#because all hours are yearning hours if youre love sick enough | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theshinazugawaslut · 3 months

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Sanemi as a best friend who is obsessed with you, so when you tell him you've never ridden someone he offers to let you practice on him. On his face, abs, thigh, on anything that you can ride, he'll train you before you take his cock

a/n: sorry if this didn't come out good, I wrote it under a half-hour since I'm sick.

He's your best friend, the little boy you grew up with in the same neighbourhood — everyone knew the two of you were attached at the hip, everyone also knew that Sanemi would never let a single boy near you and so, no boy ever tried.

Your earliest memory of him is when you were both three years old, standing in a long queue on a hot Summer's day outside an ice-cream van in the park.

He had been right behind you, humming a tune, and you had turned around and said, "I love that song!"

The boy had the lovliest, archangel-white hair with the softest, lilac eyes; his cheeks all soft and squishy. He had smiled shyly and gave a small nod, though the two of you ended up holding hands as you took him to play in your sandpit.

Ever since, the two of you have been inseperable.

He always held your hand — tight, firm, like a kite he was afraid of letting go — and he looked at you like you had been weaved out of starsong and rose dew and the most honeyed siren song.

God, in his eyes you were this shimmering moon that he yearned to touch, you felt like what heaven must be like — he'd heard so many stories of heaven when he went to church with his mother, he imagined God had a face like you. There couldn't be anything else.

He was a sweet boy, you realised very quickly. Always helping you put pretty flower clips in your dishevelled hair, always using his own chubby hands to try and tuck your hair into a lopsided ponytail and smiled shyly as you squealed and squished your cheeks together to his.

He didn't mind being the subject of your childish eyeshadow palettes either, letting the cheap glittery gel being smudged across his eyelids though it did help him learn his own talent for eyeliner.

You're always over at his house or the other way around, too, and you're always making the loveliest drinks and snacks so you can watch Cinderella together, tiny hands weaved with his as you gush about how pretty the sapphire-blue ball gown is.

Soon enough, school starts, and Sanemi remains your best friend, sitting right next to you and saying no to playing football with the other boys in favour of reading a story book with you in the corner of the classroom.

You also witnessed him grab a boy bigger than him by the hair and hurting him because the boy had tripped you over and made fun of you in the playground where you had been awaiting for Sanemi.

Even when he'd gotten in trouble, he'd given you that smile that only got wider as you kissed his cheek.

He'd always been a serious child, a happy child but mature, and when he got a younger sibling, he was ecstatic, taking his newborn brother out his cot and running over to your house carelessly to show you Genya.

When his mother had rushed out in a panic a few hours later, she found you and Sanemi in your room, Genya bundled up safe and warm. The newborn safe in your arms as Sanemi snoozed against your shoulder, you looking at the newborn with bright eyes.

When Sanemi awoke later on, Genya now in his mother's arms, something inside of him stirred seeing you hold a baby with such care. He didn't know what.

Ever since he was a child, he'd give you flowers, braid your hair, kiss your cheek shyly when he was feeling very bold but one thing remained the same in highschool, that firm grip he had on your hands.

Everyone knew you two, nobody dared come near the either of you as Sanemi made it abundantly clear that his only interest was you and made it clear to everyone else - much to your obliviousness - that you did not need for friends and you especially did not want for any boys.

You never thought much of it.

You were more than happy being with him, cheerful nature and bubbly personality meaning you'd cling onto his arm anyway, doe-like eyes looking up at him as he kept an arm around your waist as he walked you from class to class.

You're bright, like the Sun, and he burns just looking at you, but for now, he's more than content helping you study for maths (you're hopeless) in the library, slipping you sweet treats every few minutes that make your eyes light up though his own shine brightly when you give him the after-school snack you baked for him in the morning.

You always give him so much — often making him bentos with all his favourite foods; spending time in his house to help take care of his six younger siblings whilst his mother worked — bathing his little sisters, changing his baby brother's nappy, singing songs and playing games with his siblings to keep them occupied so that Sanemi can finish his essays in peace, and you coming into his room after putting them all to bed, giving him dinner.

Though he rolls his eyes as he sees how you've made your notes all colourful and pretty.

"You're finding the equation of the tangent of the curve, you're supposed to do that by finding the y co-ordinate, differentiating it, calculating the gradient, and finding the equation of the line not... drawing flowers and galaxies on the page, doll," he says, exasperatedly fond.

"What's a y co-ordinate?" you ask innocently and he bangs his head against the table.

"How can you be good at fucking politics and biology and literature but be so utterly shit at maths?" he groans though you only look at him with that sweet expression of yours. "Hell, how are you good at Physics and not good at maths?"

"...I just copy your answers in Physics, and I only understand the theoretical stuff," you tell him and he glares at you, causing you to giggle. "I'm kidding! I sometimes copy your answers."

He flicks a sweetie wrapper at you then so you shriek as it touches your lashes. "You almost ruined my mascara!"

"You don't need it, anyway! Your natural lashes are like spiders anyway."

He snickers as you pull a strand of his snowy hair. "Sorry, dumpling," he says teasingly.

"You're the dumpling here! With your big, mochi cheeks!" you say with a huff.

"Next time when we go to the gym, I'm turning your treadmill to the highest speed," he threatens and you blanch, causing his laughter to grow louder.

Soon enough, you're both adults, sharing a dorm for university even though Sanemi was rather upset about having to leave his siblings and mother behind at home. Thankfully, you're adamant to keep in contact with his family which means an hour-long video call to his siblings and mother alongside your own family.

And even now, as you share a dorm for university, both wanting to become teachers, you're glued to the hip.

And now you're both twenty-one, still virgins, and you're currently cooking, calling for Sanemi who is lazily sitting on the couch, reading a book about teaching.

"'Nemi?" you say in that sweet voice of yours, calling for him as you cook something — usually Sanemi would cook but you wanted to try out a recipe this time yourself.

He puts his book down, taking a moment to come into the kitchen, thinking you had probably burned something though he's pleasantly surprised to find that's not the case though he tries to not let his jaw drop at the sight of you.

Pale-pink off shoulder top showing him just your left shoulder, all smooth and pretty, and your apple-green, pleated skirt had you looking so girlish.

"Hmm?" he says, deep voice all thrumming and rich, like smoked apples and wind-swept ash. "Oi, if you're cooking, you should do your hair back, do you want to be set on fire?"

With the words, he's already come behind you to start doing your hair in a loose braid — you're used to it; he always does your hair, helps with your make-up, most of the time he'll blow dry your hair as you study.

"What's it you called me here for? Ya missed me?" he asks behind you.

"I was just wondering," you begin. "But how come I've not had a boyfriend yet? You've not had a girlfriend either, ever... Mitsuri's dating Obanai; Hinatsuru, Makio, and Suma are all with Tengen... And- and Shinobu's been seeing that Tamayo. Even my little sister has a boyfriend and I don't..."

Sanemi has frozen up behind you before he continues finishing the braid. "Why are you thinking about this?"

"I wanna love someone, too!" you tell him. "I wanna be loved! Is that so bad? I've never had a single man ever like me. I've never even kissed someone, how am I supposed to even have sex when the day comes? I have no experience and-"

"-You're seriously thinking about sex?" he interrupts, voice a little cold.

"Well, yes, I want a lover, too, and I have no practise! I know you don't either so it's not like you could actually help-"

"-I could," he whispers, mouth suddenly grazing your ear. "It'd be nice, no? Learning with me? We could learn together, it'd be fun." You don't have to look to know his eyes are hot and intense and bloodshot, that rabid grin on his face. "I'll be good to you. I'll help you learn whatever you want, hmm?"

You've entirely stiffened up, pretty eyes blown wide. It's no secret you're head over heels for the man but you didn't think...

"I'll let you think about it," says Sanemi, leaving a wet kiss on your jugular that makes you shiver, and he leaves the kitchen to finish his studying.

Though it takes only till night-time for you to agree and Sanemi gives you that tender smile of his, gently taking your hand and guiding you to his room.

"I knew you'd agree, since you're just the best," he laughs gently as he sits you down on the soft mattress, reaching over to brush some hair from your face. "My darling girl..."

You hadn't known Sanemi could look so sweet, so ravenous; his hunger a bottomless abyss, his love an endless well. He thumbs at your lips.

"Though I'm worried," he croons, suddenly gripping your jaw and making you face him. "You're such a delicate thing, you won't be able to take my cock so quickly. Tch, what a shame."

Your eyes are doe-wide now, blood rushing across your cheeks and making your cunt hot — you've never felt like this in your life. Sanemi... you hadn't expected him to be so filthy with his words immediately.

"That's fine though, I'll help you," he says with a sweet smile, as if sin wasn't clouding his eyes. He leans forward and he looks at you tenderly before capturing your lips with his; it's shy and a little awkward but god, Sanemi is desperate, grabbing your face as he peppers wet, feverish kisses against your lips. Taking your first kiss, your second, third, fourth, fifth...

You don't even realise he's deftly taken off your shirt and unclipped your red, lace bra, allowing your breasts to come spilling out and you whine, shy, trying to cover them up in the eyes of your best friend who only grins but removes your hands gently.

"No, no... You can't be doing that," laughs Sanemi. "I like'em, they're pretty, though that's only expected."

He takes your small hands and covers them with his larger, rough ones. He brings your fingers closer to his shirt, urging you to unbutton them with your own fragile fingertips, grinning as you starts kissing his chest with unsure, intoxicating lips that cause him to moan softly as you take off his shirt.

"So pretty," he coos, rubbing the base of your head as you kiss all the way down to his abdomen. "So good to me, always giving me the best gifts."

"'Nemi, I... 'm scared," you whispers against his skin and the rough pad of his thumb strokes the shape of your brow.

"So am I," he says softly, in that sincere tone you've known since you were young and he gently lifts you up so you're eye level as you both kneel on his bed. He holds your face like it's the moon. "But I trust you, and you trust me, right?"

You nod in his hands and he grins. "Atta girl." Then he's kissing you, languid and slow, keeping a hand on the back of your head so that you can't pull back. His other hand reaches for one of yours as you kiss him, lacing them together, teeth grazing your jaw momentarily as your free hand comes to drag nails against his skin.

Between those slow, sweet kisses from your best friend, you find that he looks so sweet with his wintry, moon-kissed hair from the dim light of your unconcealed window. He freezes, looking at you as though you were radiance, as you trace a finger from his strong forehead to his stronger nose — silvery scars almost glowing under the light as large hands made you shiver as he cupped your breasts, making you whimper under the searing heat of his hands.

Your delicate finger traces down the hollow of his throat and Sanemi's restraint begins to wave, his desire increasing tenfold.

You've been driving him crazy with want since the day he met you at that god forsaken ice-cream truck. His voice comes out rich and dark and thick with insanity, "You are sure about this? I do not want... God, I don't want you to regret this. We will only go as far as you please, only do whatever you want, I swear it."

You give an eager nod and he plants a chaste, lingering kiss against your mouth. You're not stupid, you know this isn't just 'practise', you know so badly what it really is. He loves you, too.

"'Nemi, please, touch me," you whisper.

"Okay, okay," he says with the lilt of murmuring brooks as he puts his svelte lips on your hair once, then twice, before move down to touch your soft stomach, tracing a line down to your belly button as he nips at your hips causing you to let out stuttered, breathy moans of his name.

"Nngh- 'N-Nemi," you say between choked breaths as his finger press against your lower back, almost moulding dimples into it.

"I know, baby, god, I know," he whispers, kissing directly above your womb, and it sends liquid lava — coarse and hot — through your veins, making you gut twist with pleasure. "We'll like this, I promise..."

He presses shaky fingers against your hips and you finally notice that dark, crazed glint in his eyes.

"'M gonna fuck you nice and good, 'm gonna fuck you full, you hear me?" Before you can even answer, he's ripping at your skirt and underwear, chucking them to the side. "I've gotta prep you first though."

You whine at the words, trying to grab at his erection though he stops you with three fingers — catching your wrist. "'Nemi, I- I don't need to be prepped."

"Sweet thing, you gotta be prepped," he says, and he gives you a dry, teasing smile, "I wouldn't be a good friend if I just shoved my cock inside you, dry and raw."

"What're you gonna do?" you ask through short, choppy breaths and he chuckles.

"Let's see..." he says, almost playful but he gives your nipple a sudden squeeze that causes you to jolt in his arms.

He's quick to lie down on the bed, still clothed by his bottom half, and he has you right against his rocky abdomen that is all smooth, supple skin and ridged muscle.

"Ride me," he says, one hand on your hip, rubbing soothing circles against the plump flesh. "Move your hips for me, my girl."

You place your delicate hands on his hardened chest, rippling scars flexing as you begin to shyly move your cunt against him. He hisses softly, cursing under his breath, vulgarities spilling like prayers from his mouth.

"You pretty thing," he whines, holding the sweet fat of your hip in his large hand, guiding you back and forth on his body — he wants to be used like a fucking toy, he doesn't give a shit, it's you for god's sake, you're all he's ever wanted.

His thumb tries to search for that sweet pearl between your legs, he almost panics that he might embarrass himself but you cry out as he brushes a particularly sensitive bundle of nerves. He grins.

"There, baby?" he asks as he begins to swipe at your clit as you ride his abs. Your toes are curling into the sheet as you hump desperately against him, crying out as you feel his bulge nudge against your rear as you move back and forth, nodding deliriously to his question, tears leaking like falling stars out your eyes.

Though it's his fingers that have you coming undone as you squirt over his body deliciously, nectar coating his body like a divine sheet.

You don't even have the chance to recover as he grabs both your hips and lifts you onto his face, you squeal and try to scurry off but his strong, veined arms keep you clamped onto his face.

"Fucking sit," he sneers and you whimper, the sound making Sanemi drunk.

You feel something hot and wet flatten against your folds, his tongue silky and burning as he drags it up and down, inhaling like a man starved. "Always wan'ed to try this," he murmurs into your gorgeous pussy as he laps at it and you let out a high keen.

The sound seems reverberate in his lungs. You're all he fucking needs, wants.

You, and this sweet pussy of yours that's suffocating him in the most sweetest way possible, your hips bucking against him.

"Nngh-! O- oh god, 'Nemi," you cry out, trying to hold onto something as he keeps you firmly planted right atop his pretty face as your juices smear across his jaw and plump lips.

He's practically set you alight and crying with his tongue prodding inside your fluttering cunt, tasting you, nose bumping your gushy clit.

"You're so sweet," he groans against your pussy; the tender, pink muscle of his tongue hard at work as he made you see stars. All that left your panting mouth was feverish cries of his name to the point it was more like you were blabbering random syllables.

When you release onto his tongue, he doesn't waste a single drop — teeth almost gnashing at your cunt in his desperation to have it all inside him.

He gets you off his face and simply kisses you, nice and long, you desperately panting into his mouth, tasting your own nectar on his tongue but he just kisses you like a man starved.

"Baby," he whispers as he kisses the fat of your cheek, suckles on it a little before moving to that lovely curve of your jaw. "Wanna fuck you on my finger, my thighs-" He can barely breathe- "Wanna do it all but let me fuck you full first, hmm? We've practised enough for now, yeah?"

And you're quick to nod along to his frenzied words, causing him to lay you down, kissing your neck sweetly before kneeling on the bed to kick off his boxers.

His cock is a pretty thing ― thick, pale; strong veins across the shaft, an angry, throbbing tip. At least seven inches or so, pearls of precum falling down as he holds it.

"You... Are you ready?" he asks gently. "We can stop now if you want, I don't mind, dumpling."

You freeze, tears welling your eyes. God, you really do love him. Dumpling. Even after all this frantic lust, he looked at you like you were his world, his best friend.

He smiles against your mouth when you kiss him and he keeps at it as he slowly pushes his bulbous head through that first tight ring of muscle that has you crying into his mouth.

"You're doing so well, my sweet girl," he hisses through his teeth as he kisses your neck, pushing in inch-by-inch, all slow and languid in hopes to avoid hurting you but he was inexperienced man, he couldn't help but thrust himself all the way in when he felt you squeeze him so tight.

"See, look, such a good girl, took all of me," he groans, smiling down at you, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

He begins to drag his cock out and then in, soon enough slamming into you over and over and over as you cry out, toes curling. He holds one of your hands with his, fingers interlacing as he cries out into your neck, too, your body causing every primal instinct in him to become this burning thing.

"F- fuck, y-you think 'm gonna let you- let you go to anyone else after this?" he says as he holds your waist to slam your cunt back into him with force, causing you to let out loud gasps as you keened his name. "You're fuckin' wrong. I'll be the only one to- to see you like this."

He knows he's muttering nonsense but you're so damn pretty as you come undone around his cock, squirting against his abdomen a second time and he's sobbing softly as he cums for the very first time right inside your gummy walls.

"Oh, fuck!" he cries and he starts peppering kisses all over your face. "I love you, I love you, I love you, ever since we were fucking kids, I love you."

He collapses next to you on the pillow, kissing your forehead a last time. "Thank you, baby," he murmurs.

As you catch your breath, Sanemi suddenly asks, "So... when should we get married?"

The question would shock anyone else but you're cute as always.

"I always wanted a Winter wedding!"

#sanemi #kny sanemi #anime and manga #sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi x reader #sanemi x you #esha answers your questions #kny #husband sanemi #sanemi headcanons

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lunarw0rks · 8 months

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Hello!! Could you do one with how the 141 boys would take care of their sick partner who is also in 141 with them? Like when would they notice that you were sick or didn’t show up to training because you were sick?

I love your writing!!

Taking Care of Their Sick S/O (+Ale)

Warning(s): gn!reader, established relationship, emetophobia tw, hurt/comfort, mild language, fluff ˳✧༚/✿ Word Count: 1.1k ꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ 141 MASTERLIST // have a request? 𓆩♡𓆪 ask box

SYNOPSIS; if there was any unspoken rule in your line of work; it was that you show up to work, with no excuses. No absences unless an injury has rendered you disabled, or you're bedridden. For you, right now, it was the latter. You picked up a bug, some sort of flu that had you convinced you were dying. You found yourself too beat to tell anyone but those on a need-to-know basis.

Price

John let out a groan when his work phone rang, interrupting his paperwork. He figured it was yet another thing that had gone wrong or another phone call to take up an hour of his precious time.

But it wasn't; it was your voice — your scratchy, exhausted voice.

One portion of you called him because you had to, as his soldier. But the other half was his significant other, yearning for any comfort he could spare. It was the type of flu where you'd convinced yourself you were on your deathbed.

His soothing voice is what you needed, and it's what you got once he heard your sniffles and coughs. ❝You stay in bed until you're well, got it, sweetheart?❞ He spoke sternly, fiddling with his pen on the other line. Though he wanted nothing more than to tend to you personally, he just couldn't spare the time.

He sent one of his trusted men to check on you every few hours, taking a request for an errand, a file you wanted to review in bed, or something as trivial as a water refill. In addition, you got as much covered absence as you needed, probably even a few extra days to be sure of a full recovery.

Simon

Simon was the first to notice you acting off — the slower response time when asked a work-related question, how you had gone to bed hours than you usually would, and how your form had gotten sloppy in training.

Then, the following day, when you weren't present; he had been proven correct once again. The nasty flu you picked up was so hellacious you didn't want to risk getting the rest of them sick, so you stuck it out in your barrack.

He did check on you — startled you, actually. You rolled over when your nap had been cut short by a fierce cough, nearly adding a concussion to your reason for absence when you spotted the figure sitting beside you. Simon grabbed your arm before you could fall off the cot, feeling the sheer warmth of your fever, ❝didn't mean to startle you, love. Was worried, is all.❞

His fear of getting sick was non-existent, due to his alarming ability to push through the worst of colds and flu strains. Simon brushed a sweaty strand away from your drowsy eyes, merely watching as you lay feverish in your cot.

Soap

Let's be honest; Soap probably gave you the flu, only he was lucky enough to show the symptoms of a mild common cold — so the correlation was never made.

Of course, it had to hit you at its worst when he spent the night with you. You ran to the bathroom in the middle of the night, vomiting last night's dinner. ❝Ye alright in there, sweetheart?❞ Soap asked groggily at the sounds of your retching, only plagued with a runny nose and a deeper voice.

He stretched his muscles and waited outside the door, flashing a look of concern at your appearance. Though you had brushed your teeth, you still felt horrendous — and looked it.

❝I'll go make you a tea, hm?❞ He did just that, shuffling over to the kitchenette with a silent yawn. If he weren't sick himself, he wouldn't be half as drained as he was right now.

When he returned, he sat you up enough for you to keep the steaming mug upright. He passed it to you, watching as you sipped it to soothe the burn in your throat. ❝Best tea of your life, I promise.❞

Gaz

Gaz only saw a glimpse of you through the small window on your barrack door, the outline of you as you choked back some water. Even through the metal door, he heard a raspy chest cough you emitted.

He knocked a few times, taking a few steps back when you opened the door, looking dreadful. Dark circles, sweat formed on your forehead, and your pajamas still on. ❝Christ, babe, have you gotten any rest today? Go back to bed.❞ He gave the order from intense concern for getting you back in action. Not to mention, the day was boring without you on the field.

As much as he wanted to embrace you, he didn't want to risk catching whatever flu you had caught a strain of.

Once you were a few feet from him, he followed you inside, draping a spare quilt from the linen closet on you, then distancing himself once more. ❝How about we... video call until this is over?❞ Kyle made his best attempt at a kind smile, though he had already found the doorway.

Alejandro

He knew you were ill because the report made its way up the chain of command, eventually finding itself on his desk.

Alejandro couldn't spend a lot of time searching for you when he passed the training room, though he did find it strange you hadn't texted a good morning to him.

But, once he found out you had picked up a nasty flu, he set aside some time to get you a care package. Electrolytes to keep you hydrated, an extra blanket, and some soup he had a rookie drive across town to an authentic Mexican restaurant for (though not as good as one he would make for you if he had the time).

When you weakly opened the door, seeing the folded blanket and a takeout baggie of soup and bottled drinks, there was a neatly folded note;

'Te deseo una pronta recuperación' — A

Laswell

Unfortunately for her and you, she rarely had the luxury of being on base. Most of her working days were spent with Shepard, or halfway across the world gathering intel. Communication rarely came through texts, only calls with her.

It was both your luckiest and unluckiest day, however. You were ill and bedridden — but she was on base today.

The door to your cot closed softly, a gentle palm resting on your hip. She found out about your absence through Price, instantly taking a few minutes from her day to check up on you. ❝The Captain's worried about you,❞ she rubs circles on your blanketed hip, and the only sign that you're even awake is the active sniffling from your stuffy sinuses. You don't turn to face her, and she wouldn't want you to either, but the comfort eases the upset a bit.

You hear the faint rustle of a purse before she's handed you a few tablets to take, holding them in front of your mouth, then passing your water bottle. ❝Take these, they should knock you out for a few hours, let you get some rest.❞

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aemondsladywife · 1 year

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His Lady Wife : Alternative Ending I

aemond x reader

an alternative ending to 'His Lady Wife' where y/n survives and aemond suffers the consequences of his actions.

a/n: its 3am in the uk rn and i've made you guys wait too long! i am extremely sorry this took so long to write!! i won't even lie, its not the best, i really struggled w these alternative endings, feedback and comments are appreciated as always, my inboxes are always open for requests!! also if you want to be on my permanent aemond taglist, please comment! btw there are more alt endings on its way!

genre: angst

after hours and hours of intense labour, you finally gave birth to a premature baby girl. you were exhausted, but seeing your precious baby girl gave you all the strength you needed in the world. as you cradled your tiny, precious baby girl, your 'husband' came in, with guilt etched all over his face.

"my wife I-"

his eyes fell to his tiny baby girl. his eyes began to water as he spoke,

"is that my daughter?"

you looked at him with cold eyes, your blood was boiling as you placed a protective arm around the daughter you had just birthed.

"no she is no mans daughter. she is mine. only mine. no fucking guards and definetely not yours. she has your white hair and violet eyes but it was not you who carried her 8 months in a chamber fit for a criminal. it wasn't you who had to endure severe pains for the past 8 moons. it wasn't you who pushed and pushed for 9 hours straight. that was all me. you left her mother to die and now you expect to be her father? if you want a baby so bad carry on fucking that whore of yours, you're nearly there!"

aemond looked at his wife with wide eyes. he didn't know what to say or where to begin. her anger was justified. he was about to step closer and speak to his wife when he was interrupted by a maester.

"my prince, may I speak to you in private."

aemond nodded to the maester, with tears of guilt and pain in his eyes as he walked out of the room with him.

"my prince. the princesses labours were... horrific, to put it mildly. as she was not given any support during her tulmtuous pregnancy, her labors were worse than we had ever seen, it is a miracle that she and the babe are alive. it was a whole moon early, she lost litres of blood, the baby was upside down and had to be physically twisted and even now, both mother and wife are severly unwell. please do not take offence my prince... but it is best you give the princess and the babe their space. any further stress could even cause a heart attack."

aemond felt sick to his stomach as he realised what he had put his wife and daughter through, all because he let his self doubt and insecurities get the better of him.

he nods and complies to the maesters words. what else could he do other than wait? he caused enough damage as it is.

weeks go by and aemond can't even catch a glimpse of either his wife or daughter. his heart is overtaken by remorse and longing. he knew this was all his fault, but he desperately wanted to see his baby and his wife who he treated so terribly.

aemond took a deep breath before knocking on the door of his estranged wife's chambers, he has flowers and a dragon plushie in his hands.

you open the door, with your daughter in your arms, not expecting to see aemond at the door.

"husband."

aemond has a sorrowful, sad smile on his face.

"my wife, i know my actions are much beyond forgiveness, i will live the rest of my life in regret for my disgusting actions... but please, give me a chance to redeem myself. i will do anything and everything my love. i have not even held my own daughter. please. i beg you, my lady. let me hold my little girl."

aemond begged you with tears in his eyes. he was desperate. he looked at his tiny daughter in your arms and yearned to hold her. all he wanted was to be a good father and husband.

"i remember feeling this desperate too..."

your words give him a slight bit of hope. he hopes that you pity him enough to give him a chance.

"i felt this desperate when i begged of you to let me go to my fathers and recieve treatment for my pregnancy complications. and what did you do. refuse. and what did i have to do? suffer in silence. now you will do the same."

aemond's entire being became filled with guilt and resentment towards himself, he would do anything for a moment with his wife and daughter.

"please my wife. please. i have not been able to eat or sleep knowing the pain i caused you and our daughter."

you looked back at him with no sympathy and chuckled when you spoke.

"i remember that feeling all too well. i felt the same when you restricted me to a chamber with mouldy walls and food that wouldn't feed a child let alone a woman carrying a child herself"

you were shutting the door on him when he stopped it. he was so desperate, he was begging you with tears in his eyes.

"please. my lady. my lady wife i know my apologies are worthless but at least give this to my sweet girl."

he holds out the little stuffed dragon toy, praying to the gods you would accept it.

"we do not accept gifts from strangers. especially ones who once had ill intentions for us."

with that, you shut the door and left aemond in a state of great despair. in one swoop, he lost his wife and only child. his dreams of being a father had been crushed by his own hand.

taglist: @fultimefangirl @hc-geralt-23 @whatsonthemirror @69cocktimusprime @immyowndefender @burntoutpetals @uselessbutinteresting @bibli0thecary @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @bellameshipper @graykageyama @krispold @malfoytargaryen @imnotyourbcbe @poisonedsultana @caramelcandescence @azaleapotterblack @oh-thats-cute

*tags w a line through didn't work!

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #hotd #hotd season 1 #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #prince aemond #aemond the kinslayer #aemond stannies #aemond fic #aemond oneshot #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond angst #aemond x you #aemond targaryen fic #hotd aemond #aemond imagine

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lewisvinga · 3 months

Text

ultraviolence | carlos sainz x fem! reader

summary; carlos and y/n always find themselves going back to the same toxic relationship. no matter how hard they try, it just always felt like a kiss.

warnings; toxic relationships, yelling/arguing

notes; i know carlos would probs never act like this but it’s for the plot guys 😞

word count; 700

taglist; @namgification

‘born to die’ series masterlist.

f1 masterlist !

“Get the fuck out of here. I don’t want to see you. Vete! [go]”

“Fine! I don’t ever wanna see your bitch ass ever again!”

Y/n’s best friend sighs as Y/n tells her about her last argument with Carlos from the week before. One week being broken up was a record for them. They never lasted more than 4 days. “But that was the end of us. Actually. I’m done with him.” Y/n quickly says after noticing her friends sigh

“Y/n, all it takes is for him to show up at your doorstep with a designer bag or fancy jewelry in hand, begging for your forgiveness.”

“I know but this time I won’t fall for it!”

Just a couple hours after Y/n’s best friend left, someone suddenly knocked on her door. Y/n quickly ran over to the door, thinking it was the Uber Eats delivery driver but her smile fell once she opened her door. “What are you doing here?”

“Mi amor,” Carlos says in a desperate tone with a Van Cleef & Arpels in hand and a large bouquet of red roses in the other. Y/n feels her heart stop for a split second. Her heart took over as she stepped to the side, leaving room for him to enter. "Perdóname, mi amor. [forgive me, my love] I can't live without you. Please."

"Carlos..." Y/n mumbles as he takes a step closer to her. "I thought we were over. For good.'

"I can't live without you, mi amor. I'm sorry, I'll change."

She lets out a deep sigh, clearly conflicted about whether she should forgive him or not. She could hear her friend in the back of her mind and was quick to ignore her mind to instead respond with what her heart yearned for. "Fine. I forgive you."

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

"You're crazy! I can't stand you." Y/n huffs, slamming the door to his Ferrari shut. Just a few weeks later, they were out clubbing with a few of the other drivers. Carlos had 2 girls all over him and was seemingly flirting with them. However, Y/n was dancing too close to Lando for Carlos' liking, especially since her dress was too short.

Carlos saw her with Lando and dragged her out of the club by her wrist, clearly upset. "You were grinding on him? I could tell you were making him hard!" The Spaniard groans in frustration, unlocking the door to his place.

"You were flirting with other girls! Why can’t I have fun either?”

“Because you’re mine. I don’t want to see you with other guys.”

“But I have to see you openly flirt with other girls?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“No!” Y/n exclaims, her voice becoming louder. She only danced with Lando to get back at Carlos. She didn’t even like the Brit in that way. She just hated seeing that stupid smile the Spaniard had when flirting with girls in skimpy outfits. “I’m sick of you. Acting like it’s fine if girls grind all over you too but God forbid I dance with a friend-“

“Shut the fuck up, Y/n.”

“Shut the fuck up, y/n!” She mimicked in a high-pitched voice. Her face morphed into disgust, heading off into their shared room. “Grow some balls, own up to yourself, then you shut the fuck up!”

“Come back here, Y/n.”

“Fuck off!”

“Quit acting like a bitch!”

Both of their voices were quickly getting louder and louder until they were yelling. They paid no mind to their poor neighbors who would have to hear their screaming matches for hours once again. How could one live like that? Consistently arguing with your partner for hours and hours.

The toxicity was addicting to the both of them. Carlos was like a drug for Y/n. She couldn’t get enough. Even if they always got into arguments over stupid things or doing things to purposely mess with the others just to end in a screaming match, she was addicted.

Carlos loved the screaming matches. He loved having someone that matches his fierceness. He couldn’t help but love the way she’s always screaming at him, in a good and a bad way. Her rage was something beautiful to him. He loves how all it takes is a gift and flowers for her to be back.

For y/n, his toxicity felt like a kiss. With his ultraviolence, the possessive and toxic glint in his brown eyes, it was enough to capture her. She just wanted all of his ultraviolence.

#formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula one imagines #formula one scenarios #f1 scenario #formula one imagine #f1 scenarios #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz imagine

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bitchlessdino · 1 year

Note

joshua hard thots

cockwarming him after rounds of fucking because he can't get enough of feeling your pussy wrapped around his cock

Pairing: Bf!joshua x gn!reader

Genre: tender smut, drabble

Word count: 1.0k+

tags: established relationship, yearning, love, cockwarming, assumed unprotected sex

author note: this probably wasn't what you were looking for anon but i was in such a soft sexy mood I wrote this and have no regrets. this felt like therapy and i love writing again.

You thought there were better things to do than be in bed all day, but Joshua thought otherwise. These free days weren’t rare but definitely getting sparse, placing more significance on quality time, even indoors. The thought vanishes thin into the air when your boyfriend develops the mood physically, wasting no time–in his words anyway–and captures your naked body in his, dipping his hips into you to create friction that he knew drove you crazy.

He could never get sick of you moaning his name. It was like the butter to his perfectly toasted slice of bread, a simple symphony of goodness that in no way could be replicated.

The supple skin that you spent minutes of an hour moisturizing wouldn’t go to waste, tasting as sweet on his tongue as good as it smelled. He was in love with every texture and bump, ingraining into every wrinkle of his brain for keepsake. He could never have enough and he’d prove it too.

“Mmh, yeah…taking me like that…that good?”

There isn’t a moment in time his cock inside your core isn’t pure heaven pushing in and out of you. He’s careful not to hurt you, caressing your hips, and cushioning your posterior in his large hands, while he’s rearranging your insides and with only thoughts of what would please you more. The matter that his dick doing a swell job of ebbing every twitch to your hips only boosts up his ego a smidge, he claims, knowing damn well it was quite the understatement.

“Josh…squeeze me harder…fuck me deeper…”

He also likes how you knew the things to say, ordering him around, teaching him, gratifying him with the heightened volumes of your whines, your screams, his name on your tongue, again. It’d go on for hours–days if he could–and it’s never enough, but god did it feel good to try.

At this point, it’s in the middle of the afternoon and the only reason either one of you had gotten up was to go to the restroom or fetch snacks and water. Neither of you were hungry, thirsty, or felt the need for a different kind of release, so you stayed back together in bed. Joshua has made his point of being the man for you by having you climax in his presence countless times in countless methods and for countless hours. It was time for rest, you both concluded. For now.

You’d nuzzle into his bare chest, feeling the sweat radiate off his incredulously toned body, while his arms–bulging and rippled in from arm day for three times a week every week–shifts around your frame, tugging you close to him. His soft smile lets out a satisfied hum, puckered lips meeting your eyebrows. “You look so tired.”

“Whose fault is that?” you tease with your eyes.

His laughter reminds you of cotton candy, sweet and plush if ever materialized. It brought you back to how addicted you were to such a treat as a child. Now its been replaced with its personified self, Joshua Jisoo Hong. He melted in your mouth better than any confectioners sugar.

“I should feel guilty but,” he shrugs his shoulders to make a show of it, “I don’t. As long as you keep moaning my name or look at me with those eyes–”

You bubble up in laughter, “What eyes–”

“I’ll never stop. Love me the way you do and I’ll make every opportunity together a core memory.”

You light-heartedly scoff, your canine digging at your bottom lip when your eyes fixate on him, feeding into every word, every look, every breathing pattern. Your hand comes up to cup his face and you reach his lips, slowly but surely proving to him you’d do the same. While he was best with words, you were best with action, which proved the physicality of the situation more significant.

When you first met, he was brave enough to be honest in confessing he had little plans to be ‘active’ in a romantic relationship, a sign saying turn away now before you fall into an endless pit of a sexless relationship with no soft landing. He was proven otherwise with you, someone beyond pure imagination. You were a breathing fantasy to him. He was willing to give up everything for you.

Now in the present, his tongue dances against yours, your naked body clutching him, and finally his easily replenished cock tickling against your thigh. He pushed his hand up against your lower back into his torso and your warmth hovers on top of the head of the length, your moisture sliding against the sensitivity and you whine until Joshua feels it in his throat. “Put your dick in me…”

“You just admitted to being tired,” he lightly retorts, already twitching and heart bouncing at the thought.

“I’ll just…keep it warm…please, my love…”

You are sounds of bliss no matter what the words are, but in this case, he couldn’t imagine loving you anymore with the need in your rasp and the ache between your legs.

“Alright,” he relinquishes, hands finding balls of your flesh and guiding you to hug his girth with your fluttering walls that knew no rest. His arms bring you closer–somehow possible–and knead into your skin, feeling the soothing touch on the tips of his digits until he’s plunging the trimmed nails until his DNA is a part of you.

“Mmh, yes,” you mewl, returning your attention to admire his beautiful face, looking at you and only you.

You may have made the request but he was relieved to enjoy it, having already missed the contracting squeeze of your walls pulsating around his needy cock. He always feared that if he had a taste of the best vessel for his cock he would have, he’d refuse to let it go–now wishing, hoping, praying you’re never pried away from his hands.

You grind down to the base of his cock, his full-length home inside you and you share a groan, giggles following after when you lock eyes. Both of you were stupidly besotted with one another, even cherishing the sweet tenderness of languid movement of both your hips not on the journey for the climax, but rather appreciating each other wordlessly, as you’ve always done.

Arousal never leaves either of you while together, finding euphoria even in the smallest things such as doing laundry together or dishes together. The thought of a moment like this replays in both of your minds. Hardly sentences, hardly words, just how you fit like a puzzle, metaphorically and literally.

#svthub #seventeen smut #joshua hong #seventeen #joshua hong smut #hong joshua smut #seventeen joshua #seventeen fanfic #seventeen x y/n #seventeen x you #hong jisoo #hong jisoo smut

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champi8n · 1 year

Text

eyes without a face I ethan landry

warnings: angsty, swearing

synopsis: you discover the truth and realised you didn’t know him at all

you and ethan had a loving relationship, full of sweetness and kindness, you barely had any serious fights and if you did the two of you would discuss it and fix the issue maturely

if somebody asked you where you saw yourself in 10 years you would’ve probably said next to ethan, that’s how confident you were on your love for him

because it’s true, this past year with ethan in your life had truthfully been a dream come true, it felt as if life was repaying you for everything bad that had ever happened to you with such an amazing boy

but unfortunately your dream like reality fell down into pieces a rainy evening you waited for ethan in his dorm

chad was out and ethan too so you decided to wait for him to get home, you didn’t text him before hand because you had surprised him a few times before in his own room so it was nothing new for the ethan

an hour had gone by and still no sign from ethan, you were bored from scrolling through your phone in his bed and you decided to stop wasting your time and try and rest a little bit

you tried to get comfortable while resting in his pillow but you always needed something to hug when you need to sleep which most of the times it was ethan

but seeing as he was absent you looked for a replacement, finding ethan’s second pillow which he never used and just rested on one of the bed corners

it wasn’t big it was a tiny pillow but it was good enough, you grabbed it and pressed it against your chest expecting the usual softness of a pillow yet instead you ended up confused when you felt something harsh and heard a light crunch

you sat up and felt the pillow in your hands again, giving it a little squeeze to be sure you had actually felt something inside

you know you shouldn’t really be snooping around ethan’s belongings but you couldn’t really help but be curious, what if he didn’t know he had something in his pillow? i mean, he barely used it

you quickly took the pillow cover off and froze in your spot, staring at what had fallen down on his bed

a knife, a mask and a folded piece of paper

you were speechless and at the same time filled with so many questions, some to which you were afraid you already knew the answer

the ghostface mask in front of you seemed awfully familiar to you and the knife made things even more obvious to you

one side of you was in total denial while the other was afraid of being right

your eyes shifted to the folded piece of paper, hesitating before taking it in your hands, unfolding it carefully

inside of it you found a list of names paired with hours as well as mentions of ideas for murder

you recognised much of the names, some of them were people you knew was in ethan’s friend group and some just rang bells to you

you sat in silence in his bed filled with fear and doubt, wishing for yourself to be wrong and just delusional

you felt sick in your stomach and when you least expected it you heard the door open, revealing the man who owns your dreams and now fears

“y/n? what are you doing here, is everything alright…?” you looked as ethan scanned the room and saw what was in front of you

he dropped his bag on the floor immediately and just stood there, looking into your eyes and you just yearned to not be deceived

you weren’t sure wether you should be afraid of the boy laying his eyes on you, eyes which became colder but at the same time comforting as you began to cry

“i can explain” he said, quickly walking over to you and dropping to his knees next to where you were sat on his bed

you looked down on him with teary eyes and you knew your fear had came true by those tiny details

“so it is you?” you spat out, not ready for the truth but at the same time you couldn’t stand being lied to one more time

“y/n please just” ethan spoke with a hint of desperation in his voice but was quickly interrupted by you

“just answer the question, ethan”

“yes” he said, looking away from your disappointed gaze, not being able to accept the fact he had let you down

he heard as you broke down into a sob and he felt his heart tear apart as you broke down

he caressed your hand, looking at you again trying to get your attention and comfort you in a desperate manner

but you didn’t know if he was desperate about the fact he just broke you to pieces or about how you could possibly tell on him

“fuck you” you pushed his touch away, standing up from his bed and wiping your tears away with your wrists, embarrassed at how stupid you felt

you looked into his eyes one more time before you left and tried to decipher yourself the puzzle behind his expression, he seemed sad and you could notice how he had the audacity to appear hurt

but you couldn’t help but remember how long you had been lied to by him, how you believed you knew him better than anyone and turns out you don’t at all

there was something bittersweet in his eyes for you now, it used to be your favourite feature of his but now you just can’t help but notice how easy his eyes had been able to deceive you, to trick you, and how it seemed to have no effect on him at all to do so

“just listen to me please” he begged, your eyes had so much pain and hatred in them he couldn’t stand it, but he knew nothing he could do now could fix this “i had to do this okay, i had to!” he shouted as he began to cry

he watched you walk away as he cried, knowing he just lost the one best thing he ever had forever

#ethan landry x reader #ethan landry #scream 6 #scream #angsty

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mayuichi · 5 months

Text

“... I didn't meant what I said.„

Saigiku Jouno x Reader Warning: unhealthy relationship behaviors (sorry I can't see Jouno be capable to have a healthy relationship with anybody)

Note : I skipped yesterday in my everyday fic because of some sickness, so I have to post twice today woohoo! I really hope I'll feel better soon ughhh

Art from the anime.

Despite the blanket covering your lap, you keep shivering from the cool air. Autumn slowly letting place to winter, December becoming colder day by day. It was one of the snowy days today. Those days you would love to spend home with your boyfriend.

Speaking of which, it was getting late, night already settled down. Yet he still isn't home. It isn't even surprising, he is part of the Hunting Dogs after all. You're used for him to get home extremely late, if just not coming home at all.

Sitting on the sofa, looking at some stupid TV show to pass the time, you're reading a book at the same time. You just want some background noises to not suffocate from the silence. You work too, of course, but your shift finishes at 5pm. It's already been two hours you're trying to kill time.

You have been waiting long enough, you're pretty sure he won't come home anytime soon. Placing down your book and turning the TV off, you make your way to the kitchen. Once again, you'd make food only for yourself. How long has it been since your last meal together ? A bit too long.

Picking each ingredient carefully, you start making yourself dinner, every so often glancing toward the window in case you'd see him come home. While waiting for the cooking to be over, checking from time to time in the oven, you pick your phone.

“I'll lock the front door. Be careful to not wake me up when you'll come home, if you even do. I have to wake up early tomorrow.„

You're pretty sure he won't even read it now. There has always been some ups and downs in between you, but it's been a while since the last good time. You couldn't help but doubt his words again. You sigh, feeling helpless.

Eating alone, you use once more the TV as only company. Does he love me? You question your own mind, knowing damn well it'll only hurt you further. But those questions keep repeating themselves in your mind until the next day.

Even throuhough your shift. You're tensed, so anxious it needs to end. He hasn't answered your last text, and didn't even went home.

Walking home, your head low, you don't want to see anyone. Holding the end of your scarf, you hurry back home. The cold air reddening your nose and ears, your fingers taking a blue tint. You even struggle to open your door, your hands shaking.

Rapidly closing the door behind you, you rub your hands against one another, yearning for some warmth. Without undoing your scarf or jacket, you make your way to the kitchen to make yourself a hot chocolate, only to see a tall figure waiting against the cupboard.

He is facing you, his arms crossed as a smirk adorned his face. “I can feel that you missed me, didn't you ?„ he hums. It isn't truly a question, he already knows the answer. Yet you don't plan on giving him one.

He raises an eyebrow when he hears your steps leaving to the bedroom, where you take off your scarf, jacket and shoes. He follows you close. “Aren't you planning on answering me ? Is it too much to ask to your little self?„

His smirk widens when he feels your heartbeat increase. He absolutely loves the way he can play your emotions like an instrument. So easy to read, and to control. “If you can't even utter a word, then what's the purpose of my presence. I thought you'd jump in my arms. Or perhaps... You don't truly love me ?„

He steps closer and closer, until his slender figure is hovering you, almost pinning you against the wall. Fluttering your eyes shut, anxiety rising in your body, your voice almost breaking as you speak. “I.. should be the one asking you that..„

He huffs in response, unsure of what you are trying to tell him. He brings his fingers under your chin. “Go ahead, word your thoughts then. I am all ears, darling.„

Your breath itchs in your throat. Feeling his soft yet hot breath against your nose, you muttered in a shy voice. “... I know your work asks you a lot of your time but.. You don't even text me...„

You see his expression not faltering even in the slightless. Instead, he just pulls away, sighing in disappointment. “Are you that needy ? Greedy for attention ? You should've known better when you desired to be with me. If you can't keep up, then I might just leave.„

His words sink in your mind. You turn your head away, barely capable to answer. “... I understand...„ it took you all your might to not let your voice break, but he knows better. He knows deep down you're dying from his words.

And even if he feels regret, speaking and admitting them out loud is another thing. He watches as you make your way to the living room, where you snuggle under the blanket and turn the TV on. He has always been cruel, but never going to that extend. Never expressing anything about leaving.

What if he truly does ? Would it make him feel better ? But you, in all that ? Does he think about how you feel ? You endured all his words, and his sadist behavior all the time, for only little to no comforting moment. You just have to handle it. Yet you are at your breaking point.

Drowning your sorrow and pain in that stupid show. It's all you can do if you don't want your mind to make you suffocate. The night quickly arrives, and with that, the cold breeze from the open window too.

Too absorbed into forgetting your aching heart, you don't hear the footsteps making their way to close the window. “Darling,„ his tone surprisingly sweet. “Here. I wouldn't want you to freeze.„

He places a hot chocolate in front of you on the coffee table, sitting down next to you. He doesn't try to touch you in any way though, surely knowing it isn't the time for it. You stare at the gentle treat he gives you.

You hesitantly reach for the cup, feeling its warmth spreading through your hands. You see him pick the TV remote to lower the volume. He lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment.

“... Why do you act so kind suddenly ?„ you breath out, quietly blowing on the hot chocolate before taking a sip. You can hear him gulp. Perhaps he feels remorse now..

“... I didn't meant what I said.„ it's so hard for him to admit he's wrong. It makes you giggle, and you don't hide it, which makes him have a faint blush. He clears his throat, “... Don't laugh like that. It isn't fun.„

“Yet it would've been if I were the one to apologise.„ you sigh, keeping your eyes on that sweet drink he made you. He leans over you, his head almost resting on your shoulder.

“... I promise to make an effort, but please, don't leave yet. I want you to stay. It's better with you.„ it's the first time he shows himself being vulnerable. Yet, everyone has insecurities and weak side, right ? But he doesn't want anyone to see it. You're the only exception.

“If you don't push me to leave again, then... I won't. I love you also for your harsh words, but.. Just, don't make me feel like I'm a burden.„

He presses a gentle kiss on your cheek. You hope he'll change his behavior, but you can't be sure he will. You just allow yourself to doubt. He wraps his arm around your shoulder, rubbing it in a comforting gesture.

“You can't be a burden. You make me have another purpose than just serve for justice. You make me feel alive.„

/ᐠ - ˕ •マ Ⳋ mayuichi's property. do not repost, copy or translate it without permission.

#bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd #bsd x reader #bsd jouno #bsd saigiku #jouno saigiku #saigiku jouno x reader #x reader #bsd jouno saigiku #/ᐠ - ˕ •マ Ⳋ's writing

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boobav · 4 months

Text

Sanguine

Revenant x Reader

content: angsty & smutty drabble, I guess a happy ending?

word count: 1k

He could offer you nothing.

During dark hours where his metal hands slithered along your body is when he felt this realisation most deeply. He could give you no warmth, no child- he couldn't even kiss you. Kaleb wasn't even sure if he could love you, a simple thing to most, but to him, one who hadn't felt the touch of such a thing during centuries of life, he wasn't sure at all.

And yet, time and time again, you came to him.

You pressed hot kisses against this face forced upon him and sighed in content at each one. His fingers knead the flesh of your hip as you straddle him in his plain, undecorated room, and he listens as your heart thrums quick and hard between your ribs. He undoes your shirt buttons deftly and hums as your hands move to cup his face.

He was vile. He was the villain in countless stories, the shadow waiting in the dark; he'd told you so countless times. Months upon months piled up like paperwork, but for some reason, you continued to disregard his verbal attacks and senseless force. You stayed, a thorn in his side that continued to remind him that he was still much too human. When he fucks you like a man starved, he finds himself yearning for his long-dead body, for his blue eyes and smooth voice, not for himself, but for you. So you could be normal, you could be warm, and safe, and content. So you could feel more than steel and rage with your gentle touch.

He brushes his unmoving, metal lips over your neck as your shirt is thrown across the room. He knows that you'll leave him- of course you will. As he helps you discard your shorts, he thinks, and he knows. How could you ever be content with a monster? With a monster who lacks every desirable aspect of humanity, with a monster who can't mutter out I love you, even when it weighs down on his fake tongue and strangles him with its twisting fingers.

And as he enters you, silicone and steel, he knows he will never be enough. No amount of metal can recreate what you need, what you deserve. His hands squeeze your thighs as he fucks up into you, carnally, face shoved into the crook of your neck to stifle his own noises as you moan his name, his real name, and he thinks of what a sick joke his life is; he holds perfection in his hands, he hears it cry his lost name, but he will never be enough.

"Are you okay?" Your voice comes out breathy, broken, and Kaleb stills within you. You bring a hand to his face, guiding it away from your neck. Of course, you could decipher nothing from his expression, for it never changed, still as the mountains no matter the situation. But you could tell from his silence that something was bothering him behind those yellow eyes.

"Yeah." Is all he says, and leans in, waiting for you to press a warm kiss against his cold lips. And you do, humming as he moves his hips again, slowing the pace slightly.

You want to prod; you want to beg him for his real thoughts. But getting those out of Kaleb was nigh impossible. Rarely, on a cool summer night stargazing, something about his past or present turmoil will spill from his lips, and you cherish it, you love his words because you love him. But you knew that pushing him for vulnerability was a mistake, no matter how much your heart hurt for him.

And he knew he was stupid. He knew that he was ruining the one good thing in his pathetic life by not opening up, by fucking you and pretending there was nothing to it besides lust. His eyes are trained on you as you throw your head back with a moan; he eyes the bead of sweat rolling down your neck, he eyes your lips, your closed eyes, the curve of your nose. He feels the ghost of his heart flutter and thump with humanity, and he hates it.

He hates it because he knows, deep down in the pitiful thing he calls a soul, he knows that you will leave him. He knows that this will not last, that the butterflies in his chassis that swarm when he sees you will die, because you will realise that he can offer you nothing. He shoves his face back into your neck as he cums, mechanical hips stuttering against your bruised skin, a synthesised groan of both ecstasy and agony crawling from his throat.

You drag him down into bed with you, and unlike every other time, you are met with no resistance. You cling to his metal frame like ivy, sighing at all the words left unsaid that linger in the air, making it stale and unbreathable.

"Kaleb?" You ask with a nervous lilt.

"Hm?" His hum sounds somehow exhausted.

"You know I'd never leave you, right?"

"I know. You tell me this every day." He wants to slam his head against the wall for responding to your sincerity with sarcasm. Yet, despite your constant statements, he can't bring himself to believe you- because he knows better. He knows that eventually you'll run off. As soon as you get a taste of the humanity absent in Kaleb through someone else, you will leave. It'll fill your lungs and pump through your heart like fire, and you'll be wondering why you wasted your time on him at all.

But, even so- as you mumble against his chest and hold him somehow tighter, he can't crush that fluttering of hope inside him that maybe...

Maybe you won't leave.

#apex legends headcanons #apex legends fanfic #apex legends x reader #apex legends #revenant x reader #revenant fanfic #revenant apex #kaleb cross x reader #apex legends imagines

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soraviie · 1 year

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maniac.oneshot

━ type: yoongi x f! reader ━ masterlist ━ word count: 3k

━ about: He comes here to look for medicine. Here in this scornful embrace of yours.

━ c/w: violence, blood, patching someone up, stitches, needles , absolutely unhinged, obsessive Yoongi + (sort of) morally grey reader; she doesn't like him much

━ leave a comment and show this fic some love otherwise I'll steal your food. If you like my work and want to tip, here's my ko-fi. Thank you so much if you do!

There’s a quiet rapping at the window pane that doesn't come as a surprise. It’s well dark outside, some ungodly minute after three in the morning. You know who it is.

You hope he leaves.

You hope he just disappears and that once he does breathing will become a bit easier.

But since it is him, you should have known that such a simple, soft thing as silence wouldn’t be enough of a deterrent.

Hearing the unsubtle “shit!” and a loud, body like thud crashing against the blue glazed tiles of your god-awful kitchen, you flinch beneath the covers, weighing the option of just ignoring yet another visit of his. Two years of his indulged insanity, of his rotting hands infecting everything he brushed past.

Two years of him rotting you whole.

And who wouldn't be sick of that? Day and night going around and around, and around?

But if you knew Yoongi at all, you also knew the fact he’d make your night a living hell. He’d all but drag you out of this bed by your ankles if that's what it'd take to get your attention.

So who was this man — Min Yoongi?

With a sigh and eye roll, you push the twin duvets off, yearning for their warmth in the otherwise chilly air.

Min Yoongi was a thief, a killer, always choosing violence, face so pretty with heart so hard you'd think he was stone-carved, and, unfailingly, unflinchingly —

You pad towards the kitchen door finding him laughing deliriously on the tiled floor, blood spilling all over his beaten mouth.

— insane.

“Why did you fix your window?” he whines in a sort of tone of voice that should not be admissible to anyone within his line of…work. But Min Yoongi could get away with it because he could get away with anything. Murder. Mayhem. His vile, repulsive nature.

“I broke it so perfectly. Could slip in an’ out. Like butter.”

“Maybe that’s why I fixed it,” dryly, you respond, crossing your arms around the chest. Thankfully, the fluffy bathrobe is covering enough.

“And by the end of the night you’ll have two fucked up windows,” he says, throwing a thumb back at the damage. The hinges are completely broken, letting in torrents of frigid air. “Is that so much better?”

“What the fuck you want?”

“Jesus, can’t a man get some lovin’ anymore round these parts?” he rolls his eyes, gliding a tongue over his battered lips. “Need you to work your magic, darling.”

“Get your magic at the corner,” you throw your head in the general direction of the main street, staring derisively as he once again makes himself at home in your kitchen. Rifling through cupboards and your fridge like he owns it. In his mind he does. He owns this apartment, someday he’ll own the southside gang and, more importantly, he owns you. Not in some distant, probable future, no. Here. Now.

At least in the sick, fucked up world of his.

“Why don’t you ever have anythin’ good in?” he pokes his head into the fridge, flicking a finger at the aged milk bag only to let the doors fall shut with a dragged out sigh of discontent. As you continue to stand, hovering disinterestedly in the doorway, his eyes find yours, lighting up in childish, deeply unsettling amusement.

“You jealous?”

“If someone would shoot you in the fucking head right now, I’d go to a club.”

“You like clubs that much?”

“Fucking hate them.”

Had anyone in this entire side of the city that's dying like an infected roadkill would see you badmouthing Min Yoongi, The Min Yoongi who stabbed a guy with a pair of chopsticks and ate with them not an hour later, they’d revere you as some kind of insanely hardened criminal but you knew something they did not. Oh, how he enjoyed you being harsh towards him. It drove him buck wild. He got off to your contempt and as long as he did, you were safe. He comes here to look for medicine. Here in this scornful embrace of yours as paradoxical as it sounds. In these four, discrete walls, an act of reckless bravery was actually nothing but sheer cowardice. You knew it and Yoongi knew it, hence why every time he broke into your apartment, over and over, and over, and over again, it always felt like coming home.

Or so he said.

The soles of his shoes scuff against the floor as he comes to stand before you, your nose immediately itching with the acrid smell of a cigarette smoke. He always had some accursed cheap brand that got everywhere and soaked up into fabrics like liquid. Words didn't describe how much you hated it.

“Come on,” he goads you on, leaning down to your eye level with a wicked grin. “Isn’t it a doctor's duty to treat everyone in need? Your boy's very much in need,” smugly, he spreads his arms, spinning around so you can inspect the damage. Your tongue just burns to scorn that he can’t be fixed, he can’t be treated with anything else other than death but even you wouldn’t go that far.

Tonight’s damage, however, did go quite over the lines. His face is busted, there’s a faint limp in the already off way he moves and the back of his jacket has a long slash akin that of a carving knife. Even if it didn’t cut up his spine, there’s no way the flesh underneath it laid unharmed.

“Didn’t you give that hypocritic oath?”

“It’s hippocratic,” sharply, you correct but naturally it only broadens the curve of Yoongi's smile. “And veterinarians don’t give those, you dumb shit!"

Almost instinctively, his head tips backwards. Shuddering, he groans with a deep sigh of content underneath the pale blue lights of your home.

"Fuck, how I like that temper of yours."

"I should just kill you."

But the threat is measly and Yoongi only chuckles hearing it. Pulling a chair out, he comes to sit down upon it, feigning some kind of obedience as he gazes up at you, expectantly. He’s waiting for you to fix him, for you to “kiss it all better” as he put it. As if the skin on your hands didn’t burn just by grazing him.

“Oh, come on,” he tugs at the end of your bathrobe belt, nimble fingers working their way up to the knot. You slap them away. “You lick my wounds, I lick yours.”

“I don’t have any wounds,” you grumble but for some unknown reason you give in, making the move to retrieve your first aid kit. He used it so much, by now you had to replace it thrice.

You didn’t have to, a quiet voice at the far reaches of your skull interject. You could have just run out and let it be the end of that.

“Yeah, sure,” you hear him snort under the breath.

But since you hate that voice, you don’t listen to it and mindlessly push the whole of blame onto him. He wouldn’t just shove off if you told him you had no tools. He’d just bring his own. The man did systematically break down the security on your bedroom window for the sole reason of annoying you in the middle of the night. Yoongi doesn't just leave. He’s like a ghost that way, endlessly haunting you on.

By now the routine is somewhat rehearsed, he moves his head where he must, doesn’t so much as wince when the peroxide hits the mangled flesh. As he peels of his shirt, spouting some bullshit about you being excited that ends in a sharp hiss as you clean it, your suspicions are proven correct. There is a gash all over his back. Not so deep that you couldn’t mend it but enough to leave a crusted up trail behind. You clean it nicely and add a generous amount of medical tape. Normally you’d tell someone to take it easy and not strain the place of injury but it’s Yoongi and in less than fifteen hours, he’ll be either going on another raid with his cronies or dunking some poor soul underneath the waterline. Such was his nature.

You tip his head to face the ugly light of the overhead lamp, frowning as you do. Instead of the wide, even…innocent looking eyes Yoongi gives you, you focus on the wound on the side of his head.

“A bat?” you hum and he blinks, appearing to only now remember all about it.

“Oh, yeah, a lowlife piece of shit swung at me. Real nasty.”

He laughs.

You don’t see what’s funny about that.

“It’ll need stitches,” you draw a weary sigh. Stitches were gross. No matter how many times you applied them, human or animal, there was something inherently queasy about the way a skin had to be pierced and woven together like a fleshy fabric.

“I have some vodka...?”

Already half expecting some flippant, inane quip about you wanting to get him drunk and take advantage of his poor soul, because he would be the type to make a joke like that, you’re startled to feel both of his arms wrap around your waist, cheek coming to rub against your stomach.

“Nah, this will get me through plenty.”

If he’d be a cat, he’d be purring.

You mouth your “what the fuck”, largely for a peace of mind and just do what you must, swallowing down the rising bile as the wound begins bleeding the second the needle touches the raw flesh. His arms embrace you like a vice but for all intents and purposes, he’s even smiling as you hurt him.

What a broken man he was.

“There,” some forty minutes later you slam the aid kit onto the rickety table. “You’re all better. Leave.”

“Just tossing a guy out on the street,” he begins to complain loudly and frightfully, you shush him. If the neighbours hear his voice flowing unmistakably from the confines of your apartment, they’ll oust you.

But did it really matter that much anymore?

With a devious sparkle in the eye, he tosses a glimpse towards you and not a second later, you feel a wet tongue glide over your palm.

Hastily, you pull it away.

“That’s fucking disgusting!”

“You lick mine, I lick yours,” his grin spreads in an open mouthed expression. You’d seen it once before. Only, of course, he’d slammed some dude’s head against the table then. Blood and teeth had spilt that night and only by luck did the noodles that you’d been eating just seconds prior didn’t spill back from your guts. After finishing beating the guy halfway to death, he’d found you shrinking on the dirty ground of the local uncle’s open air bistro.

“Ey, why you kneeling in the dirt for?” he cooed with such a thoroughly pleasant tone as blood pooled underneath his feet that even to this day you couldn’t help but shiver. “You’re dirtying your dress, pretty!”

He yanked you roughly up by the shoulders, fingers digging so deep they left bruises though you hadn’t felt it at the time. Your gaze sat in horrified fixation upon the dying man who whimpered softly by the broken tables. With some muted curiosity, the psychopath followed your stare.

“Ah, that shithead?” he crooned. “Are you going to be a hero and call an ambulance to help him?”

You didn’t answer, both not being able to as your breath stuttered so hard you feared you’d pass out any second and also assuming the question was rhetorical.

“You deaf or something?” he shook you rudely. “Come on, lucky, speak! Roll over!”

“I-I will,” at last you struggled out and his eyebrows inched a place higher.

“He’s a drug dealer, you know,” Yoongi's voice barely reached your ears but even so you were taken aback by its smoothness. It was almost more sickening than if he just had one of the terribly stereotypical gangster. “Has killed dozens. And you don’t want to let him die?”

“It-it’s n-not about him,” you panted, nerves going into haywire the longer the man kept lying unconscious. He will die. And soon if nothing changed. “I just don’t want to feel guilty.”

For a second Yoongi’s eyes had widened. He genuinely had not expected such an answer from you.

A moral, upright person would answer that every life was precious. That you were not a judge of whether he should live or die but the truth was far more brutal — you didn’t care about him.

You cared about yourself.

And this facade of goodness.

He tipped his head back and roared into a peel of loud laughter that startled you so horridly, you threw yourself backwards against the red bistro desk, knocking it over in the process.

“You’re a funny one,” still gasping for breath, he reached into the pocket of his blue jacket and proceeded to put a bright tangerine in your hands. Once he forcefully pried them open, that is. “Let’s see each other around, a’ight?”

Well, anyways that man did in fact live. Disfiguredly but live he did. The tangerine sat bright and sweet, shone by the dual colours of the disinterested police. Naturally there was no investigations, the witnesses mysteriously never came forth and while the uncle was displeased with his business being splattered with blood, even he didn't protest much. In the end, when in Rome do what Romans do. Conceal the murder attempt. Don't be a hero.

The tangerine had sat on your bedside table for a week, mocking you in echoes of his roughened laughter. You threw it away after that.

And word by word, it all unfolded to this. To Min Yoongi you were made of the same bone he was and you needed but a scratch. Like a lottery ticket, he’d scratch at you and you’d stop pretending you didn’t fit in this carousel of violence and greed.

And maybe he was right. Maybe with the right scratch you would fold. But a woman has the same ability to forge her path ahead as anyone else and only you decide to choose who you are even if it was an utter lie.

You rouse from your thought and Yoongi’s expression is oddly still. In moments such as these you truly doubted he was genuinely, clinically insane. In moments like these you suspected there was calculation in the madness but even if there was, no point caring about it now.

Min Yoongi was about to be exorcised.

He fishes a tangerine out of the pocket and with a deep rumble in the voice offers it to you.

"Want one?"

"I'm good."

Abruptly, Yoongi stretches, most likely immediately ripping at the wound on his back and joyfully chirps. The tangerine he chucks behind the shoulder where it carelessly rolls towards the corner of the table.

“I’m beat and your bed is so nice. I’ll stay here for a night.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Oh, calm down,” he brushes off, pushing the chair back. You liked to keep your things neat as long as he was here, Yoongi made sure to respect that. You didn’t quite know how to feel about that.

“I’ll keep all the parts to my fine self. Even if I promise you’d see God if only you let me,” he winks, letting his tongue stick out. You don’t grace him with a response whilst a sheen of sweat builds at the back of your neck.

“No, really, you’re not staying here.”

As a desperate prevention measure, you place yourself firmly between Yoongi and the rest of the apartment. His eyebrows knit together while the mouth loops in a confused smirk.

“What? You can’t control yourself that hard?”

As you fail to reply, his amusement slips.

“Is there someone in your bed?” he sneers. “I’ll kill them. Don’t give a shit who they are.”

Yoongi pushes past you but there is no one either in your bed nor in your apartment. Nothing but piles upon piles of stained, brown boxes.

He comes to a sudden halt, literally stuck mid-step as his gaze flits over the impersonal appearance of your home, cheek growing increasingly terrifying.

“You’re moving,” at last, he mumbles in a numb, impersonal tone, slowly turning around. Pinned like a bug underneath a microscope, you begin to shuffle anxiously from one foot to another.

“I accepted a job offer. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

His eyes narrow dangerously.

“Tomorrow,” Yoongi echoes, voice falling terribly low. “And you didn’t think to inform me?”

You swallow and muster up the splatter of nerves still left in your body.

“Why should I?”

“Do you still have that dream of a proper clinic?” he suddenly spits. “Of all the fucking white coats and nice puppies?”

“So what if I do?” spitefully, you snap back. “Am I not allowed? Does the great Min Yoongi not allow me to dream?”

The palms previously resting by his thighs curl into fists and he gasps a deep, trembling inhale, clearly struggling to contain his explosive anger.

“In a month’s time I’ll take over the gang,” he growls, lip's twitching in annoyance. “I’ll kill that fucking old bastard with my bare hands and rule this part of the city.”

“I don’t see how that's rel—”

“I’ll give you your fucking clinic.”

Your mouth runs dry but inspecting him from head to toe you don’t find a hint of amusement on his face. The darks of his eyes almost appear…earnest. If only you would believe them.

“We’ll make it all proper, put up bunch of smiling signs and shit,” he continues on, growing only more confident with each word. “And if no one comes, there’s plenty of dogs in the gang. Jungkook alone has like 500. You can doctor them all day long.”

A long drag of silence washes over you when he stops talking and though it takes you a while you do speak and with pride, you can vouch that your voice does not shake.

“I don’t want that.”

“Fucking SHIT!” he curses sharply, taking a lunging step towards you. His teeth are gritted and his gaze is insane but the eyes…his eyes are wet.

“Are you that fucking bolstered up your fucking moral high horse? Are you that obsessed with accepting broken things that search you for a cure?!”

“I accepted you, didn’t I?”

It’s almost funny…well, no, it’s not funny at all. You’ve seen all sides of him. Min Yoongi the thief, the killer, the psychopath but never just Min Yoongi — a man. A man with a heart, a man with feelings other than hate and twisted carnal pleasure at the suffering of others. You saw it, just now in the fleeting point between one second and the next, you saw him, bare and devastated like a kitten out in the cold and then it’s gone and you’re fairly sure that because of you that part won't ever appear again

“I’m sick of men like you, no, men in general telling me what I can or cannot do,” evenly, you conclude your train of thought but it’s unclear whether Yoongi hears it at all. Both his gaze and face are blank and the fists have uncurled, his arms laying listlessly by the side. With one clean punch, you knocked the fight out of him.

No pride comes because of it.

“I’ll choose who I am and where I go and you’ll have no say in it.”

He stands utterly silent before you, the shaggy black hair falling down like a curtain — obscuring his eyes. That stupid flowery shirt flows in the slight breeze he’d created by breaking your kitchen window.

Then he smiles.

It’s empty.

And you shudder.

“You know, darling," he coos, lips forming a deceptive pout. There's not a trace of warmth on his face. "You should never show your pretty face back here ever again.”

The tone is the same as it had when you first met him on that dreadful night. Pleasant.

He stalks past you with languid, considerate steps and opens the busted window like he’s done dozens of times before, climbing over the ledge. Your heart is in your throat and only now you grasp how fast it’s racing.

He’s almost gone but because it’s him, Yoongi makes sure you hear it before he drops down in the otherwise empty dark. The faint yellow light of the streetlamps outside etch long, menacing shadows upon his face but even so you think that he’s grieving somewhere underneath his own facade.

“Though if we meet outside...I ain't making any promises.”

tagging: @pinkcherrybombs; @devilsbooksworld; @btsiguess-kpop; @belladaises; @halesandy; @seok-jinnies; @themochiverse; @cuteipat; @ratherbefangirling; @manchuria; @chimchimmarie; @smalliechelle; @koostarcandy; @flitzerj; @royallyjjk; @dreamamubarak; @anti-social-mochi267; @jung-nika-hoseok; @silverliningsandstorms; @ahewlett

#yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi x y/n #yoongi angst #bts angst #yoongi oneshot #bts oneshot #yoongi haegeum au #yoongi drabble #bts drabble

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odditycircus-2002 · 6 months

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ANGST WITH BARAKA AND MEDUSA!READER

Blame this song from Adventure Time for the thoughts that came to my mind.😈😈😈

youtube

All of Outworld knows the cruel fate that awaits all those inflicted with Tarkat. While it's true that Tarkat will eventually claim the afflicted's life, its victims live the rest of their days in fear of themselves. It's distressing enough to be trapped in a body twisted and disfigured into a monstrous form that you hardly recognize. But then, to be fated to slowly lose your mind to a feral hunger that can only be satiated with the flesh of others, no matter if it once belonged to your family or neighbors, seems like a cruel punishment from the gods.

Y/N does her damnest to find a cure in hopes of sparing everyone of this fate, specifically before her Baraka can fully succumb to Tarkat and truly become a monster. However, that doesn't negate the real possibility the former tribune may be too far gone by the time you find a cure. You already notice how, with each passing day, Baraka becomes more irritable and eager for violence; with each passing day he survives, your heart fills with adoration.

'Oh dear Baraka, how you fight countless battles every day. It matters not if it's for the sick's livelihood or for your own mind; you face them with the same strength of will. The mere fact that you've resisted Tarkat's madness for years is a testament to this willpower. You who lifted my spirits during my darkest hour.'

You are forever thankful to have Baraka in your life and don't want to imagine him not in it.

Friendship is all that he or you will accept, as you, too, have lost much in little time. Yet that doesn't stop him from fiercely protecting you to the best of his abilities or seeking comfort in each other's touch. A blind man can see the yearning in your eyes when thinking the other isn't looking.

When the former tribune and merchant first heard the arrival of an Imperial Healer, he thought it too good to be true. Now, Baraka gives thanks to the gods every day for you. You had brought something almost, if not as effective as a possible cure. Hope. Your valiant research for a cure has become a beacon of hope to all Tarkatans and Baraka. As if that wasn't enough, you also gave your friendship to the former merchant.

Baraka will forever be grateful for all you have brought to his colony. He admires your determination even in the face of seemingly impossible odds and when your body becomes a stranger to you. Baraka appreciates your soft touch when looking over him and your gently but firm voice that raises his morale, similarly to how his wife used to. His wife...

The loss of his wife, children, home, health, and title was almost too much for him to bear. The former merchant fears that to love again and inevitably lose it all similarly will break what little there's left of him.

"... Cruelly, it lets me live, for now. I think it enjoys ravaging my body more slowly..."

Baraka must protect you, even if it's from him. He could never forgive himself if he were to spill your blood, much less because of his sanity slipping away. The former tribune constantly warns you to be ready whenever he starts to lose his grip on his mind and not get too close. You don't really listen to the latter as you embrace him once more in your arms and promise everything will be alright. Eventually, the Tarkatan would return your gesture, savoring every second while committing your scent to memory.

Baraka hopes you'll forgive him for whatever he does when he can't remember you or anyone.

...

Baraka isn't to remember everything he did or said, for that matter. Unfortunately, he remembers how he saw you cry. He swears by Delia that it wasn't him, it was Tarkat. Why? Why? W.H.Y?

Why does it allow him to live?!?

"Y/N... Please forgive me..."

But what's done is done.

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #mk x reader #mk1 baraka #baraka x reader #baraka mk #angst hours #oddball speaks #late night thoughts #Youtube #angst #drabble

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nomazee · 11 months

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take me home

march 7th x reader

word count: 1.3k

summary: it’s late at night, and your hands are stained with the harsh charcoal of your artwork—which means, naturally, that march’s hands are softening just to take care of you.

content: COLLEGE AU, roommates, comfort (without any hurt really), pining, reader is an art major (I AM PROJECTING), sickeningly sweet, unspoken love

notes: a request has been sitting in my inbox for months now. this is not that request. i am so sorry. every time i add another wip to my in-progress page suddenly i lose all motivation to work on ANYTHING on that list and instead i do this. i vomit on a google doc. ok. anyways... ENJOY

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at midnight, you come back to the ground after working on autopilot for two hours. now that you’re present, grounded, in this world, you can feel the tremble of your hands and the ache in your stomach from only drinking lukewarm plain tea for half the day.

it’s an awful, awful habit, and you know that. you just don’t have the space to work on fixing it in the throes of three midterm projects and an exam. you look down at your hands, stained with a mix of white and black charcoal. it’s caked under your fingers, too, and eraser shreds cling to your skin. in the dim light of your desk lamp, they kind of look like tiny worms, and the thought makes you shiver.

march comes into your room, the only indicator being the clicks of your door opening and closing and the gentle shuffle of her slippers against your carpet. you don’t turn—you never need to, with her, because she’s already putting a gentle hand on your shoulder and leaning down to whisper something in your ear, something like “come eat, i made you dinner,” or maybe “take a shower, i’ll clean your room.” whatever it is, the specifics don’t matter, because these nights always end the same.

it’s a gentle routine. something you don’t get often, which is good, because at least that means you don’t overwork yourself near the point of sickness too often. but it’s also terrible, because that means the uncharacteristic softness of march’s hands against your shoulders and voice against your cheek and weight against your back will always be that—uncharacteristic. like an astrological event that only comes once every million years, except you get it maybe once every month, which still isn’t enough for your yearning, empty hands.

you’re in the kitchen, suddenly, led by march’s arm gently wrapped around your shoulders as she walks in tandem with you. her mouth presses against your cheek, you’re pretty sure, as she sits you down in your cramped, tiny kitchen and slides a hot bowl of something in front of you.

“i’m gonna tidy your room. is there anything you don’t want me to touch?” and there’s a twitch in your face now, because you were right about the cleaning-your-room part, and march always asks this. if there’s anything she shouldn’t touch, because there’s something about the late hours of the night that makes her suddenly so considerate about little things like that.

“just the drawing,” you tell her, because the drawing is thirty-six by forty-eight inches and took you two weeks and a lot of stress to finish, and if something happened to it then you’d burn the entire campus down, “but everything else is fine. thank— thank you.”

and it’s hard getting that out, and you feel ridiculous for it. like you’re some spoiled kid who was never raised to say thank you in your life, but this is hard. this is different, because you’re twenty and your roommate has taken care of you more times than you’re willing to admit and yet she never expects anything of you. and it hurts because she’s the type of person who you think might hold it against you—in a joking, lighthearted way, like you have to get me one of those expensive coffee’ from the campus cafe before class tomorrow, or next time we order food you’re paying, but instead she just never mentions it and it makes you want to throw up, maybe.

but you don’t—throw up, that is, because there’s a steaming bowl of rice and vegetables in front of you and the sound of shuffling and pencils being put away echoes from your room down the hall and everything is so domestic and it’s so late at night that you just sink into it. happy and content and warm, deep in your gut where the emptiness was sitting.

march pulls you away, again, once your bowl is empty and you finish the cup of water she gave you. you close your eyes blearily and feel a wet wipe on your face, one of those cleansing wipes that you buy for times like this when you’re too tired to actually wash your face. of course, you didn’t expect them to be used like this when you first started buying them—with your roommate rubbing firm circles into your skin, close enough that you can hear the whistle of her nose every time she exhales. you don’t complain. not with march. never with march.

“i’m tired,” you’re saying, and your eyes are still shut and the ache in your hands has spread through your entire body. you’re well-fed and satiated and your face is damp with diluted tea tree oil instead of the icky sheen of sweat from before, and you’re tired. you whine it out, almost, like a petulant child in the car on a road trip asking are we there yet, and pretending to be asleep when the car engine slows to a stop and the car doors start to open.

march’s hands cradle your face, cleansing wipe discarded somewhere on the counter. and your eyes are still closed, and you’re really considering it—the whole faking-being-asleep thing, because you’d love nothing more than for march to guide you to bed with a hand slung around your waist, tracing the strip of skin under the hem of your shirt and maybe a gentle kiss on your cheek, or maybe even your neck. the night is deep, and your eyelids are weighing down on the rest of your body, and your inhibitions have dwindled with the sun a long time ago. there’s nothing stopping the flood of stupid sappy thoughts rushing through your sleep-addled brain.

“i know,” march mumbles, something like affection in her voice. her words are cut off, like she wants to say something else, like she wants to tag on a pet name and call you my love or baby or sweetheart. you say, “i’m really tired, march,” because if you don’t get to bed soon then you’re going to start saying these things out loud and to her face.

but that just makes it worse, because now it’s like she’s pouring everything she can into you. all her half-reluctant affections and the tenderness of her eyes and the way her thumbs are rubbing circles into your jaw now. she looks at you with furrowed brows and a corner of her mouth presses downward, like she’s worried, and you want to laugh because you never thought your stupid, half-rude, stubborn roommate would be worried for you.

“okay. let’s get you to bed.” she puts an arm around your shoulder and guides you up from the couch that she set you down on when she was cleaning your face, and you want her to pick you up so badly that you can’t stop the way your hand comes up to clutch at her shoulder, too, while she walks patiently next to your weak, sluggish legs. you might cry, or kiss her, or fall asleep slumped against her side, and you don’t know what would be worse.

there’s no more time to contemplate that, anyways, because now you’re in bed and march is tucking you in and you feel childish. “i’m sorry” bubbles up at your throat and you get half of it out before she clicks her tongue, letting out a heavy sigh as she kneels by your nightstand, tidying the scraps of paper and gum wrappers and dusty glasses of water.

“what are you even apologizing for?” she asks rhetorically. it’s almost scolding, but she cares in her own way, and you’ve known her long enough to understand what her tone means. you wish she’d get mad instead of being so kind. you wish she would be as sarcastic as she is in the daytime with you instead of softening at the edges and at the center and at the sides. you wish she’d kiss you, maybe.

“i don’t know.” you’re not even sure if your words are making any sense, if the vowels slur together or if your tongue even hits the roof of your mouth or if you’re already asleep—but you must be asleep, because you can feel a pressure against your cheek and surely that can’t be march kissing you goodnight. of course it wouldn’t be.

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errantnight · 8 months

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Oh my god, hold on! Is it wierd that I'm a girlie who loves angst (probably because I can relate to some e.i panic attacks) - so your whump!Cloud wheel made me feel things! The urge I have to pick one prompt but there's so many... The easiest route for me would be "panic attacks" but I'm craving some "sleep deprivation..." one 'cause I always have been into psyche and dreamlike stuff 🥺

Sorry this took so long, I really liked that prompt too because Cloud almost never sleeps in Remake at all! I think he gets maybe one uninterrupted nights sleep.

You're not weird, I'm a lady who adores whump and hurt/comfort and I'd say more than half of us into it are women!

Here's your story!

Cloud couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a good night’s sleep. Hells, he’d just like to have more than two or three hours of uninterrupted unconsciousness… something twitched uncomfortably in the back of his mind, that he didn’t want that actually, nonsensically insisting he’d slept enough for the rest of his life. He’d fall asleep and inevitably jerk awake an hour later - an hour if he was lucky that is.

Rolling over, he stared at the blank wall his bed was pressed up against, eyes burning and head swimming with exhaustion. His body ached and no position was particularly comfortable as his muscles twitched restlessly. He was tired, he should be tired, he’d barely slept the day before and he’d not stopped going all day - all night he’d spent running, riding, fighting and fighting and fighting. It wasn’t as though he was soft or something, a SOLDIER First had a much more strenuous workload so he should be used to this…right?

There was nothing he could do to fight it as he curled in on himself, a spike of pain flaring at the base of his skull and shivering beneath his scalp in a way that made him cringe. He clutched at his head, the room glitching around him like a faulty television full of static and the green glow of… of…

Cloud swallowed against the nausea as the fit, whatever it was, passed. He wondered how long he’d been lying there, the room still spinning slightly. Bright light leaked in around the edges of the door, casting sickly yellow rays of artificial sunlight across the floor and ceiling. Had it been hours?

He slumped back against the thin mattress, the rickety bed frame creaking as he tried to get comfortable. For a moment, just a few seconds, he winced as the headache returned - this time followed by a sick and heavy feeling in his chest. His eyes slipped closed, a sound nearly getting trapped in his throat - a whimper, as he writhed against the bed. He felt hot, and then cold. So cold. Cold as Mount Nibel in winter.

There was nothing physical trying to weigh him down but he felt heavy regardless, his instinctive struggles weakening until his muscles relaxed. HIs hands clutched at the sweaty sheets beneath him as he arched back against the… whatever it was. Going slowly limp, a soft voice followed the feeling of ghostly hands on his shoulders pressing him deeper into the mattress.

“Sleep,” a deep, dark, voice whispered into him and he couldn’t help but chase after it. Gods, yes, he wanted to sleep.

“Please,” Cloud shuddered, invisible fingers stroking down his face. He let go, sighing, yearning towards the nothingness beckoning him to relax and give in.

“Sleep,” the word was so seductive, the need to obey so powerful, “and dream the sweetest dreams.”

A sensation like falling began to drag him under and he went willingly, desperately, and the sharp gasp of air in his lungs felt like knives as something brushed over him and pulled him awake. Fists pounded on the door, making him roll to his feet to answer. The danger lent him enough adrenaline to get up, to grab his sword, to keep going again. Always again.

He closed his eyes briefly, stumbling down the stairs more on autopilot than deliberately, and through himself into the fight. He’d sleep… sometime… he hoped.

Anyone else want to spin the Cloud Whump Wheel?

#whump #ffvii #ff7 #cloud strife #ffvii remake #writing prompts #prompt #angst #sleep deprivation

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here2bbtstrash · 2 years

Text

self control (explicit)

genre: my first foray into angst !!!! with a side of smut~

pairing: hoseok x reader (imagined)

summary: you'll never know the way hoseok really feels about you.

word count: 1k

contains: explicit sexual content ~ member POV, unrequited love, masturbation, imagined: [infidelity, cunnilingus, sex, choking, & dumbification if you squint], hobi is rly hard on himself :'( also a small allusion at the end to rituals around cleanliness or obsessive-compulsive tendencies

A/N: please don't ask me what inspired this because i haven't a clue my friends 💀 just deep in my cancer season/yearning feels over here I GUESS. but i let myself write a little differently to fit The Vibe and i think i like how it turned out~

i like don't even want to post this considering i just dropped so much on you (and i said i was on a break but shhhh the muse came for me), buuuuuut doing it anyway ack!!! ENJOY!!

this is also on AO3!

~*~

Hoseok makes himself sick when he’s like this.

His hyungs warned him that this would hurt. He didn’t realize they’d meant it so literally. It physically hurts, a thumbprint-shaped bruise blossoming inside his chest, molded that way because he keeps fucking pressing on it, putting an ache in himself for no good reason, thinking of you, like this, like now.

He sees himself down on his knees in front of you, where he belongs, sinning through the act of worship. Begging some god he doesn’t believe in to forgive him, because he sure as hell isn’t forgiving himself, not when he isn’t even sorry.

So fucking insane, to be on the verge of tears and somehow stupidly horny at the same time. Make that make sense.

A hotel room on a high floor, a king-sized bed, egyptian cotton. Only the best for you, fuck a pricetag. The irony of infidelity framed in double-pane windows, city lights blinking impartially as he unzips your dress, says a prayer into your mouth, don’t have to tell anybody, just us, just tonight.

The way you want it, too. You bloom for him, pretty and pliant. At least that’s his hope.

He turns listlessly, his bed– his real bed in his new, too-big house, where every room throws an echo because he doesn’t have enough furniture to fucking fill it– suddenly hot, legs a frustrated tangle in the blankets, dick stirring to attention between them. He doesn’t want to be here (he doesn’t want to be anywhere, really, blipping out of existence for the night would be ideal), so he closes his eyes, lets himself sink back into it.

Just a little longer, then he’ll be good.

Your hair fans out on the pillow beneath you, makeup a mess but you’re smiling anyway, breathless and raw and so real inside this fantasy. Reaching for him, fuck-me eyes, come on, insatiable, give it to me, need you nownownow.

He fucks you down into the plush hotel mattress, and he can’t stop thinking that your body is art, a relief sculpture of curves against soft white bedding, a carved out and fucked out beauty. His, tonight. It’s enough. More than.

The sheets are damp at the place where your bodies meet, arousal and sweat and saliva from nearly an hour spent between your legs (he loves the way they shake when you’re close) because he’s learned that once he gets you started, you don’t stop coming.

He strokes deep because he loves the way you whimper with each pass, the way you squeeze tight enough to tear a growl from the back of his throat, he’s fucking feral with it now. Braces himself on one hand while the other holds your throat but applies no pressure; he knows better than that, can’t have you going home marked up.

Hoseok is good for you, leaves no trace behind that won’t wash off in the shower. He has excellent self control.

Excellent enough that he should’ve ripped himself out of this dream already. He’s never let things go this far before, in his mind. He’s all determination when he wants to be, synapses hard as steel, can shove down desire and self-hatred and something too desperate to quite be love until it goes still again and he can put the smile back on.

But tonight feels different. It’s like he wants the pain, would elect to be gutted and splayed down the middle if only for proof that his heart remains there in his chest, beating quiet consistency.

Yes, like before, even now.

Just the same, even now.

Always, probably.

He’s hard, has been hard. Sticky sweet kisses of precum press over the inside of his briefs, then into the hollow of his stomach when he flips his length up, as if that might help.

He doesn’t want to touch himself. It’s another line he’s yet to cross, the last thing he has to cling to when he needs to believe that he isn’t depraved, disgusting, for harboring all of this inside himself, carrying this pathetic torch for far too long.

But the thought of rutting into you, the little gasps you make, eyelashes fluttering and pussy quivering as he works yet another one out of you… Shit. It’s too much. When you tip up to find his lips with yours, whining nonsensically into his mouth– fucked too dumb to make any sense, he thinks he might not ever let you leave this room.

And that snaps his last thread of restraint.

Hoseok only needs to thrust up into his fist three times before his climax hits, painting over his stomach, chest, hand, sheets, fuck. He bites down so hard on his other palm that he threatens to break skin, all to muffle the animal sound of shame and need, a force of habit– he lives alone now, the walls of his empty house don’t give a fuck.

He comes like a virgin, he thinks to himself, critiquing a performance the second he steps off the stage as is his way. The thought that finally sent him over the edge was PG-13 at best: his tongue in the heat of your mouth.

He really does think he could get over all this if you kissed him, just once.

Embarrassing.

Guilt is a bitter chaser to pleasure, downed before bliss even shows up, if there was any. He’s a mess: emotionally, literally– cum all over himself, the bedsheets too. Creepy, dirty, wrong.

His chest constricts in the way that’s become so familiar it’s almost soothing, makes no fucking sense yet somehow it does. A self-invented problem he knows how to solve, a specific set of steps begging completion in perfect order.

Scalding-hot shower. Exfoliate. Lotion. Cleanser, toner, serum; wait for it to sink in. Sheets in the wash. Detergent, fabric softener. Vacuums the floor while he’s at it. New sheets on the bed, hospital corners tucked sharp, pillows fluffed, immaculate. Back to the bathroom, moisturizer that he adds two drops of rose-hip oil to and mixes against the back of his hand, sleeping pack to lock it in.

He swears he’s got new lines along the corners of his mouth, feels stupid that he’s ruining his skin with smiles that aren’t even real.

He can exhale, then, still with a tight grip on the edge of the sink. Once it’s all done, every trace of indiscretion cleaned up and put away, and he’s good again. At least until the next time his self control slips.

#hoseok angst #hoseok x reader #hoseok smut #bts angst #bts smut

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clawsextended · 5 months

Text

@ataviisms

"do you love her?" barbara, he means. selina's never been the careless type when it comes to how she feels about another person. she either loves deeply or she doesn't love at all, and the list of people in the former category is pretty fucking short. waylon plunks his head down in her lap, tail swishing slowly across the floor. "i like her. she's nice."

“ daphne met her when we were filming barbie together and i couldn’t get her out of my mind.”

and it wasn’t your usual sense. it wasn’t sick with obsession, days on end spinning. it wasn’t dying to touch her until your hands could burn and turn to ash. it wasn’t need that starts in your head and sets you on fire with an all-consuming necessity to devour. no, it was nothing like that.

it was quiet.

like you could breathe for the first time. like you could hear the way the leaves rustles in the trees. like colors were newly bright, newly hued. like the world was never the world before. you’d never said words before you spoke to her, you’d never heard sound until her voice tinkled with the soft brush of chimes in the wind. she stops your heart. she is everything to you. you yearn to wrap your hands around her every inch to memorize it all with the fingertips you’ve so cruelly maimed — maybe it’ll bring back the innocence you yearn to share with her.

she makes you feel. before night was black and now it’s blue; before the sky was blue and now it’s azure.

you welcome him with a careful touch when he edges into your space, rests a hand atop his head to trace the scales carefully. you think they’re the most beautiful color. you wish color didn’t make your stomach churn — you’d love a tshirt a little like him, but most things with a shade become difficult to bear after a couple hours. you get too self-conscious. you hum absently.

“yeah. she makes me want to be a better person. i was — so scared when she told me about the barbie thing. I’m a monster, way, and if i—“

your throat starts to pinch closed. so do your hands. you blink a couple thousand times. you have to stop touching him to softly press nails into your palms. you swallow. why is thinking so hard?

“—yeah. no. i — i was so scared she’d hate me. like. she’d get to know me and she’d hate me. daphne is lovable. she’s easy to know. and i’m —

….she likes me more. like, she tells me. all the time. because i’m real. isn’t that fucking crazy? she thinks i’m real, way. she doesn’t even think it’s dumb when i’m sad because i can’t get a fucking license. she’s, like, the bravest person I’ve ever met. she literally decided to be human. like, she learned every shitty thing about the world and still said ‘i wanna live in it’. holy shit.”

you can’t help yourself. you’ve returned to tracing scales, each groove etched into your skin as you alternate pressure. you’re fascinated by it — you think it’s the coolest thing in the world. he is literally a man but is also an alligator but is also actually just a person, and you are constantly telling him on an evolutionary spectrum he’s kind of the definition of human advancement?

your moods break your own neck. you constantly want to be sick about it — you’re happy then sad then angry then happy again in the blink of an eye. he’s used to you — he knows you’re harmless, declawed, raw pads of those digits enough evidence to prove. you’d break yourself for anyone you love.

but that’s the thing, she never wants you to.

“she just loves me. like. me. like, me covered in blood in a catsuit, and me at a gala in pink, and me in a sweater sitting on top of the banister. yeah. i love her.

—like, if she was still a barbie and i was a barbie we’d be a set.”

#CLAWS EXTENDED.#ATAVIISMS #BEYONDBARBIE #I JUST WANTED TO KEEP MY CLAWS OUT OF YOU.#[crying fucking hysterically about this. holy shit. she’s. she loves so MUCH.]

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rattlingheart · 4 months

Text

i finally decided to sit down and write out how i've been feeling.

Am I selfish? Am I jealous? Am I a bad person to the people I care about? Are they bad to me? I don’t understand why it’s so wrong of me to have wants. All i want is someone for myself. I want someone who would do anything for me at any time. I want to be cared for, i want to be loved and i want to be wanted and needed. Why is that so bad? I want my own person. Everyone else has their own so why cant i have one too? Every time i try to explain it i end up looking like the bad guy. Maybe my actions arent great and maybe i feel things too strong but none of that would matter if i had someone who understood. Nobody ive ever talked to knows what im going through because everyone at one point or another has had their person. They dont know what its like to think you have someone and then lose them to someone else, over and over and over again. At this point it just feels hopeless and im starting to feel like an idiot for ever thinking it could happen. I know it sounds conceited to think im the only person to ever feel this way but thats just how it feels. I want to be wanted so bad it hurts. Every day i spend alone makes me feel worse and worse. I dont know how much i can take. I want someone i can call and theyll answer right away, happy to hear me and ill be happy to hear them. I want to be able to have hours of conversation while also being comfortable with hours of silence. I want someone to think of me in a romantic way. To want to take me on dates and bring me flowers and show me how much they love me. I want to be so yearned for that it makes their stomach hurt. I want someone to be sad when they cant see me and angry when i talk to someone else. I want someone to put my picture in their wallet, or put a photo of us on their lockscreen. To be the first thing on someones mind when they wake up and the last thing before they fall asleep. In my eighteen years of life ive never come close. People say everyone has their time and everyone has their person, and i want to believe that so bad. I wish i could trick myself into being okay by myself and to just accept that my time wil come and that someone will love me but i just cant. Do you know how pathetic that feels? To know you have the potential to love and be loved but to never feel it? To just be fooled over and over to the point of not knowing what it feels like to have a crush anymore, not knowing if they actually want to get to know me or if they just need enough of my interests to get into my bed. I would love for someone to want to know me.

I want someone to know everything about me oh my god. I want to tell them everything about me and they tell me everything about them. I want to know someones deepest secrets and for them to know mine. I want to not be judged for the way i act, think, and feel. I promise i wont judge you if you dont judge me. I just cant understand why this is too much to ask. I want someone to meet my parents and my friends. I want to be a part of someone else's family and theyre a part of mine. I want to be thought of when holidays come around, and for them to know my birthday. I want them to ask if im coming over for dinner or if youre coming to mine. I want to be seen as a pair, if one of us is there then so is the other. It doesnt have to last forever, im not asking for a marriage partner, just a taste. I just want to dip my toes into the pool of love, i dont have to swim in it. Eventually i want to meet someone that just pulls me in with them and drowns me. I want to be smothered with love until it makes me sick. It would feel so much better than being alone. I cant even imagine how it would feel to be introduced as a girlfriend. For someone to show their family and friends my picture and to be excited about it. I hate begging for things but please. Its all ive ever wanted and yet its making me into a monster. I dont feel like myself anymore, i feel like a shell. It feels like my heart is just rattling around in my body making noise for someone to hear her. The butterfly in my stomach is dying, she hasn't fluttered in so long. I want her to be happy again, for me to just think of someone and she does somersaults around my stomach. I want to be nervous to go on a first date, maybe even a second or a third. I want to have a kiss at the end of the date like how it happens in the movies. I want someone to bring me home and want to see me again. I want to be a girlfriend, i cant wait until the day someone asks me. I think ill die right there in that moment. I want to say i love you. I want someone to say they love me every time they see me, every time they leave my presence and every time they enter it. I want people to know that im loved, and to know that i love the person loving me. I want to love someone so hard that just the thought of not having them in my life makes me sick. I want it to make me cry and i want them to comfort me and say it will never happen. I want them to lie to me. So that when the day eventually comes and they tell me they no longer love me I can have faith that ill find someone else to love me. I want to have a breakup that hurts me so bad i cant leave my bed and i stop talking to people for weeks. I want to lay in my bed and rot away just reminiscing over the way they loved me for so long. I want to know the feeling of having my heart ripped out of my chest and taken from me. I want to know the feeling of growing a new heart for someone else. And for that person to nurse me back to health, back to my original self. I know its strange to want heart break but as someone whos never experienced it, i want to know what its like. I want to experience every aspect of a relationship. I want to fight and argue. I want to apologize and make amends because we both know it isnt worth it to be mad at each other. I want someone to tell me that theyre sorry, and that theyll never yell at me again. I want someone to run their fingers through my hair as i lay my head in their lap. I want someone to hold me, hold my hand, hold my body, hold my heart. I want to put my legs on someones lap and for them to rub my legs just to know theyre there. I want to have someone to grab in a crowded room, to hold my hand so i dont get lost.

I want someone on the same level as me and i pray they never leave me behind. I just want to be loved and cared for the same as everyone else in my life. I want to feel like an equal to the people around me and not like an alien. Ive spent years building myself up for other people to notice me. Ive been noticed, but no one has cared enough to stay. It makes me feel so awful. Ive learned to keep things to myself, to not overshare. I try to go after what i want but it always ends badly, i always end up looking desperate. People use desperate in a bad way but i cant help but think, is that not what i am? I am desperate. I am so unbelievably desperate for someone to want me. I cant sit with my own thoughts or it starts to make me physically and mentally ill. I need someone to share them with. I need someone to talk to. I need somebody to be there for me. I need my own person. Someone i dont have to share and someone who will always be there when i need them. Someone who will know i need them before i even realize it. I think if i had someone to pour my thoughts onto and pour all of the love inside of me, id be doing a lot better. Im just scared that what if i find my person but they dont want me in my current state? What if im too much to handle and too much to take care of. I guess theyre not my person then. When i finally do find my person, someone just for me, they will love me for who i am, what i am, and they will see the good in me. Is that too much to ask?

#love #long reads #relationship #vent

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