#the sound you might be hearing in the back is me sobbing violently

[poppy-metal]

Slaps him "say it again" "im a slut"

squeezing your pussy around his cock in those hot little pulses you know drive him crazy. hand wrapped around his throat as you drag yourself up and down. "tell me what you are."

and he's a brat so of course, he just grins - flushed and cocky - "whatever you want me to be," he licks his bottom lip, fat and juicy, full of blood from where you'd bitten at his mouth earlier.

that's not good enough though - so you draw your hand back and slap him across the cheek - not holding back. it whips his head to the side and immediately red blooms under his skin - your hand coming down to grip his chin right after, digging your fingers into his jaw as you lean over him - clench tight around him again - just to see his eyes go a little cross -

"no. tell me what you are." you lean back a little, working your hips on his dick and with your grip on his chin he's forced to watch where you're seated on him, cunt flared and split around his wide girth. "tell me what this pussy makes you."

his mouth parts and you don't miss the opportunity to slide your fingers inside for a second - press against his wet tongue and he groans - groans deeper when you drag those spit covered fingers out of his mouth and his chin and back to wrapping around his taut throat. he's looking at you with wonder and awe, fucked out as you ride him like the goddess you are. he can't act tought anymore. it feels too fucking good - working him like you do - that tight wet suction around him - gripping and sucking and fuck fuck fuck.

"m'your slut," he gasps. his hands itch to grab your waist - fuck up into that wet haven - but you'd pull back if he did, so he digs his nails into his palms and tips his head back as you bounce. "im your fucking slut, fuck - "

the way he says it - all rough and dragged from his lips sounding like gravel. half sobbed. you start moving faster on top of him - wet pussy slapping against his pelvis everytime you come down hard. the friction of his cock tunneling in and out feels amazing - you're so used to him holding you down and pounding in and out, and you love that - but this is good too. using his body - his big cock - like it's a dildo. controlling how you take it and how fast you take it -

"yeah you are. none of those other girls fuck this dick like me, huh?"

because you're possessive and despite how fun this is - how good it feels - you're still sour from seeing him flirt with other girls earlier. that stinging jealously that burns through your chest and makes you want to inflict pain. it's not enough for him to just let you use his cock to get off, you need to hear it from his lips, need to see his desperation for you. you and only you. you need to hear it.

he looks at you - eyes clashing - and you worry he might try to brat you again, which you might get actually violent over if he does - and he drags his teeth over his bottom lip like hes considering it - but then his lashes flutter, he lets out this pained sounding moan when you grind your cunt down on him and he loses all fight - you see it leave his body - the vulnerable reverent way he looks at you when he opens his eyes after squeezing them shut -

"just you," he laments. and you see tears slip from the corners of his eyes and slide down - overwhelmed and flushed and at your mercy - "you drive me fucking crazy - no one else feels like you. your pussy - aw fuck, fuck - it owns me. you fucking own my cock - it's so g - good -" he chokes off when you start really bouncing on it, spurred on by his comments - slamming yourself on and off his thick cock so hard your thighs start burning from the strain. your eyes roll back because he's hitting that gooey spot inside you. looking at the ceiling like you're ascending and it feels so good - you're greedy - you want more, tell me more, tell me how good this pussy is, tell me what a slut you are for my tight little cunt -

you must say that out loud because patrick starts babbling under you as you brace your palms on his chest and go crazy -

"fuck me, fuck me, fuck me with your pussy - that shits so good, baby, you fuck me so good, goddammit - that's your dick, shiiiiit - it's yo - your slutty fuckin' cock - you take it, take it, take it -"

and then, "make me cum in you. make me give you that big fuckin' load - " and yesssss, it's your load - his cum is yours, yours, yours, it belongs in your pussy - hot and filling you up. you reach down behind you, blindly feeling around until you can feel his fleshy sac bouncing off your ass. heavy and full of all that cum. you squeeze his balls, not bothering to be kind about it - and he sobs -

"give it to me -" you demand, fondling him, encouraging him to empty his load into your gripping pussy - "its mine. fill me up with it, right fucking now - I want it - "

"its coming." he chants and starts fucking up into you, frenzied. he forgoes your earlier orders and you don't give a fuck honestly, grips your hips and moves you furiously up and down his cock as you feel his balls start to twitch in your hand. "FUCK! there it is, there it is - shit, fucking god - milk it out of me just like that - fuckkkkkk."

you feel it. thick and hot splashing deep inside you. filling you to the brim.

[racetowrite]

Work for it

Support a disabled creator

Pairing : Daniel Ricciardo x f!reader x Max Verstappen x Carlos Sainz

Tags : yeah that's right they're all here baby, oral and fingering (f!recieving), unprotected piv (wrap it irl I am begging you), edging, crying during sex, orgasm denial

Word Count : 1.3k

You think that you’re finally wearing the boys down.

Daniel has been at this for hours now, you think, burying himself between your thighs and losing himself like he never wants to leave. He’s fucking incessant when he gets you like this, licking at your cunt until his eyes have glazed over and he’s grinding slowly into the bedsheets. He moans when you tug at his hair, the vibrations from it going up your spine.

“Fuck, Danny, I need-” you moan, your chest heaving with the way Daniel sucks your clit into his mouth, licking at you in a way that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Your hips hump into his face, chasing the sensation. “I can’t, fuck, I’m gonna- think I’m gonna-”

He pulls his face away just like that, watching as you shout, your hips grinding into nothing but air as your pleasure and your orgasm dissipate. He holds your thighs apart and just looks at the way you tremble, his eyes wide and a blush high on his face.

“That’s it, darling, so fucking gorgeous,” he mutters, and you grind your teeth together. This is the third time, the third fucking time, he’s done that. Gotten you so close, your body locking up and threatening to fall off that precipice, before he pulls himself away, leaving you with nothing.

It’s fucking maddening, and Daniel just watches, squeezing at his thick cock as it aches between his legs.

“Please, Daniel,” you whine, high pitched and needy. “Need you to let me cum, fuck, please let me cum.” You sound so pitiful, so desperate, that Daniel’s eyes soften at your begging.

“Oh, I know, love,” he murmurs, sliding a thick finger up the seam of your cunt. “Need it so bad, yeah? It’s okay, darling, I’ll let you cum,”

You nearly sob with relief when he leans back down and sucks your clit into his mouth, sinking two fingers into your entrance. He’s relentless, playing with your clit with his tongue, nudging the tips of his fingers into a little spot inside of you that makes you want to cry. Your orgasm surges back up inside you without warning, and you can’t fucking breathe.

You brace yourself for him to do it again, to pull away when you start babbling, “Gonna cum, fuck, please let me cum,” between heaving moans. But Daniel doesn’t let up, doesn’t slow down, and you start to smile with the fact that he’s actually going to let you have it this time without pulling away.

Except, he does pull away.

You cry out as Daniel’s head shoots up from between your legs again, but you can only watch as his eyes roll to the back of his head, his jaw clenched.

Max looks up at you from the sofa and decides to come between your thighs, a cocky little smirk playing at his lips. 

“Oh baby,” he says, and his voice is gruff, dark, so unlike Daniel’s. “You didn’t think it’d be that easy, did you?” You gasp for air as Max sinks three fingers into you, and he grins.

“So pretty when you’re almost fucking there, sweetheart,” Max murmurs, and he leans close to brush his lips against yours in a whisper of a kiss.

“Whining, pleading for us to just let you cum. Daniel was going to let it happen, put an end to your misery, but me?” He fucks his hand into you so hard that you choke on a moan. “I like seeing you squirm.”

And the process starts over again.

Max fucks you on his fingers without a hint of remorse, driving into your g-spot in violent, debilitating thrusts that have you reeling. You get so close so many fucking times, over and over and over again, your body drawn tight with the overwhelming need to cum. You beg, plead, gripping the bedsheets so hard that you fear you might tear them.

But Max. Doesn’t. Stop.

Every time he feels it, that tell-tale tightening of your body, hears the way you start to go quiet as you focus on finally falling over that precipice, he pulls his hand out of you without any finesse, any mercy.

Around the third time he does it, you really do start to cry, sobbing for Max to finally let you cum, that you need it so bad it hurts.

“Can’t- it’s too much, Max, please, please let me, need it so ba-ad,” you hiccup through your moans, tears bubbling up in your eyes and spilling down your cheeks.

Max leans down and kisses them away, cooing at you as he grinds the calloused tips of his fingers into the most sensitive parts of your cunt.

“Okay, sweet girl, I’ve got you, come on,” he murmurs, his thumb coming up to press against your clit, grinding little circles into it and sending you fucking flying. “Don’t cry, baby, I’ll take care of you.” 

“Thank you, thank you, thank-” you’re in the middle of thanking him, practically tasting your orgasm on your desperate tongue, when Max’s eyes roll back, and his hand rips away from your cunt.

“No,” you whine, choking on your tears as your body quakes beneath his, “no, no, please.” You’re practically hysterical, desperate for it after so fucking long, after Daniel and Max have shredded you apart.

Carlos couldn’t take it anymore.

“Princesa,” Carlos grins down above you, unmistakable with his dark gaze and a smile that is purely fucking primal, feral. “If you think you’re going to cum on anything but my cock, you’re wrong.”

And you can only gasp at Carlos notches the thick, leaking head of his cock against your gaping entrance, and shoves himself in to the hilt.

You scream, your back bending into an obscene arch as he fills you up so perfectly. 

“Carlos” you sob through labored breaths, “I can’t, it’s been, I don’t know how long it’s been, please, please. I need to cum, fuck, ‘m begging.”

“Oh, my beautiful girl,” Carlos croons, “Of course you can.”

Of course you can. Like you’ve had permission all along, like it was that easy. Like you haven’t been broken apart by each of them, over and over again, reduced to a sobbing, shaking mess beneath their body.

He’s only one, two thrusts in, but you’re coming anyway, screaming with it as tears flow down your cheeks. Your entire body locks up with it, your cunt squeezing tight around Carlos’s cock in rhythmic pulses that have him clutching painfully at your hips. Sweet, sweet relief fills your body, like water in a desert, the sun after a hurricane. It’s fucking bliss, incomparable, absolutely debilitating.

“Mierda, that’s fucking beautiful, fuck,” Carlos growls, and he presses into your body so deep you think you can feel it in your stomach, and pumps you full of his cum. “Good girl,” you hear him mutter, “Good fucking girl,” before darkness grows into the edges of your vision and quickly swallowing it whole, leaving you to fall into pitch black oblivion.

When you finally come back to yourself, you feel warm, safe. It’s no surprise to you, since you usually feel that way in this flat, in this bed.

“I didn’t fucking kill her, Daniel” you hear Carlos growl.

“She’s breathing just fine. And don’t act innocent, you and I both know that you worked her just as hard as Max and I did.”

“And you all better pamper me,” you croak, still refusing to open your eyes, “As soon as I take a nap.”

“Hermosa,” you hear Carlos breathe, and you feel his lips press to your forehead. You crack open your eyes to meet Carlos’s gaze, his eyes wide and more worried than he usually lets on. “Are you alright? You- you passed out.” he asks, and you giggle.

“Never been better,” you murmur. “But any of you try that shit again, it’s no sex for a fucking year.”

Carlos grins in that roguish way that makes your heart flutter. "As if you could resist any of us for that long, mi vida."

[awkness]

Serial killer!Platonic!Yandere Older Brother & Genderneutral Teenage Reader (Part 1)

(Part 2)

You don't have the best home life. With your father being a violent drunk and your mother out of the picture, there's little to love about your home. The only silver lining is your older brother, Ben, who's practically raised and protected you your whole life and makes living in this household easier.

But in a surprising turn of events, your father is declared missing, and Ben is granted temporary custody of you. As time passes, you grow more concerned with the circumstances of your father's "disappearance", Ben's behavior, and just how safe you are in your own home.

Content Warnings: murder, gore, isolation, manipulation, physical violence, briefly mentioned child abuse, child endangerment, and general yandere shenanigans. If there's anything I forgot to list here, let me know :3

Authors note: first time posting my writing, hope you like this! This is a bit of a slow burn and features a slightly amoral!Reader. Readers age is left ambiguous

You'd like to think you were good at sneaking around the house. Years of having to creep around at night as your father slept had taught you a lot about the right way to hold yourself, which floor boards to avoid, how to open doors so that they didn't make noise. Tiny bits of knowledge and skill that all seemed to have been in preparation for this moment.

There's a full moon tonight, and you can see it shine through the curtains on the back door window, the only light in the house. Socked feet carefully move through the kitchen floor as your heart rate picks up. Your shoulders slowly hunch in on yourself as you close in on the door.

You haven't felt terror like this before. It's so much different from the horror movies you used to stay up late and watch as a child, or even the fear you felt when your father came home from his business trips. This was different. It twisted your stomach into nauseating knots and sent your heart up to your throat, making its terrified, rapid beating the only thing you could hear. You were beginning to feel lightheaded, and everything around you had this strange and distant quality to it, like the whole world had shrunk down to only two things: the backyard door, and your brother.

Was he still looking upstairs? There hadn't been any noises from there in a while. Now that you thought about it, you haven't heard anything in a while. The thought causes tears to start to form in your eyes, and you swallow hard and try to blink them away. Not now. Not until you're out.

Clammy hands grasp the cold metal of the doorknob, and you almost let out a sob in relief. Shaky, you begin to undo the lock, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet house. You cringe as the door opens and lets out a long, loud creak, breaking whatever illusion of stealth you had.

Distantly, you recall a memory of you complaining about the noise to Ben. He had told you that he wasn't going to fix it, that it was better to keep it that way, just in case anyone tried to break in, he would hear it. You wonder if he ever thought about someone trying to break out.

"(Y/N.)"

For a brief, horrible moment, everything stops. Your mind, your lungs, your heart, they all seize up in fear at your name. You were never supposed to be afraid of his voice.

Your lungs squeeze painfully, and you take in a sharp breath, chest heaving. Legs tense, instincts desperately urging you to leave, but your mind kept you rooted to the spot, running through the scenario in your head. Even if you sprinted now, full speed, you would have to stop to undo the latch at the gate to leave the backyard. It would only take a few seconds, and that might be enough for Ben to catch up to you.

"(Y/N), look at me."

If it were anyone else, you would have bolted by now, legs tearing across the lawn as you made your escape. But it was him. Your brother, the same man who cooked your dinner, who helped you do your homework when you didn't know what you were doing, and would then help you cheat when he couldn't figure it out, either. The same voice that would tease you, scold you, nag you, and encourage you, and now kept you from leaving. Against your will, you turned around.

He was standing in the kitchen entrance, bathed in shadow. You could barely see his bruised face, the moonlight only outlining his features just enough for you to see the crazed, panicked look in his eyes, and his chest heaving like he was the one being chased and not you. If you hadn't seen it when you stumbled upon him in the basement just ten minutes prior, you could have missed the blood on his shirt.

But you hadn't, and it was all you could stare at.

For a moment, it's all you do. He stares at you, while you stare at the blood between you two, not a sound to be heard as you both stand, as if under a spell.

He finally breaks the silence.

"Close the door."

You look up to meet his eyes, and the brief act is enough to snap you back to your senses.

You run.

By all means, you tried your best, you really did. But whatever edge that the adrenaline gave you was no match for Ben's superior speed. He was taller than you by nearly a foot and used to run track when he was in high school, of course he would catch up to you.

You were halfway to the gate when he snagged your arm. A short, abrupt shriek leaves your mouth and then his other hand covers your face, smothering any noise you were trying to make.

In one quick, fluid motion, his arm lets go of your hand and then firmly locks around you, back pressing against his chest, the same blood-covered chest you saw before, stained by the body of your poor, mutilated father in the basement you saw only minutes ago, the body hardly recognizable as he had began hacking his limbs into small, easily disposable pieces. His decapitated head lay carelessly on the floor, empty eyes that seemed to plead to you for help as you watched numbly, stricken dumb until Ben finally noticed you staring.

And now he's dragging you back. Back to the house, down the stairs, to the basement, where he'll pin you to the table and do the same thing he had done to your dad-

You lost control of yourself. There was no thought behind what you did. You thrashed and kicked like a wild animal, screams trying to rip through your muffled mouth. You struggled like you had never struggled in your life, and it meant nothing. He was almost at the back door, and you hadn't slowed him down a second. In a fleeting moment of lucidity, you think to hook your leg on the door and to try and slow him down. It works, but only for a moment. With a sharp pull, your leg gives and suddenly you're back inside, helplessly watching the back door swing close. The sound of the lock latching breaks you out of your fit, and dread sets in, stilling your body as you finally realize you can't break free.

As your breathing starts picking up, you finally hear your brother talking, who seems to have been speaking to you for a while. His voice is the same gentle, calming tone one would use on a skittish animal while trying to get them to calm down. It makes you feel ill.

"Shhhhh, it's alright (Y/N), you're fine, you're fine. I need you to relax, alright? C'mon, kid, deep breaths, just like that, you're doing good. Breathe with me."

You feel his chest move against your back as he begins to breathe deeply. The slow, rhythmic movements bringing back emotions from memories of him calming you down from previous anxiety attacks and similar situations begin taking over and give you a false sense of security. Against your better judgment, you relax, if only slightly, against him.

"There we go, that's it. Just take it easy."

And for a second you both stand like that, completely still, as the weight of everything sinks into the both of you.

"Okay, here's what's going to happen. I'm going to let go of you and I need you to promise me you're not going to try anything. No screaming, no running, no nothing. Is that clear?"

It takes you a second to realize he expects you to respond, and you nod quickly, hoping it doesn't seem too enthusiastic.

He sighs and lifts his hand from your mouth. When he doesn't hear your yell, and releases you from his grip, only for him to take your hand.

"This is... going to be a long talk. Let's go sit down in the living room."

Without waiting for you to acknowledge him, he drags you towards the living room, and sits down, having you take the seat next to him.

Enough moonlight peaks through the blinds for you to see Ben. He's hunched, leg bouncing a mile a minute, bruised and bloody hands clasped together, as he shifts in the seat, trying to get comfortable. You don't think there's much of a point. This isn't going to be an easy conversation, there's no point in stalling.

You're reminded of a similar conversation you two had on this couch. Years ago, he sat you down (albeit, under much less distressing circumstances) and told you how mom wasn't coming back home. That she was divorcing dad and leaving you both with him. At the time, you thought it was a little silly how nervous he was. Of course she was leaving. She hadn't been home in months, and even before that, she hadn't been involved enough for you to care about what she did. Her being out of the house for good was a relief to you. A strange stab of guilt runs through you as you remember hoping your dad would leave your life permanently, too.

Ben's leg hasn't stopped bouncing, you see he hasn't looked your way since you sat down. If he's waiting to figure out how to start the conversation, you know you'll be waiting all night, and that's the last thing you want to do. You're going to have to be the one to break the silence.

"You killed dad."

Not the most elegant opener, but it's simple and to the point, so hopefully the bluntness will make it easier for Ben to talk.

He takes a sharp breath and glances down, bouncing becoming quicker. You hate how you feel guilty for making him uncomfortable.

"Yes." He replies, "I did."

He unclasped and clapsed his hands again, and then stared into them, like they held the answers he was looking for. Time passes, and for a moment, you think you're going to have to speak again, but he beats you to the punch.

"He was drinking again. I mean, he always drinks, but it was a lot more than usual. It was the only reason I came down there. He's always making noises down there, but this time, with all the beer he was going through, I thought he finally kicked the bucket, you know? Just a crash and then nothing. So I went to check it out."

He takes a breath and shifts in his seat again, and you can only sit there and watch as he struggles through his story.

"I come down and he's on the ground and his eyes are closed, so I go to check his pulse. That's when he springs up and grabs me, starts yelling in my face about God knows what."

That part is true. You remember hearing that a couple of hours ago, but hearing dad yell is a fairly common occurrence. Common enough that the neighbors wouldn't think much of it, anyway.

"I try and get him off me but he starts hitting me. I can't get him to stop, so I start hitting back. But he wouldn't stop, he..."

He pauses for a moment, a shadow passing through his face. You don't want to interrupt him this time.

"When I realized what I was doing, he was gone."

He sighs and wipes his hand over his face, the shadow recedes and it returns to its previous anxious look.

"If I had called the police and told them what happened, they wouldn't believe me. And even if they did, they would have taken you away from me, and I..."

His face pinches in a way you've never seen before, almost like he's in pain. His eyes glisten with tears.

"I don't know what I would do if you were gone, (Y/N). I couldn't live with myself."

You look down, face heating up with a shame you don't understand.

"If I could hide his body, wait a couple of days, and report him missing, it should be fine. Not like he has any friends, and the neighbors don't care about him. They know he's a drunk who takes off for weeks on end, so it's not like him going missing this is suspicious. And while he's missing, I should be able to get custody of you. Not like there's any other relatives to take care of you. I've got a steady job, I'll be able to take care of you. It shouldn't be a problem."

You look up, and you're taken back to see him staring at you, with a sad, almost pleading look.

"I didn't want you to see that, (Y/N). You weren't supposed to be involved. I honestly thought you'd be asleep by now. I knew I should of locked the door, I should of..."

As he spirals, you start to zone out as you consider everything he's said. You know he's lying. Maybe not about everything, but there's either parts that he's purposefully leaving out or making up. Perhaps, given some time and some well thought out questions from your end, you could parse together the real story, but... did you want to?

Your father is dead. There's no fixing this. You also don't have any other relatives nearby, and the ones you do have you either haven't seen in over a decade or haven't seen at all. If your brother isn't the one taking care of you, that means you'll be put in the foster system. Considering your age, you know your chances of being adopted are slim to none, and the horror stories you've heard of other kids going through the system are enough to make you shudder. You don't know if you could make it.

Yes, he killed your father, but it's not like you ever liked the man anyway. And watching Ben dismember him was... horrific, to say the least, but you can understand it, from a logical perspective. In order to move him, it makes sense that he had to take him apart, even if he seemed a little too emotionless and callous during the whole process.

That only leaves one thing left to consider: do you think Ben will hurt you?

You stare at this grown man, this murderer, your one and only brother, as he sits in front of you, talking himself to the almost to the point of tears, trying to convince you that everything wasn't as bad as it was.

That's been your whole childhood, hasn't it?

You barely remember a time before mom left, and dad would be out most of the time, so it was Ben cooking you breakfast and walking you to the bus stop, making sure you had a lunch already packed in your bag. He would be the one to ask you how your day was, to make you dinner, and to watch whatever movies you wanted, even if he was a little too old for your shows. He would smile and play along with you, just because it made you happy. In those moments, you could pretend you had a normal, functional family, and you were grateful for him.

When dad was home, Ben was the one who made sure everything was safe. And when dad was too drunk and wandering about the house, you would sleep in his room, and if dad ever tried to get to you, Ben would put himself in between you two, protecting you at the price of a broken nose and a handful of bruises. And then when it was over, and you would go over to him and tell him how sorry you were, only for him to put on a brave face and tell you that he was fine when he was clearly not. If you insisted, he would placate you by letting you bandage him, but he would do it with a smile on his face, making little jokes as you patched him up that would have you both coming out of it with a smile.

Everything he did was to make your life easier. This isn't any different, isn't it?

You reach out and take his hand, and that's enough to stop him mid-sentence.

"It's okay, Ben. I understand."

He blinks at you owlishly, clearly not expecting you to say that.

"You do?"

The disbelief is evident in his tone, but you don't blame him for it. You can hardly believe yourself, but it's the truth.

"Yeah, I don't blame you. Besides, what's done is done, we can't change that."

You take a breath, readying yourself for what you need to ask next.

"What do you need me to do?"

This shocks him more than your previous words, and he shifts, looking visibly uncomfortable with your question.

"I don't want you to be involved-"

"But I am." You interrupt. "I know what happened, so I'm a part of it. I need to know what I need to do."

You see him swallow, and you watch his face as he slowly takes in your words, the weight of them sinking in, his face morphing from anxious to somber.

He takes his hand out of yours and puts it on your shoulder.

"The only thing you need to do right now is to go to sleep. We'll need to go over our cover story soon, but that can wait until tomorrow. It's late, and I know you're tired. I can take care of everything from here."

He squeezes your shoulder and makes a motion like he's going in for a hug, before jerking back, thinking better of it.

Instead, he looks at you, a sad, grief-stricken look on his face.

"Goodnight, (Y/N). Sleep tight."

"Goodnight." Is all you reply before he lets you go. He gets up and makes his way to the basement as you watch from your spot on the couch.

You know you both won't be able to sleep well tonight.

You stumble down the stairs, still half asleep, grumbling while trying not to trip over your own feet.

It had taken you a while for you to fall asleep, yet your body had refused to let you sleep in. As soon as the sun rose, you did as well. Unusual, given that it was summer and you always slept in, but you suppose the stress of last night and your upcoming talk with Ben wouldn't let you rest for longer than a few hours.

As you make it downstairs, you enter the kitchen. The first thing you notice is Ben, newspaper in hand, reading at the dinning room table. Or at least it looked like he was reading. After watching him for a moment, you noticed his eyes unfocused as he stared off into space.

In broad daylight, you're able to take a better look at his injuries, and it's much worse than it had seemed last night. He's got a busted lip and bloody knuckles, with several bruises across his arms. It makes your stomach twist in the familiar way seeing him hurt always does. The dark circles under his eyes are more prominent than usual. Did he stay up all night?

At least he changed his clothes. The blood from yesterday is gone, replaced by the familiar sight of him in old, ratty pajamas.

"Good morning." You say, more to announce your presence than anything else.

He jumps in his seat, newspaper crinkling in his hands, seemingly taken completely off guard by your arrival. Yeah, he definitely didn't get any sleep.

"Good morning." He finally replies a little too quickly, folding the newspaper and laying it down as he got up. "How did you sleep?"

You shrug. The banality of the question contrasted uncomfortably with its context, making you not want to linger on it. "Better than I thought I would. You?"

He awkwardly shuffles in place, obviously not having any idea what to do with himself now that he was standing, but refusing to sit back down. "Uh, couldn't get any. Was busy."

The weight of the words brought an uncomfortable lull in the conversation, and your eyes wandered as they tried not to look at his.

"Well, uh, you gotta be hungry, right? Why don't we go out to eat? I'm sure there's some restaurants still open, we can sit down to eat, or swing by that doughnut shop you like."

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to go out, given you look like... well, that." You gesture to his injuries.

He looks momentarily confused before the realization hits him. Self-consciously, he hides his wounded knuckles behind his back and looks towards the ground.

"Breakfast at home is fine, too. My pancakes are better anyway." He says a little too tensely, the joke not quite landing right.

The next thing you know, the kitchen is alive with the sounds of cooking as he quickly whisks the ingredients together, and then begins pouring them into the pan.

You walk over to the pantry, scanning the shelves.

"We don't have any syrup."

Ben lets off a soft groan, and you wander over to the freezer.

"Well, pancakes without syrup aren't the worst, just a little dry." He grumbles, more to himself than to you.

You open the freezer, inspect its contents, and announce your discovery.

"We have ice cream."

You turn back just in time to see the questioning look he shoots you.

"Ice cream? For breakfast?"

"Well, considering the night we had, I figured we could use a little pick me up."

He sighs, and his brows furrow as his cheeks heat up, his face a strange mix of irritation and shame. Under normal circumstances, you would never be able to get away with this, but considering everything that's happened, you can imagine it won't take him too long to cave.

"Hm, well- fine. Just this once."

You nod and grab the tub of ice cream. You suppose there were a few perks to watching your brother dismember your father in front of you. Maybe later, you could ask for that game you've had your eye on...

A plate of fresh, hot pancakes is put in front of you before you can fully finish that thought, and you search in the cutlery drawer for the ice cream scoop.

"Leave the tub out for me."

"Will do." You reply.

You prepare your plate and set it down at the dining table, digging in as he finishes making his pancakes. When he finally sits next to you, you're halfway through your stack, already getting full. You watch him pick up his fork and knife, ready to cut off a piece, but instead, he just stops, eyes empty as they focused on the vanilla scoop slowly melting. Seconds tick by, and he still doesn't move, unaware of the time passing, or you watching him.

You suppose you could blame your lack of sleep on what you did next, or perhaps that innate sense of mischief that all little siblings are born with, but in your heart, you know better. Nothing could be as disturbing as watching your brother silently stew in whatever internal misery he was in.

So, without thinking, you scoop up some of the melting ice cream on your fingers and smear it on his nose.

His eyes went wide in shock and his body tensed when he realized what you had done. The rapidly melting dessert threatened to drip down his nose as he sat, and another painful moment of tension passed between you two.

Maybe that wasn't the best idea.

Before you can apologize, his face cracks into a small grin, empty eyes filling with much-needed warmth. You let out a breath as your shoulders relax, relieved at the familiar sight. He takes a small dollop of now melting ice cream from his nose and tastes it before he speaks.

"Didn't I teach you not to play with your food?"

"Not well enough, it seems." You quip back.

Then, with a mounting sense of horror, you watch him pick up a much bigger glob of ice cream off his plate as his smile turns into a devious smirk.

"I guess I was never the best role model, was I?"

Before he can smear the food over your face, you jump out of your chair and run to the opposite end of the kitchen where he gives chase. The two of you run around the house, carefree laughter filling the air, without a thought to anything that transpired the night before. Ben always had a way of making you forget your worries.

Everything after that was pretty simple. Ben talked you through the cover story and what your part would be, which basically amounted to "I was asleep when everything happened." That suited you fine, anything that minimized your time talking to the police was welcome. Ben handled most of that as well, spinning a tale about how your father was binge drinking more than usual, and then had up and left in the middle of the night. The only reason Ben hadn't stopped him was that this wasn't out of character for him to just up and leave with no car, no phone, or anything but whatever drink he had.

Which was true, it was a rather annoying habit that had your neighbors side-eyeing your family and complaining to your brother whenever they got the chance. It all seems to have worked out, though, as they provided great testimony when asked by the cops if this was unusual behavior for him.

Where the story differs from reality is that your father always managed to wander home. The way Ben tells it, he left and simply never came back. He had waited so long because he was sure that the man would return sooner or later like he always did, and didn't want to cause trouble when it wasn't necessary. Given your father's reputation, the cops believed him easily.

Soon after, your father was declared missing and your brother was appointed as a consevator on behalf of your missing father, allowing him to manage the house you lived in and pay the bills. He was also granted temporary custody of you, given that he was the only family you had in the area.

As for your home life, things were surprisingly normal.

In terms of your routine, very few things changed after those first few days. Sure, Ben often had to work late now and was more busy filling out paperwork to make sure everything was fine, legal-wise, but it had little effect on your life outside of those first few weeks. You settled back into the routine you had before: wake up late, and spend the day doing whatever you pleased. If Ben wasn't working late, you would both eat dinner before winding down and going to bed. Except now, there was no more waiting for your father coming home, or having to hide in your room and count the days before he leaves again. The peace you felt while openly sitting in the living room, with no obvious threat looming over you, was both exhilarating and disconcerting.

The neighbors seemed to act differently towards you. You would go out to pick up the mail and see them either out walking their dog or sitting on their front porch, taking in the summer sun. You would make eye contact with them and the look they gave you wasn't annoyance, or that vaguely pained look they gave when your father was being particularly loud the previous night. It was odd, some cross between pity and something you couldn't put your finger on at first until you finally connected the dots: suspicion. What if they knew, or at least suspected, that he hadn't just wandered off? Even without any clear evidence, it doesn't take a genius to see why you and your brother would want your father gone. After that, every time a person looked your way, you could feel their hidden disgust at you. They knew what you were and what you had abetted, even if they never said it out loud. Slowly, you stopped going outside, preferring to stay cooped up in the house instead.

Ben didn't mind much, even encouraging your hermit life style. But in all fairness, he didn't seem to mind much these days, always in high spirits, no matter the circumstances. The bad days were good, and the good days were amazing, especially when you both spent them together. The best day for him, though, was when he was appointed temporary custody of you.

After court, he had taken you out to a fancy restaurant in the good part of town and told you to order anything you wanted. It was the first time you held a menu that had lobster on it.

He even has a framed photo from the day hanging up in the hall, like it was some sort of celebratory adoption event, and not the day he was granted temporary custody of you because your father is missing.

But isn't it technically adoption? You know your father isn't coming back, so it only leaves Ben to take care of you. And that's a good thing, right? When you were a child, you had always fantasized about what life would be like if it was just you and your brother living in this house, no parents around. Child you would be jumping for joy, ecstatic about the turn of events. You should be happy, so why is it you can never look at the framed photo without feeling odd?

There was just one questionable development from this event, and that was your brother's habit of visiting the basement more often.

The only reason you knew was because you noticed the door was sometimes left open, and the occasional muddy footprints that would lead down into the basement. They would be cleaned up before you could see them again, leaving you wondering if you had only imagined it.

Your father... the corpse couldn't still be down there, right? What other business could he have down there?

You tried not to think about it too hard. It haunted you anyway.

One night, you had a dream. You were descending the stairs to the basement, flashlight in hand, trying to find something. As you opened the door, a pungent, rotting smell burned your nostrils. For whatever reason, your dream self had continued on, scanning the area, stopping once the frail, white light landed on a dismembered corpse.

You struggled against your dream self, trying to will them to run back up the stairs, but they continued, creeping ever closer to the foul, bloated pile of flesh, until the soles of your shoes were covered in the liquid runoff from the gore.

Suppressing a gag, you bend over, trying to get a better look at the corpse's face, only to see yourself.

That dream left you as scared as you were confused.

The stairs to the basement have always intimidated you for as long as you can remember. The lighting was poor and the stairs were worn, as if they were older then the rest of the house, letting off a creak with every step. The door itself was in bad shape, with paint pealing and a doorknob that couldn't lock half the time. The inside was bare and damp, only functioning as storage for whatever possessions your father, and now your brother, owned that they didn't mind mildewing over.

Though the fear lessened with age, you never had any reason to go down there, so you never had to fully confront it. You had mostly accepted that there was always a small, childish part of you that would be apprehensive of dirty, dark places like basements, and you were mostly fine with it. Unfortunately, recent experience had made it a full blown fear again.

Yet here you were, standing right at the edge of the stairs, debating on whether or not to go down.

You worry your lip, mentally sorting through your options.

On one hand, you had no business going down there. Ben said he would take care of it, and you trusted him, there's no reason to doubt him. But on the other hand, there was no reason for Ben to be going down there so often in the first place. If the body had been removed from the house, then what was he doing? Where was the body? Why had you never seen him enter or leave the basement? Could you just be making this up? But you know you saw the footprints going down there. And yet...

"(Y/N)?"

You startle and quickly turn around only to see your brother behind you, a nervous smile on his face.

"Everything alright?"

Your gaze lowers as you continue to bite your lip. You taste blood. You know you should quit, but a little blood has never stopped you before.

You hear a small sigh before he walks over to you, putting a hand on your shoulder. His attempt at being reassuring, you assume.

"I can't help you if you don't tell me, (Y/N)."

If you weren't so consumed by your anxieties and fears, perhaps you would have thought over your words before blurting them out, but that wasn't in the cards for today.

"Is dad down there?"

You still hadn't looked up, eyes glued to his feet, but you could feel the mood sour ever so slightly. Or maybe you were imagining that too.

His voice came out hushed, but earnest.

"Of course not. What makes you ask that?"

"You've been going down there a lot lately, and you never have before, I just assumed..."

Your voice had gotten quieter as you spoke until it finally died out at the end, the ridiculousness of the statement seeming obvious when you said it out loud. You were making a problem out of what, exactly? Your brother going into the basement a couple of times? Is that really all it took to make you suspicious of him? You feel a lump form in your throat.

He speaks to you, tone even, slow and reassuring, like a parent to an upset child. Your face heats up in shame.

"The water heater hasn't been working right. I've been down there trying to repair it, but I haven't been able to keep it running hot water for more than a couple days at a time, so I have to keep going down to fix it. Do you remember yesterday when you told me something was wrong with the shower?"

You easily recall a memory of yourself taking a shower, the water suddenly going cold. You had got out to go complain to Ben about it. Why hadn't you connected the dots sooner?

You nod, and he gives you an encouraging smile.

"You've had this on your mind for a while, haven't you?"

You nod again, more vigorously as the lump in your throat turns painful, and your lip begins to wobble. You tried to swallow it all down as you began to speak, voice wobbly and frail.

"I've just been so worried, all the neighbors keep giving us funny looks, and I had this dream-"

Your throat closes as you choke over your tears. Without thinking you cover your face, shoulders bunched up as you try to hide yourself. This was stupid, why couldn't you stop crying?

Warm arms wrapped around you, comforting and firm, as put your hair

"It's alright, kid, you're okay."

Without thinking, you hug him back, the comfort too tempting to resist.

"I'm so sorry, (Y/N), I didn't think it would be an issue. If I had known you would of been this upset, I would of told you about it before. I should of known better."

You struggle to repress your sobs as you shake your head and push away just enough to look at him.

"It's not your fault. I was being stupid, I should of said something."

He smiled and nodded, seemingly content with your answer.

"Why don't we go sit down and watch a movie? You can pick it out."

You nod back, and that's enough for him to give your shoulders a squeeze as he moves to let go, but you don't let him.

"Wait."

He looks back, expression encouraging as he waits for you to continue speaking.

"If he's not in the basement, where did you put him?"

His smile stays on his face, but it looks strained. His eyes lose that warmth they had before, an empty quality entering them. You're painfully aware of the fact that you and Ben are the only two left in the house, and how close you are to the basement. A chill runs down your spine.

"Do you really want to know that?"

His hands were still gripping your shoulders, and you had a feeling they would stay there until you gave him the right answer.

"No." You lie.

He lets out a breath, and so do you, both of you relaxing at your submission. His hands fall from your shoulders, going to your back as he guides you away from the basement.

"That's for the best." He says. "You don't need to be worrying about that, alright? That's what I'm here for."

You nod, at a loss for what else to do as he guides you towards the living room.

The next day, you notice a new lock on the basement door. Neither of you comment on it.

[wynnyfryd]

Since you asked so nicely…and I’m nothing if not a giver… Steve very seriously saying to Eddie “That’s rich coming from the guy who tried to kill me less than two hours ago” in whatever scenario your Big Brain can come up with (ily ur amazing btw)

“Can’t believe you let a twelve year old drive off with your car,” Eddie snorts as he tosses another bottle cap into the hole in the floor of the boathouse.

“Can you stop that?” Steve clips. He doesn’t understand why Eddie’s bothering to do it, anyway. It’s too fucking dark to see the caps once they hit the water, but the steady plunk plunk plunk is starting to drive him a little nuts. Eddie is starting to drive him a little nuts.

You have to stay with him, Steve.

No one else is strong enough to protect him if someone comes looking for him, Steve.

Goddamn horseshit, is what it is.

Without Eddie’s little game of toss, the boathouse is… really creepy, actually. All creaking wood and nocturnal animal noises and Eddie’s shaky, rattling breaths.

“She’s fourteen,” Steve says to fill the silence he regrets asking for.

“Huh?”

“Max. She’s fourteen, not twelve.”

Eddie scoffs, lets his head drop again, hiding behind a curtain of hair. He brings a strand up to his mouth, mumbles, “Like that makes it any better.”

Okay, you know what? Steve doesn’t need this. He just does not need this. Not from the fully grown drug-dealing goth weirdo he’s being forced to babysit.

Seriously, who is Eddie Munson to go questioning his judgement when he’s trying to do the guy a fucking favor?

“That’s rich coming from the guy who tried to kill me less than two hours ago,” he bites, rubbing at the spot on his neck where the jagged glass pressed in.

“Oh, fuck off, man,” Eddie rolls his eyes. “I didn’t try to fuckin’- I wouldn’t… w-wouldn’t-”

Oh, no. Goddammit.

Eddie’s eyes go all wide and wet, his lip quivering around the word ‘kill,’ and Steve can just hear his mother tutting about his lack of decorum. The boy just witnessed a murder, Steven.

“Shit, man, Eddie, I’m-”

Eddie makes this sound — this pathetic thing, stuttering and damp, like mildew in his lungs, and his cheeks burn red as a tear tips over his lashes. Shit.

Shit.

“Hey,” Steve tries, reaching out to clap a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, but Eddie rears back, voice cracking as he snaps, “Don’t touch me!”

Eyes hot. Breath wet and heaving.

Steve’s gonna get decked for this.

“I’m- just… Just come here, man,” Steve says, wrapping an arm around Eddie, pulling him in, and Eddie folds like crumpled paper, collapses into Steve’s side and sobs, shaking them both so violently that Steve scoots them back a little from the edge of the hole in the floor just to be safe. He wraps Eddie up with both arms, and Eddie slumps down into his lap, and they’re-

Jesus. They’re cuddling. Steve Harrington is cuddling with Eddie Munson. What the fuck. What the fuck?

“You’re okay,” Steve murmurs, rocking them gently and brushing damp curls out of Eddie’s eyes, because, like. Might as well, right? This is already so weird.

[perkypeony]

𝕊ℍ𝔸𝕋𝕋𝔼ℝ𝔼𝔻

Gojo Satoru x wife reader

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ᴀɴɢsᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ(ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ), ᴛʀᴀᴜᴍᴀ, ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀʏ ʟᴏss, ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴅɪsᴛʀᴇss, ᴘᴛsᴅ, sᴜᴋᴜɴᴀ

The moment Gojo Satoru was unsealed from the prison realm, the world felt gloomy. He was free, but the sight before him was anything but welcoming. His wife—the love of his life, his biggest supporter—lay on the ground, she was a ghost of the woman he missed so dearly.

Her body was bruised and battered, her clothes torn and bloodstained. Her eyes, once so full of life, were now vacant, staring blankly ahead. As he approached, his heart shattered at the sight of her broken form.

"My love, it's me," he whispered, his voice trembling. He reached out to touch her, but she flinched violently, a guttural scream escaping her lips. The sound tore through him like a blade, raw and agonizing.

Her eyes darted around wildly, unfocused and filled with terror. She let out choked sobs, clutching her head as if trying to block out some unseen horror.

"It's okay," he tried to soothe you, holding back his own tears from falling freely. "I'm here now. You're safe."

But she didn't hear him. She couldn't. Her mind was lost in the abyss of pain and fear. She looked at him then, her eyes catching his cerulean blue eyes for a fleeting moment. There was a flicker of something—recognition, perhaps—but it was gone as quickly as it came.

"Do you remember me?" he asked, desperation seeping into his voice. But she only shook her head, her expression one of sheer panic and confusion. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, a heart-wrenching wail echoed through the silence.

Satoru reached out again, trying to comfort her, but she struggled against him, her movements frantic and desperate. "No, no, please!" she screamed, her voice cracking with the intensity of her fear. Her hands pushed weakly against his chest, her nails digging into his skin as she tried to get away.

"It's me, Satoru," he repeated, his heart breaking with every sob that escaped her lips. "I would never hurt you."

But his words seemed to fall on deaf ears. She continued to struggle, her body writhing in his grasp as she fought to free herself from an imagined threat. It was only after several agonizing minutes that her strength began to wane. Exhaustion overtook her, and her struggles grew weaker, her cries becoming soft, pitiful whimpers.

Finally, she collapsed against him, her body shaking with silent sobs. Satoru held her tightly, his dam of tears finally broke. With painstaking gentleness, he lifted her into his arms. She was light, too light as if the essence of her had been drained away. "I'll take care of you," he vowed, his voice breaking. "I promise."

Satoru brought her to see Shoko and only right then he knew what happened to his wife. She was gone after Sukuna took over Megumi's body. Nobody witnessed Sukuna kidnap her but judging by her current state, it might be true. Whatever Sukuna had done to her, it had twisted her mind beyond recognition. Shoko advised Satoru to seek out professionals, as this is not her field. Shoko spoke of symptoms of PTSD and its treatments, but all Satoru could see was the shell of his beloved wife.

Days blurred into nights as he sat by her side, his heart aching with every sob, every flinch. He tried to comfort her, to remind her of who she was, but it was like reaching for a ghost. She would stare at him with eyes that saw nothing, lost in her own torment.

One particularly cold night, she awoke screaming, her body shaking with uncontrollable terror. Satoru held her, his own tears mingling with hers. He tried to hold back his tears, determined to be strong for her. However, he is the weakest when it comes to his wife, his heart can't bear seeing her suffering. "It's okay, it's just a nightmare," he whispered, though he knew her waking reality was far worse.

She pushed him away, crawling into a corner of the room, her eyes wide with fear. "Don't touch me!" she cried, her voice raw and broken. "Please, don't hurt me!"

The words cut deeper than any blade. "I would never hurt you," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I love you."

But she couldn't hear him. Her mind was trapped in the horrors Sukuna had inflicted, and there was no reaching her. She looked at him, her eyes filled with such profound sorrow and fear that it took everything in him not to break down completely.

He took her hand gently, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. She flinched, but this time, she didn't pull away. "I'm not him," he said softly. "I'm Satoru. Your husband."

She looked at him, confusion tarnishing her features. "Satoru?" she repeated, the name foreign on her lips. "I... I don't remember."

His heart clenched painfully. "It's okay," he said, though it was anything but. "We'll get through this. Together."

But the days were long and the nights even longer. She was a ghost, haunted by memories too painful to recall and too traumatic to forget. Every step forward was met with a stumble back. Her laughter was a distant memory, her smiles a rarity.

One day, as the sun set, painting the sky in hues of red and gold, he took her to a secluded spot they once loved. She sat beside him, silent and trembling. "We used to come here all the time," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You loved watching the sunset."

She turned to him, her eyes reflecting the fading light. For a moment, just a moment, he saw a glimpse of the woman he fell in love with. "It's beautiful," she whispered, her voice fragile.

"It is," he agreed, his heart breaking all over again. "Just like you."

But as the sun dipped below the horizon, the moment passed. She looked away, lost once more in the darkness of her mind. He reached out, taking her hand in his. "I love you," he said, hoping against hope that some part of her remembered.

Tears filled her eyes, and she looked at him with a sorrow so deep it felt like drowning. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I still don't remember who you are."

The words were a dagger to his heart. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as if he could somehow piece her back together. "It's not your fault," he said, his voice breaking. "None of this is your fault."

Sukuna had hoped to break him, to shatter him as he had shattered her. But instead, Satoru found a fierce, burning resolve. He would not let this destroy them. He would fight for her, for the woman she was and the woman she could be again.

Every day was a battle, but he fought it willingly, with all his heart. Because no matter how broken she is, she's still his wife, his love, his everything. And he would spend every moment proving that love could heal, even the deepest wounds.

[cookie-crumblr]

Can I request bully Ezra with a crybaby fem reader with separation anxiety

Yusssss!!! <3<3<3 this sounds actually so cute, like if innocent reader would have went along with it, i think this would have been the best way to really get to him too!!!

F! Crybaby Reader x Bully Yandere OC

!!!MINORS DNI!!!

CW: F!Reader, reader referred to as she/her, reader has a vagina, degradation(little slut, slut, ) dacraphylia, gunshot, dacryphilia, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, size kink

Status: Dating<3

Ezra gets up to leave the booth you’re sat in, and you grab the hem of his shirt, your already watery eyes downcast.

“What is it, slut?” He brings some rough, silver ring covered fingers to your face and tilts your chin up roughly.

He’s wearing a white button down, his sleeves rolled up to just below the elbows.

The veins in his forearm arm bulge, and you flinch before you quickly let go, and then answer defensively, “Sorry! I just don’t want you to go…” tears brim your eyelids.

“Aw, my little slut misses me already?” He squeezes your jaw a little tighter and jostles your head playfully. As he leans down closer to you, his other arm snakes behind you over the top of the booth.

Your heart thumps loudly in your chest. Yes!

He brought you to a pub earlier and was just about to ditch you here. “I’ll be right back, if you can keep it together for me, I’ll reward you.” He smiles at your pouty expression. No!

You watch his broad back as he leaves.

You’re sitting there in the booth alone, shaking to your bones with anxiety, trying to keep any stray tears from sneaking their way out of you. When you hear the *pop* of a gun just outside. Your body jumps and continues after that to shake violently like a chihuahua.

You think for a second about running out there, Ezra might be hurt! But you can’t. You know he’s fine… He has to be.

Soon enough, a blood splattered, six foot nine, strawberry blonde walks back into the pub, his two guys behind him.

He sits back down next to you, arm returning above your head behind you and his other now gripping your thigh. “Sit boys, I have a treat for all of you,” He tells his gang members while staring into your eyes.

Your insides flutter.

You lean forward and hug him around his mid section. He shoves you off of him quickly and looks away.

You smile to yourself, satisfied for the moment.

His grip tightens and you yelp and jump in the booth. “Eep!”

“Hah, I love when you make those stupid slutty noises,” Ezra purrs into your hair, his hand now wrapping around your shoulders and finding your chest.

He helps himself down your collar, and pulls your tit out, putting it on display as he massages it with his big rough fingers.

“You’re such a pretty little slut,” He coos.

He’s being so nice… Tears start falling freely now from your eyes and you sniffle as your insides continue to melt, and flow and pull toward his touches like the tide to the moon.

“That’s my pretty little slut, cry for me,” He roughly slaps your exposed mound, and then pinched your nipple, pulling on it as he does.

“Owww!” You writhe until the hand on your chest moves up to your jaw and locks you in place. His muscular arm is wrapped around behind your neck. He shakes you, and you sob.

“Keep crying,” the words rumble in his throat.

He enraptures your mouth with his own, your mind hazing as his tongue dances with your own.

The hand on your thigh roams to your pants button, and undoes that, and then the zipper fast after. His assault finds your swollen bud instantly, and he pulls his hand as far away as your tight pants allow and slaps your pussy a few times rapidly.

His fingers find your hole through your panties and he grabs them and yanks them to the side before diving into you.

His hand is pressed so tightly to you it feels like his palm is suctioned to your mound. He shakes his hand as his fingers continue to pump inside you.

He pulls away from you, fully removing himself and you hold your arms up to cover yourself and let more tears fall.

You feel so cold and empty so quickly from the warmth previous.

He on the other hand, was freeing his cock for you and getting ready to plop you down onto your throne. You can’t see that though through your heavy tears.

“Ezra…?”

“I’m here slut,” He gently picks you up under your arms and puts you over his lap. He puts you down a little ways first to pull your pants down far enough for access. Then he picks you up again and you press your hands onto the table to help.

He lowers you onto his member, letting it spear you open slowly. By the time he’s fully sheathed, he already bouncing you.

He pulls down your shirt so that both your tits are out now. They bounce roughly with your body.

The pressure inside you is too much with the force he slams you down, you feel like a fleshlight.

“Ezraaa!” You sob, “Kiss me…please?” You say in a desperate voice.

He flips you over in his lap, forcing a leg over his lap and then onto the leather and bent beside him. You straddle him, because he’s so tall it’s easier to kiss him, even in this position. You hold onto his shirt as if he’d disappear if you let go even just a little. The table is digging into your back harshly scrapping at you through your shirt.

Ezra’s mouth finds yours, he’s delicious, it’s a flavor that’s all his own, it’s comforting, mixed with a contradicting tenderness to his character… Like he’s really sharing an intimate part of himself with you just by kissing you.

His dick finally hits that spot that has you crying out at a volume that has any other patron that wasn’t looking before, aware of what you’re doing in that booth.

He pulls out and cums all over your stomach, while rubbing against your body.

You bury your face into his shoulder and nuzzle his neck.

Instead of pushing you off like normal, he just turns his blushing face away from you and tries to act nonchalantly. You giggle, happy and warm.

[jaegerrb0mb]

Even if it hurts <3

Note: this is hot garbage I wrote half asleep listening to cigarettes after sex. I never wrote angst b4 so thought I’d give it a try. (I never read it back either, heeelp 😭)

Summary: katsuki bakugou has to end things with his gf of two years.

Warnings: none I can think of¿

Pairing: katsuki bakugou x fem reader

"Listen, I love you, I really do, but with the way my grades are slipping, I need to focus on my hero work now more than ever. I just want you to understand that," his voice is calmer than usual. You feel tears drip on your clothing and look down at that.

You didn't even notice you were crying.

"But I don't want to lose you," biting at your lip to hold back a sob bubbling up your throat, you watch Katsuki through blurred vision as he shifts uncomfortably on his bed, Now avoiding eye contact with you.

When he texted you to come to his dorm room, this was the last thing you'd ever expected. But deep down, never wanting to admit it, you saw it coming, just not so soon.

"Y/n…" his voice trails off, fearing that if he looks at you crying, he might breakdown himself. "I don't wanna do this either, I'm not tryna be a jerk, but right now it's for the best. You'll thank me in the future when we're both top her-" cutting himself off when he hears you stifling, he closes his eyes tightly.

This hurts him just as much. It's impossible to hide it, yet trying to keep composed, he continues. "You're not losing me, I'm right here and I'll always be here for you. After graduation, if things go how I hope, I'll take you back in a heartbeat. I can guarantee that much." These words echo in your mind as the room falls into silence, the only sound being your hiccups and soft sniffles. It remains that way for a minute or so.

"Y/n," his voice croaks as he turns his attention to you, but the sight brings such a violent pain in his chest he didn't know was possible, almost like there was a knife twisting that he couldn't remove. He has to tear his eyes away once more, looking at anything else but you. He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it.

"Two years... we've been together for two years, Suki," the sound of his name falling from your trembling lips burns his ears, and he knows whatever you say next will haunt him after.

"But I'll never call it a waste because loving you was the best thing I've ever done," you sobbed. Your throat feels swollen and stuttered as you try to speak the words in your head. "I'll respect your choice, even if it hurts. As long as you're happy and fine with this decision, then I'll be happy and fine with it. And that's all I ever wanted for you after all, to be happy." Tears roll down your cheeks as you try to put on a smile.

Katsuki's stomach turns as you finish. Everything in his being is yelling at him to take it all back, to tell you 'it doesn't have to end like this, we can work through it together.' However, he knows that's not true. He wishes it was, but he can't take on this relationship and his career at once. He tried to make ends meet, but it didn't work. He knows this is what has to happen. It has to be one or the other, and you know that as well. And god, does it hurt. His head is spinning and he feels sick. Katsuki never knew he could feel physical pain from something like this before, up until now.

A soft hand brushing against his cheeks reels him out of his thoughts. Looking up, he sees your puffy eyes and tear-stained face wiping away at his own. "We're gonna be okay, Bakugou."

You press a soft kiss on his lips, pulling away slightly and whispering against them. "Promise." His hand goes up to wipe away your own tears, and you let him. You both sit in silence, crying and basking in each other's touch one last time before you move away.

Making your way off his bed and to the door, you grab the handle hesitantly for a second before leaving.

As soon as you do, he quickly buries his head into his pillow, letting out an uncontrollable sob, finally breaking down. You hear it in the hallway, only making you cry harder as you walk further.

Both of you are heavy-hearted.

[igotanidea]

Voices: Jason Todd x reader

Dreaming was good.

Dreaming was nothing less of a perfect when she could feel his warm body next to her. The strong, protective embrace of his arms wrapped around her.

Or even if they got into a fight and were angry at each other - it was calming knowing that Jason was right beside, just a touch away. Even if he flinched and scoffed at the gentle move of her fingers on his back or shoulders. sooner or later he always relented and they worked through whatever shit was going on.

Together.

But dreaming was not always good.

Not when she woke up in the middle of the night, brutally torn from the very vivid and very real nightmare of Jason's dead, lifeless body in her arms. His blood on her hands and face. His empty, cold eyes. His emotionless face.

NO!!

The jolt was so sudden that even her cat, sleeping peacefully in the foot of the bed run away form her, leaving poor girl completly alone.

alone.

Going to bed alone. Every night.

Waking up alone. Every morning.

Deprived of his touch, his kisses, his love and affection.

Any affection.

And maybe she was acting like a whiny baby, but she needed him with her. Not out there. Not fighting crime lords or whatever villain might have shown his face at Gotham.

3 am....

Please come back home....

4 am,

5 am.....

Was he injured? Was he bleeding, hurt, scared? Maybe he took off running? Maybe he got back together with one of his exes? Artemis? Kori? Rose?

Maybe she wasn;t good enough for him? Maybe he realised he actually wanted some badass vigilante chick with toned muscles, sharp tongue, fiery attitude? Maybe he wanted someone hot?

She wasn't hot.

She was a wimp, shuddering in the cold, empy bed desperately craving her boyfriend presence. Be it bruised or in bad mood, but please --

Please come home.

I'll be better, I'll do better, I'll improve.

I'll be what you want me to be, just please don't leave me.

So far from what a modern woman should be, right? Codependent, fragile, weak, vulnerable, pathetic.

Or maybe just in love with a vigilante.

How did it happen that she got from worrying about him to questioning her whole lonely exsistence in 10 minutes?

He doesn;t want you.

You're ugly.

You're fat.

You're unnatractive.

You really thought he would stay with you? did you already imagine the real-life play-pretend with him? White dress? Picket white fence? Familiy?

You stupid little girl.

He doesn;t want you, he never wanted you, he won't ever want you.

"SHUT UP!!!" she cried out in frustration, tears rolling down her face as her demons started to prey on her like on a Goya painting "Shut up! shut up! shut up!" she shook violently.

"Are you talking to me now?" a familiar voice and the sound of discarded red helmet echoed in her head "Damn Y/N! If there's anything you learned during those years it's definitely developing a good hearing-- Baby?" Jason became alarmed the second he took in her state. "Baby? Y/N? What happened? WHO HURT YOU?!"

It was impossible for Jason to keep his cool when he saw her crying. The first thought popping into his head being someone did something to her. Someone caused this. And the fact that it was 5 a.m. and most people were sleeping and that there was no one but them in their apartment slipped his mind, clouded by the incoming wave of rage

"Give me the name baby.' he took a few step forwards, kneeling on the floor next to bed and cupping her chin forcing her eyes on him "tell me who did this to you."

"You did!" she sobbed

"I--" holy fuck! In his blinding fury and the sudden need for revenge he didn't realise she could be sheding those crocodlie tears because of him.

"Why are you leaving me?" she sobbed

"Why am I --?" Y/N was not making any sense right now "I'm not--"

"Liar!" the girl yelled with surprising strength given her fragile state "You think she's hot, don't you?"

"Who?"

"Your ex!"

"My ex? Y/N, princess, why don't you calm down and--"

"I AM COMPLETLY CALM!" now Jason was almost sure that the neighbours were already up, ready to impale them both on pitchforks and uncovering his secret identity.

"Ok, ok, baby..." he raised his hands in surrender, observing her every move and slightest change in face expression.

This was new. This was something he wasn;t entirely sure of how to proceed with. Out of all the opponents he had to fight never in his mind would he thought that his girlfiriend would be the most challenging.

Was this an attack of hysteria? A panic attack? An anxiety fit?

Jason was way too familiar with all that.

What if it was him? What would she do if he woke up in the middle of the night, jittery for no particular reason? What could possibly be helpful?

And then it dawned on him.

And it all happened at once.

Bed dipping, his weight on her, his hands on her body, his breath on her face and the all-encompasing smell of blood, gunpowder and cigatettes.

Soft caress of her hair.

Gentle peck on her nose.

Developing too fast to give her any time to object, not that she wanted to.

"I got you." he whispered pulling her closer to his chest, not caring about the bruise that was already forming on his right side and that cut on his forearm. She was more important now. "I got you, baby, I got you..." he kissd her forehead warming and calming her by the mass of muscles and bythe rapid but steady beating of his heart.

she was still shaking but the firm yet gentle grip on her refused to let go untill it all subsided. Steading her, anchoring her in reality. Helping her realise that whatever her traitorous mind suggested had nothing to do with actuallity. Even if it took days, weeks, years, Jason was not going to move, keeping her pinned to his chest until being full certain she was back to him, having her full attention.

"Do you think I'm ugly....?" she muttered causing him to laugh, the movement of his body causing vibrations.

"I think you should get some proper rest. Otherwise the next thing you're going to ask me is going to be that "if i was a worm..." question."

"Bbut if I was a worm would you--?"

"Hush, woman!" he cut her off with the cheesiest smile "I had a rough night and need to sleep. Which means you are stuck with me for as long as I please."

"are you--?"

"I said, hush woman." he tightened the hold on her, preventing her from squirming and moving too far. "you're my body pillow now, accept your fate."

"are you hurt?" she whispered

"I'm perfect." he whispered back, closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

Making all the hateful voices in her head shut up. Bringing in the silence and peace.

But the talk he was going to give her in the morning would be a capital letter one.

Ugly.

Huh. She had no idea what measures he was going to resort to proving her wrong...

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 72

Part 1 Part 71

They’re in the Upside-Down, but it barely registers. Because Steve’s here now, and his eyelids are still twitching as smoke spirals into his mouth and nose as he shakes like he’s suffocating.

Will screams, taking a step away before Eddie latches onto his hand, hard enough that his knuckles creak. “No!” he yells, barely audible past the sound of wind rushing by their ears. “Don’t let go of him!”

Will squeezes Eddie’s hand back, pushing the tops of his fingers into Steve’s cheek while he inches forward to snatch Steve’s slack hand. “I’ve got him!”

Eddie drops his hand, freeing Will while he keeps his other hand on Steve’s throat. Still holding on, Will turns, looking up at the thing he hadn’t been able to even catch a glimpse of from the floor of Steve’s closet.

It’s bigger than he imagined. So big it’s entirely blocked out the red of the sky. So big, if it has a face, he can’t see it. One of the thing’s legs is raised toward them, smoke spiraling off of it and around Steve’s face.

Will grabs his hand and pulls, trying to get him away from the looming threat, hoping to get him a breath of fresher air. His feet don’t even budge.

“Eddie!” he screams, over the sound of smoke spiraling by and his own blood pounding through his ears. “What do we do?”

Eddie doesn’t look away from where he’s staring at Steve’s face, mouth moving but whatever he’s saying, it’s too quiet for Will to hear. Will stares at him, waiting, hoping. He squeezes Steve’s hand, desperate to provide comfort in this situation that lacks any comfort at all.

He can’t hear the slap of Eddie’s hand against Steve’s cheek, but it’s hard enough to send his head to the side. When nothing happens, Eddie does it again. Then he’s screaming. “Don’t fucking do this to me again!” Eddie yells, a hand at his throat, the other on his cheek. It’s intimate enough that Will feels like he should look away. He doesn’t.

Eddie caresses Steve’s cheek, moving his hand over Steve’s mouth and hands, trying to suffocate him more gently than the looming monster is. But, the tendrils of smoke trickle past his hand, entering Steve anyway. Eddie starts crying, big, racking sobs that are audible past the everything of this terrible moment.

“Eddie?” Will calls, terrified suddenly that this is the moment he loses them both. His connection to Steve is already dimming, fading into smoke. He doesn’t know what’ll happen if Eddie’s starts fading too.

Steve’s barely moving at all anymore, like there’s no room in him for movement anymore – just smoke. “Eddie, please,” he calls, reaching out for the hem of his vest before it’s yanked out of his hand.

He turns, wide-eyed, ready to face the thing, mouth squeezed shut to keep the smoke out. But it’s not smoke he sees. It’s Mike, looking horrified, warm hand squeezing Will’s wrist painfully.

He’s back.

Will whips his head back around, hope blooming violently in his lungs. But, Steve’s still just standing there, eyes fluttering, Eddie similarly motionless, hand on Steve’s neck. He can still feel them, but Steve’s connection is dimming, tarnished compared to Eddie’s shining light.

He doesn’t think, just acts. His arms are around Eddie’s waist, his friends shouting behind him as he pulls Eddie away with all his might. Eddie stumbles back, just enough that his hand breaks free as he gasps back to life.

Will’s tether to Steve flickers in and out, like Eddie’s presence by his side had been the only thing keeping him anchored in this world at all. Eddie must feel it too, the “no!” wrenched from his throat sounds like jagged glass. “Fuck you!”

He hears the slap loud and clear this time. It’s sharp and stinging enough to send Will stumbling back into Mike’s arms. He barely notices the holds warmth because Steve’s head whips to the side hard enough that the momentum sends him to the ground.

Eddie follows him down, body still wracked with sobs as he crouches over Steve, who’s kneeling awkwardly on the ground, hands fisted into the grass. But Steve’s eyes are open, and he’s holding his own cheek like it hurts. “Did you just slap me, dude?” he asks.

Eddie lunges, tackling Steve fully to the ground and wrapping his arms around him, ignoring his litany of, “ow, ow, ow’s” to bury his face into Steve’s neck. His face is hidden, but his shoulders are still shaking.

“Uh,” Steve says, looking down at him, absolutely bewildered. “There, there.” He runs his fingers through Eddie’s hair, grimacing when he gets caught on a tangle.

The sight of the pair of them crumpled together on the ground is getting far too familiar for Will’s liking. He never wants to see it again, would give up a lot for it, in fact. But, as he drops to his knees, hands hovering over both their broad backs, he knows in the marrow of his bones that this isn’t the end.

Something had its clutches in Steve, and he could feel it still, even now, in the way his connection is dimmed and murky, but blessedly still there. He’d seen it entering Steve, and he doubted it’d be leaving without a fight. Whatever it is.

Still, Will lets himself be pulled between Steve and Eddie’s bodies, uncaring of the spectacle they’re making in front of the school, ignoring the badgering of his friends behind him. He smashes his face into Steve’s chest hard enough to hurt and hopes this moment will last forever.

Part 73

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @wonderland-girl143-blog @nerdsconquerall

[shaybreezy-17]

More Than Friends (Zoro x Reader)

some more short lil one shot action of the worlds sexiest greatest swordsman 😉😋. enjoy! <3

(*TW: explicit/sexual language/content*)

It had been almost a month since the day you confessed your feelings to Zoro. Things went downhill between the two of you after that…

Since then, he had completely shut you out of his life, avoiding you any chance he got. He couldn’t even stand to be in the same room with you, besides during meals, and sometimes not even then.

You casually walked around the Sunny before deciding that Zoro was probably in the Crows Nest.

As you made your way up the ropes and the ladder, you felt your heartbeat speed up.

You slowly crept behind him, hoping you wouldn’t have to face him just yet.

He had his back turned to you, drenched in sweat, lifting a loaded barbell.

You mustered up the courage to speak once he put the barbell down, “H-hey, Zo?”

He flinched at the sound of your voice. “I was just finishing my workout. Gonna head out now.” He began to put the workout equipment away, never looking in your direction.

You felt tears welling up in your eyes, but you fought hard to hold them back, biting your lip so hard you began to taste blood. Not again…

“Oh, okay.” You paused, “I was just, uh, hoping that we could talk about what I told you a couple wee-“

He cut you off, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “We don’t, there’s no need.”

You stood there. There really was no getting through to him…

You felt a lump form in your throat but you mustered up the courage to retaliate a sour response. “Alright well, I just thought I should let you know that I no longer like you so you don’t need to worry about that anymore.”

Without even uttering a reply, he walked right past you towards the exit. Tears began to fall down your face the minute your face was out of his sight, but you remained silent so he wouldn’t hear you cry.

He disappeared down the hatch, presumably down the ladder. Without turning around, or moving a muscle, you let yourself go.

You began to sob violently as no one would hear your pain and suffering up here in the Crows Nest anyway.

An array of things went through your mind. You felt so ridiculous for exaggerating like this, but it was how you felt. Weeks of bottling up the sadness of not being by Zoros side like you were as friends forced this reaction out of you and you couldn’t help it…

You wished you’d never tried to be more than that, just friends.

You buried your face in your hands, praying the visual of pure darkness would silence your thoughts.

As you tried to catch your breath, you felt a pair of calloused hands touch your bare shoulders. You were too afraid to turn around, shutting your eyes in fear. You felt so embarrassed that someone might’ve heard your little breakdown a moment ago…

A pair of muscular arms wrapped around your body, as you were being enveloped in a hug from behind.

“Do you really like me that much?” A voice spoke huskily. Not just any voice. You recognized it anywhere- Zoros.

You felt butterflies explode in your stomach for a moment before you remembered he’d been ignoring you for almost a month…

Wiggling out of his grasp, you turned around and shoved him with all your might. He didn’t move a muscle…

“What was that for?” He clutched his chest, pretending to be wounded. “Where’s this hostility coming from?”

You shoved him again. “You’re a real asshole, you know that?” And again. “Since you didn’t seem to hear me the first time, I said I don’t fucking like you anymore. Not after you pushed me away all month.”

He grabbed your wrists. “Oh come on! It was like two weeks.”

“Three to be exact!” You retorted, clear frustration in your tone.

“I was gonna say “who’s counting?” but clearly you were, stalker.” He smirked, still grasping your wrists.

You shook your arms, trying to break free, to no avail. “I’m not even stalking you, idiot! Now let me go, you’re hurting me.”

The smirk disappeared off his face and he immediately let you loose. He began to rub your wrists, muttering a quick “sorry”.

“Just leave me alone, okay?” You spoke softly, indicating your newfound defeat. “I didn’t need you to come back here out of pity when you heard me crying.”

His eyes met yours, a pained expression on his face. “Y/N… I’m just not good with this sort of stuff, feelings or whatever, but I didn’t come out of pity. I came back because I care, stupid.”

“Neither am I, Zo.” You replied, cupping his cheek. “I guess I just wanted to get better at it with you but you didn’t even give me a chance, dork.”

“Look, even if I did feel the same way about you and wanted to give this a shot, I’m lost…” His cheeks turned a light shade of pink at your touch and a sense of desperation filled his tone. “Tell me what I need to do, Y/N.”

The neediness in his voice was enough to push you over the edge. “For now just kiss me, you idiot.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and his arms instinctively found your waist, pulling you in for his lips to meet yours. He kissed you aggressively, showing your tongue no mercy. You didn’t know he could express this much passion for something other than sword fighting, unless the one going on in your mouth still counted.

Oblivious to you, Zoro had been actively avoiding you because when you admitted your feelings for him, you sparked something within him for you he didn’t know was there.

When you told him you liked him, he pondered on how much time the two of you had been spending lately. He couldn’t help but realize that he was happy whenever you were around whether it was the two of you sharing a drink or two, or the surge of confidence your presence gave him whenever you watched him workout because he couldn’t bare to let you watch him fail a set.

You broke the kiss, gasping for air. It had made you both absolutely feral. Staring into each others eyes, he picked you up and backed you up against the wall, letting you wrap your legs around his torso for extra support.

“You can call me a stalker again, but I might’ve dreamed of this moment once or twice…” You chuckled.

He grinned, thinking about how he dreamt and fantasized about you an ungodly amount of times throughout these three weeks. “Yeah, well, you were in a few of my nightmares. Tried to kill me every single time.”

“Oh shut up, dick.” You rolled your eyes playfully. “I knew you liked me the minute you let me get you in the bath.”

“I-Eh?” He glared at you in genuine confusion, “What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“You despise baths but you’d take one with me whenever I asked,” You smirked and leaned in inches away from his face, “That’s when I knew I had ya.”

He leaned in even closer. Your lips were practically touching and the anticipation was sending waves of adrenaline through your body.

His gaze deepened, “Yeah? Well I knew I had you a moment ago, when you were sobbing over me.”

“Nothing you say can knock me off my high horse when I’m giving you a raging boner right now.” You sassed back.

His face went from pink to red as a tomato. “H-how the hell? I’m literally carrying you around my waist, there’s no way you felt that!”

“That kiss we just had.” You giggled, finally having the courage you needed to catch him off guard, “That and- just thought you’d wanna fuck me as bad as I want you to right now."

Without hesitation, he licked his lips as he began to fumble with his waistband, holding you up with his other hand.

“Wha-What are you doing?” You stuttered nervously, looking down at the hard penis that sprung out of his pants. “We really doing this?!”

Your stomach turned in knots at the nervousness, but you felt your pussy getting wet at the sight of it, nonetheless.

“You know me, I never miss out on a good challenge.” He began to lift up your dress, letting his arousal towards you overcome him, “Oi, got any panties under there?”

You shook your head ‘no’, silently thanking your past self for being delusional enough to ditch the undergarments on the off-chance that Zoro came to terms with his undying love for you and decided to fuck your brains out… which was actually about to happen now…

“Good.” He flashed you one last devilish grin as he aligned his thick cock directly below your already soaking pussy, slowly lowering you on to him, “They would’ve just got in my damn way.”

[theblueflower05]

Lo’ak choking me while my vision doubles and he’s fucking me hard rubbing my clit , super overstimulated on my 3rd orgasm as I whimper 😢 and he praises me telling me how good I am ughhhh!!!!!

I’m starting to believe, in my heart of hearts, that Lo’ak might be the best sexual partner out of all the ATWOW boys.

Before you come for my throats about this just hear me outtttt

Smut under the cut!

Lo’ak likes to please, it’s in his nature. He’s always felt like such a fuck up- so in the areas he knows he can impress someone in? Oh, he’s going full out.

It takes a minute to get to know your body, the exploration full of hot kisses and fumbling touches but once he hones in on what you like, he’s like a man possessed.

He wants you dumb on his cock for the rest of his life and will pull any dirty trick to get you there. Most of the time you’re whining about how you have to get your duties done, you’re already late- and your mate is just sinking his long fingers into you and mouthing at your neck.

Lo’ak doesn’t do quickies, he knows they’re not going to get either of you off. Not really.

Your body is an instrument and it needs to be warmed up before he truly plays with it. He loves lapping at your puffy folds and fingering your holes until you’re squirming. Foreplay is an integral part of sex for him.

You’re two orgasms deep before he even sinks his length into you. He prefers you on your back, legs wide open so that he can fit in between them. He can watch your face the whole time he has you.

It’s madness, your lovemaking.

To an outsider looking in it would look violent. The way he fucks you is painfully good.

His five fingered hand wraps around your svelte throat, just enough pressure to have you wheezing around every moan. You cling to his wrist but make no movement to pull him of.

He love you like this; loves that you trust him enough to give your body to him so freely. You need to be fucked out of your own head every once in a while and your dutiful mate has no problem getting you there.

“Lo-Lo-Lo ah I can’t” you gurgle as your pussy begins to burn, stretched so wide around his cock, the stirrings of another orgasm builds low in your groin.

He chuckles, tips of his white canines gleaming, as his other hand reaches down to start working at your hardened nub in firm little jabs.

He tears you down to base instincts. You lose your sense of self when Lo’aks inside of you.

Even though you’re seeing double, the pleasure and the lack of air making it hard for your eyes to focus, all you can look at his him. He’s beautiful as he works you over.

When you come for the third time you’re full on sobbing. Harsh little sounds that have Lo’ak cradling you to his chest before the aftershocks even subside.

“Hey, shh” he coos, the hand that had been pressed to your throat now rubs soothing circles on your back. “Don’t cry, my paskalin”

You’re not even sure if he’s come too, but he takes care of you. Cradles you and whispers the sweetest nothings in your sensitive ears.

You’re his woman, such a good woman. You take his cock so well. Eywa has blessed him with you. He’s so in love with you.

So like. Lo’ak is fine FINE right? Omg. Tsireya’s lucky as shit I’m ngl

[mamayan]

OK hear me out

Punishing sub Genya

I love this soft good boy so much but smth about him crying and begging for forgiveness is... Hot... 💜

I am literally screaming I can’t believe I didn’t see this ask sooner, my apologies Nonnie. I was just thinking about how cute he’d beg for forgiveness—

Punishment

Genya Shinazugawa x Fem! Reader

cw: NSFW • Sub! Genya • Dom! Reader • Fem! Reader • Paddling • Spanking • Misuse (or correct use ;) of an obi to make a cock ring • Orgasm Denial/Overstimulation• Dacryphilia • Begging/Whining • Male Squirting • Teasing/Slight Humiliation • Punishment • Fingering (M) • Bondage • Not proof read!

Visible puffs of air fog his face as he looks around, head hung as he drags in as much air as possible. Wrists tied above his head, silk perfectly knotted and holding him up straight, his bare feet planted on the tatami below. Each muscle tensed in anticipation, Genya prepares himself mentally for the blow before it happens.

He can’t truly prepare himself though, not when you tease in between with feather soft touches and kisses always checking in on him. “Doing okay, baby?” Breathing in his ear and making his leaking bruising cock beg for release even harder as it bobs against his abdomen. The soft obi once tied around your waist now hangs down to his knees, wrapped tightly around the base of his cock and only allowing just enough circulation to prevent any lasting damage. His balls to his tip are a nearly alarming purple, but the rest of his pale skin is flushed a bright red, and his ass an even deeper shade as it slowly forms bruises from the paddle you held.

His eyes tracked you as you moved around him slowly, circling like a predator might their prey before attack.

He shivers in anticipation, drool dripping down his chin as his lips wobble, watery gaze wild and pupils dilated to nearly cover all the purple.

“Poor thing… you need to cum don’t you, sweet boy?”

“Pl-please…mistress—,”

“Ah ah,” your hand raised to stop his pleas for mercy, shaking your head as you eye him in disappointment.

“I remember very clearly the rules, do you remember?”

“N-no cumming without pe-permission…” he swallows thickly, grunting softly as you trace just over the tip of his engorged cock with the pad of your finger.

“And what did you do?” You pry further.

“I—I came! Fuck—mistress, please, please let me cum! I-I can’t, please,” he sounds broken as he begs, legs shaking and more weight being shifted to the ceiling beam keeping his arms up. The creak is drown out by his whimpers, the way his body shifts and muscles flex as he nearly breaks his own bonds.

It must be pity, as you round behind him, and prod his hole with the finger which had collected his precum. The digit slides in easily, and the way his entire body rocks back into you a clear indication of his pleasure.

“Yes, ah, mhmm, s-so good—never disobey again, be so good for you, m’sorry,” he’s a delightful sobbing mess as you finger him, watching how his eyes roll back and head hand limp while he tries desperately to hump the air. He can’t cum with the obi around his cock though, but his mind is too far gone to think further.

“Really, what am I to do with you? Such a slutty thing, always desperate to cum. My sweet boy can’t help himself can he?” You slip another finger inside, his moans increasing an octave as he nearly passes out from the pressure in his groin. Slick squelching fills the small room as Genya chokes and cries for more, even as the paddle comes down across his flesh with a resounding smack—

“Alright, I’ll let you cum, are you ready, baby?” He’s hardly coherent as you talk calmly, reaching around his sweaty body to easily untie the belt preventing his orgasm.

He’s cumming instantly. Body jerking violently as he hunches as if to avoid your touch as you wrap your fingers around him and jerk his cock until a copious spray of cum and liquid releases and he’s going completely limp in your arms.

“Ah!,” his howl nearly sounds pained as he makes a mess on himself and the floor, your fingers sticky and wet as you keep a firm grip on his cock and keep going.

“M-mistress…?!” His panicked cry only brings a smile to your lips. Tears spill down his reddened cheeks. You keep him caged against you, still moving your fingers in his ass as you work him hard again despite the pained whines leaving his lips.

“What’s wrong sweet boy? I thought you wanted to cum?” He’s shaking, realization dawning late as he realizes your true punishment for him.

“P-please forgive me…”

“Go ahead and cum until you can’t anymore.”

Dividers created by the lovely @benkeibear

[monarchthefirst]

Whump: Needle Trauma/New Caretaker

Whumpee’s stoic gaze was unsettling, to say the least. 

Doc gave them a reassuring smile as they lay on the table, but it was not enough to break the cold silence. Whumpee watched Doc’s every move with hawklike focus, their thin lips pressed together in firm calculation. Doc had never felt this judged since med school. 

One of the nurses was pulling on blue latex gloves to begin the examination and Doc was sure he caught a shiver from Whumpee at the sight of them. He had had patients who were triggered by blue latex gloves. The mere smell had sent a few trauma victims into a wild spin. Was this going to be another one of those moments? Caretaker should have warned him.

To his relief, Whumpee just shut their eyes tightly as the hated gloves touched their skin. A glance at their vital signs told him their heart rate had quickened slightly. But the disturbed staring had stopped, thank goodness. Doc carefully kept his hands below Whumpee’s range of sight as he explored their rib cage, which was covered with violent bruises of all sizes. “Sorry, sorry!” He exclaimed as Whumpee caught their breath suddenly. “Think we have a fracture here. Might hurt just a little, Whumpee. I’ll try to be careful, okay?”  

More cold staring. Doc sighed and got back to work. 

Minutes into the examination, Doc knew they couldn’t go far without causing Whumpee even more suffering. Their whole body, painfully exposed in the bright light of the surgery, was torn and abused beyond belief. It was almost hard to connect the white, impassive face with the mutilated torso and limbs. Whumpee seemed too far gone to care about what had happened to them. 

The nurse had caught on to Doc’s thought process and had reached for a syringe, her eyes questioning. Doc looked Whumpee over and nodded slightly. Probably more merciful to just put Whumpee out for a few hours while they tried to patch them up. 

The nurse pulled the cover off of the syringe and filled it. She set the bottle down and approached the table with an alcohol swab, preparing to sedate Whumpee. 

Whumpee had been watching Doc’s every move, mistrust growing in their empty eyes. Now, they happened to glance in the nurse’s direction in time to catch sight of the syringe in her hand. 

Without warning, Whumpee’s left arm flashed out and slammed into the nurse, sending the syringe flying across the room. In a flash, they were up in a sitting position, gasping hoarsely in pain and terror, their limbs shaking. Doc rushed forward to push them back down but they were ready, warding him off while sliding one leg off the table. 

“Call Caretaker!” Doc ordered the nurse, grabbing hold of Whumpee and desperately trying to keep them on the table. Whumpee fought silently, with no other sound but their sobbing gasps for breath. 

*****************************

Caretaker wrung their hands in the waiting room, pacing back and forth under the TV. Was Whumpee alright? Why were they taking so long? Yeah, they had never gotten a proper please or thank-you from them. Pretty much zero conversation on about anything, Whumpee seeming to hold to a strong-silent-type mindset. More a don’t-make-me-talk-about-it mindset, Caretaker knew. There was a ton of recent violence that they did not speak of, and that was what had Caretaker so worried.

So when their phone buzzed in their pocket, Caretaker pulled it out and immediately started for the hall. “Yeah, I’m coming. Which room?” They said quickly. Oof, this was not going to be pretty. 

And it wasn’t. The surgery was chaos. Whumpee was somewhere in the heart of a crowd of personnel, being pinned to the operating table. Caretaker couldn’t see them, but they could hear the asthmatic wheezing of their breath and it sent pangs of compassion through their soul. Whumpee was fighting hard, despite their injuries, and Doc was trying to calm them, without much success.

“Here, let me sneak in,” Caretaker pushed against the wall of people. “Yeah, I’m Caretaker. Got a call you needed me.”

“Oh thank God you’re here!” Doc breathed a gasp of relief. “I can’t get through to them. Not sure what exactly tripped their switch.”

Caretaker pushed the nurses aside and grabbed Whumpee’s flailing arms in an iron embrace. “Calm down, Whumpee!” They said loudly, firmly. “It’s me, Caretaker. You’re safe! Stop fighting.”

Whumpee sobbed once and continued to squirm, but not so strongly as before. Apparently Caretaker’s voice had worn them down. Caretaker held them close, bending low over the table, sending meaningful glances to the nurses to back away. As Whumpee choked and gasped, trying to catch their breath, Caretaker smoothed their hair and whispered to them comfortingly. “It’s gonna be ok. I won’t leave you. These guys are trying to help you. It’s alright.”

Whumpee shook their head violently. “No! I saw him, Caretaker. Whumper…he had his favorite needle—” 

“Hush! Hush, Whumper’s not here, I swear.” Caretaker’s heart felt like it would tear in two. “If he was I would have taken him down with my bare hands. No one’s gonna hurt you, I promise.”

Whumpee was crying now, their pale face blotched and twisted with pitiful terror. But they held on tight to Caretaker when Doc approached carefully with the sedative once more. Instinctively, they turned their head to see what he was doing, but Caretaker stopped them and held them tighter. “No, don’t look at it, Whumpee. Just look at me. You're gonna be okay, you hear me?”

Whumpee sobbed with fear. “Please don’t let him touch me, Caretaker,” they begged, burying their head into Caretaker’s chest. Caretaker held them tight while Doc cleaned the injection site with an alcohol swab. Whumpee tensed and whimpered as the needle went in. Caretaker nuzzled their hair gently. “It’s gonna be alright. Great job. You’re doing so awesome,” they said.

As the sedative took effect, Caretaker continued to hold Whumpee close, listening as their breathing gradually calmed down and their trembling stopped. Whumpee’s hands were twisted desperately in their shirt to keep them from letting go. “What’re they going to do to me?” Whumpee murmured timidly, watching the nurses with furtive glances. Caretaker hushed them. 

“They’re just going to make sure you’re all ready to come back home, buddy,” they assured them. “Just fall asleep and when you wake up it’ll all be okay.”

“Home…?” Whumpee muttered drowsily. “You mean I….”

“Yeah, you’re gonna live with me, bud.” Caretaker gave them a comforting smile. “I’m going to be your Caretaker from now on.”  

[blindmagdalena]

Ok so binge read anon here again. My last ask got me thinking….. in Gilded Cage he’s already memorized her heartbeat. So I’m just imagining he’s out one day (rally, patrolling,something where he’s in front of a crowd) and senses Y/N’s heart rate increases dramatically. At first he’s likes like “oh? I wonder if she’s thinking about me 😌”. At this point I imagine he’s already told her his really name so he’s feeling giddy. However he can tell there’s a sense of fear with her heartbeat so he immediately worries.

Context is maybe Madelyn or someone came into the apartment uninvited and came across Y/N. Madelyn isn’t impressed with Y/N and tells her she’s not good enough and threatens to get rid of her. Idk maybe things get violent, Y/N gets put in a headlock so she’s like “John,John please come back, I need your help”. He hears and immediately flies home and sees what’s going on. Angry, he handles everything however he sees just. Y/N is visibly shaking upset and bruised, so he tries to calm her down with a nice warm bath that involves lots of protective cuddling and hair washing 🥰 and then she falls asleep against John in the bath who is of course ELATED

okay. first of all... i need you to know i'm genuinely in REAL TEARS from laughing so hard at the mental image of madelyn putting anyone in a headlock. chasing the reader around like a WWE cage match.

“OHHH MY GOD INCOMING MADELYN! MADELYN WITH THE STEEL CHAIR!!!”

i'm not even kidding my stomach hurts i'm sobbing. this is the best thing i've ever been sent. this sounds like a dream homelander would have after he felt like he fucked up telling madelyn about the reader.

THAT aside, i do very much fuck with the idea of Something Scary happening that causes the reader to be freaked out and require much love and attention. especially because it means homelander finally gets to be the hero he sees himself as in their eyes.

i freaking LOVE the comforting bath. i think i've ended at least 3 fics with a bath. there's just something so supremely intimate about bathing with your lover!!! washing their hair and soothing their frayed nerves. aaahhh, this fic just keeps getting longer the more ideas i get. i've already bumped it up from 6 chapters to 8... might be 10 at this rate!

[multifandomwhore-003]

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned

Pairing: gf! Ethan Landry x female! reader

Summary: He would do anything for you.

Genre(s): angst, just pure angst.

Warnings: SCREAM VI SPOILERS, obsession, very graphic descriptions of k*lling, inj*ring, bl*od, a lot of yelling, a lot of violence.

Taglist: @bratty-lxndry444 @melancholy-avi , join here :)

𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚗

REQUESTS CLOSED

THIS IS NOT FREE USE, YOU CANNOT USE MY WORK

Reblog if you like

"Baby, baby," he whispered, tears menacing to come out.

You covered your face, shaky hands hesitantly touching your forehead, "Ethan, please-" you took a step back.

He followed you, like he had promised himself he would, making it a vow, a blind devotee, pledged fervor and intensity since the first night he followed you home. He traced your shoulders with his fingers, a hopeless attempt at soothing you.

"No, no-" you took a shaky breath, "I-"

"Baby-"

"No, Ethan, I need to fucking think! Please! I shouldn't have to ask you for a fucking minute!" you spat, voice cracking.

He returned to the couch, perfectly still, he couldn't leave, he never would. Ethan never thought he'd felt fear with you, no matter how many douchebags flirted with you, how many people you had slept with before, the negative opinions people who never learned to mind their own business had, or the extensive periods of time you'd go without seeing one another, he had never doubted your relationship, your bond, he had never been afraid to lose you. It was new, the uncertainty, the mistrust, the anxiety, the dilemma; he was not appealed to the idea of new, not after all the changes his life had gone through in the blink of an eye.

He had chosen you, it wasn't chance, or a senseless coincidence, out of all the people he categorized as appealing, you were seamlessly outstanding, he made you more than the pretty girl from Econ who couldn't keep opinions to herself, he made you his fate, his and his only. He couldn't take credit in shaping you, however, he did crumble to how perfect you were, how flawlessly you filled his every need, a dangerous temptation with the sweetest of embraces. He couldn't afford to lose you, not now, not ever, he would never be able to get such luck, he was never a religious young man, but he felt blessed, and without a question, he would delightedly kneel before you.

"How?"

He turned to you, noticing your quiet sobs.

"How did you do it?" you sniffed.

He gulped, "You saw the news,"

"Yes, I saw the goddamn news Ethan, but I want to hear it from you, with that same confidence that you admitted it, I deserve to know!" you banged your hand on the kitchen counter, "It's the least you can fucking do! The whole fucking truth! I don't care how gross or violent it might sound! We both know you're not ashamed of it, so you better not fucking lie to me, I deserve the truth!"

He corrected his posture, "I took the knife from-"

"No!" you rushed to the living room, "I said everything! When did you decide to kill him?"

He had never seen you in such a way, so angry, so free; he had no choice, but to confess, "When he first whistled at you," he clenched his jaw, "I held back because you told me that you were gonna handle it, but you never did," he relived the frustration, "You knew the school wasn't gonna do anything, and you lied about everything else, so when I found the picture on your phone, I lost it, I followed him home as many times as I needed to memorize his routine, and last night I just-" he slightly grinned through the salty fluid, "I knew he didn't deserve a quick death, so I just began to cut him, until he had no blood to fight, I castrated him, something his parents should've done in the first place," he chuckled, "And to finish it off, I just chopped his head into nothing but paste,"

You looked at the ceiling, "And you-" you winced, "You did this for me?"

"I would do anything for you," he tilted his head.

You nodded as you returned to the kitchen, weakly filled a glass with water, and then drank from it, drowning the urge to feel nausea. You didn't notice when he suddenly was less than three feet away, you almost jumped at his sight.

The room had finally gone silent, nothing to be said, nothing to be thought, just raw suspense. He observed you wiping the runny mascara, hiccuping with every inhale, and almost whining with every exhale, washing the container, and drying your hands, trembling every second like a stray under the rain.

You came close, placed yourself on top of the counter to match his height, grabbed his hands timidly, as if you had never held them before, and cried more at the mere thought of what they can do, there was no point in having remorse anymore, so you simply began to bawl; but even then, you kissed his palms delicately rubbing them after, and guided them to hold your face. You finally met his terrified eyes with your red and puffy ones, trembling fingers crept to his brunette curls, reverently caressing them. You leaned in to peck his lips, testing, they felt so warm, tasted so delicious, you repeated your action, and this time he corresponded.

You had never kissed him with such passion, with such sincerity it almost felt like worship; his right hand hugged your waist, he wanted you, all of you simply in contact with this skin-wrapped vessel of his that was the only thing he could ever be allowed to hold you with.

"Please forgive me," he moaned into the kiss, "I'm sorry, love, I'm so sorry,"

He dried your tears with his rough thumbs, out of all the wicked things in his life, you were the best one, the most utterly divine one.

You didn't think it would be possible, but you broke again, you hated every inch of yourself, and almost felt disgusted by it, you weren't mad at him, you never were, you just wanted a reason to withdraw, but you couldn't, now that you knew everything you still loved him, all of it. There was no way back now, no second thoughts, no doubts, just a corrupted girl at his mercy, waiting, patiently waiting for the conflagration, you were ruined by him, for him. Your dearest sin.

[cookies-over-yonder]

the disquieting demeanor of aelwyn abernant

Aelwyn is laying on the top bunk of her and Adaine's bed, failing to drown out the sounds of teenage partying with a pillow covering her ears when she hears a door open and shut. "Adaine?" she asks, sitting up and turning around. It's a figure shorter than Adaine, and despite the darkness of the room, she can tell who it is. It's Riz.

inspired by i am a sinner, you are a saint by @erelux

ao3

Aelwyn is laying on the top bunk of her and Adaine's bed, failing to drown out the sounds of teenage partying with a pillow covering her ears when she hears a door open and shut.

"Adaine?" she asks, sitting up and turning around.

It's a figure shorter than Adaine, and despite the darkness of the room, she can tell who it is.

It's Riz.

"Aelwyn! Sorry, I—I forgot you'd be in here," he says, wringing his hands. 

"I live here."

"Yeah, I know," he says, running a trembling hand through his hair. "I—I just—Adaine always gives me free reign of her room during parties like these because sometimes it gets too—too loud, or too uncomfortable or, um..."

He clears his throat, and his breathing is quite shallow. "I—I—I'll leave if I'm disturbing you, but I promise I'll be quiet."

"Alright," Aelwyn says, if only because he looks like he'll cry if she doesnt, and she turns back around.

She hears him settle on the lower bunk, and the sound of him flapping his hands is only slightly annoying.

What's really bothering her is his shallow breathing. Is he high? That might explain what seems like paranoia, but she doesn't smell anything on him.

Whatever. She covers her ears with a pillow again and continues scrolling on her crystal.

These parties aren't really her thing either. Now that she's out of highschool, she has better things to do than get drunk and high and take her top off and scream and dance until the sun comes up. It's lost its charm.

Aelwyn doesn't know Riz very well, but she can at least agree with that.

In fact, Aelwyn doesn't really know anything about Riz. She finds that most of Adaine's friends are fairly easy to read, but Riz is a mystery. Maybe it comes with being a rogue.

Though it seems he's not very good at that, because he's being rather loud right now.

Aelwyn hears gasps for air coming from the bottom bunk, and it sounds uncomfortably similar to when her sister has her panic attacks.

And then the gasps are muffled. But still there.

Adaine wouldn't be happy if Aelwyn let one of her friends die in their room, so she climbs down the ladder to check on him.

Riz is sitting on Adaine's bed, with his forehead rested on his knees and his hands clawing at his hair. He's trembling violently, and hyperventilating, and he looks a fucking lot like Adaine when she's having a panic attack.

"Riz?"

Riz's head snaps up and he looks at her with wide eyes. "Do—do you want—do you want me to leave?" he asks between gasps. "Suh—sorry, I said—I said I would be qui—quiet—"

Riz presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and hyperventilates harder, unable to speak.

She's seen Adaine go through so many of these, and she's always felt helpless to stop it. Of course that wouldn't change now.

Aelwyn sits on the bed across from him and holds his shoulders. He hisses and flinches back, breaking contact.

Great.

And just then, there's a bang on the door that makes them both flinch. And A shout from far away of "You're not allowed in there!" And the door opens, and the disgusting sound of sloppy kisses fills the room as Aelwyn turns to see a random couple probably trying to fuck in here.

"Get out!" Adaine shouts, running inside, grabbing them both, shoving them out of the room, and slamming the door shut. "Jeez, the nerve of some people. Sorry guys, ah—"

She stops short when she sees Riz, now curled even further in on himself with his hands over his ears. He's fully sobbing now, and gasping for air so aggressively it sounds painful.

"Riz, hey," she starts, voice far softer, and she sits on the bed with the both of them. "Hey, it's okay, you're okay, can you hear me?"

Riz nods, and Adaine runs her hands up and down his arms. He doesn't hiss or pull away with her.

"Okay, you're having a panic attack, it's okay, it'll pass, I promise."

Riz leans forward to press his forehead against her chest, and she moves to wrap him in a hug, with one hand on his back and the other running fingers through his hair.

"You're okay. You're okay. Breathe with me."

He nods again, and Aelwyn watches as Adaine shushes him and soothes him, and as his sobs fizzle out and his breathing starts to steady.

She watches him shoot her a Message cantrip.

"None of that, I've already told you this, you have nothing to be sorry for," Adaine says, and she uses her Mage Hand to grab a set of headphones from her backpack and put it on his head.

He adjusts the headphones to his liking, and with his now free hands he clings to her, holding the fabric of her shirt in his fists.

"Do you need food? Water? Sleep?"

He nods his head, and she helps him adjust into a laying position on her bed, tucks him in, summons Boggy, and hands that incredibly round frog to him.

Watching this, Aelwyn finds herself brought to tears.

She should have been this for her little sister.

And when Adaine departs to get Riz some food and drink, Aelwyn follows her out.

And as soon as the door is shut behind them, she asks:

"Does Riz have an anxiety disorder? Like you?"

"I'm sure of it, but he won't even consider it," Adaine says as they start to walk.

"Ah."

"It's not a one-off thing. That's for sure," Adaine says, and Aelwyn can see the worry written all over her face.

"You see yourself in him," Aelwyn says.

"How perceptive," Adaine deadpans, grabbing a couple slices of pizza and putting them on a plate.

Aelwyn grabs a can of soda to pass to her, but she grabs it, puts it back on the table, and points at the water bottles. Right.

She grabs one of those instead.

"How do you help someone who's having a panic attack?" Aelwyn asks as they travel back to their room.

"Grounding exercises, but it can differ from person to person," Adaine says, opening the door.

"Could you by any chance... teach me some of those?"

Adaine looks up at her with a smile. "Yeah, I can."

"Thank you."

Aelwyn puts the water bottle beside the plate of food Adaine places on the bed, and she climbs back onto her bunk, leaving Adaine to wake Riz up and make sure he eats, because she isn't quite sure that anything she does won't make it worse.

But soon she'll learn, and she'll be the kind of sister she wishes she were this entire time.