Yours, Hwa

She/her • 23 pfp w/ @oneoftheextras ao3 • ASAJ masterlist

[hwalovs]

Absolution, My Fine Friend (M)

Pairing; Priest! Jayce x Fem!Reader Word Count; 4.9k Warnings; Porn Without Plot (kind of), mutual masturbation, finger sucking, drooling (Jayce), he gets talked through it, misuse of the confessional, trying not to get caught, paper eating, misuse of a bible, blasphemy, religious kink, corruption kink.

Summary; Father Talis has done his best to forget the sin that permeates his office, taking refuge in the confessional. Maybe, by listening to other ask to be forgiven, Father Talis himself can earn his absolution.

First Sin; Temptation Second Sin; Absolution (currently here)

A/N; this can be read on its own, i think, but part one was a hit in my books and i couldn't stop thinking about Father Jayce and reader. Theres also a little someone on ao3 who sent the most amazing comment and I got a fire ignited under my ass so now we're here. Again, this is dedicated to my babies on discord, all of them. This wouldn't be here without them. Anywho, enjoy!

THIS IS NOT EDITED!

DO NOT COPY, REPOST ON OTHER SITES, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK WITHOUT PERMISSION!

Absolution; Formal release from guilt, obligation, or punishment. 

It’s customary for the Priest to wait in the confessional, sitting in the small box for the small door on the other side to open, a person to come sit down, and confess to him their sins. From there, he would listen, give advice, and pray with them before sending them on their way. It was something he had done multiple times before, finding comfort in the enclosed space. His own body heat would keep him warm, heating the small space rather quickly. Taking off his rosary, he could drag the small chain through his fingers, playing with the beads. He would think of prayers, roll a bead between the pads of his fingers, grip the small cross and lightly kiss it. He would do this for hours, sometimes someone would arrive, sometimes there would be no one. 

The sun was shining brightly through the small lattice on the door in front of him, directly in his eyesight, blinding him. Gold light filtered through stained glass, casting an array of colorful rays across the pews and patrons. Eyes clenched shut, he sits taller while leaning his head back against the wood, sighing. There was an imaginary clock in his mind, constantly ticking away, bringing a faux comfort. He could hear the slight commotion of people still in the church, talking to loved ones and neighbors who were all smiles and high off of the worship he held. He needed something more to keep him distracted, the LED clock in the confessional was silent, unlike the clock in his bedroom. Its ticking filled his mind now, his foot tapping the ground along with it. 

Arms moving, he moves the slowly sliding bible back into its place on his lap, the book small enough to sit idly on his thigh. It rocks back and forth in time with the bouncing of his foot, the movement bringing yet another distraction.

He wished to go back to his room, sit at his desk in his office- no, the desk in his bedroom. He hadn’t sat at the desk in his office for eight days, two hours- his eyes crack open to peek at the small LED clock in the corner of the confessional- and forty-five minutes. He prayed for the strength to sit at the mahogany desk, to write correspondence to other churches, and send letters to the people who gracefully sent donations. 

Yet, perhaps he didn’t pray hard enough, didn’t kneel at the side of his bed long enough. Didn’t sit in this small box long enough. Perhaps, God has turned his nose up at him, forsaken him from the greatness of being forgiven. Even now, your ghost had its claws wrapped around his heart like a vice, whispering obscenities into his ear while he was alone. You were the one who led him down this path, and now he searched for the bright light of God with his eyes closed. 

Guilt eats away at the fibers of his soul, rips him apart late at night when the image of you appears in his mind, a giggling smile on your lips as they skim across his throat. Your hands were so warm, though, dragging across his body without condescendence. He would wake up and find himself sweating profusely in his cold room the next morning, breathing heavily as his hands grip the blanket. With shaking legs, he would sit up and rip the drawer of his night stand open, glare at the blue rosary that was tied tightly around a small bible, and grab his new one. 

He would drop to his knees, heart racing, and pray until the sweat on his back dried. 

Even now, he thinks he can sense you in this enclosed space with him. Your scent lingering in the air around him, permeating his clothes no matter how many times he changes or washes them. 

Hands gripping his rosary, he hopes the metal cross cuts into his skin. Maybe then, if he sacrificed his blood, God would see he was punished long enough. Maybe then, he could be forgiven. Your face appears in his mind, and his teeth clench. How could you do this to him? Reduce him to nothing but the filth that lines the pristine floors?

Jayce startles when the door on the other side opens, his breath quick as he shifts in place. Clearing his throat, he waits for the person on the other side to get comfortable, their throat clearing. It's silent then, both Jayce and the newcomer getting comfortable with each other. Jayce’s eyes clenched shut, your scent washing over him with newfound strength, the hair on the back of his neck stands and as if he was struck with lightning-

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

Your voice. 

His heart shakes, muscles tight and his breath short. Immediately, he thinks he can zone in on your breathing, so calm and quiet. Eyes cracking open, his head tilts to the lattice, and he can see your lips curved into a smirk. It's sickening, how the sight of you can make him feel so electric. You ignite something deep within him, akin to a lighter held under a sparkler. His stomach clenches, and his leg stalls its bounce. Fingers gripping his rosary, the sudden weight of the bible in his lap taunts him. 

“I’ve never confessed before, could you guide me?”

“I-” his voice squeaked out, and he snapped his jaw shut. Swallowing, Jayce looks back to his lap, gazing at the rosary. Was it just him, or did it suddenly look like the blue one he cast aside? Was the small figure of Jesus gazing with accusatory eyes? Did he know what was reeling in his mind at the sight of you?

“Father?”

His eyes shut tight, head falling towards his chest, shoulders hunched, robes tight over his shoulders, “I listen to your confession.”

It took a lot of strength to force his voice into a steady cadence. The small box seemed to be a little too small, he seemed too big to be in here. What once was comfort, was now torment. Your voice filled his side, bouncing off the wood and surrounding him.

“I give you advice, and you’ll- um,” he shifts in his spot, refusing to meet your gaze through the lattice, “You’ll be on your way.”

“Are you alright, Father?” You’re smiling, he just knows it. He can see your face behind his eyelids, how bright your gaze is, how your pupils are dilating at the sight of him so unkept. 

Nodding his head, he takes one more deep breath. He couldn’t let you see him like this, he was supposed to push what happened between you to the back of his mind. Forget it, even. He was praying to God for forgiveness, and by letting you entrap his senses, he would be pushed back to step one. 

“What was that?” Taunting, you hum, “I didn’t quite hear you.”

Shivering, he lifts his head and finally gazes through the lattice, meeting your sharp eyes. They’re encapsulating, looking at him with knowing. You can see him for what he truly is, a man of sin. 

Yet, it was your fault he was like this, why he swallows a whine and lets his mouth open to answer. If he were to put on a strong front, you would understand why he couldn’t progress in this sinful back and forth. Couldn’t let you torment him with your pretty words, or your addicting touch. 

“I’m here to listen to your confession, please just-” voice trailing off, his hands grip the rosary for comfort, but all he finds is the sharp edges of the cross. 

You chuckle, head leaning against the wood, raising your hand to tap your forehead, chest, and each shoulder. 

“In the name of the Father, Son, and The Holy Spirit. My confession, Father, is that I cannot stop thinking about you.”

Jayce smiles, gaze locked onto his rosary, “That’s normal- I’m your Priest-”

“No, Father,” voice quiet. serious, you shift closer to the lattice, “I think of you when my fingers are inside me, I wish they were yours-”

Muscles tight, Jayce says the first thing that comes to mind, “that was a mistake-”

“Was it? You seemed to enjoy yourself a lot, Father.”

“Temptation is a powerful thing, but you must find it in yourself to resist.”

There’s silence on the other side, your gaze assessing him. Humming, you let your head swing to the side, your own fingers rubbing across the tops of your thighs absentmindedly. 

“How can I resist, Father?”

Finally, his lungs allow air in. He breathes deeply, ignoring his shaking hands. He ignores the fire in his gut, how his thighs clench together, and recites words from the book still resting in his lap, “Asks for guidance out of temptation, and for the strength to use the Word of God as a weapon.”

“Ah,” you sigh, “the Word of God as a weapon? Do you really think that’ll save me?”

There's a teasing tilt to your tone, and Jayce ignores it. Voice closer, you whisper through the lattice, “have you been saved, father?”

“I ask for forgiveness, just as you are now,” he whispers in return. Hands shaking, he lets his fingers return to fidgeting with the rosary beads. His mouth waters, wanting you to drop it into his mouth-

No, he cannot think of that. He was a holy man. Faithful to his God.

“So, you’ve confessed?”

Nodding, he bites his cheek, his skin burning, “I- I have.”

“Liar.”

White hot fear runs through his veins, and his hands unknowingly release the rosary. It clatters to the ground between his feet, and his eyes meet yours. They narrowed, disappointingly pointed his way; All of a sudden, he felt the roles reversed. 

“No-”

“How often do you think of me, Jayce?”

Heart racing, his hands grip the tops of his thighs, feel the muscles beneath tighten. 

His chest heaves, and his legs clench together. Pushing back that licking flame that ignited between his legs, all because of your voice. It's sticky-sweet like honey, drowning him in molasses that clogs his senses. He can feel his cock twitch, wanting your touch instead of his. 

Head leaning back against the wood, he can feel a droplet of sweat run down the back of his neck, soaking into the roman collar. His shaking hands move to grip his bible, fingers sliding between the pages to seek any form of strength. He can hear it rip under the pressure of his grip, yet how else would he ground himself? His mind races, feeling your eyes staring at him through the lattice

“Does your God know you think of me as much as you do him?”

Jayces’ shuddering breath is loud, eyebrows furrowed as he wills his racing heart to calm. He must not give in. This must be another test for him, he thinks. This was God's way of seeing if he was worthy of forgiveness. 

Yet, you seemed so genuine, even if you sounded teasing. 

“What do you tell yourself at night? Maybe I could speak the same, so I can forget about you.”

A whine, and Jayce thinks he doesn't want you to forget him. He couldn’t forget you, no matter what he did, what he said, or tried. Stomach turning, he can see your waiting eyes, how you won’t change the subject until he gives in. 

“If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us of our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.”

“Ah,” you nod your head once, “Do you want to be forgiven, though?”

He’s silent, clenching his teeth, “Of course.”

You sigh, and with a low voice you talk with a harsh tone, “then why are you still speaking to me?”

“I-” voice stuck in his throat, Jayce knows he’s had the opportunity to steer the conversation back, to not engage you in such sinful conversation. Yet, he craved it. To be told what to do, to be on his knees between your knees instead of the altar. 

“Oh,” you say, Jayce freezing. Had you read him so easily?

“Oh, you’re liking this, aren’t you?”

Whining, his thighs clench. You laugh, and it makes his chest seize. Cock jumping in his robes, Jayce refuses to touch himself. There were people outside, they would hear-

“I’m liking this too,” you whisper, and he can hear the first button pop from your pants. Shoulders tense, his breathing turns rapid. 

“You’ve plagued my mind everyday, Jayce, its tormenting-”

A zipper, and Jayce can feel his thighs shake. His fingers curl against the pages, and he clenches his eyes shut. You were taunting him, you wouldn’t touch yourself now, in the confessional of all places. 

“You-” he whines, “you’ve been tormenting me-”

“Good,” a sigh, and he wishes to be in the small space with you, to tear down this wall to see your form in all its glory, “should we pray together, Father? Beg together for forgiveness?”

Shivering, he pushes his head further against the wood, swallowing with a dry throat. 

“Lord God, in your goodness have mercy on me: do not look on my sins, but take away all my guilt. Create in me a clean heart and renew within me an upright spirit-”

Your voice starts immediately after his, repeating his words, breathy and soft. The fire, slowly swelling in his stomach, licks and burns at his chest at the sound of your sweet voice wrapping around each syllable of the prayer. He sets the bible in the small space beside him, sliding his free hands across his torso. 

He moves, fingers undoing the buttons of his robes. With a shaking grip, he slowly pushes it to the side, the air wrapping around his thighs. Cock jumping, Jayce whines softly. His hands rest on the inside of his thighs, his cock radiating heat under his boxers. Chest shuddering, his back slouches, legs spreading. 

“forgive all my sins, renew your love in my heart, help me to live in perfect unity with my fellow Christians that I may proclaim your saving power to all the world.”

Tone shaking, he barely opens his eyes to find you already looking at him. Your own eyes were half lidded, chest heaving as your mouth opened to copy him once more. He can barely see you, but he can make out how your shirt was pulled up on your tummy, your pants undone, your hand hidden under the fabric. Your back was arching, neck exposed to the light that seeps in. 

He can’t help himself, his hands grip his cock over his boxers, hips jumping into the contact. Jayce growls, rough and gravely as he grips the base of his clothed cock.

“Jayce,” you whimper, and he moans. You sounded so heavenly, his mind reeling at the cadence. 

“Do you think we’ll be forgiven?” You ask, smirking. He shakes his head, and watches as your gaze shifts to the ceiling. Eyes closing, your eyebrows furrow as you lose yourself in your own pleasure. Jayce whimpers, wanting to be the one giving you that pleasure, he wants you to be above him, using him, punishing him for being so sinful. 

“Keep talking, Jayce, be a good boy.”

“Hnng- I-” he chokes, snapping his gaze to his lap. There was a rapidly growing wet patch at the tip of his cock, he grips the top of his boxers, pulling the elastic away to push it down his thighs. The fabric is tight against his skin, straining. With his cock finally free, he softly trails the tips of his shaking fingers along the shaft. Twitching, he presses his finger into the beads of pre that seeps from the tip. 

“Tell me another prayer, Father,” it's harsh now, how your eyes glare at him. He bites his cheek, sparing a glance to the bible next to him, searching his mind for anything to say. All he could think of, though, was you. 

“Therefore, confess your sins to- to one another and pray for one another-” he sighs, tears gathering on his waterline as he finally grips his cock tightly. His thumb swipes across the tip, and he moves his wrist once, slowly pumping his cock from top to base, and back up again, its uncoordinated, sloppy, “that you may be healed. The p- hnn- prayer of a righteous person has great power as it- it is working.”

“I want to taste you, Jayce,” you whisper. He hips jerk, and his eyes snap to the lattice separating you both. You’re so much closer, and when he leans close to look closer, he can see your pants pushed down your thighs. The soft skin of your thighs looked so inviting, spread as far as the restricting clothing will allow, your fingers circling your pulsing clit as your other hand grips onto the edge of the seat. 

“You can’t,” he whimpers, much louder than he intended. He wanted nothing more than for your mouth to taste him, replace his shaking hand and bring him to euphoria once more. 

“I can,” you reply with a hiss, “the gap is wide enough, let me taste you.”

Jayce furrows his eyebrows, his focus turning to how big the gap actually was, it was small enough that at a glance you wouldn't be able to decipher what was on the other side. Yet, if you looked close enough, you’d be able to tell what was what. His hand leaves his cock, gathering his sticky pre onto the pad of his middle finger, and slowly raises it to the gap in the lattice. His chest shudders as he watches you move, meeting your lips on the other side. 

His moan is loud, reverberating in the space as your wet tongue wraps around his finger. You're sucking hard, teeth grazing his skin, the breath escaping your nose warm on his already scorching skin. 

Your mouth is gone just as quickly as it wrapped around his digit, your tongue swiping across your bottom lip as your hand drips deeper on your cunt, no doubt pushing them inside. 

“You’re an angel,” you whisper, and Jayce’s back arches slightly. His hand retracts from the lattice, immediately running the spit coated skin across his lower lip before sucking his own finger. He could taste you, the candy you ate, the coffee you drank, and he could taste himself. A tangy saltiness that lingers in the back of his throat. 

He almost sobs, drool dripping down to coat his palm. When he pulls his finger away, his hands are replaced onto his cock, now glistening with the collection of his and your spit. He doesn’t realize that he’s gasping for air, his legs shaking, the choked sound of a whimper pushing from his throat. 

“Be quiet, Jayce.”

Licking his lips, he clenches his thighs shut, pushing his head back against the wood. His cock was throbbing in his grip, and when he slowly rubbed his thumb across the tip, he moaned. 

“I-” he swallows, throat suddenly too dry, “I can’t, I’m sorry-”

You sigh, and he can feel his stomach clench, “grab your Bible, show it to me.”

“What?-”

“Show me your Bible, now,” you hiss, and his hand leaves his cock to grab the leather-bound book. Raising it, he refuses to look at the gold writing across the front. 

“Good boy, open it up for me, any page will do.”

Dropping it from your gaze, he lets the binding fall to any page, heaving as his eyes blearily look over the page. The text was so small, mixing together in a conglomeration of sentences and prayer he could no longer read. All he could think of was you you you you-

“Rip out a page, and put it in your mouth.”

Freezing, Jayce finds it hard to breathe. Rip out a page? That’s blasphemous.

“Since you love to recite God's words so much, why don't you eat them so no one can hear what's rightfully mine?”

Jayce can’t, he simply can’t. By doing this, he would never be forgiven- 

Yet, would you forgive him if he refused?

You can sense his racing mind, your voice a calm beacon in the rough waves of a storm, “Tell me another prayer, Father- One more, just for me.”

Jayce breathes deeply, calming himself, “You are my refuge and strength; no matter what happens, I trust You and will not be afraid.”

“Good boy,” you coo, “do as you're told, Jayce.”

Mind over matter, Jayce forces his unwilling hands to rip a page, bringing it slowly to his lips. The pages were thin, and when he pushed it against his tongue, his spit immediately soaked through it. The ink was slowly seeping from the paper, bitter against his tongue. He looks at you, teeth chewing down onto the paper to keep it in place. 

Smirking, you tilt your head, “another.”

He rips multiple pages at once, pushing them between his teeth to meet the other. 

You scoff, “such a good boy, doing what you’re told. Yet, you can’t follow your own God’s teachings.”

He can do nothing but whimper around the pages, his hand dropping the bible to the ground to grab back onto his cock, jerking his wrist to the sound of your voice. 

“You would do anything I ask, wouldn’t you?” You taunt, your own hand picking up its pace. Sweat shines on your forehead, lips glistening with spit as you shift in your spot, your other hand joining the one on your cunt. Whimpering, you push your own fingers inside, the other still circling your swollen and throbbing clit. 

“How far would you go for me, I wonder?” A sigh, and your eyes close. Smiling at the thoughts that race through your mind, “would you leave the priesthood for me?”

His head nods before he even realizes it, your head snapping to watch him, smile widening. 

With the small semblance of clarity in his mind remaining, Jayce thinks of the forgiveness he’s been begging to receive for weeks. 

It’s always been you, he realizes. You’re the one he seeks forgiveness from, you’re the one who he prays to each night. Not the God whose teachings he no longer follows. Not the God who judges him for feeling emotions only you can bring him. You would forgive him, you wouldn’t judge him for his actions. He would do anything for you, he thinks. If you asked him, he would be yours- he was yours from the moment you sat on his desk.

His pleasure washes over him in waves, no longer held back by guilt. He allows his hand to squeeze, feels the bite of pleasure in his thighs. 

Your whine makes his hand jerk faster, that sweet noise the only thing that he seeks out in the night. Breathing heavily, he bites down on the pages still lodged in his mouth. Some were becoming too soggy, the ink transferring onto his tongue. 

“I’m so wet, Father-” you sigh, and he can hear your fingers run through your sloppy folds. It’s pathetic, how his hips rise off the seat to chase after it. He wanted to see, wanted to taste you-

“Do you want a taste? I bet you do.” He whines, tongue pressing against paper and you laugh. It's quiet, airy as you release a breathy moan. His eyes strain to watch your mouth drop open, your fingers pressing against your tongue. Eyes watering, he clenches them shut and leans his head forwards against the lattice, the wood cool against his scorching skin. 

Your fingers trail down your chin, chest heaving, and you push your hand back through your folds. Your soft skin glows in the light, blue’s and pink’s coloring you Holy as your glistening fingers come back into view. Instead of raising to your lips, they slowly close in on the small openings of the lattice. Your other fingers were still inside you, he realizes, you were halting your own pleasure just to tease him. 

“Why don’t you taste what I give? Rather than your God,” you taunt, glint in your eyes. Without hesitation he lets the soggy paper drop from his mouth, drool pouring from behind. Down his chin, soaking his beard. Bits of paper remain on his lips, the bitter taste of ink left behind. He can faintly hear the paper hit the floor, a wet smack, and he runs his tongue across his lip. He didn’t want anything to dilute your taste, not even his own spit. 

The tips of your fingers appear on his side, and he surges forwards to meet them. His tongue touches soft skin, lips pressed against wood. You push further into his mouth, your slick coating his taste buds. It washes away the taste of paper and ink, his body shivering as his hand grips tight onto his cock. It pulses, begging for your touch instead of his.

“I wonder what God would think, you forsaking his word for such sin.”

He whines, tongue parting your middle and ring finger to taste the slick between, feeling you press down onto his tongue, sliding as far as the lattice will allow. You almost hit the back of his throat, and he pushes harder against the wood, wanting you as deep as possible. 

“Fucking-” you hiss, retracting your finger and quickly licking across the tips before pushing them back between your folds. The sloppy-slick sounds louder than before, his hand trying to catch up to your rapid pace. 

There's a fire growing inside him, quick and unrelenting as his hand sloppily jerks his cock. His thighs twitch, toes curling in his shoes as his lungs beg for more air. Although he was gasping, he felt like he wasn’t getting enough air. 

“Don’t you fucking cum yet,” your voice growls, and he sobs. Pressure behind his eyes, scalding tears on his cheeks, his tongue searching for your taste that lingers. 

“Jayce-”

“Please- I-” he whispers, hearing the horrifying sound of heels against the floor outside of the confessional. Could they hear what was happening inside? Hear how their priest was touching himself, committing a sin he was no longer guilty about? 

His hand falters, cold humiliation creeping over his shoulders. 

“Ignore them, puppy-” your voice borders a whisper, “keep going- tell me another prayer.”

He looks to you, sniffling lightly as his hand resumes its previous pace. Nodding your own head, you encourage him. There was a gathering heat in his gut, embers collection to prepare a large bonfire. Your gaze threw wood onto it, flames catching quickly. His thighs felt gooey, his mind blank, but he wills himself to think of any prayer, just for you. 

“To all those- those that repent of in this wise- Oh, hnn- and look to J-Jesus- Christ for their salvation. F-fuck- I declare- that the absolution of sins is effected- please, oh fuck- In the name of the F-father- and of the son, oh- hnng ‘m gonna- Wait-”

“You can finish father, come on-”

“Mm- and- i can’t- h-hold-” he begs, your voice pushing him impossibly closer. 

“And of the Holy Spirit, Amen-”

Fire under his skin, and he feels his release begin. A raging fire in his gut, spreading to his thighs and chest. It tingles so intensely, and his hand clamps over his mouth, biting onto his palm to muffle his strained moan. Blinding white explodes behind his eyes, and he can faintly hear your cooing voice talking him through it. He wanted to hold your hand through this intensity, wanted your calming embrace rather than the prayer that was seared into his mind. God could no longer provide comfort, for you had burned him away to make space for your own presence.

He can hear your own whines, choked moans as you, no doubt, go through your own orgasm. You bite down on your cheek to keep yourself silent, hips canting into your hands to chase that pleasure. Jayce tries to watch, but his hands feel his thighs, and can't think of anything else but the euphoria he was feeling. 

Heavy breathing is what he hears when he comes back, his hands and skin covered in his own sticky release, cock still throbbing and red, yet too sensitive to continue. His abs hurt, his arm was slowly relaxing from the cramping that occurred. Licking his lips, he brings his hand closer to his mouth, tempted to taste the opaque liquid that coats him. 

Feeling your eyes on him, he looks over, you’re waiting on the other side of the lattice. With shaking hands, he raises his tired arm, slides his finger through the lattice, and feels your tongue wrap around the digit slowly. Heart in his ears, he makes circles on your tongue, feeling the muscle move and chase after the cum, a smile slowly stretching across his face. 

Your hand appears, your own shining fingers pushing through the gaps in the lattice, and Jayce wills his lethargic body to move to wrap his own lips around your fingers. His cock twitches at the taste of your own cum, his tongue licking away the sweet-tart taste. Your face was so close, he could feel the breath from your nose against his cheek, your body heat seeping through in the slightest. When he pulls away for air, he opens his mouth to speak. 

A voice beats him to it, though, older and questioning.

“Father?” 

Ice cold fear, and he tilts his head to stare at the door ahead.

[aexphr]

i will not be explaining myself HAPPY IRON LUNG RELEASE DAY

[hollenix]

for the good of all mankind

[oneoftheextras]

i have a lil request for hcs for all of the ocs cited in your post (abraxas, aidan, ambrose, asten, bailey, dante, diego, elias, jasper, micha, oscar, phoenix, ramiel and theodore) : do they have a morning routine?

like, do they shower in the mornings or more at night, with a specific soap of a kind? what do they eat if they get breakfast? is it easy to wake up or hard for them? do they have a specific order or do they just go with the flow of how they’re feeling at the moment?

thanks in advance i love learning more bout your boys c: im so excited to read about them

hey bbgirl < 3 this made me wrack my brain so i'm sorry if they're repetitive or boring (also adding clayton for you)

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐣𝐚𝐰 𝐨𝐜'𝐬!

𝙰𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚡𝚊𝚜 𝙷𝚊𝚛𝚙𝚎𝚛 ⤵︎

abby doesn't struggle to wake up in the morning, he doesn't have a specific time he gets up, it's usually whatever time he finds himself unable to get back to sleep.

abby is the king of soap and water. he showers in the morning, he normally wakes up sweaty because of the night terrors he has. he's also a 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner boy, but god is his hair still soft and smells nice.

abby's breakfast is always a cigarette and redbull.

𝙰𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚗 𝙰𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚎 ⤵︎

aidan is an early riser, often he wakes up before his alarm. the first thing he always does is remake his bed.

aidan enjoys a quick colder morning shower, it wakes him up enough to start the day. he uses a mid-range shampoo and separate conditioner, and he takes time to exfoliate his whole body with a loofah and a sandalwood body wash. he also uses an exfoliant on his face and moisturiser when he'd dry.

aidan's breakfast would be a coffee in a thermos mug and something light like oats or fruit. he always feeds his cat ivy before himself.

𝙰𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝙲𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚎 ⤵︎

ambrose doesn't subscribe to the notion of having an alarm, they simply wake up when their body feels like it, which is usually midday.

ambrose has a quick wash in the basin every morning, but will take a bubble bath every night whether they have time for it or not, they'd add scented petals if they've had a particularly stressful day.

ambrose's breakfast would be made for them if they had the option. if they asked what they wanted, it would be belgian waffles with raspberries and lightly powdered with icing sugar.

𝙰𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚔 ⤵︎

asten doesn't use an alarm but somehow wakes up at 5am every morning without fail.

asten is the fastest and most efficient showerer you've ever met. he gets in, washes his hair and body, then he's out. he is also a 2-in-1 enjoyer.

asten's go-to breakfast is scrambled eggs, sausages and black coffee.

𝙱𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚢 𝙱𝚘𝚒𝚔 ⤵︎

bailey will, and always has, relied on his sister blair to wake him up in the morning. if there's a function or plan for the day, he will be late.

bailey would deny it, but he doesn't always wash in the morning as he doesn't leave himself time. if he has somewhere to be, he'll pull on yesterday's boxers and a kind of clean shirt. chronic axe body spray is a shower user.

bailey's breakfast is leftover pizza or chocolate.

𝙲𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚝𝚘𝚗 𝚂𝚊𝚔𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚊 ⤵︎

clayton does not like mornings. years of getting up early for gymnastics practice has made him really value his mornings. asleep, and in cosy in bed.

clayton's showers run a little bit longer than he ever plans them to be. not for any particular reason other than getting lost in thought. he uses unscented and 'for sensitive skin' product due to his vitiligo. he uses a sunscreen-moisturiser every day for the same reason.

clayton's breakfast always includes a banana. pancakes, a smoothie, banana milk or just a banana on it's own. he hates that he enjoys them so much and calls himself a stereotype.

𝙳𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚂𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚊 ⤵︎

dante doesnt have an issue waking up, but he does spend an extra bit of time staring at the ceiling before getting out of bed.

dante trims his beard every morning, keeping it as a short stubble, then would shower to make sure the hair is off of his body. his showers are almost too hot.

dante often skips breakfast.

𝙳𝚒𝚎𝚐𝚘 𝚂𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚊 ⤵︎

diego loves the morning. every night before bed he checks when the sun will rise and sets his alarm for 15 minutes before that. he always takes a moment to watch the sun rise.

diego likes to take his time in the shower, normally because he's planning his breakfast at the same time, but he uses pretty good shampoo and conditioner to get sand out of his hair. his body wash is citrus scented.

diego's breakfast is whatever he baked that morning. usually muffins, some sort of bread, flapjacks, brownies or cookies.

𝙴𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚜 𝙸𝚜𝚋𝚓ø𝚛𝚗 ⤵︎

elias wakes up at 8am every morning to facetime his daughter before she goes to school, it is a ritual he wont miss.

elias has come to appreciate the nicety of taking his time in the shower, but he's conscious of his water usage, so he tries to be quick. his body wash has a herby scent to it.

elias' breakfast requires a cup of earl grey tea, marmalade toast and a stroll around the garden to check on his plants.

𝙹𝚊𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝚅𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚜 ⤵︎

jasper is a late riser, he much prefers to wake up in the afternoon and work through the night. he spends an hour or two in bed scrolling on his phone before he actually gets up.

jasper prefers a night time shower, when the sanctuary is quiet and he can really think and plan the next day. he uses specific hair products for white hair and curl protection.

jasper's breakfast is a cigarette, a coffee and contemplating his enemy's downfall.

𝙼𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚊 𝙰𝚕𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 ⤵︎

micha's sleep schedule is so messed up that he doesn't have a specific time of day he goes to sleep, let alone wake up. he cant sleep without his raccoon plushie his mom gave him as a kid.

micha doesn't like showers, he doesn't like how the water splashes on his face, so he almost exclusively has baths. his body wash would be skittle scented. he spends a little too long in the bath because he likes the water on his hands.

micha's breakfast is mountain dew and doritos.

𝙾𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛 𝙸𝚗𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚖 ⤵︎

oscar's morning consists of a ritualistic routine. he wakes up at 5:30am, pulls his duvet covers back to air his bedsheets, and strips his pillows to wash them. he changes his bedcovers every two days.

oscar takes two showers a day, one in the morning and one at night. he might take another in between if anything messy occurs. his showers are lengthy with medical-grade antimicrobial body wash. he also uses a fragrance-free, hypoallergenic moisturiser to stop his skin, particularly his hands, being irritated from how often he washes them.

oscar's breakfast is strictly one cup of black coffee, and a fruit salad consisting of one banana's, one orange, one mango, two kiwi's and a handful of grapes that he peels himself. the skin on the fruit helps him worry less.

𝙿𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡 ⤵︎

phen doesn't have a specific routine, he tried to have one at some point but he gets distracted too much for any consistency.

phen showers every other day, or after he has a particularly difficult choreography. he doesnt sweat much so he doesn't feel like he has to, but he always wears a perfume that smells like cherries.

phen forgets to have an actual breakfast that isnt monster.

𝚁𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚕 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚛 ⤵︎

ramiel has a loose routine, but as someone who is nocturnal, it's different from the others. he wakes up around 4pm, and puts his glasses on so he can find his contact lenses by his sink.

ramiel showers after he wakes up and has his contacts in, but he specifically likes to shower with the light off, he finds it more peaceful. he doesnt always wash his hair as it doesn't need it too often.

ramiel's breakfast is a coffee and cereal with oat milk, he also likes to eat that in the kitchen with the light off.

𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚘𝚍𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝙱𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚕 ⤵︎

theo's mornings are slow, usually taking a moment to allow his body time to adjust to being awake, then followed by soft stretches when he's ready.

theo is a simple man with simple showering habits. in, clean, out. his body wash, shampoo and conditioner is whatever was bought for him by elias at christmas and birthdays.

theo's breakfast consists of a bowl of fresh strawberries with yoghurt and a fruity cup of tea.

fuck me that was longer than i expected, and also lowkey makes me wanna write some of these as a oneshot, but enjoyyy!

[hwalovs]

god i love each and every one of them so so dearly- MY SHAYLAS RAHHHHHHHH

i fear for lucas when him and oscar spend their mornings together- but i fucking love them. each and every one of them have their own unique morning and i love getting to create silly goofy stories with each and every one of them

[klrqceens]

WE GOT THE FUCKING POLAROID YALL WE FUCKING WON

[babushkaat]

[oneoftheextras]

lockjaw | j.t eight

masterlist | help me fund my top-surgery?

paring: hybrid puppy!jayce talis x f!reader

series summary: after a recent breakup you find yourself adopting a hybrid to keep you company, but he's more feral than you can handle

series warnings: 18+, hybrid jayce (ears and tail), slight omegaverse traits (could argue alpha jayce), eventual smut, protective jayce, size difference, slooooow burn

words: 1.4k

chapter warnings: angst, lore heavy

proof-read by no one, i let no one proofread this, you all find out together

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight |

want a handwritten letter from a character? / join the discord for updates

At some point the clock had churned itself forward enough to hit 5am. 5:23am being the last timestamp you recalled before sleep had wrapped its lithe fingers around your ankles and dragged you into the realm of unconsciousness.

When a particularly loud car with a spluttering engine had passed your bedroom window and woken you from your restless sleep, you realised you’d actually fallen asleep with your phone still on.

There, on the dimly lit screen, was the last document you’d found on the subject of Hybrids.

Henry was correct when he’d forewarned you of the unpleasantness of your bedtime story, it made you wish that it was all just fiction. An amalgamation of dystopian sci-fi meeting biological horror.

Hybrids had been around for a very long time, beyond yourself, your parents, possibly even your great-grandparents. Four generations of life- of history mostly erased due to hatred and bigotry.

The earliest indication you could find was in the 1920’s, but you were certain there were trickles of them even further back than that, there had to be.

Weapons. They’d been made, initially, for the sole purpose of being expendable weapons for the military during the fallout of the first world war. 

Whilst the world was healing and making reparations, Piltover were planning and preparing in the ways they do best. Deliberating and debating ways they can improve the safety of their own council should something similar happen in the years to come.

The brightest scientists that the country had to offer had devised a way to splice the DNA of animals with that of humans; maintaining their human appearance, while harnessing their animalistic traits to give them an advantage that their human counterparts couldn’t compete with.

The eyesight of a big cat was far superior to technology from the simple fact that it didn’t require calibration, testing or constant upgrading to best its enemy. Night vision that didn’t need to be turned on manually.

Similarly, their biology meant they could outrun a human, and their stamina replenished faster too. Nature’s predator manufactured into something that could be trained to follow orders while thinking for themselves to adapt to any given situation.

Not to mention that the skin of certain mammals is thicker and tougher; an elephant or rhino was a human- or Hybrid- shield with enough empathy to protect the members of their squad without a second thought.

These Hybrids were considered as a barricade, a hunter, reconnaissance, navigation, anything that was useful to the scientist that made them, but not as human. Just a tool to be harnessed and exploited.

If the mere idea of raising Hybrids just to be soldiers wasn’t enough to make your stomach turn in on itself, the way they were described in the documents finished the job- from what you could read around the constant grey bars of redactions. 

It was dehumanised and devoid of any compassion; people who didn’t know any better were reduced to a description of ‘subject’ or labelled only as their animal counterpart.

You’d needed to take a moment to stare at your bedroom wall after that. A moment of pause to calm down and collect yourself that you were certain these Hybrids were never given.

Luckily, and you were using the term very loosely, the council of Piltover had voted in favour of abolishing the programme under the description of being ‘One step too far’. 

The ache in your jaw was persistent from how many times you’d clenched and unclenched it in anger.

A member of the council, whose name had been redacted for- what you assumed to be- security reasons, had called the manufacturing of Hybrids to be ‘the beginning of a self-funded release of an invasive species’.

Your thoughts drifted to the man you’d left slumbering on your couch within the pillow fort you’d made together with such care. There was nothing ‘invasive’ about him. In fact, from the few short days you’d spent with him, he’d seemingly gone out of his way to shrink himself and his presence.

He was guarded, of course, and aloof with his emotions but he was kind and considerate. He shared his food with you, and tried to move you out of harm’s way when he thought there was the possibility of trouble ahead. Jayce was not ‘invasive’.

He had his own taste in music, movies and loved boardgames. He wasn’t a weapon.

The idea to check on him had crossed your mind, and you wondered if you’d find him still sat up like you’d left him, or if he’d woken up and assumed a more comfortable position within the bed of pillows and blankets you’d left him.

However, your need to understand him more overtook any notion of leaving your bed. Instead, you grabbed one of your pillows to hug it before you continued on your search. If so many exotic and larger animals were an integral part of the original designs, then why had you never seen or heard of them in your lifetime?

It had taken you the best part of an hour to locate the answer to that question, and when you’d found it, you immediately wished you hadn’t.

The words on your phone became blurry, unintelligible wobbles of lines in front of you as a few tears trickled down your cheeks and into the pillow you were holding for a comfort that it couldn’t provide.

They were ‘disposed of’. Living, breathing, sentient beings with thoughts and feelings had been wiped clean from existence simply for being as strong as they’d been created to be. 

The voice of the councillor who had deemed them as an ‘invasive species’ had been heard too loudly and too clearly by the hearts of those who feared the consequences of what they’d done.

Not a single one slipped through the cracks.

The pit you felt in your chest was hollow, as if a slight breeze would pass through the chasm and hit the expanse of where your heart was supposed to be. Even so, it felt selfish. Selfish to cry and feel such anguish for something that didn’t affect you personally.

But it did. The man that struggled to sleep at night and refused to let you touch him; either through the apprehension of what you might do to him, or worse, what such a gesture might do to you, made it personal.

The document that had been a witness to your unplanned slumber had explained that, unsurprisingly, the best and brightest that Piltover could offer was unhappy with having to throw away years of research into what they proclaimed to be ‘groundbreaking’.

Shocking absolutely no one, the council agreed. They had put too much money and reputation into the project for it to be discarded, and if you weren’t hitting the very limits of your ability to stay awake, you would’ve screamed in frustration that the same sentiment hadn’t been extended to the lives they’d abandoned.

The programme had been ‘revised’, or so the document had stated. Accompanied with a law that the production of Hybrids was to be limited to ‘domestic breeds’ only. Easily tamable, and easily trainable.

A media campaign is what really put the concept of Hybrids into the public eye. They were advertised as a ‘companion’ or ‘accessory’ to the rich society of Piltover, something to flaunt a wealth that some could only dream of.

Although, like all fads and trends, the excitement died and Hybrids fell into the gutter of capitalism. Only now, the council couldn’t quietly sweep them under their gold-encrusted rug and pretend it never happened.

They were a part of society, whether or not they wanted to accept that fact, and humans would simply need to learn to co-exist.

Once your eyes had adjusted to sunlight creeping through your bedroom curtains and you’d conceded to the fact that you wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep after remembering what you’d learned, you checked your notifications.

Henry had sent you a follow-up text around the same time you’d fallen asleep, asking how the reading had gone.

You’d managed to get out of bed and begin mentally forming your reply to him when one very loud question blurted itself into your thoughts.

How did Henry have this information?

If the council had been so secretive and thorough in their eradication of any trace of their blood stained history, then how did Henry- a man casually taking his own Hybrid out for coffee- have access to classified documents?

You slowly turned your head back to where you’d left your phone on your bed, screen open on your texts with the man in question, and your blood turned thick with enough ice to cause frostbite.

How you proceeded next had to be calculated, not just for your own safety, but for Jayce's.

taglist (dm me to be added!)

@jijihana @ k00yaa @ die-prophetin @slugstarzz @v1tale @bigchungusdrinksspritecranberry @pipsqueakpiper @lovely-dove69 @forcefullyawake @philwrites @mkelly16 @mymidnightsky @hydrasgarden @bak-eri @sweet-potat0 @shybookdragon @risingofjupiter

@lostsoul526 @belm4rie @calciferthelivingfire @kiannaf @bottlcaps @bellizs @lewd-alien @xynokune @blinkerteleporthero @ciai5v-blog @pink-ys-world @sym6olism @roku907 @tati-the-fangirl @avtrsiren @cheesestickz @night-fall-moon @thegothicfox @jellyfish-princess3 @moonlitlovver @1-800-powpow @ssseu4643 @lethargicluv @katsutoria @greatbeautyoflife @morosluvbug @croweyes @memoysie @wonyexe @izakyun @funktchonalhuman3 @cumberdaddys @victoria2054 @sweetdayme4427

@undergroundratwatcher @heyimolive @bru5678 @accliahowl @2000m1n @captain-aulasy @pyro-arts0nist @iogutwsm @tigerlily7270 @opossumclown @yuren-sj @mioblobby @craxkbaby @avivamaligua-blog @madschiavelique @puppyminnnie @jackiekennedysxx @izabell26 @novausstuff @blanksy @alox @ribrye @prolongedmonologues @lananotdelreytbh

 @fleurlust @microsketchy @paudemuss @cxm177e @aerina127 @nexxus13 @darknessbyme @boba-is-a-soup @synchronised-beat @eternallyvenus @angelsdemonsmonsters @shiroganekagami @katsutoria @noxturnalmoth @claire-is-here @hwalovs @disturbyn @suofang @angelzology @shiroganekagami @nexxus13 @aerina127 @snakeballad @astarionapologist @lotuseaterwhowistlesinthedark @flare-on @charliepoopyfart @the-valars-sapphire @strawberrybl1ss

@donttamethebeasts @skyetheseagull @leiahel @sunnyfranc @frankcastle72 @chocolatewastelandtriumph @wickedscribbles @btsgangleader @scaleniusrm @cakeofhorrors @the141bandicoot @mjustag1rl @wolfstar4lifesworld

[hwalovs]

NOBODY FREAK OUT BUT MY BESTIE JUST DROPPED LOCKJAW AND IM VIBRATING SO INTESELY I MIGHT EXPLODE IF ANYBODY TOUCHES ME

god i love lockjaw so dearly, i cannot wait to see where it goes and what else gets put on my already full plate of dinner- jude ily never stop making the beauty that is lockjaw

please read this magnificent fic its literally art and so much love went into it

[oneoftheextras]

I already loved Phen just from that art of him but after reading the little trait description PLEASE TELL US MORE 🙏

omg phen??? my baby boy phoenix?? lemme learn you something

𝓟𝑯𝑶𝑬𝑵𝑰𝑿 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝓣𝑰𝑮𝑬𝑹

𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞: yeosang kang

for reference, the art mentioned in the ask (1st one by @madschiavelique / @mads-arts, 2nd one by me) ⤦

✩₊˚⋆︱𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞: phoenix ⤷ 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞: phen

✩₊˚⋆︱𝐚𝐠𝐞: 23 ⤷ 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲: 10th april ⤷ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧: aries ⤷ 𝐦𝐛𝐭𝐢: esfp

✩₊˚⋆︱𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫: trans-male (afab) ⤷ top-surgery but not bottom

✩₊˚⋆︱𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲: british-korean ⤷ 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞(𝐬): english

✩₊˚⋆︱𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐬: amur tiger hybrid

✩₊˚⋆︱𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭: 5ft 3" (160cm)

✩₊˚⋆︱𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬: outgoing, energetic, loyal, loving, playful, flirty, creative, excitable

✩₊˚⋆︱𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐰𝐬: poor emotional regulation, jealous, possessive, petty, holds grudges

✩₊˚⋆︱𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡: adhd, stage fright, emotional food avoidance, previous addiction, fear of fire, deep water and locked doors

✩₊˚⋆︱𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥: small but athletic build, with burn scars down the left side of his arm, ribs and hip

✩₊˚⋆︱𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲 :

✧ phoenix was born in the circus to loving parents, he learned tricks at a young age, favouring aerial ropes and hoops. as he got older he found a love for dancing and music. eventually becoming a performing trio with his parents.

✧ phoenix does not have a last name, neither do his parents. their stage names were their only names.

✧ his parents were on the older spectrum, and age wasn't kind to bodies that had spent a lifetime performing, forcing phoenix to perform more than his parents to allow them rest.

✧ shortly after his 20th birthday, his mother passed away from an illness, his father following shortly after from a broken heart

✧ (tw: drug use and addiction) for a year phoenix grieved while maintaining the circus' schedule, developing an almost debilitating anxiety about going into the ring alone. the circus owner introduced phoenix to drugs to help calm his increasing stage fright.

✧ due to this nervousness, he sustained a severe injury attempting to jump through a fiery hoop, burning his left side.

✧ as the excitement for hybrids declined, so did the income for the circus, causing the owner to transition to a new business model; once the circus closed for the night, a club with mature dancers would open.

✧ after a few years of trying to return to normality without his parents, phoenix agreed to try the club. within the music and dancing, he found a momentary enjoyment from the fleeting affection of strangers, but he wasn't happy.

✧ eventually, the circus couldn't sustain itself and closed its doors for good - the owner tried to sell as many of the hybrids within his care as he could, but phoenix was not among them.

✧ he spent three days locked in his cage without food or water. on the third day, law enforcement collected the remaining hybrids and distributed them to organisations that could give them a home.

✩₊˚⋆︱𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲 :

✧ after a while of hesitation, phoenix acclimatised to life within the sanctuary. previously having access to no technology, he slowly begins to teach himself about the world and gain an education his parents tried to give him.

✧ he continues to dance but for his own enjoyment, teaching others through social media and eventually finding a club that specialises in hybrids and prioritises their safety.

✧ now he enjoys; collecting stuffed animals, trying new foods, running a dancercise social media account, choreographing dance routines for people of all skill level to get exercise, and spending time with his friends.

✧ he becomes best friends with a german shepherd hybrid called kaida (oc belonging to @hwalovs) from stealing her lighters and hiding them. they bond over kaida filling him in on the drama he's missed and gives him a run down on the whos-who of the sanctuary.

✧ he starts a friendship with a snow leopard called jigra (oc belonging to @madschiavelique) from the emotional support jigra provides him during medical examinations, and the movies they watch together so phoenix can understand pop-culture references.

✧ jigra is the one who gives him the nickname 'phen'. their friendship turns romantic and begin dating, which eventually develops into a polyamorous relationship with jigra's best friend, a panther hybrid named seth (oc also belonging to @madschiavelique).

✧ the three of them get an apartment together, have a family, and phoenix finds his happiness.

a/n: jfc i did not expect to write so much for my boy, but if you got this far, thank you! the post for my other lockjaw oc's are here, if you would like me to do a similar post for them please lmk, i'd love to!

[hwalovs]

Phoenix the sweet baby boy and Kaida my unbothered girlie pop how I love them both so dearly

[killapunk]

is tesco feeling ok 

[daggers-drawn]

This is like a lazily rendered level from a ps1 game.

[heehoo-snek]

every hoohoohahah hahahoo

[modbox]

and every time we kiss I swear I could fly

[oneoftheextras]

coleslaw coleslaw coleslaw coleslaw calls to me

[batissargon]

⚓️

[dollypartonswig]

Bob Radlinski

[polar-day-b]

练习

[twyllodrus]

SER LYONEL "THE LAUGHING STORM" BARATHEON 𐂂 + wardrobe

[oneoftheextras]

relapse | c.r

masterlist | got a request?

paring: ex!chris redfield x f!reader

summary: you fall back into old habits and into your ex's bed. you never could say no to each other.

words: 6.7k

warnings: 18+ smut, angst, unprotected, chris is reader's ex, alcohol, oral (f receiving), edging, spanking, pussy slapping, squirting, finishing on not in

proof-read by: the beautiful @hwalovs

want a handwritten letter from a character?

It had began as a mistake.

Trauma attracts trauma, as they say, and you and Chris were like a moth and a flame.

Every time you were placed on a mission together, you both knew how it would end - the same way it had began.

As you sat at the hotel bar, nursing your 3rd or 4th drink, you tried to relive the memories of your past mistakes. Tried to urge yourself to recall the reason why you'd refused to go on missions where the Redfield name was mentioned.

This time your commanding officer hadn't been as sympathetic. "They need your skill," he had told you, "Chances of success are low without you," he'd subtly praised.

And you did what you did every time duty calls. Put aside your feelings and focus on the lives you were going to save.

Your grip on your drink tightened as you reminisced about how your dilemma had started. It was about 6 years ago.

You were deployed with a unit like every other mission, things had gone surprisingly well and you'd joined the team for a celebratory drink.

Admittedly, you'd drunk a bit too much so the Captain of the squad took you to your bunk. At least that was his plan. Instead, you had demanded that he take you outside to look at the night sky - he'd protested but you refused to go to bed until you'd seen the stars.

He laid in the mildew grass talking with you for hours; about life, your goals, your fears, and when you'd started to cry in your alcohol induced condition, he held you until you stopped.

The embarrassing part was that you'd tried to kiss him and he quickly pulled away, not wanting to take advantage of your intoxicated state. That sobered you up quite quickly.

When the sun started to come up he took you back to your bunk and the two of you laughed about how it was nearly time for morning drill.

Breakfast came around and you immediately apologised to him for trying to make a move on him, he'd chuckled and told you it was fine, but the reason he pulled away was because he wanted the first time he kissed you to be when you were sober.

Then began your doomed romance with Chris Redfield.

You stood from the bar stool you'd claimed as yours for the night and confidently marched towards the lobby. It had been a year since you'd last seen Chris and a part of you wanted to confront him, and tell him this was the last time he would ever see you again.

It would be different this time. Not like all the other occasions where you'd aimed to tell him the exact same thing; that you were done, and he was gone from your mind and heart.

Except he wasn't.

The relationship between the two of you had started so sweetly, it was ill-fated from the beginning. People in this line of work didn't get happy endings.

It started to go downhill after 6 months of dating.

You reminded yourself of exactly that as you entered the elevator and pressed the numbered button for the floor he was on; he'd ever-so-casually mentioned to you which room he was staying in during debrief.

Dating Chris Redfield wasn't the mistake, the months following your breakup were the mistake.

Despite the two of you never being deployed to the same place while you were together, it seemed like it was unavoidable once you'd split.

The first slip of your judgement was after that first mission; you’d found yourself holding onto the sheet of his bunk while his hands gripped your hips, your naked bodies entwined as though it was the last time they would.

Because he thought it was the last time they would. To him, this was his goodbye to you.

Then it happened again in China, again in France, and countless other countries.

Chris Redfield was a drug you couldn’t seem to recover from.

This time was different.

The elevator rocked to a steady stop, the doors revealing the hotel hallway to you not unlike a stage curtain sweeping away the boredom of reality and presenting the opportunity of an escape.

You stepped out into the hallway of cheaply clad carpet floors and faded white walls; the best the BSAA could offer your squad, the cheapskates.

His door was in front of you - number 98 - just as he had said so boldly earlier.

The screws that held the numbers onto the wood looked rusted and worn, really showing the age of the building; and for a moment the faded silver of the number '8' almost distracted you enough to walk away. To leave, to not confront Chris and disappear from his life silently.

But before your brain could send your feet the signal to move, it had already reached your hand and told it to knock four times. You could've walked away and left him to open the door to the empty hallway, but you couldn't will yourself away from those dishevelled numbers.

He knew who it was without opening the door. He even hesitated with his hand on the handle; he could ignore it, pretend to be asleep and wait for you to leave. To break the cycle that you both kept repeating.

But he didn't.

He opened the door and saw you standing on the other side, he would've thought it was just as he had imagined, but he thought you would've taken your uniform off first and changed.

After a few painfully long seconds of staring at each other he asked "Yes?", you didn't verbally answer, instead you pushed past him and barged into his room.

"Come on in," he said sarcastically as he closed the door behind him and turned to face where you stood, which was in the centre of the room as if it was your own. "What can I help you with?" he asked as he walked over to the desk he was clearly working at prior to your interruption, picking up his half-empty whisky glass and sipping on it.

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest, "Please," you scoffed, his nice guy act wasn't tricking you this time.

"I'm done." You stated bluntly, trying to hold eye contact with him to firm your point, but he was more interested in swirling the honey coloured liquid in his glass than looking at you.

He hummed in a response, a hum that showed he was either half paying attention or he didn't care, "Are you listening? I said I'm done!" you were more stern with your words this time.

"Yeah, I heard you the first time," he said without lifting his eyeline from his glass. "Okay," you unfolded your arms, a flit of uncertainty lined your voice, "Well, that's that then, you'll never see me again," you nodded your head with determination - not that Chris could see anyway - but the quiver in your pitch contradicted it.

You turned your back on him and started to leave the room when you heard, "So I'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning for the mission briefing?" he'd said it so casually for a second it felt like a natural next step in the conversation.

"What? No," you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion and turned back to face him, getting closer to him than you had before: "I said I'm done, gone from your life for good," the annoyance in your voice was evident.

"Yeah, yeah," he sighed, dismissing you, and tilted his head backwards and held his glass up to his lips, letting the remnants of the amber liquid drizzle into his mouth. "I mean it!" you step forward so you're directly in front of him, and poke him in the chest with your index to emphasise your point, although not raising your voice.

"We're not doing this anymore," you state prodding his chest with every word. Chris grabbed your hand, enclosing the annoying appendage with his large palm. He placed his glass down on the desk behind him gently, the empty container making a pleasant knock on the hard wood.

He leant back on the desk, finally letting his eyeline meet yours.

"That's what you said last time," he held onto your hand for a moment, his eyes kept your gaze for what felt like hours, his cold blue eyes retained so many memories and you were starting to question whether you wanted to let those go.

Chris released the tension of his grasp so that - if you wanted to - you could slip your hand out from his. "If you want to go, I wont stop you," his voice was quiet and gentle, which made you realise he was also intoxicated.

You didn't move. You kept your hand under his, the warmth of his palm was comforting in a way that only a partner could provide.

"Don't try and be nice to me, Redfield," you shook your head, trying to dislodge the trance your brain always put itself into when you were around him.

He was the one to move his hand away from yours so he could fold his arms over his chest, "Well, I'm not going to be mean to you even if I know th-" he stopped mid-sentence.

"Even if what?" you weren't going to let him get away with it, "No, it doesn't help anyone," he lowered his head but his mouth showed a cheeky smile, as if what he was going to say was amusing to him.

"What doesn't help anyone?" you dipped your head closer to him to try and get him to make eye contact with you again, "Finishing what I was going to say,", "And what were you going to say?", you didn't miss a beat.

He outwardly chuckled, lifting his head but looking off to the side to avoid your eyes again. "You never change," he laughed sadly. "Don't try and change the subject-" you weren't going to let this go no matter how much he wanted you to, "- Now, be brave and finish your sentence," you dropped your voice into a condescending tone.

"Don't.", he warned you but there was no real aggression to it and you felt your stomach flip with excitement, "What? Aww, are you getting shy? I didn't take you for-"  you may have gotten a bit carried away with teasing him.

He didn't allow you to carry on before he grabbed you by the hips and flipped you so now you were against the desk and he was standing in front of you, his empty glass becoming a casualty of the situation and landing on the hotel carpet.

His eyes were narrow and staring down at you, the same way he would look at his sparring partner during training; the gaze of knowing that whatever happens next he was in control of it.

"You know what happens when you run your mouth," his words were almost a whisper and his pitch was a lot deeper than before.

When you didn't immediately respond and he'd registered the rabbit-in-headlights look you were giving him, you visibly saw his muscles tighten and he started to move away from you, "Shit, I-I'm sorry."

The corner of your mouth turned up into a cocky smile and you grabbed the collar of his shirt, stretching the black elastic fabric until the fibres wouldn't give anymore, pulling him back towards you so he was even closer.

"Where are you going?" you teased and you felt the air change the moment it hit his ears, "Your indecisiveness is going to kill me," he leaned into you, placing his hands on the desk either side of you, his warm breath tickled your lips.

You batted your eyelids at him, feigning innocence, "I'm not indecisive," you tilted your head to the side to continue your act; he grabbed your jaw gently to straighten your head and to bring your face closer to his.

"Just tell me what you want," his voice was commanding, and the butterflies in your belly started to flap their wings faster. You let him sit in the silence for a moment, drinking in the delicious tension the two of you had created.

"You know what I want," you said slowly and glanced down at his lips as your tongue poked out to wet your own. "I'm going to need you to say it." he insisted.

Looking up at him through your eyelashes, you blinked slowly and let the corner of your mouth curl up into a smirk, "Make me," it was drawn out as though the longer you took to say it, the longer you would have him hooked on your words.

All thoughts of leaving the room had vanished from your mind when he pushed your knees apart and slotted his hips in between them; instinctively you shuffled forward so your bodies were against each other.

There was something about the familiar heat of his body that comforted you in ways no one else had been able to do.

"Words, use them" he urged you in a soft whisper as though he was subtly begging but demanding you. Ignoring his plea, you hooked your fingers into the waistline of his jeans, feeling the soft skin of his stomach against your knuckles, and pulled him even closer.

A grumble left his throat and a tremor settled over his skin. It was short and deep whilst he tried to hide it from you.

"How obvious do I have to be, Chris?" you mumbled against the millimetre of air that separated your lips. Your thumb fumbled with his button until it popped open, releasing both the tension in his jeans and between you.

His hand cupped the back of your head as he quickly and passionately encapsulated your lips. You immediately ran your hands up his back to tangle in his hair and pull him closer.

Your lips disconnected for a second before colliding again, your heart exploded with fireworks that you long thought had burned out as the two of you struggled to balance coming up for air and not letting the kiss end.

Eventually it did, but only so Chris could unclasp the gear that you hadn't taken off. He began with the one over your chest, but impatience made him give up too soon as he moved to unbutton your combat pants and slip them off of your legs. All the while his mouth had moved from your lips to your neck.

He feverishly left trails along your throat and underside of your jaw as though if he stopped you would disappear.

"Please tell me you want this too?" he asked against your jugular, "Don't you dare stop," you breathed back to him and that was enough reassurance for him.

He pulled your underwear off and pushed you backwards so you were fully sat on the table with your feet no longer on the floor, and dropped to his knees. He looped his arms under your legs and settled his face in between your thighs, taking his time to leave small kisses and nibbles along the inside of them.

His teasing didn't last long, it would seem he was just as impatient as you were. He pressed his mouth against your core, flattening his tongue and massaging your clit the way he knew you liked it.

"Oh, fuck!" you yelled a little too loudly for a hotel the moment the warm wetness of his tongue made contact with you, and you laced your hands into his hair as though it was the handlebar on a rollercoaster you didn't want to get off of.

You felt his mouth vibrate against you as a muffled noise left him, you were sure that if he didn't have his mouth full then it would've either been a low chuckle, or a groan of his own.

His grip on your thighs became tighter and his tongue became quicker - you tried to stay sat upright, but the tingling sensation that climbed up your spine made it hard for you to maintain your balance, so you leaned back on the wall for support.

At this, Chris used your new position to pull your body closer to him, dragging you by the crease of your knee, making your shirt ride up against the friction of the desk. At least your head wasn't weirdly bent against the wall anymore, but now all your body weight was in his hands, and mouth.

He stopped for a moment, disconnecting his mouth from your pussy to inhale deeply, "God, I've missed how you taste," he moaned, his lips shimmering with a mixture of your arousal and his own saliva.

Before you had time to reply, he dove back in, removing one of his hands from your thigh and resting your appendage on his shoulder. He instead slid one of his thick digits inside you, pushing past your spit-soaked lips with an embarrassing ease. 

Well, it would’ve been embarrassing if you weren’t drunk and his fingers weren’t making your whimpers turn to needy moans.

You struggled to keep your eyes open as his tongue diligently flicked your clit, and his finger curled and prodded inside of you. It wasn't his best work with his hands, but he was also drunk and he was making up for it with his tongue so you could forgive him.

The muscles in your legs started to tense and you could feel yourself getting lighter and lighter in the head with the thought of euphoria only seconds away, "Fuck, Chris. I'm close," you managed to mumble out.

Your walls started to clench and tremble around his finger, with the climax you so desperately missed just on the horizon, when he suddenly stopped and withdrew from you. 

"No! No, no, no!" you whined and gently tried to pull his face back towards your core by his hair, but his neck alone was stronger than your arm.

Chris shrugged your legs off of his shoulder and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his top, a smug smile on his face as your essence left a light reflection on the black fabric. 

"You're an asshole!" you shuffled yourself into a position where you could at least touch the floor.

"It didn't seem like you thought I was an asshole a few minutes ago," he had a joyful lint to his voice that you hadn't realised you'd missed so much until now.

You scoffed at him, "No, I did. Just because you have some redeeming qualities doesn't mean I don't hate you," you watched him stand up slowly, the time he spent on his knees also making you forget how tall he is compared to you.

Pushing yourself off of the desk to try and intimidate him, your knees buckled and you almost fell, if not for Chris' reflexes.

"Oh, you hate me now too?" his voice was anything but serious, the overarching mockery was all too evident. You nodded confidently but didn't push yourself out of his arms.

"I see," he nodded as his hand trailed down over your stomach and towards your entrance again where he rubbed circles on your clit with his middle finger, "I suppose, you'd also really hate it if I made you cum?" he retorted, and stopped his movements just as quickly as he'd started them.

With heavy breath and shaking legs, you softly punched his chest with annoyance. “Chris,” you whined, “Mhmm?” he replied, his eyelids hooded and ears patiently waiting for you to admit defeat.

Both of his hands were on your waist, thumbs rubbing circles just under your ribcage delicately like a lover, whilst his eyes watched you like a hunter about to pounce on its meal.

Your hands roamed over the hard expanse of his chest and trailed downwards, your fingers tracing the indents of his muscled abdomen as they made their descent to his waistband.

Just as your fingers skimmed the tip of his underwear, he grabbed your wrist and stopped you exploring any further. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, “Don’t make me beg,” you tilted your head to the side and furrowed your eyebrows, “If you want something, you have to ask for it,”, he playfully scolded you.

Impatiently, you twisted your wrist out of his grasp and put your hands on his pecks, pushing him backwards with what little strength you could. Your plan was to get him on his back, then you could work your magic without having to utter a word.

He stepped backwards as you walked him confidently towards the bed, however, just as his legs were about to make contact with the bedframe he swiftly moved to the left, leaving you and the force of your push to topple over onto the bed.

There was an attempt to pick yourself up again, but as quickly as it had began, he’d hooked his hands under your hips and positioned you with your head against the mattress and your ass, unceremoniously, in the air.

“You know what I want to hear,” he grumbled quietly as one of his hands left your hip and roamed the expanse of your exposed ass cheek, “Screw you,” you spat with no venom.

His hand left for a second before coming down onto your cheek with a harsh sounding clap, you attempted to hold back the groan the sting caused you, but the way your back arched was evidence enough to him that he still knew how to make you crumble.

“Now, I know you haven’t forgotten your manners,” he gently caressed the area that he’d just hit to soothe the impact, the area buzzing with warmth as it slowly turned red.

There was a moment of pause as you thought about the best course of action, and a smirk came across your lips, “Go fuck yourse-” was all you managed to say, words cut off by a moan as another strike hit your plump flesh, this one slightly harder than the last.

You laughed to yourself at how predictable his actions were, when that too was cut short by your surprised cry as two of his fingers suddenly filled you completely - jutting in and out of you a few times, then tearing away to rest back on your ass cheek.

You could feel your own arousal being spread on you with every gentle stroke of his hand.

“How many times do you want to do this until you inevitably do as you’re told?” he sighed as if he was already bored of disciplining you.

Apparently the answer was eight. Eight times you’d come up with a new insult to throw his way and eight times he’d responded the same way. A slap to the ass, followed by spearing you open with his fingers - each time becoming rougher and more prolonged, but not enough for you to cum.

He’d never been like this before, normally he would cave and give you what you wanted - he never could resist you. 

Something was different this time, and you felt your hold over him loosen with every spank of his hand against your delicate flesh, with every crack of palm meeting rear he tightened the reins of your invisible collar until you couldn’t breathe another word against him.

You opened your mouth to speak and he habitually raised his hand, waiting for the next smart-ass comment to leave your lips so he could punish you.

“Wait, please!” you panted, your voice slightly broken from the high pitched whines he’d been pulling from you.

“Hmm?” the noise vibrated lowly in his throat, you couldn’t see his face from your position but you could imagine his thick brown eyebrow raising ever-so-slightly. “Why should I?” he whispered to you, “This entire time you’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass, so why should I not return the favour?”

You thought for a moment. Were you ready to truly take this new Chris out for a test-drive? The unpredictability of him was new to you, you were unsure if you could handle it, but by God you were going to try.

“If you’re going to spank me, at least do it with some effort,” you got about halfway through the sentence before your mouth stretched into a grin.

A growl of annoyance resonated from him and the hand still gripping your hip tightened, you could feel every individual pad of his fingers digging into your bone. He was silent, and you debated whether you’d gone too far, until you felt something warm and smooth caress your folds.

A gasp left you at the familiar sensation. You instantly tried to move your hips backwards to meet him, to feel him fill you so completely the way he used to almost nightly when you were together.

You’d missed the stretch his cock would give you, always too impatient to let him warm you up with his fingers first - the impact of his pelvic bone meeting yours, and the bounce of him so deeply within you, worth the momentary discomfort of adjusting to his size.

But he wasn’t about to delve into your nostalgia so quickly. 

Instead, he dipped his cock-head into you briefly and pulled back, never breaching the tight ring of your cunt. 

Again, you engaged the muscles of your thighs to try and bounce back onto him, so slide him so effortlessly inside you, but his hold on your hip was firm and unbreakable.

With his other hand wielding his shaft with the same precision he usually saves for the Samurai Edge pistol, he stroked his tip up and down to colour your labia with your residue. As if his cock-head was a paintbrush, and your cunt was the pot of paint he’d chosen for this masterpiece.

He rolled his hips forward, guiding his dick through your lips for his head to bump against your clit, coating his shaft in your wetness. 

You knew he hadn’t missed his target, he very rarely did, but just this once you’d wished he’d miscalculated his aim. Wished he’d entered you and hit your cervix with that same force, instead of continuing to abuse your overstimulated clit.

He dragged himself back again until his tip was hovering not-so-subtly over where you wanted it most, he drew miniscule circles into your sensitive flesh, “Are you going to behave now?” his voice was solid and firm with no motion of breakage, unlike yours.

You wanted to say that you wouldn’t. That he would have to make you. However, the repetitive motion of dipping his cockhead into you so you would start to feel him stretch your walls to gain entrance to your warm velvety insides, but not enough for your body to accept him, was causing a lapse in your determination.

The lack of response from you wasn’t the answer he wanted, causing you to feel another sudden slap to your ass and the subsequent sting in the outline of his palm on your skin. 

“Words!” he commanded and your back arched again as he used the same tone he does during training drills. “I-” you started to say, but couldn’t come up with something witty fast enough before he submerged his cock-head again with the accommodating slap against your cheek.

It was too much all at once; the teasing of his dick, the spanking, his iron-grip on your hip, and his voice.

Ordinarily, you could combat these things with ease. Push back against him and throw a mocking comment his way, but it was too overwhelming.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled out, the bedsheet sticking to the side of your mouth as you spoke from the saliva you’d accidentally dribbled onto it.

“Sorry?” Now, he was the one to mimic your usual sarcasm, “I don’t want your sorry, I want you to obey,” he spoke through gritted teeth but there was no aggression, just warning.

You nodded your head against the covers, “I will, I promise,” the rate at which you spoke made your words slur, you were surprised if he was able to understand you.

Your babbling was a language that Chris had become an expert in. Maybe he’d gone further than he was planning to tonight, but that didn’t stop the greedy smirk that laced its way onto his lips.

He wasn’t showing it, but he too was barely holding onto his restraint. Normally, he would ask more of you in terms of verbal submission, but he’s inadvertently teased himself as well.

He hummed with appreciation as he put more pressure against your hole, fighting against the muscle momentarily before it gave way, allowing his cock to slide into you fully until his groin met with your ass.

You moaned loudly at the intrusion, feeling the stretch burn within you. Usually he would allow you time to adjust and wait to feel your walls relax around him before he began his assault, but he wasn’t feeling so generous after the performance you gave him. 

He grasped your waist with both hands as he quickly withdrew from you almost all the way, then quickly and sharply pulled you back to meet his thrust.

Another moan came from you, louder and more high pitched than the last. Then a turrent of them flew from you with every rough thrust of his hips and haul of your waist - your head bobbed back and forth at the rapid momentum, reminding you that your body was not your own anymore, it was his.

“Still take me so well,” he groaned between thrusts, between watching his cock disappear inside you, only to reappear wetter and shinier.

You hoped he wasn’t actually looking for a response because the only words your brain could form were desperate pleas for him, and there was just a slither of your pride left for you not to utter those aloud.

Instead, you stretched your arms out in front of you and curled your fingers into the soft fabric of the covers, giving you enough of an anchor to try and bounce back onto him. Not that it actually did anything with the bruising hold he had on you.

He snapped his hips particularly harshly and a strangled yelp ripped from your throat. His right hand left your hip and grabbed the back of your neck with force.

He manoeuvred your head so you had no choice but to look back at him, meeting his eye again for the first time since he put you in this position.

“Is my pace not enough?” he asked in a scolding manner. He tilted his head to the side and clenched his jaw, it lasted for a second before it shook itself open with a ragged pant. 

Your eyelids fluttered closed as a particularly well placed thrust had his cock spearing into you at the perfect angle, setting a tingle of flames up every vertebrae of your spine to seep over your skull.

“Eyes on me!” he snapped at you with a breathy voice, and you forced your eyelids to follow his order. He was still your commanding officer, and some habits refuse to die.

His cold blue irises held your gaze with a fierce strength, he dared you to look away again, but you couldn’t. 

His jaw was set under a stubble he wasn’t going to shave, the muscles and tendons in his neck strained with every buck of his hips, and a singular bead of sweat trickled down his jugular.

This wasn’t physically exerting him in any way, he was a strong and agile man, but the furrow of concentration in his eyebrows matched with his tongue darting out to wet his lips, told you he enjoyed fucking you as much as you enjoyed letting him.

The incessant creaking of the bedframe and the bang of the headboard against the neighbouring wall was the accompaniment to your whines of pleasure, your sounds that harmonised to Chris’ own quiet moans.

His eyelids flickered as his eyes rolled back into his head for a second, “Fuck,” he groaned and somehow increased the speed of his hips, sloppily fucking in and out of you. 

He tightened his grip on the back of your neck and you felt your spine start to bend painfully at every thrust of his hips.

He still had your body memorised inside and out, it was engraved on his brain. He dragged your torso up off of the bed - knowing that if he continued to plow into you the way he was, he would do some real damage to your back which he wanted to avoid - and placed you firmly against his chest.

The change in angle meant he needed to rearrange his hold on you. His arm rested between the valley of your breasts, whilst his large hand tilted your head backwards to maintain that eye contact he so desperately wanted; his thumb secured your head in place with its position just below your earlobe.

Your mouth was so close to his but you wouldn’t dare kiss him again unless he asked. As if you could do anything other than moan and take whatever he gave you, then attempt to dribble out a thank you afterwards.

His other hand left your hip to clasp both of your wrists in front of you, “You’re mine, you know that?” he muttered to you between heavy pants, so quiet that the rhythmic thump of the headboard almost drowned it out.

“You’ve always been mine, and you’ll continue to only be mine,” his voice was louder, more possessive than before as he grit his teeth. You opened your mouth to try and reply but a pathetic whine was your only response.

He smiled savagely at how you melted so easily under his command. He opened his mouth and your heart leapt at the prospect that he might give you what you were silently asking for, but when his teeth bit down on your cheek, you knew the time for being affectionate was nowhere in sight.

His bite wasn’t hard, it was a playful nibble at best, but it would leave an indent of his teeth for the next hour, of that much you were certain.

There wasn’t any time for you to complain over it as the hand, which was still holding your wrists, released one of his fingers so he could circle your clit.

If he wasn’t so accustomed to how your body reacted to him, the sudden jolt of your hips may have caused him to slip out of you and ruin the position entirely. However, as you moved, he bucked his hips and drove his cock deeper into you as he used your own hands to keep you in place.

“You remember how to cum for me, don’t you?” he purred into your ear. You attempted to nod your head but his hold was steadfast, so instead you whimpered in between moans.

The hammering pace of his cock, matched with the speed he played with your clit was a deadly concoction which only ended with you giving him exactly what he wanted.

You could barely control the tremors that rocketed through you. You were on the edge of euphoria, completely drunk on both alcohol and Chris Redfield, so much so that you hadn’t realised the string of high pitched ‘Please’s that you recited like a mantra.

“You can do it for me, can’t you?” he whispered in your ear like a siren call luring you off the boat and into the ocean, “Let go, you can do it,” he praised, but his hand contradicted the soft coo of his voice as he let go of your wrists and traded it for a harsh slap to your clit.

His fingers immediately took up the space that stung from the impact, circling and flicking at you with an intensity you’d known him only to have in the middle of a mission.

You weren’t sure what was holding onto you, but you prayed to every God, Deity and Patron - anyone that would listen - to let you go, to let you fall deeply into bliss with him.

Someone listened. As he lifted his hand for a second time and left three more quick and light slaps against your clit, you felt all the tension your body was holding ramp up and then suddenly let it all go again as you involuntarily clenched hard around him.

It was like your body went into shock at how stiff you became, he knew what came next. The two of you had done this dance so many times that he knew when you were about to miss a step.

The hand that was holding your jaw quickly slipped up to cover your mouth as you closed your eyes and screamed into his palm, your cunt pulsing around his cock and squirt gushing onto the bedsheets in front of you like a fluctuating stream.

You couldn’t control it. As much as you wanted to squeeze your thighs together and stop what was happening, your body physically wouldn’t move - other than the tremor that flooded you.

Eventually, your muscles returned to you and your chest heaved whilst trying to catch your breath under his hand. You thought you were done, but Chris wasn’t slowing down.

He let go of you, only to push you back down onto the bed with his hand pressing the side of your face into the mattress, mere inches away from the mess you’d made.

He leaned over you, the warmth of his chest laid flat against your back as he fucked into you relentlessly. Harder and faster than he had at any point during the night, or during your relationship. 

Every buck of his hips was like a wild animal getting faster and faster as it closed in on its meal attempting to escape his line of sight.

His teeth suddenly found their place in your shoulder and bit down harshly as your soft flesh muted the animalistic moan that climbed its way out of his throat. 

His thrusts were erratic, completely off of any rhythm he’d set previously and he finally allowed himself to cum. 

He swiftly pushed himself back onto his haunches, and pulled out of you in the same motion. Wrapping his hand around his shaft, he jerked his cock until he came with a loud and prominent “Ah, fuck!”, his sticky ropes painting your ass beautifully.

There was a long moment of almost-silence. Only the sound of the two of you separately trying to catch your breath, and the cogs in your brains turning to try and make sense of what had just happened.

Eventually, Chris got up from where he was kneeling on the bed and grabbed a handful of tissues off of the desk you’d nearly destroyed. He wiped himself off your skin and then dabbed himself dry, pulling up his jeans with only a slight jingle of his belt.

You sat up on the bed, stretching your back and hearing a few clicks that you’d certainly feel over the coming weeks.

It was awkward. The same way it was every other time the two of you fell into this cycle.

He briefly made eye contact with you as he handed you your combat trousers and gear off of the floor. 

Defeat. That’s the look he was giving you. Exasperated, and disappointed defeat.

He’d let you in again, allowed you to worm your way into his desires, the same way you had let him crawl inside your chest and rest next to your heart like he’d never left.

It was only ever temporary, these brief moments you’d have together. For a moment you wondered if you could make it work, if there was still a spark worth kindling into a flame between you, but then he looked away. His eyeline setting on the curtains instead of you.

“I'll see you tomorrow for the mission briefing,” he spoke coldly, folding his arms over his chest, but the lint of longing - a hope that you might fight him like you always did, ask him if you could stay the night instead.

“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” you replied, a stone as hard and stubborn as his own reflecting back at him. 

Once you meant the world to each other; now just a continuous mistake, a toxic habit neither of you could break.

[hwalovs]

Yeah, I WILL reread this, actually

[ultraviolettefan]

How the Batkids became a Bat/Bird:

Bruce to Dick: Damn, poor kid

Bruce to Jason: Damn, poor kid

Bruce to Damian: Damn, my kid

Bruce to Duke: Damn, poor kid

Bruce to Cass: Damn, poor kid

Bruce to Tim: Da-

Tim to Bruce: Have you ever been blackmailed?

[oneoftheextras]

*that one GIF of the cat slamming it's paws on the table* Lockjaw OCs! Lockjaw OCs! Lockjaw OCs! Lockjaw OCs!

pahaha! which ones would you wanna see? like i said i have about 13 of them bitches by now, and some of them go against my own lore haha

[hwalovs]

and I love each and every one of them i want to EAT THEM

[nelc]

Objects as spaceships, by Eric Geusz

[cloudfreed]

My favorite is the fidget spinner space station. It almost feels like someone designed it first and then fidget spinners came out and now everyone laughs at it… instead of the other way around.

[nny11writes]

It’s Eric! He was one of my best friends in highschool!

He also does series of space cats, and one of the ones floating upside down and looking at you is based on my cat Ginger :D

The kitty herself, Ginger!

He’s a super cool dude and seeing his art on tumblr is nuts!

Check out his website, which includes an area to buy prints

You can see more of his work in general on Instagram

And buy T-Shirts too! 

God yeah I will hype him every chance I get lol!

[callmebliss-got-swamped]

O love how the one based on the sriracha bottle is still very clearly that but now with FIRE