015 draft class

[mycological-mariner]

Cool so I get to start training in a forge and welding and steam engine maintenance and fitting on weekends

[voiceshearingyouloud]

Finally properly sobbing after not being able to cry all day is such a great feeling

[birdmenmanga]

guy who has only read kekkaishi, watching interstellar for the first time: wow this guy is soooo sumikocore

[rjkooks]

21:58 — caleb comes home and fucks you in his colonel uniform.

➸ author's note: just a horny drabble i wrote on a whim. he looks so fine in that goddamn uniform it's making me feral :( not proofread btw!

“this what you wanted, baby?”

you’re on all fours, knuckles white as you desperately claw on the sheets, knees digging in the soft mattress as your ass hangs proudly in the air. you feel tears well up in your eyes, feeling them almost roll into your skull from how good caleb was eating you out.

you just know it’s absolutely nasty behind you. he’s slurping your slick like a man severely depraved, and oh — how his tongue slowly spelt each letter of his name over your walls covered in white. he’s diabolic for this. sprawled out bare naked beneath him, and he’s all clad in that damn colonel uniform that he knows has you reeling for him.

the smooth leather of his gloves presses on your clit, his thumb rubbing tight circles on your sensitive nub as he teasingly pushes the tip of his tongue in and out of your gaping hole. you quiver, a downpour of sinister noises resonating around the room. it merely fuels him to drive you mad from his tongue alone.

“c-caleb,” you cry out, your vocabulary dwindling down to one word, and you chant it over and over again in a mantra, the oversensitivity triggering cry after cry as he’s about to pull another orgasm out of you.

how many times has he made you cum already? three? four? or maybe five? you don’t know, you don’t remember, you lost count. hell, you weren’t even counting in the first place. all you know is that you’re about to approach another intense peak.

“cumming again, pips?” he speaks against your sopping folds, the vibrations of his mockery has you arching your back into a deeper curve. he doesn’t even have to ask, he already knows from the way your legs inevitably shake, moans turning up to a higher frequency as your folds clench tighter around his tongue. he wants you to feel him, take everything he has to offer you.

oh, how he wanted to fuck you so bad as if you’ve downgraded into a mere fleshlight, his cock straining tightly against his pants, but nothing is rewarding enough without patience. so, he waits, waits for you to fall apart one more time in his mouth before he can finally fill you up like you’ve always wanted.

“caleb, caleb, p-please…!” you cry out, drooling against the sheets but you pay no mind to the mess you’re making, your thoughts fixated on the way his tongue and thumb drew patterns on your soaking cunt.

back and forth he flicked his tongue against you, leather-clad thumb playing with your clit and snap goes the string in your gut, gushing out like niagra falls and into his awaiting mouth. he laps everything up, lips engulfing your entire pussy as you uncontrollably shake beneath him.

his hands find their place on your hips, keeping you still as he finishes any remains from your high, only pulling away when he knows you rode it out.

“such a good pipsqueak f’me…” he mutters adoringly, loving eyes wandering over your bare body as he finally frees his cock from its restraints, not completely pulling his pants down.

you gasp, feeling the dripping tip tease itself against your folds, and you feel his chest press on your back, lips hovering over the shell of your ear.

“gonna take my cock like a good girl, won’t you, pips? your gege’s gonna make you feel so, so good…” he whispers, voice hot and sensual, aching with need as you finally feel the angry veins of his cock slowly breach your insides.

“ha… ngghh… caleb…” tears form in your eyes again, not from the pain, but rather from how good it felt. everything about caleb feels good, but nothing beats the way his girth perfectly sheathes itself inside you, only to fuck himself in and out of you for hours on end.

he chuckles menacingly from the way your face twists in pleasure, white-knuckled from how tight you were clawing on the sheets as the sound of skin slapping continuously bounced off the walls.

“c-caleb…” you sob, your mind completely gone beyond mush as you can solely focus on the way his cock kept kissing your cervix. “too much..!”

“shhh…” he soothes you, thumbs drawing circles over your skin. “you can take it, yeah? i know you’re a strong pipsqueak,” he whispers against your ear, voice ever-so gentle that it shows a stark contrast between his mean thrusts.

you try running away, the overstimulation overwhelms your senses to the point where you dwindle down into a sobbing and drooling mess.

“oh no, no, no.” if it weren’t for the steel grip he has on your hips, you’re certain your legs would’ve gone out by now. you let out a strangled cry, immobile as his cock kept rearranging your insides.

“just six more minutes, baby,” he murmurs, ��six more. so be a good girl, yeah?”

you whine, unable to comprehend his words yet you nodded nonetheless, too cock drunk to care anymore. when he meant six minutes, however, he meant two more hours.

[sourappl3s]

•°. *࿐ Simple yet full tutorial on how to manifest your dream life!

I will mention everything in this post! so if you comment something like “can i still manifest—“ or “how do i—“ it will be ignored! everything in this post goes by MY beliefs, you don’t have to change what you believe in! just understand these are what i’ve grown to believe/know. Enjoy the post! (also i’m not changing my theme i just think these colors go with topic i’m talking about. I WILL be a bit passive aggressive in this post so try not to get butt-hurt! i’m very straightforward with it.

╰┈➤ Step 1: Bury the old you for good. say goodbye to the old you.

are you the person who was, over-consuming information? couldn’t get off of tumblr because you assumed you needed to find more?, are you the person who keeps saying “i’m finally starting this time” just to get consumed by doubts and play the old story ONCE again?. are you the person who sobs in their room bed-rotting reading success stories so it can give you that “motivation”? oh but how you wish that were you? are you the person who keeps falling back into the old cycle?, are you the person who keeps thinking they need to be specific about their desires because you think if you aren’t “specific enough” you won’t fully get what you want? are you the person who keeps dwelling on the 3D for validation when they clearly know thats not what they’re supposed to do but continue it anyway? if you said yes ANY of this which i’m sure you did, then congratulations you made it to the right stop! because i’m here to burn that version of you. from now on you will become a better version of yourself, you WILL change self and you have absolutely no choice but to follow along with that fact. starting TODAY, THIS SECOND, NOW, NOW, NOW, NOW. you are no longer dwelling on the 3D, you are no longer the person who “just can’t do it”, you are no longer the person who “can’t manifest”. you are no longer the person who over-consumes. you are no longer the person who doom scrolls, you are no longer the person who isn’t trusting of themselves. YOU ARE NOW A CHANGED PERSON. you will promise to yourself RIGHT NOW that you will never dig up this old version of you again. you will promise to walk by faith and not by sight, you will promise to trust the unseen, you will promise yourself to win. burn and destroy the shovel that you’ve constantly used to dig your own grave that prevents you from success. you will win in this lifetime and the next and forever. your promise has been sealed, don’t break it.

╰┈➤ Step 2: Make your own rules in your reality.

if you understand, you know law of assumption is basically about making assumptions and you make assumptions EVERY-SINGLE-DAY 24/7. so use the law of assumption to your advantage and don’t feel guilty about it either because this is YOUR reality! nobody has a say in what rules you’re not supposed to have. make it fun for you. for example; You assume everything you do is the right way. then by LAW, BY LAW! everything you do is the right way, wether that be, making assumptions, persisting correctly, living in the end correctly, being in the wish fulfilled correctly. EVERYTHING YOU DO is the right way to do it because thats YOUR rule you decided to have. you wanna assume another rule? okay make it. decide thats your rule and live your life following those rules you make. you are LIMITLESS, don’t punish yourself because you make rules that maybe seen as crazy or too egoistic. this is your personal journey so don’t feel obligated to tell anyone you don’t wanna tell them. you are above everything. nothing exists outside of you.

╰┈➤ Step 3: Decide.

decide, decide, decide, decide, DECIDE. decide you have whatever it is that you want that you have it NOW. thats all you have to do to literally win. there really isn’t much about this topic because you decide every day. to get what you want is to simply decide you have it now. don’t say you don’t know how to decide because thats bs, you know how to decide you’re just scared you’re deciding the “wrong way”. hence to why i said “You assume everything you do is the right way. then by LAW, BY LAW! everything you do is the right way, wether that be, making assumptions, persisting correctly, living in the end correctly, being in the wish fulfilled correctly.” decide you make decisions the right way. and there’s literally no right way to make a decision but some of you are a bit dense (no shade!) but some of you need to have a feeling you’re doing something “right” so you can feel successful. please stop over complicating the simplest things. you’re grown so act like it, we shouldn’t have to keep spoon feeding you.

╰┈➤ Step 4: For the last final time surrender to imagination.

imagination is the only reality, it’s literally everything, the inner world (4D) is everything the outer world (3D) is just a reflection. in imagination you can be EVERYTHING if you wanna be the girl/guy who’s better than everyone at everything then you can be that in imagination, wanna be richer than elon? then you are in imagination, wanna have elsa’s powers? then you have it in imagination, wanna be a vampire? then you are in imagination, wanna switch lives with someone? then you’ve switched lives with someone in imagination. once you experience it in imagination then IT IS DONE. ITS MATERIALIZED, you’re not waiting for anything anymore because it already happened. all your focus goes to the 4D (imagination). i didn’t say ignore the 3D keep taking care of yourself but i just want you to understand your success is inevitable! once experienced in the inner world the OUTER WORLD, is automatically doing its job to reflect that for you. so why are you constantly getting mad at the 3D for doing its job? it reflects what you consistently put your awareness on it reflects what you claim to have in imagination, it reflects everything you make natural to yourself. a’lot of you are hellbent on trying to get results in the 3D. you have results already in the goddamn 4D. stop waiting for something you already have. its not coming. it’s already THERE. you HAVE it. creation is finished. so surrender to the 4D, fall in love with imagination. if you have it in imagination you have it now, nothing can take that away from yourself unless YOU say you don’t have it anymore. quit giving yourself mixed signals. this isn’t one of your situationships. this is YOU we’re talking about. don’t be a loser in your own reality.

╰┈➤ Summary.

this is your final push. you can manifest absolutely anything, you are not limited to anything, circumstances do not matter, THEY NEVER DID, always pay attention to what you tell yourself, you’re in control of everything. don’t withhold yourself from success, because if you won’t do in this reality you will never win. besides in that other reality you’re the worlds most handsome/beautiful person ever. you’re also on your 3rd world tour rn! and jeez are you rich, you made poor elon musk cry! must be nice being you in that other reality! identify with it. ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

[dawnwriterimagines]

Traitors Among Us

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x Fem!Reader Task Force 141 x Fem!Reader (Platonic)

PART 2

Part Three: The Guilty Plea

Part Four: The Verdict Due

Summary: You're a rat, a traitor. At least that's what Task Force 141 believes due to the evidence and claims scattered against you. It doesn't matter what you say, everyone's against you, ready to end you for it...until the truth comes out.

Warning(s): Torture, Heavy Angst, etc.

---

Drip.

Drip..

Drip...

Your shoulders seize up involuntarily as freezing droplets continue to hit your skin, eyes squeezed shut to try to ignore the sound that had been going on for who knows how long.

Another drop of water hits your spine from the faucet placed above you, it's cold as it runs down your bare skin. It feels like ice. Hitting the same spot over and over and over...

Drip...

Not even able to take a deep breath, you release a strained cry, it can hardly leave you, not that you hadn't cried enough already. You could feel the dried blood, tears and snot still on your face and a testament to your torment. You haven't been able to get the metallic taste of your blood of of your mouth since you got in here.

You breathe slowly, trying to relieve the pain in your chest. Body positioned downwards, chest pressed down to your knees, a leather buckle holds you down and over a metal stool. Wrists torn open by old shackles and stretched upwards to connect to the steel pipe in the middle of the room.

The stress position had been Johnny's idea, putting you in it to begin with. The bastard...

Kyle had been in and out to collaborate with Price on the interrogation, he didn't have the heart to do you any harm like his Captain. But, that didn't stop him from stomaching your screams as he turned the handle up, piercing cold crashing down atop you, it beats down on your back, by the time it's done your shaking, and your skin a bruising purple hue. It goes on like that for hours, even as you beg. He reads you the files again.

Price would then take the baton from the corner of the room, the side of your face already swollen from the last strike, you were seeing red out of your left eye and soon you wouldn't be able to see out of it if the swelling continued.

"Please..." you shivered, miserably.

"Over in a jiff, love, but i need somethin' from you, you know that." Was his reply, he tapped the baton against the metal below you, the reverb makes you jump each time, leaving you to stare at it as you watched his boots walk around you.

"Cap'n, It's not...It's not--me..." you tried, breathless. "I'd never.."

The steel baton came down on your shoulder, first. There was an immediate response from your constricted muscles, limbs that had all tensed up at once despite their numbness. Pulling at the shackles that kept you in place, the hit shocks you, nearly silencing you completely, it hurts, then it burns. Mouth open in a silent scream, you squeeze your eyes shut in an effort to block out the pain that crawled through your shoulder. "It's not me!"

You've been suffering from hypothermia for a few days since then. Your shoulder crushed right out of place or just plain broken, you weren't sure. It's not like you could feel much of your arms in this position.

It hurt. Not just the painful strain that this position was currently putting on your muscles, but everything else...

Of course, you've handled torture alike this before. Captured and tortured by enemies, ransomed for pay and fought tooth and nail to live, then found your way from that hell...only for the men who you'd kill for, to do the same thing to you with no remorse.

In the quiet of the empty room, you sobbed in agony. Squeezing your fists, but you couldn't even feel them, as far as you knew your fingers could only twitch in response to your demand.

You weren't sure what you were doing here.

Well, you knew. There was a mole, all evidence pointing to you, whatever it was had completely stunted their mission earlier in the week, left them hiding in a safe house for days until they were picked up by evac. Apparently, you'd leaked mission details to some hostiles over seas, you weren't sure which ones, they were hoping you could tell them. You had absolutely nothing, lost.

Of course, they didn't believe you. Although you expected to have at least a sliver of trust, someone to speak up against these claims and believe you...

It must've been too much to ask.

It came out of nowhere, at first you had been in bed with Simon, your fucking Fiancé, then that meeting with Price, then just...they'd cornered you in that room. Knocked you out without even an explanation, woke you up strapped down, confused, stripped of your uniform and feral as you demanded answers. Nobody listened to you.

That first night you thought you were gonna die. The second night you thought you had. The third night you were just convinced this was your hell.

You were soaked to the bone, and unable to stop shivering. The only sound you could hear was your own chattering teeth in this never-ending void of darkness.

It was so fucking dark in here, your eyes darting around to every corner, hoping for even a measly crack of light that your eyes could adjust to. Every sound, scratch, scrape or click made you jump, you couldn't see shit in here, so just about everything made you hyper aware. You couldn't help your anxiety as the sound of the faucet, the constant drops against your spine, the jingle of your shackles and the whimpers that echoed against the walls as you struggled to comfortably breathe. Maybe it was the thought of a mouse crawling up the stool and along your skin, or someone in here just staring at you in the corner, or the door finally opening for Price to start slicing into you demanding answers you didn't have.

You were on the cusp of losing your mind. If you hadn't already.

But it's been a few hours since then...

Maybe even a few days...

It could even have been a week.

You weren't too sure.

Simon had been the last one in here. He'd pulled the strap loose around your neck, hauling you up to an upright position by your jaw, eliciting a whimper from your lips. Able to breathe a bit easier, your lungs finally decompressing and you gulp down air greedily, "Simon..." this had been the first time you'd seen him since. He wears his balaclava, he is Ghost, not your Simon Riley.

As your bloodshot, swollen eyes raise to look into his cold ones, so unfeeling. You hadn't even realized you were so hopeful for his trust in you until then, looking at you like you were absolutely nothing to him, the same look he always had before pulling the trigger. "Simon, please, stop this..." your words slurred by your shivering, exhausted. "You know me...please."

Your tears slide over the leather of his gloved hands, while he holds tight to your face and cuts your pleads short with a painful squeeze. "Shut up," he says. His eyes are blank, but his voice is low and seething. "Shut the fuck up!" Simon harshly grits out to you, jostling you harshly. You squeeze your eyes shut, weeping miserably, throat closing up to your agony.

He had to know that you would've never done this to him. He should've known that. Given you the benefit of the doubt at least. You'd have never done this to him...

"I'm sorr-" you try, he squeezes harder to silence you swiftly, and snatches a tiny bowl off the tray he'd brought in. Raising your jaw a bit higher, he pours down a chunky broth into your mouth, letting it all just fall down to your throat. It's disgusting. He doesn't ease up for even a second as you toss and turn your head to breathe.

"Don't say a fucking word," he seethes, his hand enveloping your neck and keeping your head raised upward. "As if I should believe you..."

He then takes the next cup to do the same, your eyes bloodshot wide and you jerk away from him as you choke, unable to stomach anything, but he doesn't let you. This time you inhale accidentally, blocking your airway, eyes watering as you writhe for oxygen, your shackles clang violently as you attempt to retaliate, the first fight you've put up in days. His grip doesn't let up, even as you struggle and start to vomit up whatever he decided to shove down your throat.

When he finally lets go, you curve over and heave up whatever's left in your mouth, hyperventilating as you empty your guts on the floor. Hacking up whatever you can, it hurts, your throat burning from the sobs that leave you in between coughs. "If you love me, if you--ever had--" you spat at him. You'd given him everything, every part of yourself, nearly given him your life in the battlefield, and yet...it wasn't enough. "You would fucking believe me!" your voice cracks with the effort it takes to scream at him, to curse him to hell.

"My trust? That's what you want," Hollow eyes stare back at you, his attention flickering around to the uncomfortable shift of your shoulders in those cuffs. Your swollen left eye that had been hit so hard, the white of it had filled with blood. The black and blue littering your sides and your spine, the loss of color in your skin from the stress position and the cold that had you uncontrollably shivering. "You've had it before. You must've sold that to them too."

Your head drops to the stool again, releasing a heavy breath. "It wasn't worth much, if it was so easy to lose..."

Usually it's not very easy to set Simon off, you've known him always to be quite mellow, besides the barely concealed rage he had settled in his chest since you've known him. But, today, you were an exception.

Fisting a hand in your hair, Simon yanks at it, pulling you upwards for your to face him. His other hand coming up to wrap around your throat before your tortured scream can even manifest. In that moment, it feels as if he'd snapped your spine in half, having not used the muscles to stretch that area in over a week. Your shackled wrists shifting in the cruel position.

His eyes are wild and rageful, the balaclava that covers him twists just the same, his grip very telling to his violence as he squeezes down any chance at air or even a sentence. "Easy to lose..." he repeats, spitting in your face as he strangles you. "Easy t'lose your life! If you don't tell me the fucking truth," he pulls out the knife you'd seen him slit so many throats with before, you hear the familiar sound of it first then its cold steel pressing into the side of your ribs. "I'm gonna carve out your heart, and I'll take it real slow, let you feel every little thing I do to you in here," he shakes you harshly as a startled cry escapes you, your tears are burning hot against your cheeks. "You don't get to cry. Or whine. Or beg!"

"Stop--" you try to squirm away from him, to get as far away as possible, from this place, from this moment.

"Just tell me the truth," Simon's face twisted in agony, for just a second, his thumb drags along your jaw, meaningfully. "You'd be doing us both a favor..."

As his vast hand finally loosed around your neck just enough to hold you up, awaiting the bitter truth. Simon's knife catches on the protrusion of your ribs, nicking the skin, drawing blood on purpose. You stare up at the ceiling, the flickering old lights, the dripping faucet that's tormented your already fragile state for weeks now. "The truth..." you spoke, hoarsely. "You've all shown me...it doesn't matter to you. If it ever... Believe what you want--" you close your eyes, you're exhausted. Sleep had evaded you for days. "You and your truth and this team, you can all go to hell."

And finally he lets you go, letting your fall forwards, unable to find the relief of a cold floor but back to the strenuous position you'd been placed in. "AH!" nearly popping your shoulders out of place, or maybe they had, you bite down on your tongue, shaking in silence.

If you could see Simon's face, you could've relished in the uncertainty flickering in his eyes, the sudden doubt that led his knife back in its holder and his nails to bite into the flesh of his palms. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing leaves him, instead he stands there.

You can't say a thing to him now, everything that's happened was just a little reminder that whatever you said, whatever you did, it didn't matter. Their minds had already been made. You really would die here.

Simon stands there a little longer, he doesn't say anything, you're not sure if he stays there to watch your suffering a little longer or to wait to say another heart-wrenching thing. Maybe he's just there to wait for you to die. But, he just watches as you wretch and cry in a ball atop that stool.

He leaves not long after, he didn't bother to strap you down this time. He left the old light on, but it must've been older than you thought.

The single bulb fizzled out completely hours ago. Not unless one of them decided to cut the silence and turn on the light to start another 'questioning', so suddenly being able to see more than darkness wasn't anything to be excited about.

They'd leave you in the dark until then, to await the next moment any of them would grace you with their presence.

To be honest, you'd imagined you'd be stronger than this. But, there was nothing to hold onto, so what did strength matter?

It was too late anyway.

They'd broken you days ago.

---

The truth had come out, two days later.

"Oh god..."

"Oh my fucking God," Simon rushed down the corridor, Price tailing right behind him. "Oh my God!" his normal monotone voice now a mess of fear and panic, breathing harsher, on the cusp of hyperventilating with every stride as he ran faster than he ever had in his life.

Finally getting to the interrogation wing of the department, he bangs his fist on the plexiglass of those silently monitoring the rooms, "Open the fucking door!" he's buzzed in before he can pull on the handle another time.

Rushing down the hall to the now green lit room, lights flickering to life with every step closer down the hall of empty rooms. He nearly rips the door off its hinges as he bursts inside, the lights of the your tiny prison don't come to life as they should. Light spilling into the cell, to hit your limp figure first.

He doesn't deserve to say your name. "(Y/n)," Simon rushes over, to his knees instantly. A puddle of vomit, water and spoiled broth soaks through his uniform.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry," he sobs out his mistakes, unhooking your chains and cutting through your buckles as fast as he could. "Oh my god, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" he catches his fiancé as you collapse, turning over and off the stool, your legs having lost all sense of feeling. You fall into his arms, catching you carefully. "Price!" he cries out, desperately.

"They're on the way!" Your captain assures, he sees the medical team rushing down the hallway, a stretcher, a box of medical supplies. Christ.

You're freezing to the touch, your skin a hue of blue, not to mention the bruises, the cuts and the swollen areas throughout your face and spine. You suddenly inhale, sharply, coughing terribly. You're sick, breathing shakily, "Simon...?" you breathe, confused. You can't see. Your eyes swollen shut from your torture at their hands.

"It's me, it's me," Simon assured, although he knew it probably brought you no comfort. He snatches the blanket offered up by Price, your captain a mess of himself, holding himself together at the doorway, nails biting into the steel.

As Simon wraps you in the first glimpse of warmth you've had in days, you ease up a bit, fingers twitching upwards to pull the threads closer around yourself. "It wasn't..." you shiver, Simon listens intently as he rises with you in his arms, running off to meet the medical team halfway. "It wasn't me..." you gasp out. "It wasn't..."

Simon can't say a thing as he hears your tormented voice stutter in fear of him, lips pressed tight together, heart sinking and as the nurses take your body, he collapses to his knees.

Part 2

and if you'd like to support a fanfic hoe in need...would you Buy me a Coffee?

[mercvry-glow]

you, me, and empty space between us

parings. jack abbot x doctor!reader

warnings. widower!jack, age gap as always (jack late 40s, reader late 20s early 30s), jack literally talks reader off the ledge, undefined relationship but they're clearly in love and going through something, unspecified mental health issues, panic attacks, possible suicidal ideation, talks of losing people, bittersweet ending though.

notes. ever since we learned jack was a widower i've been cursed with angsty thoughts. I think this one is really hard as we see both the reader and jack struggle with each other. I love them your honor, and I'm really in my noah kahan loneliness era for this man. as always any feedback is appreciated and I love all of you!

wc. 2700+

You don’t know when it had become so hard to breathe.

It wasn’t after the first patient death, or even the fourth or fifth. That was just life in the Pitt, and you had grown accustomed to it long ago… at least that’s what you thought.

It certainly wasn’t when he had walked in—Jack Abbot, all swagger and scruff, fresh on shift while you were finishing yours. You truly don’t know when you came to love him as more than a mentor. Maybe it was in the quiet, exhausted nights on his couch, or the rare mornings when your coffee mugs clinked in place of words.

Never open, always tucked away.

And maybe that’s why it hits you like a punch to the chest—because it’s something so small, something that you have no business caring about.

A glint of gold as he reaches for his first chart of the night.

His wedding band.

Still there. Still shining. Still hers.

And your breath just… goes. Like someone pulled the air from your lungs and replaced it with something heavy and wet and cruel.

You don’t even remember walking to the lockers. Just the click of the door behind you, the fluorescent lights buzzing too loud, and the burn behind your eyes as your hands shook, held tight against your sides. Everything became too much all at once. 

God, you're so tired.

Tired of the codes and the screaming and the silence that follows. Tired of watching children and parents die and pretending you’re not breaking a little more each time. Tired of watching your friends break each and every day more and more as this job steals their youth like it’s doing to yours. Tired of giving your heart to a man who, no matter how gently he touches you, will never touch you like you’re loved by him.

Not like he touched her.

You don't even cry. Not at first. You just run up the stairs, heart hammering like it's trying to escape, destination both known and unknown to your frazzled brain. Then you do cry—loud, ugly, shoulder-shaking sobs that don't stop. Not even when someone passes. Not even when your pager buzzes again.

You make it up to the roof before anyone sees you.

The cold Pittsburgh wind bites at your cheeks, but at least here, you can breathe again. 

Kind of.

 You wrap your arms around yourself, eyes burning as you stare out over the city like it's supposed to give you some kind of answer.

But it doesn't.

It never does.

You’re not even sure how long you’ve been up here.

The city stretches out below, distant and indifferent—cars moving like blood cells in some great, uncaring artery. You’ve spent your whole life trying to keep things alive, and now, standing here, arms wrapped around yourself in the wind, you’re not sure how to keep yourself going.

It’s not just Jack.

 It’s everything.

You’re tired in your bones. In your soul, if that’s a thing people really have.

Tired of the endless codes that ring like alarms in your dreams. Tired of holding hands that go cold while families scream down the hall. Tired of smiling when you’re empty. Laughing when your throat aches from swallowing everything you can’t say.

Tired of being second. 

To a memory. 

To a career.

 To a system that chews you up and spits you back out with new scars and fewer tears left to give.

You love your job. God, you do. But lately it feels like it’s eating you alive. And no one sees it. No one wants to see it.  Because you're the one who keeps it together. The calm in the storm. The smile at the desk. The one who always says, “I’m fine. Go. I’ve got this.”

But you don’t.

You don’t got this. Not anymore

You’re drowning.

And Jack—Jack is just the wound you thought you could bandage, only to realize it was deeper than you ever let yourself admit.

You see the way he softens when he talks about her, the few times you got to hear. 

The weight in his voice when he says her name.

And you? You’re the comfort. The quiet. The body he falls into when his ghosts get too loud, too much to handle alone.

But not the one he chooses.

Never the one he chooses.

A sob claws its way up your throat, and this time you don’t stop it. You sink, knees scraped by the roof's edge, standing past the metal railing and let it all go—the grief, the love, the years of being almost enough in every aspect of your life.

You cry until you’re raw. Until your breath hitches like a broken record.

Until you feel like there’s nothing left inside you. 

And still, the world keeps turning. The city lights don’t flicker. The wind doesn’t pause.

You are so deeply, achingly alone.

And in this moment, you don't even want to be saved. You just want to rest. 

To be done. 

“You know,” comes a familiar voice behind you, easy and low, “if you wanted to get me alone on the rooftop , all you had to do was ask. I would’ve brought you coffee.”

You flinch. Just barely. But he sees it.

Jack steps closer, hands tucked in his cargo pockets like he’s just wandered up here on a whim, not after checking every paitent room and hallway trying to find you. There’s that half-smile tugging at his mouth, the one he uses like armor—dry wit and soft hazel eyes, his whole coping mechanism wrapped in a single expression.

But the smile falters when you don’t answer.

When he really looks at you.

You’re standing with your hands pulled to your chest, fingers white-knuckled in your scrubs, eyes red and swollen. Shoulders shaking just enough to make him stop in his tracks after realizing you’re past the guard rail. 

“Hey,” he says again, quieter this time. “What happened?”

You shake your head. A tiny, useless motion. You can't even bring yourself to look at him, back still turned.

He steps toward you, trying to search your face. “Talk to me. Did something happen with a patient? Was it that kid from earlier? Or—”

“No,” you whisper, barely audible. “It’s nothing.”

“That,” he says, voice a touch sharper, “is a lie. And a bad one, kid.”

You let out a bitter little laugh that turns into another sob. “Everything’s just… too much.”

Jack doesn’t speak right away. Just watches you, the tension in his jaw building slowly. “You’re scaring me,” he admits, quietly.

“Fuck,” you snap through the tears. “Now you actually see me?.”

That stuns him. You can sense it—how his shoulders tighten, how his eyes scanning like they’ve missed something right in front of them.

You wobble, or try to move—your knees tremble under you, and Jack moves instantly, hands ready to grab you. 

You pull away.

“I’m tired, Jack,” you say, voice breaking. “So goddamn tired. Of being here. Of being overworked. Of watching people die. Of pretending I don’t care that you still wear her ring when you’re in my bed.”

Silence slams between you.

He swallows hard, words clearly stuck in his throat.

“I know she meant everything to you,” you say, softer now. “And I would never try to take her place. But it’s killing me. Being your person��� Being the one you come to… but never for.”

His mouth opens, then closes again.

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “And look, now I’m making my issues about you again. God, I’m tired of that too.”

Jack steps forward, hesitant, like he’s approaching something fragile. Or dangerous. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

“I didn’t want to make it real,” you whisper. “Because if I said it out loud, I’d have to admit that I’m not okay. That this job—this place—you—are breaking me.”

He’s quiet for a long time. The wind whistles around you both, cold and uncaring.

“I didn’t know,” he finally says. “I should’ve. But I didn’t. And I’m sorry.”

You look up at him, exhausted and open and completely undone. “I don’t want you to say sorry. I just… I wanted to matter.”

“You do,” he says, quick and firm. “You matter to me,”

You shake your head again, biting back another sob.

He doesn’t try to touch you this time. He just stands there in the silence you’ve created, eyes on yours like they’re the only thing he sees now.

And maybe—for the first time—they are.

Jack exhales slowly, like he’s trying to steady his own heart before he reaches for yours.

“You wanna know something?” he says, his voice rough but quiet. “First week I met you, I thought you weren’t cut out for this. All business, too rigid, straight spine, soft. Honestly? Scared the hell out of me, I thought you’d be gone by the end of the week.”

You huff, tired, but something like a breath of a laugh escapes you.

“But then you stayed two hours after your shift because a twelve-year-old was afraid of needles,” he continues. “And I saw it. That heart of yours—the one you hide behind clipped words and all that damn competence. You care so much it hurts you.”

He pauses, lets that sink in. You turn your face slightly toward him, just enough for him to see your profile in the wind.

“I know you think nobody sees you,” Jack says. “That you’re just some extra in other people’s stories. But I see you. I always see you.”

Your lips part, but no words come.

“You’re the one holding the line when everyone else is cracking. You’re the one who stays up on nights like this, falling apart where no one can find you. But I found you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He steps forward again, slowly, cautiously. Like he’s giving you every chance to step back under the rails and hoping you don’t choose the other way down.

“I don’t wear this ring because I’m not over her,” he says, tugging at the band absently. “I wear it because she made me better. And you… you keep me better.”

That stops your breath cold.

“I never meant to make you feel like you were just something temporary,” he says. “You’re not. Not to me.”

“Then why not just say it?” you choke, voice trembling.

He looks at you like he wants to. Like the words are right there on his tongue—but something stops him. Not fear. Not doubt. Just the weight of everything this moment holds.

“I’m saying what I can,” he says instead. “Until I can say it all.”

He steps closer, right in front of you now, eyes searching yours.

“You matter, okay? Not just as my best resident. Not just as a damn good doctor. You matter to me. You’re not alone in this. Even if you feel like you are.”

Silence again. Heavy, but different this time.

“I don’t know what happens next,” he adds, quieter now. “But I know I don’t want to face it without you.”

You feel something give inside you—something that’s been clinging to the edge for weeks, maybe months. You don’t fall apart again, not this time. But you do lean forward. Just a little. Just enough.

Jack reaches out to touch you, wanting to pull you in. Standing right there on the other side of the guard rails, steady as gravity.

 Letting you decide.

You stand there for a second, barely breathing. His words echo in your chest, ringing against all the places that have been cracked and hollowed out.

You matter to me.

It shouldn't be enough. Not after all this. But somehow, it is. Or maybe it’s just enough to stop the bleeding.

Your shoulders slump as the tension you’ve carried finally starts to unwind. You don’t fall into him, not dramatically. You just… lean. Your forehead comes to rest against his chest, tentative, uncertain. But you stay there.

And Jack? He doesn’t hesitate.

His arms move around you with a kind of quiet reverence—gentle but solid, like he’s anchoring you to the hospital roof. One hand settles between your shoulder blades, the other against the back of your head, cradling you like he’s afraid you’ll break again.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he murmurs against your hair.

“I scared myself,” you whisper back, voice hoarse.

“You could’ve told me,” he says, not accusing—just brokenhearted.

“I didn’t know how,” you admit. “I thought if I said it out loud, I’d lose everything and never come back together.”

Jack pulls back just enough to look at you. His thumb brushes gently along your wind bitten cheeks, catching a stray tear you didn’t even feel fall.

“You are coming back together,” he says, firm but soft. “Right now. Piece by piece. You’re still here. That’s what matters.”

You nod, barely, like you’re still trying to believe him.

“I don’t need you to be okay all the time,” he continues. “You don’t have to be strong for anyone. You get to fall apart. You get to feel this.”

“But what if it doesn’t stop?” you whisper, voice cracking. “What if it just keeps coming?”

“Then we’ll face it together,” he says, without missing a beat. “Shift by shift. day by day. As long as it takes.”

Your eyes search his, and for once, there’s no hiding behind sarcasm or guarded silences. Just truth. And maybe something deeper behind it—something he’s still not quite ready to name, but it’s there. Burning steady like a soft fire.

You close your eyes, letting yourself rest in the warmth of him, in the safety of this rooftop moment.

And for the first time in weeks—maybe longer—you take a full, deep breath.

You both stand like that for a long time—no words, just breath and heartbeat and wind. The hum of the city below feels miles away, like a different world. Up here, it's just the two of you.

Eventually, Jack shifts a little, his arms still around you. His voice is soft, barely above the wind.

“Hey,” he says gently. “How about we get back on the safer side of the rail, yeah?”

You realize, with a sudden twist in your stomach, that you’re still on the wrong side. Still too close to the edge, with nothing but cold air and steel keeping you tethered.

You don’t move right away. Your fingers grip the rail, not because you want to jump—God, no—but because the world still feels unsteady. Like if you let go, you might float off into something you can't control.

Jack doesn’t rush you.

He stays with you, warm and steady at your side, hands never leaving you. “One step,” he says softly. “Just one. I’ve got you.”

You look at him, and there’s nothing performative in his expression. No pity. No fear. Just calm, unwavering care.

You nod once. Then slowly, carefully, you swing your leg over the first bar. He helps you the rest of the way, hands guiding you gently, like you’re something precious. When both feet land solidly on the rooftop again, you don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until it finally releases in a shaky exhale.

“There you go,” he murmurs. “Safe and sound. Mostly.”

You laugh, barely. “I must look like a mess.”

“You look like someone who’s been through hell,” Jack says. “And is still standing. That’s not a mess. That’s a goddamn miracle.”

You look up at him, eyes glassy, and something flickers between you. Quiet. Heavy. Unspoken.

His hand lifts slowly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, then lingering—fingertips grazing your jaw, gentle as rain. He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize the moment.

“Can I…” he starts, then stops, catching himself. “I’m not asking to fix it. I just—”

You answer by leaning in.

It’s not rushed. Not desperate. Just soft. Slow. Like an exhale. Like the kind of kiss that says I’m still here. I still want this.

His lips meet yours, warm and steady, one hand still at your waist, the other against your cheek. There’s no fire in it—not tonight. Just light. Just steady comfort.

When you pull back, your forehead rests against his, both of you breathing a little easier now.

“You sure about this?” you whisper.

Jack doesn’t even blink. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m sure.”

You nod. You believe him. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you believe in yourself again, too.

mercvry-glow 2025

[anantaru]

⚝ DAY 10 — DIRTY TALK

kinktober 2024. — masterlist | ao3

— including. — childe, kazuha, diluc, zhongli

— warnings. — fem! reader, dirty talk, manhandling, filthy, lots of spit and cum lolol

⚝ — CHILDE

childe moans before he even touches you properly, ah, how embarrassingly drunk he could turn from simply feeling you, right? already breathless, already feral, every thrust of his tongue into your mouth mimicking the obscene rhythm he wanted to fuck you with, "you feel this baby, you feel me?" he pants out, rocking against your hips as a shudder tears through him, forehead pressed to yours, "you do this to me, you make me a mess, fuck, i'd kill for you to beg," there's nothing elegant about the way childe fucked you— it's honestly quite disgusting, wet and fast, making you throb around his thick length as he laps and sucks your tongue like a drowning man gulping at salvation— ugh, and his hands? they won't stay still, clawing at your ass, your throat, your chest, everything, his eyes blown wide with worship, "take me, use me, archons, i'm so hard it hurts— please."

⚝ — KAZUHA

kazuha was so whiny, sobbing out your name like poetry choked on lust, so sweetly, so candid, wouldn't you agree? and his voice falters right there, broad with liquid desire and decay, "you don't know what you do to me… i've dreamed of this, of you— your skin, your mouth, your—," and he's biting back a whimper when you wiggle against his clothed groin, desperately wanting more as his tongue dips into your mouth with aching grace, his body unyielding but shaking against yours. most importantly, when your fingers slide lower at last, to stroke him through his pants, he gasps— a stuttering, "oh… fuck, please— again—please," dripping from his tongue like straight rot from a ripe fruit— hungry words spilling into your ears between gasps, every word a blasphemy, every syllable soaked within the kind of desire that left saints gagging and angels turning their faces away, "i want to drown in you, i want to fuck you until your legs forget how to stand—can i? please…" and kazuha's fucking his cock against your palm now, feral without shame, using your hand as a fucktoy as you skim your fingers in his hair and chant his name.

⚝ — DILUC

sweetest, most touch starved diluc was finding himself flustered as he felt how hard his face was burning— cheeks flushed like crimson as sweat beads at his hairline, his whole body shaking beneath you, "it never… felt— like this, not like this," he drawls, voice barely holding it together as his lips part under yours, slack and hot, and when you press deeper, he inhales so violently it rattles through his chest— less breath, more breakdown— sharp and wet, like a sob dragged hard from the deepest part of him where shame and need blur into one raw, biting throb, "feels— too good— too much, are you sure? i need you to be sure because i won't stop, I can't—" and then it breaks within his stomach, his hips lifting and fucking into you, smearing your arousal on his length like he didn't care, grinding against you, fucking you, mouth open and soaked with the taste of your name, "ride me, come on," diluc begs, "please— fuck me like I'm yours, mark me, use me, take it— take all of me."

⚝ — ZHONGLI

feeling how zhongli changed in the bedroom always made you excited as he speaks like a hymn even when he's rutting against your thighs, soaking them with his sticky cum, voice slow, quivering with worship, "so good for me, so soft… let me in, let me ruin this body with min," although his hands don't grope, no— they respect, each palm trailing down your waist like you're carved from the most expensive jades in liyue, a sacred artifact made solely for his possession. and when zhongli goes further to taste you, it's as though the world must stop and kneel— deep, molten, endless— his tongue dragging slow and sinful across your bottom lip, tasting you like he's waited centuries, truly, "you were made for this," he murmurs, voice cracking, every kiss tasting filthier and forbidden as his dick pushes past your tight cunt, sloppy and raw, strings of cum and slick snapping each time he pulls back just to fall in again, hungrier each time, "you were made for me, say it."

©2025 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[itzpookiepooh]

Poor Baby

How the boys act when you’re sad

A/N: it’s that time of the month and I’m sad and got too much going on so bear with me. (It’s 2am don’t judge me)

Zayne takes in every detail about you down to the way you sigh. It’s been one of the roughest weeks of your life. You were out late fighting wanderers, doing paperwork, helping new hunters, the list goes on. Work started spilling into your personal life and it was daunting. What made it worse? You had to keep rescheduling time with your boyfriend. You felt…negligent. Going on week two you were leaving work rather late. You walked out of the association sluggishly.

Was this even worth it anymore?

Was this what you wanted to do anymore?

The pressure of work was crashing down on you. You felt alone in everything. Yeah you had people in your life but you don’t see them as often now. It was rare you had anything planned outside of work. Your mind raced a lot lately with different questions. Your eyes filled with tears, the day to day repetitive activity, the long hours, all of it was getting to you.

“Do you need a ride?” You heard a familiar soft voice. You lift your head to see Zayne standing in front of you.

You didn’t want to burden him with what you had going on personally. He could see it though, the exhaustion. He could see you were drained and that whatever was plaguing your mind was taking a toll on you. He stepped closer letting you get a whiff of his cologne. You didn’t move, you didn’t speak, you just let the tears roll down your face.

Zayne tilted his head when you didn’t answer catching a glimpse of your tear stained cheeks. Your head was down no signs of moving. He didn’t know whether to comfort you or take you home first. He had better things to be worried about, he’s a cardiologist for goodness sake’s you weren’t expecting him to say anything to you at all.

His actions took you by surprise when he wrapped his arms around you. His chin on top of your head as he rubbed small circles into your back. You still didn’t move not even to embrace him in return. He knew you were tired and hurting.

“I’m always here.” He whispered into your hair and that is what broke you. Your sobs were soft as your tears soaked his coat. Your fists clench his coat tight as you cried and he comforted you.

He managed to get you into his car and drive you home. He stayed there with you all night making sure you ate and were hydrated. Luckily for him he always kept a few of his clothes at your house. He gave your job a call saying it was doctor’s orders that you take a few days off (perks of having a doctor as your boyfriend).

You apologized to Zayne all night for your uncontrollable crying. He was barely listening to you since he didn’t care about that but cared about your wellbeing. He wiped your tears and even tried to cheer you up with dumb jokes. His tone was what really made them funny.

By the time you came back to work you were refreshed and felt like a whole new person.

Caleb was always taking care of you. Always. He would cook, clean and even wash your hair for you. He would even come home early from the academy for break just for you…and grandma of course. Everything he did was so you wouldn’t have to lift a finger. You wanted to repay him for all he has done til now. So you planned the perfect day of relaxation for him.

Here’s where it started going wrong. You were supposed to wake him up to breakfast but you tried multitasking and burnt the pancakes causing him to make breakfast. He didn’t sigh, complain, or even get angry. You thought it’s just one thing ruined you could handle the rest. You wouldn’t mess up again.

WRONG!

You took him to the arcade to let off some steam however, when you tried to win him a plushie the claw was flimsy and wouldn’t grab it let alone hold it. He offered to use his evol to which you shook your head and reminded him what today was about. In the end you left with nothing considering the owner had to put an out of order sign on the machine due to the claw not gripping. He gave you a refund telling you he meant to shut it down before opening. An honest mistake.

Caleb needed relaxation. If he didn’t get it this would be all for naught. You took him to the best spa in Linkon and all went well at first until it was time to get massages. Caleb enjoyed it since they got all the kinks out of his neck and shoulders. Being a colonel is hard work! You however got the roughest treatment which left your right leg and ankle hurting. You had to limp the rest of the day because of it. Discreetly though because you didn’t want to ruin the day for Caleb.

Finally you make it home and order dinner and desert. The desert was a cake saying thank you for all that you do. It was the cherry on top of this catastrophic day. This had to go well. Caleb sat on the couch as you went to get the food from the delivery person. When you were handed the food Caleb was behind you to take it as you went to grab the cake. The driver wasn’t paying attention and the cake slipped from his hands making your fast reflexes come into action. Unluckily for you so did the his and his head slammed right into yours making you clutch your head and he flinches swinging his head upwards slamming into your nose.

Caleb drops everything to help you. You were fuming from the pain as you held your nose and head. Blood gushed in your hand from the impact of his head to your nose. The driver apologized repeatedly before leaving. Everything was ruined and it set in for you as you sobbed. Caleb frowned as he pat your bloody nose. He had no idea what kind of day you were having.

“I ruined everything!” Your voice trembled as you curled up head to knees. Caleb purses his lips placing a reassuring hand on your leg.

“No you didn’t, Pips.” He reassures you but it wasn’t enough.

“Yes I did. This day was supposed to be about you and I ruined it.” You cry. He chuckles trying to comfort you.

“You tried and that’s what matters. You didn’t have to do all this for me.” You look up from your knees, lashes wet from the tears.

“But the day—“ He shakes his head quickly before making you look at him.

“You tried to give me a day of appreciation and while I do appreciate it you’ve had a rough day just trying. Don’t think I didn’t notice that limp.” He raises an eyebrow tilting his head slightly. You look away in embarrassment.

“You saw that?” She mumbled making him nod as if it were obvious from her point of view.

“Why do you think I told you I wanted to rest on the bench and admire the pond? While it was pretty to watch your limp wasn’t.” He said in an authoritarian manner. He very much talked to you like he was your guardian.

“All I’m saying is I enjoy helping you or just doing an act of service for you. It’s what makes me happy. That’s why I do it.” He explains to you making you nod slowly in understanding.

“Are you sure?” You whimper making him smile softly and nod.

“Now let’s not let the food and cake go to waste. I can already guess what flavor it is.” He chuckled hoisting you up before checking your face for swelling.

Sylus is just as observant of you as you are of him maybe even more than you. He knows when you’re sick, angry, hungry, even tired. Nothing gets past him and he prides himself on that. Recently he had to leave elsewhere for business and you were staying at the base because your apartment complex is dealing with a gas leak. You insisted on finding somewhere else to stay and mentioned that you might stay with a colleague. He flat out refused you and came and got you himself.

You decided you’d go out to lunch with Tara and Simone. The problem was your hair wasn’t cooperating with you. You tried brushing it, putting it in a ponytail, a bun, curls, nothing worked. You thought it looked horrible and then on top of that you couldn’t find your watch. It was closer to the time you had to leave but you couldn’t leave like this. You hit yourself in the head with the brush as the bump in your hair would not go down.

You put the brush down and cried. This was so overwhelming and you couldn’t fathom how hard this became. You hear the door creak open before a familiar set of footsteps approached you. You feel hands on your shoulders caress you softly. You already knew it was a little white haired someone.

“Take a deep breath.” His voice rumbled from behind you as you take a shaky deep breath.

“My hair looks stupid.” You tell him your voice filled with sorrow. He purses his lips before grabbing the brush and rubber band.

“It does not look stupid. You’re just rushing so you think it does.” He puts the rubber band around his wrist and gently brushes your hair smoothing out the bump you once struggled with.

When he’s finished he lets you look at it making you crack a smile. He smirks walking away with a nod. You rush behind him to hug him as he let out a chuckle. You thanked him countless times squeezing him tighter.

“You’re welcome, now go before you’re really late.” He reminds you handing you your phone and watch before you dash out the room. Not before giving him a kiss of course.

Rafayel is what many call a diva. Many knew this about him especially you. Throwing himself on furniture and sassing people out was his signature move. Today was different though you seem to beat him in the diva category in his eyes. You went out with him to a fancy ball for his art as usual everyone flocked around him like seagulls on a beach for bread.

This was normal and you usually go off on your own until he finds you again. This time was different though as someone who frequently bought his art came up to you starting conversation. They noticed he always brought you along and that you would end up alone. It was like a never ending cycle. This piqued your interest because you didn’t think anyone watched you that closely but maybe it was just because you came with him.

“It must be hard being an artists’ lover. I couldn’t imagine always being forgotten whenever I went out with him.” The woman rambled not realizing how she was making you feel. “I mean come on! You’re pushed aside and forgotten! No respect and then he comes back around like nothing happened!”

Your chest ached at the thought. It was true that you were forgotten but not by Rafayel no, never by Rafayel. You were forgotten by the critics, buyers, admirers of his artwork. You were never not at the forefront of his mind. You were always the first person he thought about whether he was near you or not. You didn’t know that though.

“It’s not like that.” You try to reason with the woman as you feel a lump form in your throat.

“Isn’t it though? You’re forgotten I wouldn’t be surprised if you were just for show.” She scoffs shaking her head. This broke you for some reason even if you wanted to believe it to not be true it still stung.

Tears dripped onto your clutch leaving dark stains from your mascara on it. You clutched it tighter as you hiccuped slightly. The woman moved in closer caressing your arm sympathizing with you. Maybe Rafayel was using you for show like a trophy. You felt like you were a burden and holding him back from something.

“Why are you crying cutie?” His voice rings in your ears making you stop crying. He then eyes the woman suspiciously his eyebrows furrowed as he watches her hand on your shoulder.

“Leave.” He commands the woman as if she were the bane of his existence. She scoffs glaring at him.

“Excuse me?” She challenged him but she obviously didn’t know Rafayel personally. He was the last person you wanted to argue with.

“Should I say it in a different language?” His tone poisonous. You grab his wrist indicating that this wasn’t the time nor the place. He sighed dragging you to the garden to talk.

“Alright spill it.” He demands with his arms crossed. You didn’t want to tell him you were embarrassed.

“She just got under my skin that’s all.” You brush him off as your hand caressed the roses in the garden.

“You’re a terrible liar cutie. She said something and I know it.” He told you making you side eye him. You sigh before giving in only because of the stare he was giving you.

“She felt bad for me and then…ugh! It’s stupid!” You pout turning away. Rafayel crossed his arms and raises an eyebrow at your actions.

“Well whatever she said it’s not true.” He reasons sitting next to you on the stone bench.

“How would you know? You don’t care—“ You sigh in frustration clenching the rose before sadly letting it go. You explained what the woman said and boy did it upset your boyfriend.

“I don’t think I’m good enough for you.” You whispered sadly as you pick at the skin around your nails.

Rafayel pouted angrily at your statement. Who cares what some random lady thought? Everyone was ugly and annoying compared to you in his eyes. What was that lady trying to accomplish by telling you such things? No one was going to tell him who he can’t have around and what they are to him.

“Who gets to decide that?” He snaps glaring at you. You look at him and shrug before he sighs dramatically. “I do. Only I get a say in who I bring around!”

He grabs your face squishing your cheeks together. You looked like a puffer fish to him now. He presses your cheeks together a few times before you groan in annoyance. His expression nor his actions let up until he’s satisfied. He wanted to drill into your head who you are to him and how he felt about you.

“Don’t listen to some crabby old lady. You are the most important thing to me and all of Lumeria knows it.” He says softly as he stops squishing you and just holds your face instead.

“You need someone to keep up with you and—“ He groans loudly squishing you again.

“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you telling me I needed to make an appearance. I’m only at these events because you convince me to. Otherwise no one would ever know what I look like!” He tells you his face pouty. His forehead touches yours as he sighs.

“There’s not a soul on this planet that is more important to me than you, understand?” He explains lacing his fingers with yours. You nod as you both stare at each other.

“And if that lady says anything else to you I’ll have her become an ocean delicacy.” He threatened making you giggle. Unbeknownst to you he was dead serious. He placed a soft kiss on your lips before staring into your eyes again.

“Now let’s get out of here I’m starving and I do not want caviar.” He gagged dragging you to the car as you laughed at his reaction.

Xavier has always been soft spoken and kind. He always tried not to overstep or upset you. Not like he was walking on eggshells or anything but he just didn’t like making you upset. He didn’t like anyone making you upset. So imagine his surprise when you both got off work and he invited you out for hotpot and you declined. You never declined hotpot especially if he’s paying.

“What’s wrong?” He questioned tilting his head sideways, his eyes never leaving your face.

“I’m just not feeling it today.” You brush him off walking towards the train station. He was closely behind you he wasn’t going to let this go so easily.

The ride was silent only the sound of the wheels hitting the tracks filled the train car. Xavier kept eyeing you wondering what he could do to make you feel better, then it came to him. He wasn’t going to force you to talk but he would give you the space to do so. When you made it to the complex he followed you to your front door, you thought he was just making sure you got home.

“May I come in?” You were going to protest until he gave you that sad puppy look. You couldn’t resist so he came in and got to work on his plan. You watched him stack your cushions and pillows into a fort using the sheets as a sturdy foundation. He beckons you to come inside making you sigh and do so.

You sit next to him as he hugs you. He didn’t need to say anything the hug was just what you needed. You cried a little before explaining anything to him. He let you cry to your heart’s content. He waited for you to tell him whenever you felt comfortable.

“I got my bike stolen and then i decided to find it myself but whoever stole it crashed it.” You pout. That was your baby it was one of the first things you got yourself as an adult.

“We can shop for a new one. It doesn’t matter as long as you’re safe.” He reassured you with a tight squeeze.

“Besides that means you can ride with me more often.” He nudges you making you laugh. He was waiting to hear that laugh he missed hearing it.

“Yeah that’s an upside.” You sniff and wipe your nose. He crawls out of the fort helping you do the same. As you both stand you hug him tight.

“I’ll get dinner started.” He kissed your forehead but your eyes grew wide.

“A—Actually, hotpot sounds so good right now.” You nervously laugh pushing him towards the door. You refused to lose your apartment to his cooking skills.

This is my first time doing dividers because I could find any I thought would go with this.

The hardest one to write for was Sylus because I had a plot but I went to sleep and forgot it also who would be sad with Sylus I mean come on (any of these men really).

I hope you like it muah bye 💋

[hairmetal666]

It's Wayne that goes with him when he buys the truck. He offers to go with him. Uses one of his few days off to do it.

On the way there, it strikes Steve that his own father would never do this with him. The man hadn't even bought the Beemer himself, just sent an assistant to take care of it. And here Wayne is, driving them to a used car dealership, humming along to some old country-western song on the radio.

It takes three dealerships for them to find it, but Wayne is patient, stoic, takes careful note of the cars that catch Steve's interest. He asks the salesman if he can pop the hood, peers at the engine, kicks the tires. He asks questions Steve would never think of, about adjustments to the odometer, history of repairs, if it was in any accidents.

Steve never considered wanting a truck, doesn't think it's his style. But he's walking the lot at the third dealership, and he sees it. It's a Chevy, blue and white, a few years old. It's in good condition, but was obviously used for work.

He walks towards it.

"You like this one?" Wayne asks. If he's surprised, he doesn't show it.

"Yeah, it's--yeah," Steve nods.

Wayne does his checks, asks his questions, gives a nod of approval.

It's the first car he takes on a test drive.

He barely has it on the road before he knows it's the one. It surprises him. He always thought he was his true self in the BMW, but now--the engine has a throaty grumble to it, can feel it rumbling through his foot on the pedal, and it's--it's--perfect.

"This it?" Wayne asks as they pull back into the lot.

"Yeah, yes. It's. Yeah."

"Well, let's get to hagglin."

Wayne is, of course, an expert haggler. By the end of it, he's got a couple thousand dollars knocked off the asking price, Steve more than within budget.

They drive back to Wayne's little house on the outskirts of Hawkins, the one the government gave him, the sun just disappearing behind the horizon.

Eddie stands on the small porch, wide smile on his face.

"Wow, Wayne," he says. He wraps an arm around his uncle's shoulders. "You really did a number on him."

"It's a solid vehicle, Ed."

"Never took you for a truck man, Harrington," Eddie teases.

"Can't you see how gorgeous she is?"

Eddie raises an eyebrow, his smile not faltering. "Wow, it's true love then."

"Looks like it. Wanna come for a ride?"

There's only a second where Eddie hesitates, but then he's running inside to grab shoes, tripping on his way to the truck.

---

It happened like this:

Eddie Munson died in the Upside Down in 1986.

He's reanimated by Vecna for the final battle, a puppet to do his master's bidding.

When they win, when Vecna is dead in a pile of dessicated vines, they can't find Eddie. Scour the Upside Down for him and come up empty. They have to assume he's dead, like everything else there, kept alive only by Vecna's power. None of them want to leave without him, but the world is destabilized, they can't stay, El has to close the gates.

That night, Steve pulls the battle vest from under his bed, sobs into the blood-soaked denim, the grief from the loss just as fresh as March of '86.

He and the kids, they go visit Wayne. It becomes a regular thing.

Two weeks after the end of Vecna, Wayne calls him. He's panicked, near hysterical, nothing like the man Steve's come to know.

He goes, fast as he can, to Wayne's house. All the lights are off, the front door ajar, and he runs, clattering into the living room.

Wayne is in the recliner, face pale and strained, and on the couch--on the couch--

Eddie Munson.

His hair's lank, his skin sallow, the light in his eyes dim, but it's him. Unquestionably.

Steve does the only thing he can think of, calls Hopper. He shows up a little while later with El and Will.

"I called Owens," Hopper says.

"Why would you do that?" Steve is angry.

"Look, kid, I get it. But none of us are equipped to deal with this."

He's right, so they wait.

It doesn't take the doctor, El, and Will long to figure that Eddie is Eddie, even though his heart beats a little slow and his skin's always cold and his blood is slightly the wrong color. He's still at least 75% human, and that's enough.

Only those six people know. It's dangerous to tell anyone else when the world still thinks Eddie Munson is a serial murderer. Owens asks for time to clear his name, and they have no choice but to agree.

After two days, Steve thinks he should give Eddie and Wayne space, but as he rises to go, Eddie's hand grips his wrist. "Stay?" He asks. Steve doesn't leave.

It's hard, keeping the secret from the rest of the kids, Robin. He wants to tell her, more than anything. About how they share a bed most nights, how he's memorizing the shape of Eddie's body in a way he shouldn't, how the gentle desire turns to profound longing--but Eddie's safety is the most important thing, so Steve keeps it to himself.

---

They go out in Steve's truck almost every night, always on backroads. It's the only way Eddie can leave the house.

It's Steve's favorite thing, the only time Eddie seems truly happy. They roll the windows down, turn the music up, and whip around deserted farm roads. Sometimes, Eddie will stick his head out the window, shout out into the night.

Steve is in love with him.

He has no idea if Eddie feels the same, figures it doesn't matter. He'll harbor this flame for the rest of his life without complaint because Eddie is alive.

He thinks he's done a good job at hiding his feelings, thinks he's able to avert his gaze, hide his blush, when Eddie comes out of his room in only his boxers, thinks Eddie hasn't noticed how Steve's eyes linger when they share joints lying in the bed of the truck.

Except tonight--tonight--they're driving back home, and Eddie, he's been quiet, distant, fidgety, and now he reaches out to turn down the radio, which has Steve's stomach in a knot.

"You--Steve, you've been so great. To me and Wayne, and--you're family, you know? To us, you're--but--"

And Steve thinks this is it, that Eddie noticed, that he's being let down easy, and he wants to throw up, cry, but Eddie's still talking.

"You have a life to live, right? You're--you're 23 and you're not stuck here like me, and I know Robin is ready to go and the kids are--they're going to college soon, and you shouldn't stay here for me, I'm--"

"What?" Steve says.

"What?" Eddie echoes.

"I don't want to leave," Steve says.

"But--"

"Where you are is where I want to be."

"I'm in love with you," Eddie says. Cover his face with his hands.

Steve pulls the truck to the shoulder. His hands are shaking.

"You love me?"

"I'm sorry." His apology is muffled. "I didn't mean--I know this fucks up--"

"Eddie." He says, soft. "Look at me?"

One deep brown eye peers up at him. "Eddie, I--I'm hopelessly in love with you."

Both eyes now, mouth a bright curve. "You mean it, Harrington?"

"Fuck, can't get enough of you, Munson."

"You know, if I thought for a second anything like was possible, I would've--fuck, I would've made a move ages ago. I would've--"

"Shut-up," he whispers against Eddie's mouth. "Kiss me."

---

And later, Robin will ask if he has someone, and he'll say yes, and she'll ask, soft, "is it him?" and he'll nod, and they'll both cry.

Later, a news report, Eddie Munson's body was recovered from the bottom of Sattler Quarry, bearing the same wounds as Vecna's other victims.

Later, Chief Powell will hold a press conference, say they're looking for a man named Henry Creel, wanted on suspicion of killing his mother and sister and the aggravated assault of his father with an MO that matches the 1986 killing spree.

Later, Steve will shave Eddie's head, Eddie crying softly as the hair tumbles to the bathroom floor. Steve will kiss the tears away, one by one, say, "I know it's hard to let go. But we'll move away, to a place where people say 'you look like that guy, that Eddie Munson,' and you'll say, 'I get that a lot,' and your hair will grow back, if you want it to."

Later, they'll invite everyone to Wayne's , everyone except Dustin, busy in Boston with an internship, and Eddie will be there to welcome them.

Later, he and Eddie will take the truck, drive up to Boston. And Eddie, he'll spy Dustin first, walks up to him and says, "Pretty metal tattoos, little dude," and they'll all cry until Dustin stops to yell at them for keeping the secret.

Later, Steve and Eddie will leave MIT--Dustin screeching that they have to call him every night promptly at 8pm still ringing in their ears-- in search of their future.

[yanderedrabbles]

Two Faced -Yandere Stalker/Cop

Yandere! Cop who pulls you over for a DUI. You're barely under the legal limit and it's clear you can't hold your liquor in the slightest.

Yandere! Cop who feels his cock twitch when you blow into the breathalyser, your eyes flickering up at him all half lidded like he's just fucked you raw, teasing him that most fellas don't say please as nice as you do officer.

Yandere! Cop who says he'll follow you home, just to make sure you're safe. You don't see anything strange about it, he's a cop after all. But now he knows where you live, he knows what car you drive, he knows that your roommates always leave for school at the same time you do.

Yandere! Cop who looks so damn good in his uniform, who has the muscles to fill it out just right.

Yandere! Cop figures out early on that you're a hard-core party girl. Different guys coming home with you every weekend. He doesn't like it, but he understands. You're probably just lonely - filling your bed with strangers to chase away the cold.

Yandere! Cop aims to fix that.

Yandere! Cop who makes sure he gets the weekend off and who makes sure to run into you at the club. You're totally wasted this time, hanging onto his arm and running your fingers up his biceps, giggling about what big muscles you have officer.

Yandere! Cop who takes you home and just let's you sleep it off in his bed. His cock is raging and he wants to fuck you more than anything, but he's a gentleman and you're hammered.

Yandere! Cop who makes you breakfast and a good ol' fashioned hangover cure all the cops swear by. He drives you home and tilts your chin up to kiss you. "How about a proper date, babydoll?"

You giggle and blush and slip away before he can get an answer.

Yandere! Cop who can never get with you in the daylight. You'll kiss him and grind up against him on the dance floor and warm his bed later that night, but you're almost always gone by morning.

Yandere! Cop who doesn't want you as just a fuck buddy. He wants you as his girlfriend, maybe his wife someday.

Yandere! Cop who'll take what you give him. He'll fuck you screaming and when you leave the next morning, he'll bury his head in your pillow and try to catch the remnants of your scent.

It goes on for months. He's becoming a neglected dog, fed on the scraps of attention you give him. He's starving, he's ravenous, he's slowly going rabbid.

Yandere! Cop who does something he didn't think himself capable of - he starts following you. Just a little at first, just so he can learn more about you. He's curious and you don't talk about yourself so it makes perfect sense, right? It's harmless.

Yandere! Cop who breaks into your apartment when you're in class. Just to make sure everything is safe. And if he jacks off into your used panties, it's just a kind of payment. He's going above and beyond for you, doesn't he deserve a little reward?

Yandere! Cop who sees you kissing another man on the walk back from school. You've got your hands on his chest and you're standing on your tip toes under the magnolia trees, like the poster of a sappy fucking romcom.

Yandere! Cop who's never been more angry in his life. And so he sends you a bloody bullet in the mail, your name carved into the steel.

And it works. You call him, terrified that you pissed off the wrong person somehow.

Yandere! Cop who loves being there to comfort you, who feels so masculine and strong when you cling onto his arm and sob about your big, scary stalker.

Yandere! Cop who takes endless pictures of you going about your day and leaves them on your doorstep.

Yandere! Cop who slowly becomes your boyfriend. Who's there the second your stalker gets too close or frightens you too badly. Who makes you feel so safe in his arms.

Yandere! Cop who carefully suggests you move in with him. He's a cop afterall, and no one would be stupid enough to break into his apartment.

Yandere! Cop who'll do something vicious everytime he feels you straying away from him.

Yandere! Stalker who leaves your pet's head in a box on your porch when you refuse to cut off your male friends.

Yandere! Cop who coos over you when you sob, as though he isn't the one scaring you.

Yandere! Cop who is extra careful with everything he does, so that you never suspect that he and your stalker are one and the same.

He's a cop afterall, and he's just keeping you safe. Even if you don't always see it that way.

[yujisdreamgirl]

husband!nanami who was prepared for valentines day one month ahead. everything was planned considerately and perfectly. he has the whole day organised, from waking up to bedtime.

so, when you told him you were assigned a mission on valentines day, it was like looking at a wet puppy. he tries to conceal his disappointment, saying he understands, but deep down you know he’ll be sulking all week. it’s not like he created a whole itinerary for the day or nothing..

on february 14th, regardless of the whole missions shenanigans though, he still made the most out of treating you like royalty which means at least he got to tick some stuff off his list.

breakfast in bed? check. waking you up by kissing and hugging you? check. shower together and get ready for the day? triple check.

you make your way to the door, the wet puppy following your every step. he stands in front of you with a sullen smile, holding your waist so delicately you couldn’t help but chuckle.

your hands reach for his cheeks, going on your tippy toes to give him a kiss on the lips. once you pull away, he leans forward trying to catch your lips again. you giggle into the kiss, wrapping your arms around the taller man’s neck.

“hey, don’t be too sad. i’ll be back before you know it.” he sighs, a really deep and heavy one. “i had this whole day planned out..” he hugs your waist and buries his face into your shoulder—you had him in an absolute chokehold.

“i know, baby.. i promise i’ll take down those curses and yell the fact that i have a husband to go home to!” he couldn’t help but chuckle at that. he finally pulls back, but still doesn’t let go of your hands.

“stay safe.” you smile, leaning in to give him one last kiss. once you were out the door, he goes back to your shared bed and sobs into his pillow. (he’ll never admit that to you)

—

whilst you were out being badass and fighting curses, nanami on the other hand spent the day cleaning the house and preparing the bedroom. he was glad you told him about your unavailability on valentines day a week before as it gave him time to buy necessities for an even better place to come home to.

he’s got everything prepared: balloons, roses, candles, and the whole bunch of gifts he bought last month in secret! he sets the bedroom up, lighting the candles, sprinkling the rose petals everywhere, blowing up the balloons and having the basket of gifts in the middle of the bed and his handwritten letter within it.

once you got home, you noticed your husband’s lack of response to your holler. you roam around the living room and the kitchen confused as to why the lights were off, until you reached the bedroom to a nanami kento wearing a bathrobe and the whole room decked out in loving tones. you smiled widely at your husband’s antics, totally not expecting the whole shebang. he stands up and walks over to you, taking your hands in his.

“kento, this is.. you didn’t have to..” you didn’t even realise tear drops falling down your cheeks until he reached out and wiped them away. “of course i had to. you’re my wife,” he holds your face in his palms, placing a kiss on your lips.

he lead you to the bed, encouraging you to look through the basket of gifts. it was all filled with stuff you recently talked about, from trinkets to expensive items—small objects but meaningful ones. with a loving letter to top it all off, and you swear you’re the luckiest woman in the world.

you hug him tightly and hold his face to kiss his lips. “i love you” he says. “hold that thought,” he looks at you confused as you scramble to your walk in closet, heading to the corner and taking out a small box.

“i have a gift for you too.” nanami raises his eyebrow, taking the small box in his hands. you look at him with an excited look, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. once he opened it, he felt his heart practically leap with joy.

a positive pregnancy test.

nanami looks at you, his eyes wide and a smile creeping up his lips. “honey, you’re..” you practically scream the obvious: “we’re having a baby!”

nanami puts the box aside and hugs you, tears spilling out of his eyes. “this.. is the best gift i’ve ever received. you’re going to be an amazing mother.” you pull back and smile at him, “and you’ll be an amazing dad.”

he caresses your cheek, looking into you with eyes that hold the galaxy. “that means no more going on missions, okay?” you giggle, “i’ll be fine for a few more weeks..” his eyebrows furrow and his lips pout, “no. absolutely not.” you shake your head and smile, finally giving into his request.

you both lay on the bed with his arms wrapped around your torso as you sink your face his chest. he cradles your head and kisses your forehead, “i love you, honey. happy valentines day.”

another year of being alone on valentines day but hey at least i got tumblr to keep me company🫶

[crimsonnsstuff]

𝐵𝓇𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝒻𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹

Warnings: fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, cream pie, daddy kink, slapping, punching, degrading, (kinda) manipulation, not proofread (oops!)

It was night time, about 2 in the morning. You were sitting in your bed, flipping through a magazine, when the door creaked open. Thanos stood there, he was your brothers best friend. He usually spent the night on weekends to come play video games with your brother.

"Hey, you," he says. “Finally done yelling about that game?” You ask. “I could hear you guys” you laugh softly. "Your brother fell asleep. I don’t have anybody to talk to” he smirks. He was always teasing you. If you were stupid, you would think he actually wanted to fuck you

You sat up, the magazine slipping from your hands onto the bed. "And here I thought you just came to check on me," you teased, your voice betraying a slight quiver of excitement.

Thanos stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. "Oh, I'm definitely checking on you," he murmured, his gaze roaming over you like a physical touch. He lays down on your bed, his shirt coming up and showing a faint happy trail above the waistband of his sweatpants.

You press your thighs together as you feel yourself getting a bit wet. He notices and smirks. He sits up, scooting closer to you. His hand goes on your thigh. He slowly moves it to your inner thigh. Everything was happening so quick, you didn’t even want to stop him.

“Thanos..” you gasp softly as he rubs you through your thin pajama shorts. “Hm?” He answers but you can’t say anything, too caught up in the feeling of him rubbing you.

He wraps his fingers around the waistband of your shorts, slowly pulling them off. He takes your panties off next and you close your legs. “Open them. I wanna see..” he growls. You obediently open your legs, embarrassed from how exposed you are.

“There it is..so pretty and pink..” he mutters, pressing a soft kiss to your swollen clit as you let out a shaky breath. He gently shoves 2 fingers into you, stretching you open. “Such a slut..” he mumbles. You squirm, already getting close.

Just as you’re about to go over the edge, he pulls his fingers out, causing a guttural whine to escape your throat. “Don’t whine, bitch.” He growls into your ear. You nod. He pulls his dick out and slams into you. You gasp loudly and grip onto his shoulders as he starts to thrust in and out of you.

“God, you feel so good around my dick..” he groans as you tighten around him. “Don’t you dare fucking cum, hear me?” He says as he slaps your cheek, causing your head to jerk to the side. You nod, “use your words.” “Yes, daddy..” you mutter. “Good girl..” you tighten around him as he says that and he smirks.

He goes deeper as you whine, gently patting his arm, trying to tap out. “Too deep, daddy! Too deep!” You squeal, kicking your legs. He holds you down. “Fucking take it.” He grunts, slamming into you harder. “Gonna cum.. please daddy, may I cum? I promise I’ll be good..” you beg. “Fine.” He gives in.

You cum around his cock and expect him to stop, but he doesn’t. Your body convulses beneath him. “Not gonna stop until I cum.” He laughs. You try to get up but he grabs your throat and slams you back down. He punches your thigh, a punch that is probably gonna leave a bruise later.

You yelp as he punches you. He rubs your thigh, soothing the pain just to punch it again, leaving a red mark. At this point, you were already completely wrecked. Drool coming out of your mouth, mascara running down your face, hair all messed up, and your juices splattering all over his thighs and lower stomach as he continues to thrust into you.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head, causing a low laugh to escape him, making chills run down your spine. You sob softly, having no other choice than to sit there and take his cock and the overstimulation. You were fully stuffed with his cock.

“You’re such a fucking slut..you’re nothing, you hear that? Nothing.” You sob and hiccup. He throws his head back, letting out a low groan as his hips stutter. He slams into you, staying buried deep inside as he cums in you. Both of your bodies were convulsing.

He pulls out and looks at the cum dripping out of you. He smirks. You couldn’t even speak. He lays down beside you and licks the tears running down your face. He runs a comforting hand through your hair. “Shh, baby..it’s okay..” he says gently, almost as if he wasn’t just calling you a slut and fucking your brains out.

[mihanisms]

unraveled.

— caleb is a wolf, wild and angry and needing to devour everything in his path, but for you? he folds his ears back and cages his teeth behind bitten lips.

— puppy play, use of "ma'am / mistress" as a title, edging, mindbreak, footjob, dry humping, body worship. mean-ish femdom tease reader / manipulative forced sub caleb kinda but you are both #CRAZY so it does not matter. this is very different from what i usually write about i triiiieeeeed 💔

Never could you have imagined your childhood best friend—your Caleb—reduced to this. Bent low, rutting against your foot, eyes glistening with unshed tears as he clings to you like a man drowning. His breath hitches, every exhale a shaky plea and every syllable strung tight with desperation.

"Ma’am, please," he whines, voice frayed at the edges. "Mercy, just a little- I’m-"

He’s been begging for so long now, left to suffer under the slow, unbearable grind of your foot against his cock. The flimsy grey shorts he wears do nothing to hide the outline of his length and how it throbs beneath your touch. There’s a dark, wet patch on the fabric where his precum is seeping through, proof of just how far you’ve pushed him.

He swallows hard, throat working against the sob lodged inside. "I’ll be good," he tries. "The best puppy there is. Just-" A shudder rolls through him, knocking the breath from his lungs. "Please?"

Shame burns high on Caleb’s cheeks, but his body betrays him. His thighs are quivering, his hips twitching—helpless, needy and grinding forward like he has no control over himself. He’s trembling, panting through parted lips, desperate sounds spilling free before he can even think to swallow them down.

"Anything," he chokes out. "I’ll give anything, take anything—just, please."

Oh, you know that. You know how much he’ll endure, how much he’ll let you bend him before he breaks. He would lose himself for you. He would trade his dignity, his sanity, just for the promise of more. If only you’d let him. If only you’d be generous. If only-

But you wait.

You watch.

Every second stretches, thick and unbearable, and you see him fraying at the seams. His breath hitches and his fingers twitch, clawing at nothing. His muscles are locked up, fighting the desperate urge to reach, to take, to claim. But he wouldn’t. Not without your approval.

Caleb’s body moves before his mind catches up, swaying forward, drawn to you like a moth to a flame, aching for the warmth he knows only you can grant him. But just before he crosses that line—just before he dares, you move first.

Your reach for him, your fingers delicately tracing the outline of his jaw. He goes rigid, a sharp gasp caught in his lungs. And then, like instinct, like worship—he nuzzles into your touch, breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts.

"You’re shaking," you murmur, thumbing over his flushed cheek. A slow, amused smile tugs at your lips. "Are you really this desperate, Caleb?"

His head jerks in a frantic nod, a strangled noise rising from his throat. His pupils are blown wide and his breath comes in short, uneven bursts. "I am, yes, I am-”

Your fingers drift lower, ghosting down his throat, his adam’s apple bobbing beneath your touch. His pulse is hammering under his skin and his body burning up, melting into every bit of contact like he’d fall apart without it. And he would fall apart without it.

But then—

You pull away.

His reaction is instant. He jerks forward before he can stop himself, a strangled whimper escaping before he can bite it back. But he stops himself right before he touches you, instinct warring with obedience. He knows better than to take without being given.

And that control—his restraint, more than anything, is what keeps you entertained. The sight of the Colonel, wrecked and on the verge of breaking, sends a thrill curling through your body. Yet you only hum, sighing as if you were bored, as if his suffering wasn’t the most intoxicating sight you’ve ever witnessed.

The heat simmering in you darkens, twisting into something deeper, something dangerous for the both of you. A morbid curiosity forms: just how far could you push him before he snaps?

"So…" you muse, tilting your head, feigning thoughtfulness. "You’ll take whatever I give you?"

"Anything, ma’am," he replies without hesitation.

Amused, you chuckle softly, tilting your head as if considering it. Here he is, hanging off your every word, completely at your mercy, willing to do anything for just a sliver of your attention. And just when his breath catches, just when he’s right on the edge of breaking-

You lean in.

Leaning closer, you drink in the sight of him—the unraveling need, the way his chest rises and falls in shallow bursts. You draw a gasp from his throat as your breath ghosts over his skin, his lashes fluttering, lips parting on instinct.

"Reward?" your voice is velvet and steel, soothing and binding him all at once. "And what, exactly, does my good boy think he deserves?"

He stills. You see the moment the question sinks in, the way his mind races to find the right answer, the answer that will please you most. His whole body locks up, his hips stopping, his movements going rigid with obedience. "I want- Please let me- Please let me get off to you, Ma’am- Please, please, I- I've been so good, haven’t I?"

To punctuate the plea, he shifts closer, tilting his head slightly to bare his throat, showing you the claim you left on his shoulder earlier. On his skin is a deep red hickey, an unspoken declaration of ownership. A mark of your control. Of what he lets you, and only you do to him. 

Your breath catches, your grip on his chin tightening. Your playful edge dulls into something sharper, something darker—something that twists in your gut, matching the raw, helpless hunger gripping his body.

"And how," you murmur, thumb tracing his lower lip, "does my puppy want to get off?"

His breath stutters.

He knows you know what he wants, knows you’re forcing him to say it. Knows you won’t make this easy for him.

Frustration flashes in his eyes, but he swallows it down, schooling his features into something softer, something needier. Something he knows you won’t be able to resist. A few more pathetic gasps spill past his lips, each one measured to push you closer to giving him what he’s been begging for. His voice trembles, perfectly frayed at the edges, knowing that this will be the undoing for you both.

"Please, I want- I want to rub myself against my mistress’s panties…?"

The hesitation in his words is deliberate, the breathy edge to his voice sharpened just enough to slice through your restraint. He tilts his head just a tad more, the mark on his neck like an offering, his lashes fluttering to give off the look of being lost in submission. 

He’s waiting. Waiting for you to give in.

Yet it’s only thick, unbearable silence that stretches between you once more, suffocating his patience.

His cock twitches at the suspension, a sharp pulse of need that sends heat curling down his spine. Every second you make him wait is agony, his body screaming at him to move. His instincts beg him to take, to claim, to fucking have you.

But he doesn’t.

He kneels. He obeys. He waits.

And fuck, if he weren’t so well-trained, he would’ve already had you under him. Would’ve already-

But he doesn’t. He stays still. He bows his head, pressing his forehead to your knee like a supplicant at an altar, forcing himself into the shape you’ve carved him into.

He chooses to be good.

And that is the thrill of it all.

Entertained, your fingers drift along his jaw, barely there. He exhales sharply, his whole body shuddering under your touch. “Hm… is that really what you want, puppy?”

"Yes," he whines—too fast, too eager, and too fucking wrecked to care.

You drag it out, humming, letting the tension coil tighter. “Or, is that what you think I want to hear?”

He stills. And for the briefest second, you see it—the flicker of a dangerous, untamed wolf.

And then just as quickly, he swallows it down. Shoves it away. Forces himself to be what you’ve trained him to be. To what he’s trained himself to be.

But you see it.

And you want it.

So you smile—slow, sharp—and lean in again. Close enough that he freezes. Close enough that your breath grazes his lips, close enough that his whole body locks in anticipation-

And then, you pull away.

The sound he makes is devastating. A raw, half-snarl, half-plea, his fingers digging into his thighs, fighting not to just break.

You coo at his display, your voice syrupy-sweet. “Such a good boy,” you purr, watching him shiver from the praise and restraint. “Holding yourself back so well.”

He clenches his jaw, his shoulders wound as tight as a bowstring. He knows you’re toying with him. Knows you want him to snap.

And god, he wants to. If only he were to tear through the last fraying threads of control. To devour you whole.

But before he can spiral further, you give him relief. He chokes on a gasp as your foot presses down harder against his cock, the pressure forcing his back to arch, his body keeling over and his chin dropping onto your knee. Any words he tries to form dissolve into moans, ragged and broken, as you slip your foot beneath his waistband, rubbing him through his boxers.

His fingers dig harshly into his thighs, blunt nails leaving half-moon crescents in his skin. But it’s the only thing keeping him from losing himself completely. His breath is shallow and unsteady, his whole body trembling, every fiber of him clenched, drawn so tight you can almost hear the tension hum.

You press again, and a strangled sob is torn from his throat as he lurches forward, too overwhelmed to keep himself upright. His forehead presses into your thigh, letting out short, desperate gasps against your skin. The scent of his need clings to the air, thick and intoxicating, and you inhale slowly, savoring the way he crumbles beneath you.

“Oh, look at you,” you murmur, amusement laced with control. “Just falling apart.”

“Poor puppy.” You shift your foot, just enough to make him jolt, to draw out a broken whimper. His thighs clench, his hips jerking helplessly into the teasing press of your sole. You watch his face contort, his jaw tightening, failing to hold onto the last scraps of his composure. As if he isn’t already beyond salvation.

“You’re drooling, Caleb.” Your voice is almost pitying, as if you don’t revel in the way his resolve is splintering.

It’s unbearable. You’re unbearable.

And you know it.

He lets out an unintelligible sound, and your foot presses down harder, sending him keening. His body jerks and ruts into the pressure, his boxers damp and clinging to his cock.

He’s panting, his whole body trembling, and yet still—still, he waits for you to let him fall.

“Please, Ma’am,” he chokes out, voice cracked and thin. His fists clench, the last of his restraint hanging by a thread. “I can’t- I need-”

You tilt his head back with a slow tug of his hair, drinking in the sight of him—his glassy, ruined eyes, the flush burning up his throat, the raw, hopeless hunger etched into his face.

And then you sigh. Soft. Dismissive.

Caleb flinches.

“Hm. And here I thought you were my good boy.” Your nails scrape lightly against his scalp, a ghost of affection before your grip tightens, forcing his head still. “But look at you. Making such a mess. Being so sloppy.”

Panic quickly overtakes his dazed expression. “No, no, I-” His throat bobs as he swallows, hard. “I am good, I swear, I-”

“Are you?” Your voice is measured, cool, watching the way he twists in the silence, watching how his desperation coils tighter at the lingering disappointment in your tone.

He hates this.

Hates when you doubt him.

Hates being anything less than perfect for you

His lips part, searching, pleading. “Please,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “Please let me prove it.”

And that’s what you were waiting for. That’s why you let him dangle, why you let him crack without letting him shatter.

Because now, he’s exactly where you want him.

Desperate. Submissive. Willing to do anything.

And that—that is what you wanted.

Your fingers ease, smoothing over his cheek, and the sheer relief in his expression sends a thrill to your core. You tilt your head, letting a slow, satisfied smile spread across your lips as you revel in the moment. His desperate need is palpable, and you want to draw it out, savor it.

“If you want to prove it,” you hum, dragging your foot away, “then show me.”

Caleb's eyes widen, a flash of excitement breaking through his haze of desperation. You lean back slightly, letting your foot slip off his cock, and that’s the only cue he needs—he scrambles off the floor, caging you between your arms as he shifts closer, pressing his body against yours.

You’re trapped beneath his figure, his weight pressing you into the mattress, yet the desire in his eyes doesn’t phase you. No, not one bit. Not when your hunger matches his, pulse for pulse, breath for breath.

A shudder rips through him as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, breath hot and uneven, tinged with reverence. His body is flush against yours, muscles trembling as he fights to pace himself, to stray from losing control the second he finally has you beneath him.

"Thank you," he whimpers, a prayer against your skin. His lips brush over your pulse, lingering just enough to make you shiver. "Thank you, Ma’am."

His shorts and boxers are discarded to a far corner of the room, leaving him bare against you, his cock pressed flush to the cool silk of your lingerie. Precum smears across the fabric, darkening it with every shallow grind of his hips. The friction is light, teasing—but even that has him shaking. His fingers fist the sheets, muscles locking as he bars himself from losing himself too quickly.

You feel his restraint in every shuddering breath, every stifled moan, the way he fights to take only what he’s given. His forehead rests against yours, your breaths mingling, desire spilling from his parted lips as he moves again, pressing himself against you.

"I-" His voice is wrecked, thick with pleasure and gratitude. His hips roll again, slow, deliberate, rubbing himself against the soft lace stretched over your cunt. He chases your heat like it’s the only thing keeping him sane, savoring every inch of contact. "Feels so good-"

Your fingers trace a slow path down his side, and he whimpers. Even with his body caging yours, it feels like you’re the one pulling the leash wrapped tight around his neck.

"Puppy…you like this, don’t you?" The question is smooth. Knowing.

His whole body jolts, rhythm faltering as another wave of pleasure wracks through him. The words spill from him instantly, raw and full of desire. "Yes, fuck- I do, Ma’am-" His grip on the sheets tighten, his knuckles turning white from the sheer effort of holding himself together, to not fuck into you, to not rip off your panties and sink into your tight heat.

A hot rush of tears gathers in his eyes, his mind spinning further into need. His body moves on its own, grinding deeper, chasing anything that will push him over the edge. His fingers dig into your waist, pulling you closer, as if that will save him.

His pupils are blown wide, the wildness in his gaze unmistakable. He’s right there, teetering, ready to break.

But you don’t move. You let him unravel, let him drown. Every shudder, every desperate twitch, every broken sound is for you. And he knows it.

"Ma’am," he whines, his voice cracking as his rhythm stutters. “I want to- I want to- Please let me-”

Your body responds, heat coiling tight as his breath hitches against you. "Good boy," you murmur, and the way he shudders at the praise sends a sharp pulse of desire straight to your core. “Hm…is my puppy gonna cum so fast?”

“I am,” he cries, a fervent mantra that spills from his lips, hips rocking in that shaky rhythm as he feels you overtake his senses. “Can- May I?”

You hum, dragging your nails down his back, feeling the way his muscles jerk beneath your touch. His breath hitches, a broken moan slipping free, his entire body locked tight with need.

"You may," you purr, your voice dripping with satisfaction. "If you can do it like a good boy—without making a mess."

A sob catches in his throat, his hips stuttering mid-grind as his mind scrambles to process the command. "I- I can, I will- fuck-" His fingers dig harder into your waist, his whole body trembling as he desperately chases his release without breaking the rules you've set.

Every motion is torturous, pleasure crackling through his nerves like a live wire. His cock throbs, aching as he ruts against the silk, the damp fabric dragging against his sensitive length in a way that has him pleading through the choked-off moans spilling past his lips.

"Ma’am, please, please-" His voice is thin, broken apart by desperate little hiccups of pleasure. "I‘m so close, fuck, so close, please-"

His entire face presses against yours, his damp lashes fluttering, his breath hot and uneven against your skin. His grip on the sheets is nearly murderous, his body thrumming with the promise of release.

And then—he breaks.

A strangled sob rips from his throat as his hips jerk forward, his cock pulsing against the silk, the sheer force of his orgasm wracking through him. His whole body tenses then trembles as he spills, soaking through the fabric, painting your lingerie with thick, hot spurts of cum. 

You decide to place a hand on the head of his cock, and he shatters all over again as you squeeze, hot tears flowing down his face as he’s sent careening into cloud 9. More cum shoots out of his cock, this time reaching your stomach and tits, your skin stained with his fluids.

His moans turn into soft whines, body twitching with aftershocks as he clings to you, burying his face against your neck, panting raggedly.

You let him catch his breath and settle for just a moment. Then—your fingers fist in his hair, yanking his head back to meet his bleary, wrecked gaze. He fucking yelps, his cheeks streaked with tears as he blubbers over his words.

“M-Miss, I- I-It’s hngh-! too- too good, I-I-” His voice is high, cracking between sobs as he trembles under your grasp. His body is still shuddering from the aftershocks, his cock still hard and throbbing against the soaked silk separating you.

You click your tongue, tilting your head as you drink in the flushed, ruined sight of him, struggling to piece himself together when you both know he's already fallen apart.

"Too good?" you echo, mock sympathy curling around the words. Your grip tightens, nails digging into his scalp just enough to make him wince. "You made such a mess. And here I was, thinking you could be good for me."

Caleb lets out a soft, broken whimper, the humiliation sparking something deeper in his dazed, pleasure-drunk mind. “I- I’m sorry, I…I can be good, I promise-  I-I’ll be better the next time-"

"Next time?" you repeat, your voice low and dangerous as you squeeze his cock again, enough to make him jolt, his body writhing from the overload of sensations. "Who says I'll let you have a next time?"

The words hang heavy between you, and Caleb’s eyes widen, a sob escaping him as he scrambles for your forgiveness. He shakes his head, pressing himself closer to you as if he can beg with his body as much as with his words. "No, no Miss- Please, I’m sorry! I’ll do better- I’ll be better, I can prove it to you-!"

Dread floods his already wrecked expression, his hands scrambling to grip at you—your wrists, your waist, anything he can reach as if holding onto you might keep you from slipping away. His words crumble into another sob as he buries his face against your neck, pressing frantic kisses to your skin between shaky pleas. "Please, Miss, I need you, I need to prove it to you, please don’t take it away from me-”

You tilt your head, watching him squirm beneath the weight of your words. Then, just as he opens his mouth to plead again, you drag your nails down his chest, slow and deliberate, making him shudder.

"Anything, huh?"

"Yes- Yes, Miss, anything," he gasps, nodding frantically. "Anything, anything- I’ll be your good boy, your good puppy. I’ll hold myself back, I will, I will-"

A slow, satisfied smirk tugs at your lips. Your grip in his hair tightens once more, pulling his head back further until his throat is bared to you, shaking and vulnerable.

"Then prove it, puppy," you purr, your breath ghosting over his skin. "Right now."