#every inhale is a scratching pain

[letitbehurt]

I’m not usually a fan of sick Whump, but when Whumpee is running such a high fever that they’re shaking, taking uneven, shallow breaths, their skin chafing and burning against their clothes.

The moment Caretaker lays a palm on their forehead to check their fever and Whumpee sighs with relief because it’s so blessedly cold.

The moment Whumper cups Whumpee’s cheek with one hand and turns their head slightly, and Whumpee hates themself for leaning into it, but they just want the burning to stop.

#I’m running a fever and shaking and my skin is on fire as I type this #for reference: my eyes feel enough pressure to damn near pop out of my skull #shifting beneath the blankets feels like rubbing against sandpaper #breathing the cold air so quickly is drying out my throat #every inhale is a scratching pain #and oh finding that just right spot on the pillow where the pressure against your head almost feels good #sick Whump #whump

[lacedinweb22]

Miguel O’Hara x reader ⋅⟡⋅ Boyfriend Headcanons ⋅⟡⋅ On Your Period 🦇

nsfw 18+  CW: menstruation, menstrual cramps, oral sex, blood They get dirtier as you read down so if you want to avoid the smut, just read 1-4 ;) This is dedicated to all of my fellow bleeding humans ❤️‍🔥🩸🕸️ stay strong warriors 🫡

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

✣ Miguel takes time off of work when you’re on your period. He’s his own boss anyways, so he gladly stays home for days at a time to be your caretaker. He loves feeling needed. He loves putting all of his attention on you, and on making you feel good. You lay in bed, he spoons you and puts your favorite show on his laptop in front of you; he knows you’ll only be able to listen to it, closing your eyes and meditating through the pain. He’ll watch it from behind you, rubbing his big hand along the curve of your waist. He’ll prop his head up on one hand while he watches the show, softly chuckling to himself, as you fall asleep to the sound of his breathing and exhales of amusement. 

✣ He acts as your own personal heating pad. You’ll lay on your stomach as Miguel lays sideways beside you, resting his warm face on your lower back, with one large hand on the back of your thigh. He knows you need warmth and pressure on you when you’re cramping, so he provides just that. You moan and groan when you get those sudden stabbing pains, signaling Miguel to rub your lower back and give you warm kisses as he mutters, “Lo siento, mi amor. Take deep breaths.” He rubs your back, as you dig your face into the pillow, groaning and wincing at every stab. He squeezes your thigh tightly, assuring you he’s there for you. He stresses out everytime you groan, wincing at the sound of your pain. He becomes restless, offering you different medications or demanding he spoon you so he can hold you tightly against him, his arms wrapped tightly around your lower stomach, putting pressure and heat to your painful parts. When you lay on your back, he’ll lay on his side, his face in the crook of your neck, as he rubs your lower stomach, muttering in Spanish, words of comfort. He kisses your neck, sucking and brushing his fangs across your wet skin, distracting you from the war going on inside of you. 

✣ He gives you endless massages. Though he offers this even when you’re not menstruating, he’s especially desperate to make you feel good. He’ll sit at the edge of the bed massaging your feet and watching tv, as you lay with your head buried in your pillow. He’ll spoon you, his warm hand under your shirt massaging your sore breasts as you moan and hum from relief. You also love to lay on top of him, straddling him, your thighs wrapped around him, your bodies pushed together creating the heat and pressure your uterus is begging for. Your face rests in his neck, as he unsheathes his claws to scratch and massage your scalp gently. His big hands also find their way to your back under your shirt. He presses his fingertips into your skin, massaging your pressure points and creating heat all over. He explores your body, squeezing your hips tightly, then kneading your thighs as they envelope his waist.

✣ He keeps you fed. He’ll constantly leave bed and come back to bring you hot tea or chocolate. He’ll cook whatever you request or pick up whatever take-out you’re craving, and eat with you in bed as you binge watch your tv show of choice. 

✣ He loves your scent. He can differentiate when you're ovulating and when you're menstruating. On your ovulation days, he’s wild around you, your scent provoking his beast-like appetite. On your period though, it’s a whole other scent he can't get enough of. He’s almost blood-thirsty. You teasingly call him your vampire; he chases after your scent and even craves the taste of your iron-enhanced slick. You were embarrassed about it at first, but after him constantly whining and begging you to let him dig his face in between your thighs, inhaling your scent, you accepted and embraced his cravings for you.

✣ He loves giving you head. He’ll lay a towel under you, and go to town, loving his ability to make you feel good. He loves the taste of you, your wet heat tasting of your cum mixed with the metallic taste of blood spread between your thighs. He also loves that you’re extra sensitive, making the pleasure that much more intense and rewarding. You moan even louder, desperate for that relief, which you both know, only he can provide.  He loves making you whine and whimper from pleasure rather than pain. He’ll finish you off, his face covered in your blood, then he’ll run a warm bath for the two of you.

He knows he’ll never understand the pain you’re going through, but he can at least be there for you, and make you feel good in every other aspect he has control over. 

#atsv headcanons #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel headcanons #miguel o'hara smut #spiderman2099 #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara atsv #miguel o hara #miguel x reader #spiderman headcanons #spiderman x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara scenarios #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara imagine

[planete777]

I WANT YOU BAD・⁠｡♪ LN4

( lando norris x fem!reader )

IN WHICH. y/n (and a good joint) is lando's best distraction. (based on this ask)

WARNINGS. 18+, MINORS DNI!, drug use (as per), unprotected p in v, riding, lordddd they are filty, dirty talk, squirting, high hotness pt 345345, lando is in love with the reader (as per pt. 2), guys it's just filth filth filth

NOTE. yoohoooo im soo back!!! first fic release after like 3 months haha.... but it's high!lando so, forgive me plz 😔🙏 anyways, i'm slowly getting back into the groove of writing (i only wrote a tad bit during my break smh) and im sorry if im a bit rusty. hopefully, its only up from here. enjoy my dearest readers, and feedback is always welcomed <3

SIDENOTE. my askbox is open! feel free to send in any thoughts, scenarios, requests etc for lando 🤍

there's a gentle, warm thrum that bubbles beneath lando's skin, like a premise of excitement, tendrils of smoke tearing and stitching sentience with sluggish countenance. doesn't see a thing beyond a feet before him, and can't feel anything (yet feels everything) sauf the familiar radiation of body heat from the girl pressed limply into him.

two things for the price of one, it barely gets better than this. he feels like a magic act, cartoonish smears of smoke coalescing, then dimming as he inhales and exhales and inhales again. every taut stress from the day slowly flakes off his muscles, and succeeding another drag of the joint, he lets a gentle sigh huff out of him.

"better now?"

y/n's voice sounds like soft lace in his ears, and she snuggles closer into his shoulder, hand splayed, and weighty, upon his chest. she feels completely dead, always getting too high too fast, but never lets the warnings rid her of the euphoria. lando knows that, and can't blame her either; there's something unequivocally beautiful about getting high and losing the ability to connect one thought to another.

he shifts- he thinks he does so- rolling the spliff between his fingers before curling his lips to push out the smoke that began to scratch striations into his throat.

"yeah," he drawls out, "never go wrong with a good spliff."

y/n just barely giggles, palm rubbing up and down lando's chest. he swears he's on fucking fire, neurones charging and buzzing and crackling at every heightened numbness, and all he can do is take another drag.

there's a blanket of silence, comfortable and observing, before lando feels her, wantonly, drag her hand over his crotch then squeezes; and, jesus fucking christ, the moan that's punched out of him is ungodly.

"y/n- fucking hell," he leaves it at that, slowly swivelling his head towards her. she's smiling, largely and so gorgeously that lando feels like he's levitating. why is she looking at him like that?

"wanna fuck you, lan'," she whispers, redundant because it's already so damningly filthy, "make you lose your shit."

lando is struck speechless and completely horny, blood swelling his cock to where it edges pain, but god, does it feel so fucking good that all he can do is moan and tighten his grip on y/n's thigh sprawled across his body.

she smirks, sitting upright and slides to straddle lando, hips grinding heavily into his and the pressure is glorious.

"you like that, huh?" she bites her lower lip and presses harder, lando's head lolling to the backrest of the armchair. he could cum right into his pants if his motive wasn't to do it deep into y/n's cunt instead.

"you know i do, baby," he takes another drag, doesn't know how he musters the effort to, "you riding me is a sight."

she giggles, "just staring at my tits as i'm doing so, you fucker."

lando shakes his head, "nah, i meant all of you, baby. so beautiful," then he's smiling and pulling her into a kiss that's just tongue and want, lando gripping a hand around her nape. he can die like this, he thinks, encompassed in the feeling of a throbbing dick and a sloppy, wet mouth— all of it.

y/n curls her fingers around the hem of his joggers, lifting her hips- their lips still attached- and sliding them down his thighs. cool air caresses his cock, pulsating, weeping and redder than she's ever seen it before, lando moaning at the relief as it slaps against his abdomen.

"oh lan' look at you," she whispers, wrapping her hand around his cock (the way he squirms at that is indescribable), "you need my pussy that bad?"

it's all faux concern, but it does the trick, lando nodding and on the verge of sobbing when she clenches her fist.

"come on- fuck me, y/n," he's whining and squirming, hands grabbing at her shorts to tug it off after wedging the joint between his lips. she stands up, lando's hands trailing away as she goes to slide them off, crumpling at her feet. and all lando thinks is mylovemylovemylove. his skin burns like he's being dipped in lava, yanking his shirt off and throwing it to the ground.

the girl wastes no time crawling back into his lap, hovering over his erect cock as she takes both hands, spreads her cheeks and sheaths him in.

"y/n- ohh fuckkk-"

the slide— it's so so good, lando's losing his mind, he wants to ask 'no prep?' but fuck, she's taking him so well that he just shuts off. he pants roughly, eyes squeezing shut as she whines and bottoms out, feeling deeper than he has ever been. he's tingling everywhere, a shaking a hand plucking his spliff out of his mouth and unto the couch, feeling y/n's tight, hot pussy grip him with every inch of its life. and just when he thinks it's nearly too much, she starts to move.

y/n grinds and bounces like a fucking pornstar, shirt and bra she had on a few minutes ago strewn somewhere in the room, tits jumping and nipples swollen. oh, it's such a view and as much as lando wants to keep watching, a spark of pleasure causes his eyes to hurl to the back of his head, body flushed deeply and mouth slackened as it leaks a thick moan.

"your cock, lan'- shit, i'm gonna cum so hard," y/n's voice sounds so ruined and lando is obsessed with it, eyes opening as he gives her a small smirk. hands run all over her body- her legs, her breasts- before settling on her ass and languidly dragging it up and down his cock. y/n's reaction is immediate, trembling and crying out a high pitched moan that almost has lando cumming right there.

"i want you to cum so hard, baby. this is your cock," he huffs, hips thrusting upwards and slapping against y/n's ass. the sounds make his mind go static; it's so filthily good, skin hitting skin.

y/n smashes her lips against lando's as she works her hips harder, feeling the cold metal of his chain bind to chest. they can barely kiss, panting into each other's mouth- then lando's cock stabs her g spot, hard, and she's screaming and cumming, liquid running between her thighs and cunt squeezing lando so damn tight, he's pushing her hips into his, yelping, and spurting cum, thick and warm, into y/n.

"fuck fuck fuck- oh god baby, just like that," lando speaks into her skin, "just like that."

he rolls his hips to ride out their highs, pleasure setting deep in his veins before wrapping his arms around her and pulling her towards him, leaning back.

"fuck, i love you," lando whispers, pressing kisses into her shoulder.

"even when i squirt all over you?"

lando smirks, placing a kiss on her lips, "especially when you squirt, baby.

#‧₊˚✩彡 planete.thinks: high!lando #lando norris fic #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #lando norris x y/n #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one x reader #formula 1 #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 smut #formula one #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1

[gloryy-vs]

Neteyam breeding kink fr he is his daddy’s son

||

YALL ARE FILTHY.

me too.

characters: 25 y/o neteyam x na’vi!reader

ratings: SO NSFW. breeding kink, praise kink, heavy choking, KINDA? vanilla, submissive reader, biting, soft dom neteyam, neteyam wants a baby momma????

||

His hand wrapped around your throat, pushing you down onto the hard woven mat, while his free hand dragged down to your loincloth, undoing the knot hurriedly. His eyes looked greedy, hungry even, while yours were glossed over in tears of desperation. Neteyam didn’t bother taking his time with you, already rock hard from the thought of filling you up with his seed.

“You’re gonna be a good girl for me right? Spread those pretty legs, cmon baby.” He said, and you obliged instantly. Your legs were spread open in front of him while his hand trailed down further, fingering you roughly. Small whines and mewls escaped your lips, it was as vocal as you could get considering his hand never left your throat. Neteyam forced another finger inside, pressing against the soft, gummy spot inside of you. Your back arched, craving the feeling of his hot cock inside of you. Your golden eyes must’ve spoke for you, as Neteyam leaned down to litter your cheek with kisses.

“So pretty. You wanna have my babies? Use your words, pretty girl.” He said, releasing your throat from his grasp. He never stopped fingering you, and out of embarrassment and pleasure you slurred your words.

“Yes…m’gonna be a good girl. I want your babies, sir.” You said, back still as arched as it could get. Neteyams eyes went dark, his hand lifting your left leg over his shoulder in an instant. The larger male grabbed a hold of his cock, stroking it before teasing your already sensitive hole. With a small smirk at your flinching reaction, he slipped inside of you, stretching you out and filling you up as much as he could with his member. One hand remained on your left leg while the other dug into your right hip, and his pace started out painfully slow, he wanted to feel every ridge inside of you. You inhaled sharply, nails digging into the mat beneath you in ecstasy.

“Faster, Teyam. Faster, please.” You slurred, raising your other hand above your head to grip at the mat there. That would be the only time he takes an instruction from you. He pulled out slowly, leaving just the tip of his cock in before slamming into your harshly. His thrusts became animalistic. Each one packing more need, desire and strength. He couldn’t help but admire your moans beneath him, as he bit into the leg he placed over his shoulder, his fangs sinking in lightly. Your eyes rolled back at the interaction, the slight pain in your leg mixed with the immense pleasure you felt inside of you was too much to deal with and he definitely wasn’t slowing down until you were dripping his cum. His eyes grazed over your bare body, watching as your breasts swayed from each thrust. Neteyam released your leg, leaning down closer to you as his hands traveled to your breasts, then your waist before settling on them. His fingers dug into you again, leaving small crescent shapes on your back. “You take me so well baby.” Neteyam said.

“M’gonna cum, Teyam!” You whined in response, while your hands grabbed onto his arms, leaving faint scratches as they repeatedly traveled down each time he rammed himself into you. He shook his head, braids swaying back and forth. “Not until I fill you up, baby. Cmon, keep it together for me, princess.” He said breathlessly. Your face went red, and he could tell the pet names were getting to you from the way your pussy got wetter and took his length in deeper with each thrust. Neteyam was nearing his climax too, slowing down the pace with hard trusts, but inconsistently. He threw his head back, fingers scratching from your waist down to your knees as his hips bucked softly, and his stomach tensed. “You ready pretty girl? Take it all baby, take it all.” He sighed, leaning down closer to you as he finally let himself cum inside of you, pressing himself as deep inside of you as he could.

“That’s it baby, let it out.” He softly said while he caressed your face. As soon as he gave you permission, you came all over his cock, feeling the hot and sticky liquid drip down your thighs and onto the mat. He refused to pull out, slowly pumping in an out of you. Neteyam loved hearing the sloppy noises, and seeing how his seed spilled out of your cunt the second he did decide to pull out. Your legs went limp, quivering a little afterwards. He kissed you from your neck down to where he left his marks on you, licking over the small bit of pooled blood from the bite he gave your leg. “You did so good, girl. Such a good cum dump, aren’t you? Look at me, babe.” Neteyam said, his hand traveling back to your face and pushing it so you could look at him. All you could muster was a nod, your body feeling tired and used after the endeavor. He smiled, giving you another kiss on the lips. Now it was time for your favorite part, aftercare.

#avatar neteyam #avatar way of water #neteyam imagine #neteyam x reader #neteyam sully #avatar #avatar jake #avatar loak #neteyam #neteyam x you #neteyam smut #jake sully smut #avatar smut #neteyam x reader smut

[helluvapoison]

Feelings

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

imagine being a fallen angel and experiencing hunger for the first time

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

“Ow— Ow! Lucifer!” You screeched.

It takes him less than half a second to materialize before you. Demonic and beautiful just how the stories described him to be. Six ivory wings with crimson feathers stretched out to be your shield. His horns stretched tall, tail whipping to and fro and his honed teeth bared for the threat he couldn’t see. As a predator would asses the situation, Lucifer’s eyes, a blazing blood red, searched the area only to find you alone.

But.. you sounded hurt.

With hesitance, his features slowly ebbed away.

“What—“ He spun in a circle once more as if he was missing something. “What‘s happening? What is it?”

“I-I don’t know? It— ow!”

Suddenly you doubled over, clutching your stomach.

Lucifer was on one knee to keep your face in view, still furious at the oversight that escaped him and irrationally worried whatever it was would take you away from him. His hands hovered over your arms but didn’t dare touch. He looked every bit as terrified as you did. With no enemy to slay, he was left in the same darkness as well.

Neither of you would know what to do if you couldn’t explain.

Drawing in a shaking gasp, you muttered, “I don’t understand, it-it hurts.”

“Where? Where does it hurt? I can help you, just tell me.”

You only clutched your stomach tighter. The pain was unlike when you fell but remained just as intense. The thought of this being your new normal was paralyzing. How could anyone live this way? How would you survive? How did Lucifer?

“Your—“ Lucifer sighed heavily, shutting his eyes and allowing a weak smile to tug at one corner of his mouth. Relief. “I see. Ok, don’t worry. You’re ok, darling. I can fix this easy-peasy! You’re hungry.”

“What is that?”

His face scrunched tight as he looked for the words in the air, “It’s… It’s famine? You know, like in the mortal realm? But just here.”

He pointed at your stomach before rising to his feet. The look on your face when he stepped away was a dagger to his heart.

Don’t leave me alone, he swore your eyes begged him.

Perhaps he merely saw his own reflection in them.

Debating on waiting for you to follow (which he would’ve done; he would’ve waited for eternity) or bolting to grab something, Lucifer chose the latter.

Leaving you was hard enough as it stands— and it wasn’t getting any easier— but he would find a way to do both. One problem at a time.

“Don’t move. I’ll be right back,” He reassured, “Ok?”

You’d reply was weak and uncertain. It twisted the blade lodged in his heart.

“Ok.”

He’s never moved so fast in his fucking life.

If he had time he would’ve made you something nicer from scratch. Lucifer used to love making breakfast. If he had time he would’ve had his cooks prepare a 7 course meal. If he had time he would’ve had you sample as many dishes as you could stand to find one you like. If he had time he would’ve sat with you and found out your favorite foods. He’d find a way to recreate them in Hell.

If he had noticed, you wouldn’t be hurting at all.

But there was no time for any of that. Not for if’s and definitely not for a pity party.

Lucifer returned before you with a blue-ish pastry that almost looked like a muffin. Almost… Not really. You glanced at him once to find a tiny, calm smile that put your worries back to bed before they could rise. If you could trust anyone down here, you knew it would be him.

Since you refused to release your hold on yourself, afraid your stomach would collapse, Lucifer took it upon himself to lift the pastry to your mouth. You hoped your hesitance was overlooked. He certainly didn’t comment on it.

It didn’t taste like anything. Specifically, it didn’t taste bad so your reluctance was overruled by hunger. You took the blob from Lucifer and ate slowly though you wanted to inhale the damn thing.

“I have these when I forget to eat too. They’ll do the job alright. Give it a few minutes to work his magic and— presto! We’ll get you some real food.”

“How could you possibly forget to eat when it feels like this?” You said through a mouthful of whatever-this-was.

“It get’s easier,” Lucifer let a breath of a laugh out, shaking his head. His mirth faded slowly yet simultaneously suddenly. “I’m sorry I let this happen. I didn’t—“ He squints, blinks and sighs, defeated, “I should’ve remembered this.”

You tilted your head, “This?”

“The first time I experienced… everything, I guess. Hunger was one of them,” Deep in thought, Lucifer tapped his chin, “Not the worst of them but the first time was pretty awful.”

Your eyes bulged out of your head slightly, “There’s more?”

Lucifer groaned in agreement, sharing in your horror.

“There’s a lot more.” Looking at you he realized his mistake and corrected it too late, “B-But I’m here! I went through it all so I’ll have all the answers for you!” His hands took your own, squeezing them, “You don’t have to do this alone. Ok?”

You squeezed his hands back.

“Ok.”

~

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ have this idea i had for my oc but i made it enjoyable for all! this might become a series, we’ll see

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar imagine #lucifer morningstar headcanon #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #poiboiwrites

[raitonsfw]

bsd men: first time edition

characters: nakahara chūya, nakajima atsushi, & dazai osamu.

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, fem!reader, virgin!reader, loving!chūya, virgin!atsushi, smug!dazai, positions: missionary (chūya's & atsushi's) & riding (dazai's), p in v intercourse, slight clit play, premature ejaculation (atsushi's), kissing, praising, pining, slight dirty talk, consent, hint of pain, some uncertainty, new sensations, chūya's part feels poetic to me (almost cried writing it), atsushi ruins his trousers hehe (he's so cute), dazai's quite big ahem- (iykwim).

a/n: why not start a tiny bsd series with sharing their first times with you? probably a v popular idea, but we always need more variety you know? wc: 1.9k m.list

next up: bsd men: first time edition pt 2. (nikolai, fyodor, & sigma)

divider credit: @hitobaby

❝𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐮𝐲𝐚'𝐬❞ first time with you goes exactly as planned. a bottle of wine waited for you in the kitchen afterwards as he delicately hovered over you with an intoxicating smile. he didn’t want to drink beforehand– this moment was too important to get wine drunk over, too intimate to get lavished from the red liquid and you appreciated the gesture. 

the silk sheets kissed your skin, felt underneath you with a cold sheen and you reveled in the way his mouth tasted like you were his wine; sweet and delicate to the touch as his tongue lapped into your mouth. careful not to break – not to shatter you – as his gloved palms ran over the flesh of your hips, soft fingertips dipping into the innate crevices of your body. 

when he pushed into you, there was a hint of pain– but it was completely erased by the gentleness of his fingers soothing against your blushed cheeks. you felt at ease in his arms, your hands shielded over his lithe figure, and he knew his back would soon be littered with scratches. your legs wrapped around him as he settled deep inside you– waiting for you to adjust to the imploring feeling of being connected. 

“it’s okay, darling– tell me when i can move. i’ll make sure you feel so good…” 

“fuck you’re so tight around me… can’t think straight–”

and you loved that of him. you adored the way he looked at you, his rich eyes searching for any discomfort and brushing it away. his humanity shone through and you wondered how he could possibly think that such a cherished feeling wasn’t human itself? he had held back a groan when he sank into you, your walls hugging him tightly with a sharp inhale coming from you but now his voice failed him as you prompted him to move.

a low groan escaped his lips as he pulled out of you gingerly and thrusted back in, your mind nearly going numb at the first stroke. for such a tiny man, he surely knew how to curve thickly inside you– his cock nudging against the sweet bundle of nerves. you let out a quiet moan, your head tipping back onto the pillows and your entire body relaxing against his. everything seemed to have melted away as he took to a languid rhythm, soft kisses against your neck and chest littering your skin.

every time you squeezed around him, his eyes would roll back and he’d jolt inside you– his hips stuttering and a tiny curse expelling from him until he held eye contact with you. and god, did that make you feel gorgeously exposed – piercing blue staring back at you with such intimacy drawn in them, it made your heart flutter and dance. you couldn’t help but take his roseate cheeks into your hands, capturing him into a searing kiss that he thought about for days on end afterwards. 

you were so caught up within your pleasure, you didn’t have time to tell him you were close but he knew way before you did; quiet praises coaxing you closer and closer to your release.

“c’mon, give it to me sweetheart– yes…” 

and when you came, it was a blossoming feeling. your body shook with pleasure and chūya could barely hold his own, desperately trying not to cum yet but failing miserably as you let out those pretty little moans for him. 

your back arched against him, both of your chests touching and with a light hand, he subconsciously swiped it over the small of your back to keep you in place with his ability caressing you so you wouldn’t slump against the bed too harshly. 

“so good for me, y/n… had me losing my mind.”

❝𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐚 𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢'𝐬❞ first time with you is also his first time. you knew he was a virgin beforehand, his slight jumpy actions whenever you placed your hand on his thigh– dare you try to go further with him, his whole face would turn red and you’d think it was the cutest thing ever. 

when you finally made the move on atsushi, his lips wouldn’t work properly as he stuttered out ‘a-are you sure, y/n?’ and you’d just melt at the way he laid back for you when you straddled him with a passionate kiss. you just had to shut him up or else you’d second guess yourself even though you wanted him to practically mount you since the day you met him at the agency.

you’d be so fucking careful too– careful enough as to not scare him away, he was always so flighty when it came to intimacy. but this time, he seemed to revel in every muted touch to his body. your fingers would trail down his chest, toying with his suspenders and your other hand would thread into his hair– the swayed black highlight in it slicking back as he got more needy with each kiss. 

his hands would fly to your hips, your clothed cunt flush with his stiffened cock– and you’d make the mistake of grinding down onto him. he’d cum in his trousers seconds after, a choked moan escaping him against your lips and it’d turn you on sooo much. it’s like he was reliving his teen years, freshly sixteen and barely able to contain his horniness when he felt a woman’s touch for the first time.

as you pulled away to look at him, he’d turn his head away with a quiet ‘sorry’ slipping from his mouth and god, if you weren’t wet then… you’re soaked now. you’d tease him– ‘atsushi, never had a pretty girl grind on you? how cute…’ to which he’d respond with simply rolling you two over in bed, him now on top of you.

“if you’re really sure, we can do it this way.”

“w-would you like that?”

and now it’s your turn to go red in the face, your legs parting to let him in. with shaky fingers, he’d undress you– each article of clothing ending up near the end of the bed and he’d take every opportunity he had to ogle at your figure. you looked so beautiful underneath him– him of all people – and he was certain if he touched his cock now, he’d explode. 

and when you wrapped your hand around him to guide him in, thank god he didn’t; his insides shifting as you gave him a small smile. the tip of his cock nudged up against your entrance and you both looked down as he sunk inside you. a gasped moan met you, which you swallowed up early– your own whines in tune with his as he started to move inside you. 

“l-love you soo much– you okay baby?”

you’d nod every time he asked, your mouth ghosting over his neck and his shoulders as he buried his head into yours– every thrust feeling so overwhelming to you but it felt so good… for as long as it lasted at least. his hips had started stuttering into you, quiet pants and whimpers leaking into your ear as his high caught up to him quickly. he couldn’t stop from stringing out your name in a long drawn moan either, his eyes squeezing shut as he reached his second orgasm within the hour.

“‘m so sorry… g-gonna cum–!”

he stilled in you, weakly shuddering through his release and you massaged his back softly as he collapsed against you after. his cum dripped out of you, around his own cock as he didn’t even manage to pull out and you’d pepper kisses into his skin. atsushi would mumble out some nonsense, presumably a ‘thank you’ and once he came to, you knew he’d return the favor– with your guidance of course. 

❝𝐝𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐢 𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮'𝐬❞ first time with you goes…not exactly how you expected. with the exception of his bandages loosening underneath your grasp and his urge to just straight up bounce you on his cock, you didn’t know what you had gotten yourself into. 

he insisted on you riding him the first time– that way if anything happened you could just get off of him and that was that. definitely not because of the way your figure was practically on display for him, your breasts jiggling and your pretty pussy fluttering around him as you sunk down unassuredly. 

you didn't know where to put your hands so they ended up fluctuating between holding them against your chest and resting them against his sternum, pressing deeply as another wave of pleasure rolled through you when you leaned slightly forward. his cock nestled up right against your cervix, curved upwards long and thick and you nearly died on spot when he first pulled it out. 

you knew dazai had been packing, but you didn’t really think twice about it until it was prodding against your entrance. the head of it slipped past your folds and you had gasped out, his bandages nearly tearing from the sheer grip you had on them. and then he bottomed out and… oh, wow– you never felt so full in your entire fucking life. 

“that’s it, good girl– took me like a champ.”

“how ‘bout you put on a show for me?” 

you didn’t know what he meant, but you tried your best as you lifted yourself up on his cock– the crown catching lightly against your hole and sinking back down onto him quickly. your hands quaked, a bit of pain shooting through your abdomen before dissipating as you moved more fluidly on him.

you looked at dazai halfway through, half-lidded eyes meeting yours and suddenly, you understood why people have sex now. his entire face was smug, his mouth open in silent pants, and his bangs stuck to his forehead with his arms crossed behind his head. it was hot– the way his eyes followed the bounce of your breasts and the movements of the back of your thighs smacking down slightly against his own. 

he wasn’t very loud, which you had coined him to be before but maybe you had to wait. with his lustered personality, you were sure he’d pipe up near the end, his hips starting to work against yours with a searing grasp against your own hips. 

he practically moved them for you, lifting you up and down against him with little waver and his eyes rolled back when you clenched around him, a cry leaving your mouth as he nudged your sweet spot. 

“right there, hm? use your words, baby.”

your voice was broken apparently as you could barely form his name on your tongue, overwhelming pleasure coursing through your entire body as he fucked up into you earnestly now. you couldn’t hold back your moans anymore, same with him – you knew it – his low groans filling the air now with every thrust. 

you felt so good around him, tight and now made to fit his cock personally. he only ever wanted his cock buried deep in you from now on, no one else’s; you were his until the day you two decided the afterlife. 

your orgasm fluttered up your spine, quick and brutal until it was right there and you tried to tumble off, a sharp whine escaping you. you looked to dazai for help, a needy look too and he cooed at you with a smirk. 

“yeah, gonna cum on my cock? how darling. cum for me, y/n.”

his fingers grazed your clit, rubbing it expertly and your orgasm washed over you within seconds. you were too far gone to notice the tiny whimpers that escaped the brunette as you convulsed on his cock, the desperation that overtook him as he watched you fall apart– his vision went white when he came inside you. 

yeah, this wasn’t exactly what you expected but you wouldn’t have had it any other way. 

#𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 •┈••✦ #bsd smut #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #bsd x reader #bsd x female reader #bungou stray dogs smut #chuya smut #chuuya smut #chuuya nakahara smut #chuya x reader #dazai smut #dazai osamu smut #osamu dazai smut #dazai x reader #atsushi smut #atsushi x reader #chuya x you #chuuya x y/n #chuuya x you #chuuya x reader #dazai x fem reader #dazai x you #dazai x y/n #osamu dazai x reader #atsushi x you #atsushi x y/n #dazai osamu x you #dazai osamu x reader #𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚏𝚠 ✰

[isabella-kr]

In My Arms

Summary: Often struggling with nightmares, Peter finds it difficult to find rest, but he is soon put at ease by her loving presence lulling him to sleep.

Pairing: Spider Noir x F!Reader 

Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst

Warnings: Mentions of nightmares, past loss; RIP Uncle Ben

Note: 3rd Person POV & No use of Y/N

Word Count: 737

I do not give permission/consent for this work to be reposted or translated.

General Masterlist  I  Spider-Men Masterlist

GIF not mine

The bright shine of the moon reflected off the dull walls within his bedroom. His eyes were glued to the ceiling, refusing to close despite the stinging that begged for at least an hour of sleep. He was counting the cracks in the paint on his ceiling as though they were sheep children were often taught to count to fall into a slumber. His wouldn’t come, however, and he knew so; the fear of the nightmares visiting in the middle of the night too strong for even an hour of rest. 

It was the sound of her soft inhales that grounded him in reality – that prevented him from getting lost in his own thoughts. The quiet snores were a pleasant change to the swearing, screaming and sounds of pain he was usually accustomed by. It was as though he could not get enough of them, angling his head in her direction to hear her better.  

With every breath she took, he could feel the bed dip ever so slightly, and so he pressed his hand against her warm back, enjoying the way it moved with her every movement. She was warm, he noticed. A type of warmth that’s inviting. Calming.  

He mindlessly moved his finger beneath her shirt and dragged it up and down her spine, so focused on feeling her warm skin against his that he failed to hear her breath hitch. His senses didn’t pick up on her sudden consciousness until she began to turn, facing his way with a concerned look in her eyes.  

“Pete,” she whispered, “Can’t sleep?”

He hummed deeply, his eyes closing as her hand moved to cup his cheek.  

“Nightmares again?”

“I just...” he looked her way, “It haunts me; like the scene has been burned into my eyelids.”

She knew she could not say anything he hadn’t heard before. Nothing she could say that could help ease his grief. Nothing that could make him forget the gruesome sight of his late uncle.

With a sharp exhale, his hand came to grab hers as his lips pressed a firm kiss against her palm. “I’m sorry for waking you,” he told her, “Go back to sleep.”

Her brows knit together as she shook her head, her arms moving to wrap around his neck to pull him in closer to her. She rested his head against her chest and fingers dug into the softness of his hair.  

Pressing a gentle kiss against his head, she whispered, “It’s okay Pete. I want you to wake me up.”

“No,” he replied, wrapping one arm around her torso, “You need your sleep.”

“So do you,” she pointed out.

Playing with his hair, she ignored the exasperated sigh that escaped his lips at her argumentative tone. He knew he couldn’t win with her – especially not now when his sleep deprived brain struggled to even keep up with the conversation.  

“I’m here, you know,” she said, “If you ever need to talk, Pete, I’m here. You’re safe with me.”

Silence. Her fingers continued working through his thick hair.  

“I know,” he eventually told her, smushing his cheek further into her, “Thank you.”  

She shuffled her body down the bed until his head was resting in the crook of her neck and she could rest her cheek against his forehead. He seemed to appreciate the gesture, the skin-to-skin contact putting him at ease.

He seemed more relaxed now, though still stiff underneath her fingers. As one of her hands was occupied with his hair, running her fingers through it and lightly scratching on his scalp, the other began to gently stroke the skin of his arm. Her lips pressed against his forehead, leaving a loving kiss behind before pressing her cheek against him once again.  

The sudden love and attention seemed to be doing him wonders, as his breath slowly began to even out, growing quieter and more laboured as the minutes ticked by. He subconsciously squeezed her harder as his consciousness began to slip away - as though she was a life boat in the middle of the dark and chaotic ocean.  

Like she was his candle in the middle of a pitch-black room.  

“Thank you... I love you,” he manged to whisper, his voice weak and tired as he had finally begun to drift off to sleep.

She smiled into his hairline, her eyes closing as she replied in a soft tone, “I love you, too.”

#spider-man #spiderman #spider noir #spider-man noir #peter benjamin parker #peter benjamin parker x reader #peter benjamin parker x you #spiderman noir x reader #spiderman noir x you #spider-man noir x reader #spider-man noir x you #spider noir x reader #spider noir x you

[cinnamonest]

Malebolge

Yandere/Dark Morax x Reader

WORDS: 18.2k

-----

And thus, here it is.

Important note that I'm largely basing this on [[this post]] I made ages ago about a conquered and captive goddess!darling during the war era because 1) it has never left the back of my mind since making that post, 2) I have watched way too many of those Chinese historical palace dramas where they're essentially confined to the palace and I find that very hot and 3) utterly brutal war era Morax >>>>>>>

Warnings/Notes: DARK CONTENT, fem reader, noncon/rape, captivity, rough sex/pain/more or less physical abuse, moderate but not full-on asphyxiation, draconic features (namely claw-like nails, horns, and most importantly dual reptile dick because I am both incredibly degenerate and greatly appreciate that this seems to be a not uncommon HC so I know I'm not alone), double penetration (vaginal/anal), degradation, forced cultural assimilation, brief mentions of death scare/past death scare, Xiao is there for like .008 seconds with no dialogue

Also I have learned more about lizard mating in the past week than any human should ever have any business knowing so if you want lizard seggs info I now know way too much of it

-------------------------------

Malebolge (n.) ( /mælˈboʊldʒ/):

The Dantean 8th Circle of Hell. An inescapable cavern.

-------------------------------

You winced at the slightest of shifting, the unconscious action creating a sting that stirred you from a deep slumber.

In the half-awake state, you grunted as you shifted again, this time rolling more onto your side, but the soreness merely shifted with you.

There was no position in which you could be comfortable. No matter what way you lay down, there was pain. Stinging pain, aching pain, throbbing pain, a multitude of acute points of pain dotted all over your body. As it always did, the painful sensation began to pull your mind into the waking world.

Your back and hips were scratched. That was the stinging pain. Marks where claws had gripped into your flesh, leaving inflamed, reddish lines over your flesh.

Your thighs and sides where bruised from crushing grip. If you lay on your stomach, your chafed and swollen nipples would sting even at the lightest contact with the sheets, and the position would only intensify the perpetual dull, throbbing ache inside of your body, internal bruises and the muscles of your orifices pulled and stretched and rubbed raw to the point they never ceased to ache.

It was nothing compared to moving, to the deep ache in each limb with the slightest of exertion, but even at rest, with no movement at all, a dull, throbbing ache pulsated across your body.

It wasn't the physical pain itself, though, that was unbearable. Pain was part of life. Pain was something every entity that lived long enough was all too familiar with — for deities like yourself that lived often longer than they could even recall, life was full of quite a great deal of pain.

What you hated about the pain, rather, was the way it always triggered a deep swell of bitterness and anger in your chest and stomach. What it meant. That it brought on a surge of emotions and thoughts far more unbearable than the soreness itself.

"Mm—?!"

You inhaled a sharp breath as pressure pushed against your stomach, a force that pulled you backwards across the sheets. Your back pressed into a soft warmth — not without sending a shooting pain across the surface along your spine, where the muscles had been pulled to the point of soreness from strain, a sore internal ache of your sphincter from stretch and wear, and a sharper sting against the irritated, raw flesh of your backside and the backs of your thighs.

The arm locked tightly onto your body, upper arm crossing over your stomach, forearm turned and pressed against your chest, all keeping you in your place. You could feel a gentle, slow rise and fall of the chest pressed to your back, bare skin on bare skin, without any layers of clothing separating your bodies.

Your eyelids just barely parted, only to squeeze shut once more at the morning light shining directly into your eyes. A small ray of light, given how small the tiny, high-up, barred window was, but it managed to be ever so inconveniently placed right at your frame of vision. You grunted at the burn, but it served to pull your consciousness out of the haze of drowsiness and into full alertness. There was no telling exactly what time it was, but the sun was up enough that you would likely be getting up very soon anyway. Those attendants — some of them devout human servants, some subjugated higher beings — always came by at a consistent time each morning to bring food and water, which often was your wake-up call each day.

You closed your eyes once more, trying to ignore the stinging and throbbing that ran all across your body, hoping to maybe get a few more minutes of sleep.

You shifted slightly to alleviate awkward positioning, rolling further onto your side, only to grimace as the shifting of your pelvis reignited a soreness, a dull ache not on the outside flesh, but a deep internal bruising. Your body jolted and stiffened, toes curling and face contorting with the pain.

But as you began to relax your muscles again, as the pain ebbed away, your brief jolting seemed to have awakened your bedmate, feeling a stirring and shifting behind you, the arm around you shifting in its position. The movement caused you to roll onto your back. Your eyes slowly opened again, and a soft noise escaped your throat.

You went still, thinking that it was a momentary unconscious reaction, but after a moment, the bedsheets shifted again as Morax moved, slightly propping himself up on one elbow, high enough of a point to look over to your face from above. Perhaps you could have closed your eyes and feigned sleep, had you thought to do so, but your instinctive reaction was to turn your head and raise your gaze up to that which looked down at you.

You were given a soft smile.

"Did you sleep well?"

The question, although you sensed genuine well-intent in it, was biting, almost mocking. You felt your jaw clench and irritation rise in your chest, fighting back the urge to become immediately spiteful.

As always, you had had trouble falling asleep, waking up multiple times in the night. The throbbing kept you from drifting off, and you hadn't been allowed to get up and wipe yourself clean of the slime sensation of fluids leaking out between your legs, thus forcing you to deal with the unpleasant, icky feeling all night — which now persisted as an equally unpleasant dried substance tacked on your inner thighs. Even after you'd fallen asleep, the slightest of movements in your sleep would jolt you awake with soreness. The same routine you underwent each and every night.

And yet—

"Yes..."

—was the word you forced out of your mouth, equally forcing the corners of your mouth upward, albeit weakly.

"Mm." He lowered himself back down, gently extending the arm that had been around you once more, turning you to face him and pulling you closer. A soft sound came out of your throat, but you made no effort to pull away. Your face came to rest against the god's chest, forehead brushing up against his collarbones.

"There's no need to rise just yet," he continued, stroking a hand up and down your back  — not without running over sore spots, but only lightly. "You should rest a while longer. You're undoubtedly worn out."

Once more, you had to bite your tongue to prevent saying something you shouldn't in response to the implication of the words and the vague feeling of degradation it carried.

The touch of bare flesh to bare flesh was an electrifying sort of feeling. Whether or not it was so in a positive or negative sense was, of course, dependent on the circumstances, but even if you could forget or disregard all of the circumstances you yourself were under, just the mere sensation consumed your sense of feeling. Touches from another person lingered in a way that touching objects or the feeling of one's clothes on their body did not. The brushing of another person's skin up against vulnerable areas usually kept covered would maintain a lasting feeling of awareness of that touch, lingering for a while thereafter.

And, of course, that touch of bare skin carried with it a sense of shame. A sort of subtle reminder. Of course, that was not even really the intention, seeing as you naturally fell asleep this way, but you were certain he knew the feeling it invoked in you, and even more certain that he found your embarrassment satisfying. Even now, you swore you heard a sort of heavy exhale in amusement as you stiffened when your bare abdomen pressed against his. You suppressed a shiver as your sore, inflamed nipples brushed against his skin, but couldn't help the grimace of your face. You tried to close your eyes, thinking perhaps you could sleep again.

But then, you stiffened further as he ran his hand down your back once more. Your shoulders bunched up, your breath hitched.

The motion was so gentle. Fingers barely brushing over your skin.

Nonetheless, those same soft, gentle touches of his fingers running down your back ignited a residual, burning pain. After a moment, he transitioned to using a finger to trace over scabbed scratches running down your back, as if it were a pattern. The hand trailed lower, softly meeting your hip, causing you to jolt as it bumped onto a bruise.

It then came down further still, to grasp at the fleshy, soft curve of your ass. Just the mere contact to the spot stung. The flesh was raw and sensitive to every little touch. Even the sheets brushing against the flesh sparked pain. You inhaled a sharp breath through your nostrils, one you were certain could not have gone unheard, but was not acknowledged nonetheless.

But it was so gentle. The touches were so light and so careful, as if handling something of great fragility. It was almost impossible to believe they were the same hands from which the pain originated.

He exhaled, breath warm against your face, and tilted his head down, grabbing your own chin to tilt yours up. His hand rested on your hip. Your heart began to beat faster.

And then, just as your lips were so close to meeting that you could feel their warmth, there was a knock on the door. You both turned your heads over to the sound, but you lay still as he stood, threw on the robe beside the bed, and walked over to the door, opening for a mere moment and exchanging a brief murmur of acknowledgement before taking something into his hands.

Right. This would be around the correct time, when you were brought food each and every morning. You weren't certain if it was merely customary for the harbor people to eat their meals in their bedrooms, or if it was just done to keep you confined to one room as much as possible... but if you had to guess, it was very likely the latter.

You let your eyes close again, only vaguely processing the distinct sound of a tray being set on the table at the end of the room, and the footsteps coming back over to you. His hand slid underneath your form and lightly pressed upward, prompting you to sit upright, which you obediently followed.

The shifting caused the sheets to fall down from your body, exposing your bare chest. It wasn't as if it really mattered, all things considered, but you nonetheless raised your arm up across your breasts to cover them to the best of your ability.

Your own robe was right there, well within reach, having been carelessly slung over the bedpost to your side. It would be a simple extension of the arm to grab it and pull it onto your body, to cover your nakedness.

But you didn't dare do so yourself. That was, you knew from experience, one of many possible missteps that risked upsetting your master. It was doing something on your own, determining something for yourself. Such a simple act was a transgression, because it was an assertion, a nonverbal declaration that you would and even could take an action, transition from one state of condition to another, not only without explicit permission to do so. Likewise, it not only made an assumption that you would be permitted to do so, but it was also an assertion that you could do anything at all for yourself, a notion that you were supposed to leave no possible implications of being the truth. Such a simple, brief action would be an act of both defiance, arrogance, and independence alike.

Thus, you stayed perfectly still. After a moment, thankfully, it was retrieved for you, and you held your arms out weakly at it was secured around your body. After another moment of hesitation, knowing not to leave the bed of your own volition as well, you waited until you were gently held at the waist and pulled to the edge, a non-verbal command to stand. You stood and waited for the hand on your back with the lightest of a push, a motion permitting you to walk over and sit. You murmured your thanks as you were handed food, and bit your tongue when you were given an affectionate — and that much more belittling — pat on the head.

You swallowed your food without really tasting it, a mechanical process you went through each day to keep yourself alive (and, of course, because the prospect of a hunger strike would certainly not be well-met). The atmosphere as you ate was quiet, outside of the light sounds of utensils hitting the ceramic and the faint sound of your chewing. It was an awkward, heavy sort of silence, but silence was, in a way, good. Silence, boredom, they were neutral. Not particularly good on their own, but they were also an absence of anything negative. All far superior to less pleasant alternatives.

But you couldn't distract yourself from the sense of shame this morning ritual always carried with it. It was so domestic, so compliant on your end, perfectly trained to a set routine.

It was not only your own demeanor, though, in which the calmness and gentleness of it bothered you. Just as you did not create conflict or instigate any unpleasant interaction, neither were you presented with any hostility, cruelty, or aggression, so long as you performed your role without any mistakes or resistance.

But you almost wished you were.

Your long life had by no means been sheltered from witnessing the brutality of the world, even if you had thankfully not been subjected to it prior. You'd seen various gods and deities of different kinds, many of whom would savagely beat and maim subjects and underlings, even kill them, without a second thought. Inflicting the most unfathomable suffering on the lesser creatures for no purpose other than amusement.

That had not been the case with you at all.

The draconic Lord was not needlessly ill-natured, but perhaps that would almost be preferable. Any interaction always ended up with a burning feeling in your chest of humiliation, always spoken to like a stupid child or animal ➖not in a cruel sort of degradation and condescension, but an endeared, affectionate sort, that made it all that much more unbearable.

At least with an outwardly cruel master, you would be able to find solace in spite, feel a sense of dignity that came with hatred for an oppressive figure. The form of degradation you were forced to endure, however, was not like that of a tormentor or oppressor that would maim and brutalize their subjects within an inch of their life at random for amusement, nor do irreparable harm to their bodies by starvation or mutilation. Likewise, there would be a sort of pride you could maintain if you were kept in horrid conditions; if you were imprisoned in some filthy dungeon, starved and beaten and barely kept alive, enduring that would be a mark of pride. It would validate you as an opposing force, you could look your tormentor in the eye knowing you did not succumb, you could still hold your head high.

Yet, you were kept healthy and well-fed. Everything you were given to wear was of utmost quality, and most often pure silk, gliding smoothly against your skin with every movement. Your conditions were those of a life many mortals and immortals alike would dream of having. And you were never treated with severe, true violence — nothing that would break your bones, nothing that would injure you to the point of needing medical attention or threaten your life.

And yet, in its own way, that in and of itself felt like its own form of degradation, in part because it was all forced upon you, unable to be denied even if you wished. To be cared for in such a way, but given no agency of your own. Treated like a prized possession, and yet almost nothing that happened in your day, almost nothing you yourself even did, was of your own volition, all forced upon you.

It was, you knew deep down, the life of a pet. Perhaps better analogized to a child or a toy, but nonetheless looked down upon as a fragile, helpless, stupid creature; inferior, yet simultaneously treasured and treated with a sense of affection.

And yet, all the same, your body was sore, scratched and bruised, pinpointed spots of throbbing and aching and burning pains littered across your flesh, and deeper aches still from the insides of your bodily orifices.

In many ways, it was one of the worst parts of each day, to come out of the dreaming world and be confronted with the multitude of little indicators and reminders of your subjugation. Every aspect of your life had been moulded into matching the culture of your ruler deity, stripped of your own, which had had, as you'd learned, a great deal of differences, despite not being geographically too far apart. Nonetheless, you were eating their food, wearing their clothing, sleeping in a bed and a home of their architectural style, speaking their tongue. And above all—

"____, today will be a bit different from your usual routine."

Your jaw clenched.

Yes, that was what you hated the most. That name. It felt offensive, insulting, to have been robbed of the name you had used for centuries, only to have another forced upon you. You didn't get any say in what it was, it was merely assigned to you from the moment you had come. The phonology itself was very obviously derived from their linguistic culture, replacing your own, taking from you the last and most basic, fundamental part of your individuality.

But you said nothing. You looked up, raising your eyebrows in an inquisitive expression.

He placed his palm on top of your head, in what you supposed was intended to be another affectionate gesture.

"I have important matters to attend to today." His voice was of his usual, neutral tone, gentle but deep.

You closed your eyes for a brief moment before giving a single, soft nod. That was one of many common phrases that each carried their own implicative, secondary message, left unsaid but understood nonetheless. If a given day contained a great deal of matters deemed important, that would often mean you would spend a great deal of your day sitting in place, listening to a bunch of people talk about subjects of no relevance or significance to yourself, quiet and still like a lifeless doll. Only present to be seen. The 'important' descriptor meant nothing to you in and or itself, as no matters that were dealt with here ever meant anything to you, it was merely attached as a means of getting a message of its own across: that the tolerance threshold for any ill-intended behavior, outbursts, or any other form of acting out was temporarily far lower, and that consequently, any such behaviors would hold significantly higher penalties than they usually held.

"Alright."

Your voice still came out hoarse. It wasn't as if there was much else to say. You couldn't bring yourself to care enough to inquire further, and there was no sense in raising some sort of objection to the matter.

Rather, perhaps there was reason for it in spite alone, but it was a scene that had played itself out so many times in the past that at this point, it would merely be like rereading the same book for the hundredth time, the same words and actions and events played out again and again. Even if the resentment in your heart urged you to be defiant out of sheer emotion, at this point there was almost a sort of boredom to the idea, one that your emotions were, at least for the moment, not strong enough to override.

Sometimes you would act out just to alleviate boredom with the usual routine, so it was merely a matter of, upon any given day, which option sounded more appealing. After a long streak of good behavior, the days would become boring enough that creating chaos and conflict was entertaining... then the consequences of that would put you into another streak of compliance, and the cycle continued. Right now, you decided against it. You merely raised a cup of water up to your mouth, savoring the coolness to your throat as you drank what remained of it.

That was, however, not the full extent of information you were to be given. He set the cup in his hand down on the table before adding more explanation.

"I'll be meeting with... adversaries, and I would prefer to keep your existence unknown to them." He straightened his posture where he sat. "You are to stay in here for the day. I will be back by nightfall. Understood?"

You merely gave a soft nod, not taking your gaze off the floor until you saw movement. He leaned forward over the table, coming down to grab at your jaw, tilting your head upward to force eye contact. You felt a sudden jolt to your gut as your eyes met. While clearly not actively upset, his expression still communicated displeasure, eyes narrowed and face otherwise unexpressive and flat, lacking the faint smile of contentment he so often wore. His voice was firm as he spoke again, repeating the question with greater emphasis.

"Do you understand?"

You nodded frantically. Were it not for the tension of the moment, it might have been a touch comical how his fingers squished at your cheeks, distorting your speech.

"Y-yesh, Mash-ter..."

He exhaled a slow, deep breath, momentarily closing his eyes. His grip grew soft, coming to gently cup your cheek instead.

"Very well, then."

He leaned further forward, ever so softly pressing his lips to the top of your forehead for a brief moment before standing up and turning around, making his way over to the door. "Should you grow bored, there's a good deal of reading material on the shelves behind you." He turned around to shut the door behind him. This time, as your eyes met, he gave you a soft expression, corners of his mouth upturning just slightly. "I'll send for someone to bring you food and water in a few hours. I'll try to return as soon as possible."

You nodded. You tried to put on a similar expression in return, but your mouth twitched with the attempt. "I understand."

You had to force the words out of your mouth. What you truly felt went unspoken aloud, but the spite remained in your head nonetheless.

Please don't.

And once the door shut, you were left in what felt like a suffocating quiet. A tense, uneasy atmosphere, despite the stillness and silence of the room.

For a moment, you merely sat perfectly still, staring forward with dull eyes and an absence of mind, no thoughts of any kind beyond a sort of static buzz in the back of your head. With your life as it was, it was all too easy to slip into that foggy state, lulled into a waking sleep by the mundaneness and emptiness of everything you did, to the point that your brain was easily able to achieve a state of nothingness.

But after a moment, your eyes began to dart around the room. Your gaze fixated on your own shadow for a moment before you turned your head to the side, as if expecting to see something different from the same layout as always, as if something would change. Of course, it hadn't; the only windows remained high enough that you'd need to stand on your toes just for your fingers to brush against the bottom edge, and were covered by metallic bars at that.

And while the light just so happened to shine perfectly into your eyes from where you rested each day in bed, the small size of the windows and high placement left the room very dim even in the middle of the day. You supposed this room had been intentionally built for the purpose of keeping someone in. It certainly performed that function adequately.

Your heart rate was increasing. The subtle awareness of your situation began to slowly trail to the forefront of your mind, still largely held back by a profound fogginess that went beyond sleepiness.

Your eyes did graze over the books at the other end of the room, but you had no desire to even pick them up. Such things had ceased to hold any interest. These days, the mere notion of most activities seemed dull, uninteresting. You doubted the subjects of the material would be of any particular interest to you, anyway. You merely sat still, turned your gaze back to the door.

There was an unspoken understanding about the situation; you had seen in his eyes before he left that he knew you understood. It was a trial of sorts, a test. You had not been left entirely alone before. On normal days, you were dragged around from place to place, often meeting with all sorts of people whose names and faces you made no effort to register in your memory. Kept in your master's lap to be looked at, to be seen and displayed. You usually sat perpendicular to him, so that you could lean onto his chest and close your eyes and block it all out.

And when you could not be with him, when it was time to go to combat in the chaos and war of the world outside, or otherwise doing something you could not partake in, you were left with an attendant outside your door. And yet, when he had opened the door to leave, you could see there was no one outside. That, and telling you outright that an attendant would come along in a few hours was in and of itself a subtle double-message, intended to inform you that that meant, logically following, that there was no attendant watching over you at that moment, that you were going without supervision.

This was, thus, you immediately concluded, a test to see if you would stay in place, if you would still be in the room when he returned. A test of obedience, loyalty, and perhaps, how much you feared him.

It was only natural, thus, as that realization settled in, that your mind began to race with uncertainty. The mere thought, naturally, triggered an immediate impulse. Your innate instinct was to launch yourself out the door that very second and go bounding away down the hall.

Yet, of course, the more rational part of your consciousness halted that impulse with a sense of wariness and caution. If it was indeed a test, which you were more or less certain it was, that also meant there was almost guaranteed to be a sort of insurance measure for the possibility of your failure. There could very well have been guards posted by the door, intentionally placed so you wouldn't have seen them when it was opened. Hell, for all you knew, he could have very well been lying about any obligations, and merely be waiting right outside the door, ready to catch you in any act of disloyalty. It was likely that any doors to the outside would be locked or barred. There could be a physical trap of some kind, too. That was perhaps that being the most humiliating possibility, invoking the thought of being forced to sit in an obvious display of your actions and wait to be found and freed.

You gave your head a quick shake to clear your mind, halting the train of thought in its place.

The safe thing to do was nothing. With action, with hope, came risk, and with risk came rightful fear. Doing anything other than staying put was sure to end poorly. To even think to intentionally violate the standard of behavior you were being blatantly tested for was incredibly foolish and naive. You imagined that such an attempt would be the absolute worst of transgressions you could possibly commit, and the mere thought of irreparably crossing some sort of line made you shiver.

Drop it. Forget it. Leave it be.

You repeated the words to yourself, over and over, trying to quell the impulse. It was for your own good.

...But there was nothing wrong with just poking your head out the door, was there? Even if you were immediately met with someone, you could easily say you thought you heard something and were just checking to see the source of the sound. That was as good an excuse as any.

That alone couldn't hurt. It would just be for a second. Just to look.

Slowly, without much active thought, you found yourself rising to your feet. You swallowed, and took a deep breath.

In a way, you almost hoped you would open the door and see someone standing there. At least then, that could be the end of it. Any faint hope could be extinguished, you could return to the comfort that came with helplessness, knowing you could not do anything. When that window of opportunity didn't exist, there were no what-ifs, no fear of missing out on an opportunity, no conflict of what to do.

But as your hand slowly pushed the door open, you were only met with a dark hall.

The halls were, by contrast to the room, far more dark and unsettling. Windowless spaces only illuminated by a few lamps along the walls.

You turned your head left, then right, analyzing both halls. The left one ended very shortly with an opening to another two options to turn down subsequent halls, while the right one carried on for some distance before doing the same.

But what you did not see, was any presence other than your own. There was no one. Only emptiness.

You felt something, though. Something beyond your primary senses. A subconscious, skin-crawling feeling, something that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, that made you feel cold all over. As if being watched, even surrounded by emptiness.

A nauseous feeling crept up in your gut. You shut the door in haste, shakily stumbling backwards as if having been shoved. You lowered yourself down to sit on the ground once more, legs feeling too uneasy to keep standing. The door seemed to loom intimidatingly before you. It was so close, and yet, the thought of stepping outside of it on your own felt foreign, somehow wrong, as if some extreme action that no one in their right mind would do.

No. There was nothing, you had seen so yourself. It was merely the feeling of dread becoming too much, holding you back. You were letting paranoia go to your head.

And that brought back the self-directed frustration, anger. You were letting fear get the better of you. You had literally seen with your own two eyes that there was nothing outside. You could walk out, and no one would know.

There was a burning sensation in your chest. A long-forgotten, supressed feeling. Your dignity and pride... how pathetic was it to not even take this opportunity to do something? Even if you couldn't get out, you could at least look around, familiarize yourself with what was around you. Yes, you likely wouldn't be able to find a way out today, but at the very least, scouting it out would be incredibly useful for the future.

To stay here and cower in submission and obedience... would that just go on forever/ In the back of your mind, you had always made some sort of automatic assumption that you would, one day, get out. You had always thought about the future in those terms, wondered what you'd do or where you'd go when that happened. The sudden, intrusive thought, even merely a passing one for just a brief moment, that this would be permanent...

Just as the thought crossed your mind, your eyes trailed over to a mirror on the other side of the room, the vertical sort that extended to the floor.

You sat in place for some time. Unmoving, staring at your own reflection, letting the minutes pass by in quiet, transfixed, unable to look away.

Your eyes looked dull and tired. Your body was slouched over, like a limp doll left to sit on the ground. You scanned every inch of your body. The way your hands rested limply in your lap. The scratches on your back that you could see the ends of where the loose robes had fallen down to expose your shoulders. Taking it all in. It felt like nothing more than a husk, soul long since departed.

Every little detail was a mark of ownership over you, a claim to your life, body and soul, a statement that they all were no longer your own. As if stripping you of personhood, redesigning your exterior and your habits to serve as a perpetual reminder that you were defeated, broken into submission.

And in that new, reconstructed person, there was no place to have any pride. Any dignity or self-respect was out of place, it did not belong, it was not supposed to exist anywhere within the new object that had been created. It was a smudge on a fine painting, dust on a shelf, dirt on a toy -- it would be unhesitatingly wiped away, ensuring that the respective possession of value was free of such undesired impurities. Leaving behind only a flawless object that would perfectly serve its purpose, to be used as it was designed to be.

A painting's was to be looked at, a shelf's was to store, and a toy... it was to be played with, used for the enjoyment of its owner.

Some time passed. Many thoughts came and went, miserable, bitter, and shameful. You sat there and stared. At some point, your eyes began to slowly close, your head felt heavy and cloudy, and your body relaxed...

But it was then that you seemed to snap out of your transfixation, shaking your head. You'd nearly gone to sleep sitting up, and would have wasted the day away. Such falling asleep during the day had become something of a habit at this point, often sleeping for far longer periods of time than necessary or even healthy, just to escape from the waking world.

Your chest felt tight with shame. No. You wouldn't allow that. To just sit there and be a good, obedient pet. Your sense of pride, whatever remained of it, couldn't allow that. The you from before wouldn't have allowed you to become like this, would be ashamed of you for inaction.

You rose to your feet once more and, with a deep breath to steady your nerves, made your way back to the door, opening it once more. After turning your head once again, checking to ensure it was still empty, you looked down at the ground, where the pattern of the floor transitioned over a straight line dividing the room and the hall.

You hesitated for another moment. The fear was still present, even if you did your best to go on in spite of it. It felt daunting, like some tremendous act.

But you stepped over it nonetheless, tiles cool on the soles of your feet. And then, you were left standing.

You left the door open, just in case someone came along and you needed to rush back into the room. You turned your head in each direction.

You had been down the left hall plenty of times, you were fairly familiar with the layout of the estate, having intentionally made sure to commit it to memory, should there be any possibility of finding an exit.

The right hall, however, you'd never been down. But not only was it so expansive it was difficult to take it all in, there was also the fact that as far as you knew, it only led to more and more rooms, you could see doors in a line down the walls as far as your vision extended.

It was still morning. If he said he would be back before nightfall, that meant you had a great deal of time. Although you were told there would be an attendant to bring you a midday meal, but even that would be at least a few hours away, even with you having wasted... you estimated around maybe two hours idly sitting in the room.

Even if you couldn't get out, you could at least pace yourself to go explore a bit and memorize what you found, trying to mentally keep track of time and return before someone came. If someone found you outside, then, you could claim you were searching for an attendant to request water or food. That was perfectly realistic, wasn't it?

As you took the first steps, a shiver ran down your spine. There it was again, that intense feeling of unease, something beyond the fear of being seen. Some sensation, some sense that made you twitch, eyes darting all around. There was still nothing. And yet, your heart rate increased even further than the nervousness already paced it, your breathing grew heavier and faster. You took a few more cautious steps. The feeling persisted, and in a way, seemed to direct you, a subconscious way of feeling the direction it was coming from, controlling your gaze to follow the sensation. Following what seemed like the silent command of that sense, your head tilted upwards to the rafters of the ceiling.

For just a moment, the slightest of seconds, you caught a glimpse of something.

A dark, humanoid silhouette, a smaller frame than that of your master's, barely distinguishable from the surrounding shadow, crouched down on the rafter beam and leaning forward. Bright yellow eyes that shone out in the darkness, wide open and staring at you with eerily intense focus.

A spike of panic lurched through your chest. You inhaled a sharp gasp and took an instinctive step back, your frame of sight disoriented and blurred with the movement.

And then, as your vision refocused, it was gone.

You blinked a few times, rubbed at your eyes, and looked again. Yes, there was nothing there.

You exhaled the air you'd been holding in, a shuddering breath.  You reached a trembling hand up to the spot where your neck met your jaw, pressing two fingers down into the flesh to feel just how hard and fast your heart pounded.

It was merely your own paranoia getting to your head, imagining things. You had to shake it off and keep going. Your footsteps hastened.

You still slowed yourself down as you reached a dark corner, slowly poking your head over the bend. Nothing down the next hall, either, nor could you hear any footsteps or faint chatter or anything that would indicate another presence. It gave you at least some boost in assurance, steadying your walking.

And the next corner, and the next corner. It was as if there wasn't a soul in the whole, massive building, despite there usually being servants to the god that moved around performing various tasks, and guards as well. The Geo god spared no effort in maintaining subjects to keep everything in this place in line, whatever said place was. You knew it was not the real world — that was how the realm had been, by whatever means, indued with some sort of ward that had left you unable to use your own divine power from the moment you were brought in. Many gods had similar dwellings... but they could all be entered and exited, and this would be no exception.

Still, it almost felt too easy. Following the widest hall and keeping to the right side seemed to lead you exactly the way you wanted to go, into areas silent but still dimly lit enough to see. After what seemed like a torturously suspended wait, you halted in place as you rounded the next bend.

Your heart began to pound not merely in fear, but excitement, an exhilarating buzz in your chest that elated your spirit. This hall did not end with another curve, but instead, a door.

A set of large double doors, to be exact. It was a deep red, the wood intricately carved, the frame equally designed with obvious devotion and craftsmanship. Larger and more eye-catchingly ornate than any of the doors lining the hallway, and set at the very end of the hall, looming before you in an almost unnerving perfection, picturesque in a near perfect symbol of the end of your short journey.

That was, of course, indicative of a front door.

A door leading outside.

You could feel your heartbeat throughout your body, each pulse a pounding in your chest, a rush through your throat and extremities. The tile was cold to your bare feet as they slowly, cautiously stepped forward, each footstep just the lightest and faintest of sounds.

Your hand turned the knob and pulled. It was quite heavy, as could be expected from the quality and authenticity of the wood used for such a large entryway. Still, with a tug, the door slid on its hinges towards you. Your shoulders tensed up at the low groaning sound of the aged wood.

The sunlight was nearly blinding, just the mere sliver that came through the gap to which you'd opened it, no more than the width of your hand. The sudden burn caught you off-guard, and you stiffened as your eyes reflexively shut, taking a moment to adjust before slowly, barely parting your eyelids once more.

As your eyes quickly adjusted to the light, you could make out the myriad of colors that composed the natural part of the realm, green all around of grass and plants, the blue sky dotted with puffy clouds.

The sun not only brought its light, but also a pleasant warmth that swept over the narrow vertical line of your body that the light shone upon. As you inhaled, your nostrils were filled with the invigorating fresh scent of dirt and sky and life, the air itself warm in your lungs.

For the briefest of moments, you stood perfectly still, taking just a single second to bask in the euphoria gracing your senses even in spite of your nerves.

But you couldn't just go running out, no, that would be foolish... right? You had no idea how to get out of this realm from here, and would certainly be seen by some guard or attendant or another if you recklessly walked out in broad daylight. If you were caught, it would be ages before this sort of opportunity would come again.

But it couldn't hurt, surely, to just peek around the door, to poke your head out and get a better look at your surroundings. You pulled the door a bit wider, just enough to fit your head through, holding the edge of the door propped open with your forearm.

There were no visible persons outside, either. No guards, no humans nor beasts. Just sun and grass and decoratively assembled stone and masonry that carried on for a ways into the distance.

And more importantly, you could see in the distance, at the end of a winding trail, a glowing pillar of light. The devices that led in and out of these ethereal realms. You had seen plenty in your time in godhood.

In that case... even if there were guards beyond your frame of sight, if you made a run for it, you could probably reach the end. And once you were out into the real world, surely even with your limited combative capacity, you could still utilize the abilities you possessed to get far away and ward off any pursuers. You could run far, far away, find a new land to live in. You could feign being a regular mortal and live life alongside them to conceal yourself. You were not the sort of overly-prideful deity that would consider such a thing to be an insult; in fact, such a prospect didn't sound bad at all.

It was all far too perfect. You found the corners of your mouth turning upward on their own, unable to conceal your excitement even if you had tried. Perhaps the higher beings in Celestia had taken favor on you, or decided to compensate you for your unjust persecution. Your breathing was so heavy that your shoulders and chest rose and fell with each respiration. Your eyes watered. It didn't even feel real, it was all so sudden, your mind felt frozen in shock. Your whole body was filled with a tingling sensation, your head felt lighter than air. You pulled your head back through the door, reaching back for the handle and pulling it wide enough to slip your body through, watching as more light poured into the dark hall.

A startled grunt came out of your throat as your body was jerked forward by the door slamming shut, pulled by your hand still gripping the handle.

The harsh sound of the door forcefully hitting its frame echoed across the vastness of the hall, bouncing off the walls, ringing in your ears.

You stood frozen stiff, still slightly leaning forward from the motion. Unmoving as a statue, paralysis seizing your body. It felt as if even your heart stopped, every organ and vein in your body completely gone still. There was a tightness in your chest, a heavy feeling in your gut, as if your stomach weighed your body down. Your hand was still latched onto the door handle, grip having gone limp, but arm still stiffly extended, unable to move if you tried.

A distinct, straight strip of shadow darkened the area just before you, blocking the light from above. As the echo of the door crashing back into the frame faded, only silence remained.

Your eyes slowly trailed upward. With hesitancy, a slowness out of the cold, heavy feeling in your gut. Delaying the inevitable, torn between frantic urge to know and yet desperately wanting not to. Suspending the few precious seconds of intentional ignorance.

A hand was pressed against the door, having shut it with force. The flesh of the arm outstretched above you from behind gradually darkened in color downwards to the hand that was pressed flat to the surface of the door, the end of each finger tipped with curved, thick claws, rather than fingernails. The fingers curled just a bit, with the slightest sound of a scrape against the wood.

An arm extended out directly above your head, trailing back to something behind you. You could feel a radiating warmth against your back, just shy of brushing against you, so close that you could even detect it without the primary senses, some sort of innate ability to sense presence.

Your jaw was slack, lips parted just in the slightest. Your mouth opened wider, as if to say something, but nothing came out, throat choked and tight.

Until, that is, you felt something brush against the top of your shoulder. The other arm extended forward, crossing over the shoulder to reach for your face.

Muscles across your body twitched and tightened, your eyes blew wider open still, body stiffening even further as a series of sharp pinpoints slowly, lightly came to rest on the flesh of your face, fingers gripping your jaw. Not too harshly, nor lightly. A perfect balance; not enough to cause real pain, but just heavily enough that you could acutely feel the sharpness of the ends pressing into the soft flesh of your face.

And with that, your stillness ceased. Albeit still stiff, every inch of your body began to tremble.

Your lip trembled. Your eyes began to water.

The silence felt like it would crush you, a heavy nothingness for several seconds.

"...And just what are you doing out here?"

As involuntary as your shaking, high-pitched, fearful little sound came out of the back of your throat. Pathetic and shameful. The sound of your own voice in your ears made a hot, bitter feeling of shame course through your body, amidst the fear that seized your entire being. Your mouth opened, twitching as you tried to speak.

"A-ah... I..."

Any words you could have summoned felt caught in your throat. You went silent, unable to finish. A few more moments of tense silence passed. You stood in place, unable to bring yourself to turn around.

The hand on the door retracted, slowly moving downward. The arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you so that your bodies now touched. The body behind you leaned forward and downward, just enough to speak directly into your ear, face brushing against the side of your own.

"You're quite a ways away from where you were told to stay." He slowly drummed his fingers against the narrowest part of your waist. "You must have wandered out by mistake and gotten disoriented."

In a quieter, lower voice, so close to your ear you could feel his breath as he spoke, he finished,

"...Is that right?"

It was, of course, blatantly facetious. Pretending as if that were even a reasonable explanation, a sort of mutually understood, mock disingenuousness. Transparently so, no actual effort to make you think he was truly ignorant, mutually understood to be a slow torment.

There might have been a right answer and a wrong answer. Perhaps both were right or wrong, or perhaps neither was either. It was a question to test your reaction, see if you would be spiteful or obediently meek. Even so, the submissive option was also a wrongdoing of dishonesty.

But in your panicked impulse, that was the option you rushed for nonetheless.

"I..." You swallowed. "Y-yes, I... I was just..." You looked down, only to see with your own eyes how badly your body trembled. Another matter came to mind. "I... I thought you were with...?"

He waited a moment to respond. "...I was." The cold ominousness and implication of discontentment of his tone made you wince, but he spoke again before you could stammer out some insistence of your innocence, or try to apologize. "However, the guardian I had set for you came to inform me you were wandering around the halls, so it's adjourned for the day."

You grinded your teeth. You had seen something after all, it wasn't just imagination.

Why had you thought otherwise? Of course, of course he wouldn't have left you completely unsupervised. Thinking so for even a moment had been an act of supreme foolishness. You chastised yourself in your head for such stupidity. It was even placed up towards the ceiling with, no doubt, the exact intention of making you believe you weren't being supervised. It felt almost malicious.

Even aside from that matter, hearing those words made your heart sink further, knowing that having to deal with you had interrupted something of utmost significance. For one, that implied that, considering the risk of being interrupted, that he actually, genuinely had believed you would be obedient. Secondly, having disrupted something of importance made your transgression that much greater of an offense, and no doubt, thereby deserving a retribution that much more severe. You could feel your heartbeat across your body, in your throat, in your head, in your limbs, a harsh, intense pounding, pumping adrenaline-laced blood through your system.

But you remained silent. It felt as if something was stuck in your throat, blocking your breath and speech.

A few moments passed. No doubt intentional, dragging out the moment, not granting you the mercy of being spared the torturous dread.  And then, the hands detached from your jaw and waist respectively.

"Alright, now. Come."

His arm reached around your back, hand coming to rest on your waist, pulling you forward in manner both gently slow and lacking in force, yet the touch itself firm. His voice was calm, but cold, commanding. It was not aggressive nor harsh, nor loud, nor rough. His facial expression was not only equally calm, but even pleasant, the sort of expression that was just the slightest upturn of the mouth, but more of a smile in the eyes, almost amused. No contortion in anger or disgust.

Morax did not need harshness. Perhaps other gods and rulers and masters might. To require a booming voice and a snarl to one's tone, a forceful aggression and volume and threat of intense violence to instill submission. For others, fear had to be enforced on the subjects, they had to be made to cower.

But not him. He could speak in such a calm voice, and still expect to be followed. It was not an indicator of a lack of power, but the opposite — knowing that you knew that power without having to have it repeatedly demonstrated. Knowing full well you were terrified regardless, perhaps more so with the eerie aura of the calmness. Knowing you had no choice but to follow, that submission was already won, and that there was thus no need to do anything but simply command it. That the possibility of such a direct command being disobeyed did not even cross his mind. A quiet form of dominance only knowable by those at such an apex of power and supremacy that obedience came as naturally to their subjects as breathing.

And that was the thought that infuriated you so, so deeply.

Your heart felt as if it had stopped, a wave of cold that ran through your blood. Pure and unadulterated fear amalgamated with a deep, swelling bitterness, coursing side by side through your veins. Your jaw clenched harder and harder, your hands curled up into fists.

There was something else, though, beyond that. A heavy, burning feeling in your chest. Pressure that had built up, near the point of bursting. All the humiliation and subjugation you had compliantly endured, a foul taste of embittered fury and brutalized pride. You recalled your hollow, tired appearance in the mirror.

You'd been so controlled by fear from the moment you were captured by the other — admittedly far superior — deity, meekly complying most of the time, outside of a few outbursts and moments of defiance that were so infuriatingly written off as immaturity or merely being a brat, treated with indignation and a sort of condescension that yes, once more you thought to yourself that you wished was crueler, that would have been less humiliating and hurtful if you were treated like an enemy or a slave rather than a disobedient child, an unruly pet.

What would the 'you' from before had thought of your willingness to simply bow your head and follow...?

You took a step backwards, pulling yourself out of the grasp of the arm around you.

Perhaps, in part, it was mere reflexive instinct. But there was also force to the action. Intent. Driven by that same swell of resentment, so strong it overrode your dread. You took an uneasy stance, one foot behind you and the other forward, prepared to take another step back.

You both came to a halt. Your eyes met.

You still trembled, but you stood your ground.

The pleasant expression fell from his face. His eyes became half-lidded and narrowed, shoulders shifting downward as the arm that was around you came to rest at his side. There was an ominous edge to his tone as he spoke.

"...Surely you do not want to make this more difficult than need be?"

His gaze felt piercing. Your eyes darted downward.

"I..." You swallowed. "I just..."

It wasn't as if there was a point. Even if you were to turn around and bolt, you wouldn't even be able to get the door open before you'd be caught. There was no practical, logical point to resistance. There was nothing to be gained, and there was certainly a great increase in your imminent suffering if you did not.

And above all, you were consumed by dread, a fearful anticipation. Perhaps that, in part, was what kept your legs locked still, a desire to delay the inevitable. But above all, your pride demanded your resistance.

"...I don't..."

You tried to speak. You could summon the words in your head, at least. Words you had thought before, when you would lay in bed at night, playing out pathetic revenge fantasies in your head where you told him exactly what you thought and felt, like you were some kid imagining yourself standing up to a schoolroom bully you knew you'd never have the gall to face in reality. You'd say that you were sick and tired of being debased and degraded, that you weren't a toy, that you wouldn't tolerate being talked down to any longer, that you weren't an object to be owned. The fantasies always ended there, as you were unable to even imagine a scenario in which the aftermath of such an outburst ended well for you.

You couldn't get the words out. Perhaps in large part due to intimidation, but even still, because you knew that to some extent, many of those statements were wrong. In the most realistic sense, you were owned. That was how the brutality of the real world functioned. The superior ones exerted their strength, and in turn, the weaker ones submitted... or else, were eliminated. If one could successfully imprison and force the other to their will, they essentially did have claim to ownership.

Thus, you merely stood your ground. It was all you could do to look up at him with anger, however obvious the fear alongside it may be, on your face.

He merely huffed, closing his eyes for a moment. "Be reasonable." He turned his gaze back up to you. His eyes narrowed further. "...You will follow, willingly or not. I am extending you the opportunity to demonstrate remorse, and you would be wise to take it."

You remained still, and stayed silent. The quiet weighed down on your chest, as if to crush you. Part of you wanted to give in, a survival instinct to submit and obey, an urge to run forward and fall to your knees in a display of repentance. But you suppressed it, and remained in place.

He paused a moment, waiting for a response, but upon receiving none, he gave a deep sigh, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"Three."

Your jaw clenched. The bitter fury rose up like a punch to the stomach.

Of all the things he could have said, to do that, to instigate this degrading routine you'd become so familiar with, was probably the worst.

Your heart beat harder. The very nature of the act strengthened your impulse to rush forward, the setup itself being to intimidate you with gradual increase of threat. Perhaps it was because you knew that, and how degrading it felt, that you managed to stay still.

"Two."

His voice grew a firmer edge with the single word, audibly colder and deeper than the first.

Your fingers curled, clenching your hands into fists. You grinded your teeth. You could feel your eyes water, but with all the willpower you could muster, you refrained from breaking down, from giving in.

But you did give in, at least in a way, to the fear. You couldn't keep looking him in the eye. You turned your gaze to the floor... but it didn't stop you from being able to see his face in the edge of your vision. Given the look on his face, you wished you had turned your head entirely.

He was silent as seconds came and went, having well surpassed the implied time limit. Staring at you with narrowed eyes and a displeased expression.

"...How childish."

When he took a step forward, your panic surged back anew, and you stumbled backwards, but to no avail. His hand locked around your wrist, and the pretense of gentleness momentarily disappeared as you were jerked forward with immense force. You didn't even get the chance to stumble, the force with which you were slung was enough that your feet left the ground and you crashed down to the floor with a frightened yelp, catching yourself on your forearms. As soon as you hit the ground, your shaking hands scrambled to push you back up, but just as you began to shuffle onto your hands and knees, you gagged as your weight was pulled off the ground by a hand grabbing the back of your robe, causing the front to choke you by the throat. Your feet stumbled to find purchase on the ground, but they were pulled off the ground once more, leaving your legs flailing in the air. You went airborne again for a moment as you were thrown upward, retching as your body was slung over his shoulder so that the bone slammed against your stomach.

The journey back seemed so much faster than your initial one, given your shorter legs and how cautious you'd been. You hadn't realized just how short the distance you'd traveled really was until that moment, as the return passed so quickly you became aware of just how pathetically short of a distance you'd truly gotten. You cried out and writhed, less out of a conscious decision, and more pure panic triggering some innate instinct. You were fairly certain you got out a few strained, stuttered words — wait and stop and no — but you received nothing in reply.

It was over in a matter of minutes. The door was still hanging open as you'd left it, but was shut with a harsh sound behind you. You cried out as you were unceremoniously tossed down, body weight slamming into the mattress so that it bounced back for a moment from the impact as you lay stunned on your back.

Your elbows pressed down to prop yourself up. You barely lifted your torso upwards before you were slammed back down again by a crushing force to your chest, claw-like nails digging into the flesh around your collarbones. He came to loom over your form from above, leaning with one foot on the ground, the other calf bent at the knee and resting weight onto the mattress.

“Your ingratitude is boundless, isn't it?” He remained perfectly still, looming over you even as you began to writhe. “To think, I could have killed you. There is no reason you shouldn't have met the same fate as every other—" his grip tightened, enunciating the next word in a sudden increase in irritation to his voice, betraying the faux pleasantness up until that moment, "foolish little pest that thought to challenge something so far greater than yourself."

Your eyes nearly squeezed shut with the strain of your struggling. The words made your lip tremble, your eyes burn. Every time the memory was invoked, you felt so utterly stupid, shameful over your own naivete.

You grabbed at the hand on your chest, and pulled with every ounce of strength you could summon, the full and utmost entirety of your strength.

It didn't even seem to be noticed, much less affect him in any way. The hand did not budge, nor did his face show any sign of strain, no indication that your full strength took even a modicum of effort to restrain.

"But I had favor on you," he continued, voice returning to a quiet coldness, "and took you to be my own." His other hand reached back up to your face, gripping your jaw with force and acute pressure as each nail dug into the soft flesh. “I chose…” his voice lowered to a murmur, “…to allow you to live…” he pushed your head back, “…under very, very simple conditions.”

Your body trembled beyond your control. He watched you struggle, golden eyes half-lidded and cold, lacking any sign of empathy. You felt a surge of dread spike in your chest as the nails dug into your flesh, just shy of piercing the skin. After a moment, he finished,

“...Do you recall what those conditions were?”

Your lip trembled. The last remnants of pride you possessed fought against breaking down.

Yes, you recalled perfectly. You had so quickly rushed to agree to comply, out of pure, pathetic cowardice at the terror of the moment, in a desperate attempt to have your life spared.

The way it was brought up felt so, so shameful. Yes, you really would prefer outright cruelty to this. It was, at least, more transparent, more direct.

The way of speech he possessed was somehow far more soul-crushing. Such a calm, low voice, and yet tinged with an unmistakeable condescension. But the tension in it had slowly increased with each word, like an ominous, vague shadow growing closer and closer.

Each beat of your heart sent a heavy pulse through your head, you could feel the blood as it circulated around your temple and back into your throat, over and over. Your body felt so cold.

You forced the words out, voice hoarse.

“To… to remain here in this... this realm…”

He didn't hesitate to press further. “And?”

“And… and…” you swallowed. Your voice began to tremble, audibly on the verge of tears. “To… to obey your... every word."

"...That's correct." His voice was still so calm, low and rumbling. As if it were a regular conversation, as if he wasn't holding you down. Nonetheless ever laced with that sense of condescension, belittlement in the pretense of the feigned pleasantness. "Now... I could be remembering incorrectly," his thumb rubbed in a back-and-forth motion against your chin, "but I believe that I very specifically instructed you to wait in this room."

You felt sick. You bit down on your lip, inhaling as deeply as you could to fight a sense of nausea.

"...Am I mistaken?"

You shook your head back and forth rapidly. Your eyes squeezed shut, tears collecting and pooling around your eyelashes. Your voice came out strained and cracking. "No..."

It was the best reply you could give. A lose-lose situation, where any answer you could muster was a bad one, yet the honest answer was, at least, hopefully the lesser of the possible offenses.

And with that answer, finally, that slowly-increasing tension, the underlying malice, reached its peak. As if that shadow caught up to you, the pretense of calmness and faux-gentleness dissipated. You saw his eyes narrow further. The hand on your chest moved upward. Your heart skipped a beat, a chill pulsated through your blood, but you had no time to react.

"Enlighten me, then. Why, exactly..."

His palm slammed down onto your throat. Your eyes went wide with panic, your hands reached to grasp at his arm.

He spoke the next words with gritted teeth, voice still low in volume, but now with an unmistakeable rumbling harshness to his voice.

"...Did I find you where you were?"

Your initial instinct, without conscious thought, was to struggle, back arching as your body lurched against the hold. It only caused you greater pain, pressure digging into your throat. You took a gasp to the best of your ability.

If you had thought it through, perhaps it would have been evident that what you said next was a poor choice, but much like your writhing, in your panic, your first instinct was to placate and defend yourself.

"I wasn't doing anything bad, I just—"

You cut off with hitched breath as his fingers curled into your neck, sharpness nearly piercing your flesh.

"Do not lie to me."

Your lip trembled. You swallowed to the best of your ability.

"I'm sorry..."

The grip tightened, cutting off your airways nearly entirely.

"It was a question. Answer."

Of course, he already knew. You knew that, and he knew that you knew. It didn't need to be said. It was not so much a question as it was a command -- not merely to "answer," but to admit, to confess. And that was, realistically, the only valid option you had.

"Because I... I wanted to..." You took as deep of a breath as you could, swallowing, shuddering on the exhale. "I..."

You went quiet for a moment. You took rapid, shallow breaths, mouth opening and closing as you struggled to speak.

"You...?"

It was mocking, but frustrated tone in his voice, clearly growing impatient. He seemed to, at least, realize you were struggling to speak, and thus the crushing force to your throat loosened.

Your fingers curled against the sheets as bitterness swelled in your chest once more at the insult inherent to how he spoke to you, the audacity to express impatience when he was the very reason you struggled to speak. The push and pull of fear and anger often wavered back and forth, one overtaking the other for a moment. Each was reactionary, the emotion that won over at a given moment for a given response each dependent on what was said or done to you. The anger had been building, pressurizing, but finally burst as it did — anger was always the emotion that would come out in one sudden, explosive moment, only to retreat as soon as the fear always won back over. You knew that, and could have predicted the cyclic movement of the two, but in the moment, it won out nonetheless. You had intended to finish with saying you wanted to run, or perhaps a more dishonest answer, but a more spiteful sentiment overcame you.

"Because I wanted to!"

Taking advantage of the sudden absence of pressure, you lurched upward to the best of your ability. His hand still caught your movement halfway, forcefully grasping your shoulder, but you curled yourself upward to come closer to his level, almost halfway sitting up, propping your weight on one of your hands outstretched behind you, the other you reached out and, to draw him closer as well as keep you from being pushed downward, actually lashed out and tightly locked your grip around one of the horns at the base of his skull. Your body trembled, this time in a deep, furious rage, as you took more heaving breaths. Your nose scrunched up with your expression of fury.

"I can do what I want! You don't own me, and I don't have to do a goddamn thing you say, you—!"

You cut off.

Rather, you couldn't speak another word. It felt as if you were choking, even with the absence of a weight on your throat.

Once more, a reactionary compulsion. Those spiteful outbursts were always so brief, so easily shut down, any prideful spirit crushed without effort by the factor of sheer intimidation.

In that moment, it was the look on his face. The eyes went half-lidded, expression blank, not outwardly, visually angry, but displeased, unamused. Much like with everything else, it was far more terrifying to you than any outward anger you'd expect from anyone else.

Silence fell over the room, only the faintest sound as he drummed his fingers on the other hands against the sheets, a sedentary stimulus.

"...Go on."

The simple phrase was ominous, foreboding in its cold, low tone.

You clamped your jaw down, shoulders bunching up as you released your grip and shrunk back, back hitting the headrest of the bed. Your throat felt tight, as if blocked, obstructed. Your toes and fingers curled in a fearful instinct.

"...N-no, I didn't..."

"No." He reached out and took your face in his hand, thumb digging into one side, fingers into the other. "You were going to say something else?"

You tried to shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut. "No, I wasn't — I didn't mean that, I didn't—mm!"

You whimpered as your midriff was pulled forward, and head downward, effectively pushing you back down onto your back. There was a sharp pain as one of the claw-like nails just barely pierced a layer of flesh from the force, not enough to bleed, but enough to feel the distinct sting, the sort of cut that would leave a raised-up, reddened line down your skin for some time to come.

Your chest rapidly heaved up and down with panicked breaths. Your eyes blew wide, staring upwards into those that looked down at you with an intimidating darkness. Your hands lifted upward, as if to push him back, but merely rested in front of you, fingers curled and trembling, uncertain and hesitantly refraining.

"In that case," he rested one hand on your shoulder to hold you down, "I will extend you significant grace," the grip tightened on the enunciated word, just enough for you to feel it, "and allow you to start over. Try once more."

His other hand reached for your throat once more and pressed down. A sharp inhale of surprise proved you could still breathe, albeit greatly restricted, as if sucking in air through a straw.

It was at that moment, though, that the worst possible thought came to you. It hadn't occurred to you until that moment, but at the reminder he gave about how your situation came to be to begin with, the thought did flash through your mind, the worst possible consequence. That created an entirely new degree of fear. Your whole body seemed to sink into the mattress.

Your mouth opened, but you had to squeeze your eyes shut to manage to get the words out.

"I was... trying to..." Your voice lowered to a quiet whimper, a natural desire for avoidance. "Run away..."

Your chest convulsed, but you could only inhale a small amount of air with each breath. You began to feel lightheaded. Only pure fear and uncertainty kept you conscious.

But with that increased fear, any room for dignity was long since gone. Tears pooled in your eyes and streamed down your face. Your voice came out in a pathetic, miserable, pitiful whimper.

"Don't... don't kill me... please..."

It was not the first time those words had left your mouth. Perhaps there was even a comedic, ironic factor to the similarity, the repetition of the words parallel to the repetition of the scenario you found yourself in.

Yes, it was very much like this. His hand had been on your throat then, too. You recalled it perfectly. Defeated and battered, literally crawling on your knees before you were lifted up by the neck and slammed into the wall. You recalled the way your body tensed as the cold tip of the spear pressed to your chest right below the breast where your heart rested, just enough pressure to break the skin, the way a slow trickle of blood had trailed down your side. Tears and snot had run down your face, your breathing was rapid, heaving gasps, your legs had pathetically kicked and flailed, your hands had clawed at the grip.

You were not told outright that you would live, no. In hindsight, that had probably already been determined, but you weren't told so. There had been the same suspense, making you wait, enjoying putting you in abject terror as your life flashed before your eyes.

Perhaps it was because you had been cocky, overly confident in your capacities, that that torment was extended. For someone who took such gleeful thrill in conquering, it made sense to relish in the way you begged and struggled. It was the same words. Very basic ones, of course, standard, probably what any conqueror of such prowess had heard a hundred times.

Don't kill me, please don't kill me...

Likewise, you could still hear the mocking tone to his voice, see the gleam in his eyes.

You're right. It would be such a waste to kill you when you can be put to good use, don't you think?

And he had given you that same smile. The same one you received whenever you cried, whenever you were blubbering out apologies for some misdeed. Whenever you begged for anything, whenever you shivered and cowered and curled up into him for warmth or comfort. Whenever you succumbed to pleasure forced upon you, melted into a drooling, twitching, barely-responsive mess. Seemingly soft and mild, but the longer you looked, the more and more apparent became the undertone of sadistic pleasure.

The same one you recognized now, as you dared open your eyes, even through the blur of your tears.

It was always the same. Even in the softest and most gentle of moments, there was still that same gleam to his eyes.

"You want to be forgiven, then?"

You sniffled. "Yes..."

Another pause. Drawing the moment out. Making you feel every second of anticipation.

"Mm."

His hand detached from your throat. You took a deep, gasping breath.

But just as you began to recover, he took a fistful of the robe around you, pulling you up from the bed, setting you down — not letting you fall, but taking care to actually set you on the ground — onto your knees. He sat back down on the bed, sideways so that he faced your crumpled form, feet on the ground.

"I'm sure you know, forgiveness is not automatically granted... it is earned." He grabbed your jaw once more, forcing you to look up at him. "Do you understand?"

You nodded, squeezing your eyes shut, sniffling. The soft "mhm" that came out of your throat sounded utterly pitiful.

"Good." He reached down to cup your face, tilting your head to face him, causing your eyes to open on reflex. Just enough to see the amused smirk on his face as he spoke. "Then show me how you intend to earn forgiveness from your God."

It hurt. It hurt in your stomach, your chest. A type of pain so different from the scratches and bruises, an unphysical, deeper pain, an emotion so strong you could feel it in your skin and bones.

But you crawled forward on your knees nonetheless.

"Yes... Master..."

A routine you could move through almost mechanically, although this was the first time you'd performed it so desperately, not to mention the added difficulty of your shaking hands. Leaning your body forward, grasping at buttons to unfasten. You inhaled sharply when one of the cocks hit the side of your face as it sprung from the restraint of clothing.

Your breathing was still heavy and rapid from the adrenaline. You took just a moment to take a few shallow breaths, but otherwise didn't hesitate to shove it into your mouth, desperate to placate and do what you could to lessen your Master's fury.

It was like some sort of divine torment from Celestia itself that you had to deal with something... you supposed the best word would be reptilian, in the anatomical realm. Your body was fully humanoid, mating organs designed to align to an equally fully humanoid body of the opposing sex. You didn't even know draconic creatures possessed two cocks, and each of nonhuman size at that, until you were firsthand forced to become aware of that information, via being doubly impaled unexpectedly. There was some control over the degree of form such beings as him took, varying transformative levels that could be achieved at will, and you were sure it was entirely possible to maintain the fortunate human trait of having only one -- but that was a luxury you were not granted.

You took a gasp for breath as your mouth detached with a popping sound, turning your head and immediately taking the other into your mouth, reaching to work the first with your hand, aided by the residual lubrication of your own saliva, and the existing layer of... whatever it was, some sort of mucin-like lubrication that coated them already. Your hand couldn't fully wrap around it, couldn't close so that your fingers would have touched, instead trying to twist your wrist as you moved your hand up and down.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to force it further into your mouth, but your body stiffened as it triggered your gag reflex when it hit the back of your throat, not even half of it in your mouth. You tried to inhale as much air as you could through your nostrils, summoning the mental willpower to try and force it past the barrier of your throat.

You must have hesitated too long, though, or perhaps your effort was merely too poor to be sufficient. Your eyes snapped open when you felt a hand on the back of your head, but you could only let out a soft sound before your head was shoved downward.

Your stomach retched in involuntary reflex, abdominal muscles spasming as you tried to adjust. Your eyes watered once more, blurring your vision. Another hand latched to the back of your head, and pulled your head back before shoving it back down again. Over and over. It took all your focus and willpower to prevent yourself from getting sick, although you still managed to make some sort of sucking motion with your mouth, more out of mechanical instinct than active effort.

And it was painful, it was sore, from having had the same thing done shortly before. Like a wound being reopened over and over, there was never enough time between occurrences for you to heal from the bruises and scratches and stretched muscles of the former occurrence before it repeated.

After a moment, your head was pulled back all the way, a popping sound as your mouth detached. You took heaving, ragged breaths, desperately trying to suck in air before your head was guided to the side and the action repeated on the other, jerking your head up and down again, filling your throat to the point of a burning pain as it stretched. You could physically feel it stretching the walls of your throat, in and out, over and over. You began to feel lightheaded as you failed to sufficiently inhale through your nostrils.

"...Now—"

Your head was pulled off with harsh force. You took a long, heaving gasp for air, but within the same moment, you were jerked back upwards.

The movement was so fast and forceful that you were too disoriented to even process it. Your balance teetered, your stumbled as your arms were each held, fabric pulled off, stripping you down, before slamming your body back down onto the bed face-down. Prodding your legs with a gentle kick forced them wide apart to balance yourself, his hand pressed down on your back just below the neck, so that the soft whimpering sounds you made were muffled by the sheets. You grimaced as the nails dragged a short ways down your spine.

You grimaced, face contorting with the sting as you felt something prodding against the already raw flesh of the entrance of each orifice. "Wait, wait, I'm not—AH!"

Despite everything else being so prolonged and dragged out, this time, you were not granted a single second of hesitation or anticipation, no doubt intentional, so that you had no opportunity to mentally prepare yourself, so that the disorientation made the feeling of impalement come as a sudden shock.

You were unable to suppress a squeal as they both slid into your body at once, one into your cunt, the other into your ass, stretching already sore and spent muscles and pressing against bruised flesh, albeit the latter more innately discomforting and foreign, the stretching sensation far more intense. The sheer stretch of the size would have been painful even if your insides weren't already hypersensitive and rubbed raw. Your legs spasmed, kicking as a reflexive instinct, leaning your full weight forward.

You took rapid heaving, gasping breaths, trying to turn your head to the side so that your breathing wasn't inhibited and suffocated by your face pressed downward into the mattress. The noise that came out of your throat was strained and miserable, a long, high-pitched cry.

As another natural reflex, your body's first instinct was to get away, to remove the intrusion penetrating your insides. Your back arched downward in an attempt to pull yourself off, desperately clawing at the sheets, but you were grabbed at the hip and pulled back with force, sheathing fully inside you.

It felt full. Like your body was stuffed beyond its capacity, that there was too much within it. Intrusive, setting off some innate sense of alarm triggered by forcing something into your body of a size that it wasn't designed for; even for just the cock stuffed into your quim, the object itself registered as something foreign rather than a natural process of all living beings. The muscles reflexively clenched down and spasmed. Your breathing had just barely begun to slow as your body adjusted, before you stiffened at the friction against your insides as the intrusion pulled back, sliding out of your body.

You struggled to form words coherently. "Wait, wait—"

And squealed, a high-pitched cry, when his hips slammed forward again, driving back into your body once more. The movement felt as if it sent a shockwave running up your spine, from the point of collision to your insides.

His fingernails dug into your hips. The sharp ends broke the skin.

Again, and again. The friction burned, but the most intense sensation was the fullness and the impact — pain and soreness, but also unmistakable, unavoidable, natural pleasure that sparked with each movement as it rubbed against some specific spot inside. Your legs trembled from the intensity of the sensation, your mouth hung open, both drawing in gasping breaths, and spilling saliva out of your mouth, dribbling off your chin onto the sheets.

You had almost begun to melt into the pleasure when a harsh smack made you jolt. The sound bounced off the walls, the pain was a harsh sting where the palm of his hand had met the soft flesh where your backside and hip met. Your body lurched forward again, but was once more harshly pulled back to impale you again.

You made a pained sound, teeth grinding. "Ah, mmn— I'm sorry, I'm so—"

Another jolt of pain, leaving a hot sting against the flesh. You whimpered.

A third. A fourth. A fifth. It hurt. You squealed and cried out, struggling to form borderline incoherent begging. It did not help that the flesh of your ass was already so raw from similar previous corporeal punishments, for a range of offenses so broad and the offenses themselves so numerous you couldn't recall them all. Each inhale you took in had a coarse, ragged sound to it, as if choking on air. You sputtered out pleas and apologies, before your shoulder was grasped and pulled you upward, so that your knees rested on the mattress, and your torso was almost upright, slightly leaning forward. The thrusts to your insides slowed, more so grinding into your body, but did not cease.

"I still have difficulty believing you understand the severity of your offense."

"I do!" Your voice cracked as you spoke. You could hear how pathetic your own pleading voice sounded. "I really do, I promise, I'm sorry!"

There was a sigh, you could feel the fall of his chest against your back.

"You are so very fortunate," he continued. "You're taken care of to the utmost, you're given the highest standard of life one can have..."

"I know! I know, I, I am, I-I'm grateful—"

You cut off in a squeal with a harsher thrust, nails scraping down your hip so forcefully your face contorted with pain.

"You expect me to believe that, when you were preparing to throw aside everything I've given you?"

"I..."

You didn't have an excuse, and in your current state of mind, overwhelmed by pain and pleasure and fear and anger, there was no way you could summon such complex thought as to come up with one. Your brain could only come up with the automated, mechanical responses, the rehearsed phrases and words you were supposed to give, that you were trained and conditioned to give over the course of time -- I'm sorry, please forgive me, I won't do it again, so on and so on.

Thus, unable to come up with anything better, you merely hung your head, shoulders shaking with sobs as you gave the only answer you could think of.

"I'm sorry..."

He sighed again. "That's the best answer you can give, then?"

But after a pause, he added, with a smirk you could hear in his voice even if you couldn't see it,

"Or are you just too overwhelmed to think straight?"

You only whimpered. It was too much. The fullness, the soreness, the sparks of pleasure, it all was too much put together, overloading your brain. You shook your head, not so much in a negatory response to the question as it was just an expression of your desperation and clouded mind.

You grunted in surprise as you were lifted by an arm around your waist, coming to be set down so the balls of your feet touched the ground — although they shook so badly they were virtually useless, the vast majority of your weight supported by his arms. Your body was bent forward at the waist, one arm around it to support you, the other coming to grasp at your throat, essentially holding you up. Another thrust made you squeal again, feet stumbling against the ground.

Even in your overwhelmed state, the realization felt like a punch to the stomach.

It was no coincidence, no mistake, that you were positioned this way. Bitter, helpless fury swelled in your chest.

The exact same position you'd been held in that first time, squealing and crying and cursing as you were relentlessly fucked out in the open, before a multitude of your own subjects and other deities caught up in the combat.

It was true, as he'd said, that you had made a mistake that cost you. The other gods that you'd faced were, by comparison, so utterly weak, even non-combative deity a like yourself had managed to fend them off. You had known stronger gods existed, but the degree was such that it was beyond your ability to fathom, a level of strength far beyond what you ever would have imagined until you came to know it firsthand.

Thus, when the draconic god had approached you, you didn't feel threatened. In fact, you had felt insulted when he had given you a choice. That you could be spared from death by agreeing to relinquish your rule, and submitting to subjugation without resistance. And that otherwise, you could die fighting.

That was the first time you recalled that smile. You didn't even remember exactly what you said, but you hadn't even hesitated. Something to the effect that you would kill him, take him down, something of that nature.

That same grin, a soft chuckle. But lacking in excitement. Not the way one would laugh and grin before facing an opponent that would still be a thrill to fight. Instead, amused, as if finding it cute.

Is that so?

Even back then, the tone, the notion that you weren't even being treated as a worthy opponent, that he wasn't even worried, had enraged you, and in foolishness, you had rushed right into conflict.

It had lasted less than a single minute. To even call it a fight was not entirely reasonable; it was more you being slung around like a ragdoll across the near vicinity, over and over until you were beaten down to the point of immobility. A matter of seconds, before you were caught crawling, pressed up against that wall. And after your begging, after your pleading, you'd found yourself just like this.

The balls of your feet barely touching the ground, weight held up almost entirely by the hand on your jaw and the arm latched around your waist, desperately clawing at the former out of pure instinct with one hand, the other helplessly reaching behind you and pawing at the hips that slammed into yours, pushing back as if it would do any good, as if your weak pressing would actually stop the movement. Body weight tilted forward, knowing that you'd fall flat if he were to let go, only serving to further the feeling of panic.

At least now, there wasn't an audience gawking at the sight, but the degradation burned in your chest all the same.

It must look so miserable, so pathetic. If you had maintained your resilience and pride — then, and now — you would have stayed still. If you could endure it with a straight face, without making a sound, without struggling, that would have been a powerful move to play, would have wounded your tormentor's own pride, a metaphorical spitting back in his face. That should have been what you had done.

But you were weak.  You squealed and flailed. Obscene sounds came out of your mouth, lewd and pained at the same time. Tears streamed down your face.

You did struggle, but to no avail. Writhing, kicking, flailing with every ounce of strength you could muster did nothing, the movements continued as if you were perfectly still.

The absolute utmost of your strength was nothing.

It was a feeling of complete and utter helplessness, futility, weakness, unlike anything else you'd ever known in the span of your lengthy existence.

And you knew you would never be able to exact revenge, would never be able to satisfy the anger. You could never exert it, release it, feel the relief of catharsis that came with finding a way to exert the negative emotion.

Beings such as yourself lived indefinitely. If you had been human, you might have been able to longingly wait for the day that death could relieve you of your humiliation and bitter anger.

But with power came responsibility, and with allowances came restrictions. That escape was a mercy you were not allowed, nor would he ever allow any circumstances under which you could do so yourself. A bedroom ceiling far too high to even reach, a mirror unbreakable — you had tried — and never given anything you could turn on yourself.

The hopelessness was crushing.

You stumbled over your loose footing, a few rapid steps to rebalance what little of your weight rested on the ground. Perhaps having had the thought to do so from that, the hand around your waist reached downward, hooking an arm under your knee and lifting up, so that your thigh nearly touched your chest, only a small portion of your weight left on the ball of the other foot on the ground. With that, each thrust went deeper into your body, you gasped and cried out at the impact.

As you adjusted, you let your head fall, hanging down limply. It was all too much, too overwhelming. The pleasure and pain receptors of your mind were overloaded, your thoughts began to grow hazy and dull, a sort of blankness that consumed any coherent or complex thought. The pleasure and pain was all there was, the only thing you could process besides the high-pitched cries from your mouth and the distinct sound of wet skin slapping on skin each time his hips met your backside.

His arm tightened onto your waist, and for a brief moment, you were lifted up into the air, whimpering as you were shifted over just a single step or so, not removing himself from you in doing so. The movements started up once more within a second, albeit slower, drawn out, and your body held more upright. You caught an object out of the corner of your eye, and automatically squeezed your eyes shut, turned your head away in a desperate attempt to avoid it.

You could feel his breath against your ear.

"Look at you."

You squeezed your eyes shut harder, rapidly shaking your head. You didn't want to.

But as his hand gripped your jaw once more, this time directly digging the sharp claws into your skin, your eyes opened on reflex at the pain, and you were met face-to-face with your own reflection once more. And once your gaze locked on, despite initial avoidance, you felt as if you couldn't look away.

You were disheveled, limp-looking, as if an inanimate object, dead weight barely kept in balance.

You could physically see his cock inside your body, a bulging shape in your abdomen that looked unnatural, almost grotesque. The flesh around your eyes was swollen and darkened. The scratches visible on your side and hip were irritated, reddened and swelling, but the cuts were shallow, and only in one particular scratch, just a bit deeper than the others, did the tiniest trickle of blood slowly ooze out.

Looking at your face, though, was the worst of it, made that same burning, all too familiar of a feeling, begin to swell. Saliva trailed out of both sides of your mouth, tears and snot ran down your face. Your eyes themselves were irritated and reddened, more tears accumulating, giving your eyes a glassy appearance that reflected what little light poured in.

You stared directly into the reflection. The hand on your jaw, the dullness to your eyes. The way your hands weakly clawed at the arm on your waist. The way even now, albeit merely grinding, the bulge in your stomach shifted, and you could just see, from your angle, where the smallest sliver of the base of his cock was the only remaining length not buried deep inside.

It all seemed to culminate. A knot in your stomach, a weight on your chest. Your lower lip trembled. You felt your body shiver, limbs trembling, as more, heavier tears ran down your face.

His voice was low and quiet, but so unnervingly deep as it was, a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, you could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke.

"Do you understand?"

It was not preceded with a statement of what, exactly, was to be understood. Yet, you did understand nonetheless.

There were many ways to have put into words what that which you understood was. A few different details of things he may have meant. Maybe telling you something about you, something about him, something about the past or the future or the nature of things itself.

Perhaps that was, rather, exactly why he didn't say anything more — because there was no singular, exact statement to be understood. Many, many things that could be said, many aspects and demonstrations of the same concept, merely worded in different ways, but all ultimately the very same.

Any of those things that could be said, all amounted to the same, basic thing: a statement of order. A superior and an inferior, a better and a lesser. Each one true to its place in a million demonstrable ways.

And that, you did, in fact, understand. Even if you wished you didn't have to, wished you could be ignorant to it, and live without the unending, crushing weight of what you knew your place was.

You squeezed your eyes shut and nodded your head, sniffling. "Mm-hnn..."

There was a moment of pause before you heard a response.

"...Very good."

You inhaled a sharp gasp and let out a soft cry as sharper, faster, rougher thrusts resumed, reigniting both the burn and pleasure sensations deep inside your body as it was bent forward once more. You bit your lips between your teeth in an effort to muffle the sounds you made, but this was quickly noticed, and the way his nails dug into your jaw was a command in and of itself, even if you didn't automatically gasp from the pain. With that moment of opportunity, his thumb slid into your mouth, pressing onto your tongue and effectively holding your mouth open.

"Ahh, ah— hah—"

The wanton noises, thus, came without much restraint, albeit muffled and distorted as you tried to form syllables over the protrusion in your mouth, holding down your tongue. You had no resistance left in your body. You merely clung to his arms, one hand planted on each, weak and barely even noticed, not in any way inhibiting him from moving them.

The noises increased in pitch as his other hand reached up from its place on your waist, pinching and rubbing at one nipple, then another, keeping the forearm itself firmly pressed to your abdomen to support your weight.

"Don't take your eyes off yourself."

You had shut your eyes out of the pure intense sensation, but forced them open again. Forced yourself to look into your own eyes, to see your body bent and fucked and claimed. Even the blur of tears didn't mask the miserable shame of your expression — nor the lustful dilation of your pupils, eyes half-lidded and filled with an empty haze of pleasure.

You felt warmer and warmer, a distinct pressure, tingling sensation inside. Your breaths became heavier, louder, faster, your body began to shiver intensely, and your legs squirmed and twitched.

"Not yet."

You let out a long whimper in response, desperate and needy, only to cut off in a gasp as he grabbed your jaw again, forcing your eyes directly forward. This time, your gaze focused on his own reflection — your stomach twisted at that same damned, loathsome grin.

"What do you say?"

But your fury was weakened and exhausted, your spirit beaten and broken. You put up no resistance.

"I'm sorry, M-Master..."

It was bitter on your tongue, like poison in your throat. You hesitated, not wanting to finish the plea out of pure shame, but the physical sensation was quickly becoming overwhelming. The wet, squelching, smacking sound of skin on skin reverberated in your ears, a lewd sound that only triggered further innate senses of pleasure.

"P-please let me... let me cum..." Your head hung downward, your expression contorted with strain. "Please..."

"Don't look away. Look at yourself when you beg."

The command was firm and cold. You bit your lip, but slowly rose your head, forcing yourself to endure the humiliation of the act demanded of you, watching your mouth move with your words.

"Please... let me cum..."

Your lower lip trembled, your eyes stung. The shame of the words felt like a knot in your stomach. You watched as your body moved back and forth with the force of the thrusts, taking in the pleasure-hazed stupor evident on your own face. The warm pressure was unbearable, taking all your willpower to prevent climax.

"Mm." He pulled your torso back from your position where you'd been bent forward at the waist, leaning forward to meet in the middle, so that he could speak directly into your ear. In that moment, you felt him smile, felt his mouth against the side of your face.

"Cum for your God."

The high was an intense one, a euphoria surging through your body from the inside. You gasped for breath. Your insides clenched hard, a reflex that, had you been able to control it, you would have prevented, given the sheer size you clamped down on was such that the muscles strained painfully with the act.

The sound from your mouth was not quite suiting of the word 'erotic' — it was obscene, uncontrolled and unrestrained, high in pitch and accompanied by such trembling and strong involuntary spasming that your feet completely gave way, unable to even stand, held up entirely by an arm that caught what would have been your fall. Your eyes rolled back, and saliva practically poured out of your mouth as your head tilted forward, riding out the high until it was over.

There was not anything to take in with your senses, or any thoughts to be had, mind gone blank, a sort of fog of nothingness. The room seemed to spin. Your tongue lolled out of your mouth, head limply hanging downward. Your eyelids felt heavy, slowly closing. Even if something had been said to you, you wouldn't have even heard it. Weight suspended, it felt as if you were floating in the air.

After a duration of time you could not be quite certain of, the high began to dissipate, the adrenaline and dopamine slowly ebbing away.

In their absence, pain began to bloom across your body. The sting from the friction at the entrances of your holes, already so sore beforehand, now burned like fire. Your insides radiated a throbbing, dull pain, battered as if having endured a beating from the inside.

You gasped as the fullness suddenly disappeared, sliding out of your body with a wet, squelching sound. That feeling was always one of the most unpleasant parts of the experience — a hollowed-out feeling, insides clamping down on nothing, spasming and twitching as the muscles began to readjust. A mix of viscous fluids oozed out of each orifice and began to trail down your thighs. Both discomforting, grotesque sensations that made your muscles tense, that made you shudder as you exhaled, only to inhale another sharp breath as a finger trailed up your inner thigh, collecting the semen that ran down your skin before stuffing it back inside of you.

Your feet touched the ground once more, but your legs trembled in exhaustion and aftershock, a violent shivering far more noticeable than that induced by emotion. As the support around you disappeared, you stumbled forward, legs giving out beneath you and folding as you crumpled to the floor, catching yourself on your hands.

"Ah, you poor thing..."

Spoken as if he was not the one to inflict the state upon you, spoken with affectionate, endeared pity. A hand rested atop your head. You were nothing more than a pitiful little creature, in tears over a bit of pain.

You didn't make any move to swat it away, though. Your arms felt as if they were made of stone, heavily weighing down from your shoulders. Your shoulders heaved with each heavy, deep breath you took. All you could manage was to let out a low, quiet whimper.

There was a moment of pause before he stooped down, wrapping arms around your body, lifting you up and setting you down on your bed, sitting upright, albeit slouching forward as soon as you were let go of.

He gave a heavy sigh.

"So fragile... you can't handle anything further. It will have to wait."

Even in your stupor, the statement registered with a vague, distant sense of alarm. You tilted your head back up to him, making a soft little sound, inquisitive and confused.

He titled his head, eyebrows raising with a look of vague surprise.

"...Surely you did not think that was a punishment?"

You didn't respond for several moments. You stared straight forward at him, blinking, slack-jawed and limp. Your eye twitched. Your voice came out small and soft.

"...Wh... What...?"

"...That was..." his hand grasped at your chin and tilted your head upwards. "Merely reconciliation." He smiled, speaking every so casually, but not without that detectable tinge of mirth. "I've done nothing to punish you yet."

Your body twitched all over as you began to curl into yourself, shrinking back with wide eyes. You felt cold all over. You couldn't determine if it was from the sweat on your body, or going into a dreadful shock.

"But that being said," he added, "as I just said, you may lose consciousness if carried out now, and that is obviously unideal. It will have to wait."

Your lip trembled as you tried to speak.

"But I..."

You grimaced at the dry soreness of your throat, that much more noticeable now that the adrenaline was wearing off. It did not go unnoticed.

"...Ah. Don't worry, there's water nearby." He stood back upright. "It's close enough, there's no need to bother some servant with something so trivial. I'll get it for you myself, just one moment."

He spared no hesitation to walk over to the door once more. But then, he stopped.

"...I'd like to imagine it doesn't need to be said, but..."

He turned his head back towards you. A pleasant facial expression and voice, but a clear, subtle threat to his words.

"...you will not leave this room in the meantime."

You stared blankly forward for a moment, only hesitating over the near-comedic value of the statement, almost laughable in the most bitter of ways. You slowly nodded.

"Y-yes..."

He merely gave you a hum of acknowledgement, and stepped through the door.

The door closed. You were left sitting still, staring blankly ahead at nothing. Your limbs, eyes, and body still gave the occasional twitch. A bead of residual sweat trailed down your temple, making the faintest of sounds as it hit the sheets. The whole area between your legs gave you a discomforting, gross wet sensation, fluids drooling out of your holes. But in the moment, you couldn't bring yourself to so much as lift a hand to do anything about it, merely sat still and wallowed in the sensation.

You turned your head to the side, only to catch the image of yourself in the mirror once again. Your dull eyes, their emptiness visible even to themselves as they stared back and forth at each other in the reflection.

But after a few moments, you let yourself fall flat on your back onto the mattress, limp and numb, and closed your eyes. You laid still and silent in a half-conscious state, exhaustion and the deep ache across your body pulling you in and out of the brink of sleep.

------------

#id like to extend an apology to my FBI agent for putting him through yet another traumatizing experience with my search history #Also my very devout 11th grade Bible teacher who taught the class I learned the title from #genshin smut #yandere zhongli #also babys first day on the job as guardian watchbirb 🥺

[cherryredstars]

hi cherry!! in nice and slow reader and simon are in the beginning of exploring their intimacy. what would their first time actually having penetrative sex be like, if you don’t mind me asking (:

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x gn!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Penetrative Sex, Angst with Comfort, Mentions to Simon’s Sexual Trauma

Summary: The first time Simon and you go all the way.

A/N: ilovehimilovehimilovehimilovehim

Word Count: 1.6K (Not Edited)

Part 1

He’s frozen, nervous. 

His breathing is mix-matched as he stares down at your body. You are fully prepped, taking things extra slow this time around. You did so good, easing him into this moment. Giving him so many moments to back out, to change his mind. But He wants this, needs it. But he’s scared. His muscles are cramping up and he swears he’s dizzy. There is a ringing in his ears, and he wants to slam his palm into the side of his head to get rid of it. It’s stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. He’s being stupid. So fucking stupid. 

He knows he’s safe. He knows it's you. Beautiful, patient, wonderful you. Knows that a simple word, a noise, a movement will make you willingly back off. To give him the time to breath and recollect himself. To put this all to a stop until he’s actually ready to go all the way. But he is ready, dammit. He’s ready and he’s hard and he has been dreaming about how warm and comforting it would be to slip inside of you. How your whole body would welcome him and chase away all that bad until nothing but mind numbing pleasure filled every crevice in his body. But he’s a fuck up and this isn’t one of his stupid dreams. This is real and it’s scary, and he can feel himself fucking softening. He’s going soft and you’re under him, needy and prepared to take him. He’s fucking everything up already.

His hand comes down, giving mean and rough jerks to his cock. They are desperate movements, and he winces from the pain it gives instead of pleasure. His breath is shaky and he can feel his lungs collapsing in on themselves. Come on, come on, come on, come on, comeoncomeoncomeoncomeoncomeon. His teeth ache from how hard his jaw is clenched, his eyes not even focusing on you as he glares down at his dick. His chest is rising and falling at a dangerous rate, his pulse bleeding into his ears. 

He only snaps out of it when he flinches at an unexpected touch. Soft hands, soft, beautiful, lovely, hands gently guide his face up. His eyes are wide and wild and slightly foggy when they meet yours. You are the epitome of calm, hands cradling his cheeks as your thumb strokes the skin. You make an exaggerated effort to breathe, making noisy inhales and exhales. It takes Simon a moment, but he eventually copies you. Your hand, so gentle it doesn’t even feel like it’s there, takes his hand away from himself, placing it over your heart instead. His breath slightly hitches, his senses straying away from his own pulse to yours. It’s strong and proud, happily meeting his palm.

“Simon, baby,” you call gently. He doesn’t respond, keeping his eyes on his hand on your chest. But, you know he’s listening and you smile gently. “It’s okay. Let’s just wait a minute, yeah? Relax for me.”

He nods, something sharp and subtle. He lets himself bask in your warmth, slowly lowering his body so it covers yours. You hum in content, arms coming to rest over his shoulders. Your hands are soothing, playing with his hair and scratching his scalp gently. He breathes you in, his arms wrapping around you and grounding him. He tries to remember where he is, what’s happening instead of what has happened and where he was. Past tense, gone, history. Mere memories that can’t touch him now. Gruesome flashes that are cast away with your arms keeping him safe in your embrace.

The two of you lay there breathing gently. Your eyes are shut like you’re sleeping. Simon’s eyes are shut like he’s trying not to cry. His breath tickles against your neck and shoulders, but you say nothing. He’s thankful for the silence, letting himself get lost in his brain until he turns it off. He pulls away slightly, kissing your shoulder as he goes. Your eyes open slowly, smiling gently when Simon’s face comes into view. 

“Whenever you’re ready, Si,” You whisper up at him.

Simon lets out a shaky breath. His cock isn’t as soft as it was before, but it isn’t hard enough to do anything. He grasps it in his hands again, gentle just like your hands would be. He leans his hips forward, brushing it against your entrance. Both of you gasp at the same time, your legs spreading wider to accommodate him. Tingles shoot into his body through his tip, and he can see the way you’re clenching around nothing. His cock comes back to life, a soft groan parting from his lips as slick liquid coats his head. 

He doesn’t realize his other hand is in a tight fist against the bedsheet until you push his fingers open. Crescents dent his skin, but they’re covered up when your hands link together. His fingers are quick to close around your hand, a content sigh leaving him. His thumb rubs against your skin and you squeeze his hand in response. He takes another deep breath, chest heaving as he presses his tip to your opening. 

The nerves are still there, humming against his skin. His hand is shaking, and he squeezes his cock a little firmer to keep it stable. Your hand is the only real thing keeping him stabilized at the moment, giving him the courage to press just enough for your entrance to open up for him. He lets out a desperate noise when the very beginning of his tip gets enveloped by you. He presses more into you, feeling every ridge and groove of your walls drag against him. It’s so tight and so warm. When he bottoms out he swears he sees stars. 

If he were to tell you, or anyone for that matter, how it feels you would say he was exaggerating. But he isn’t, he fucking swears its the truth. Being inside you, being fully connected, makes everything clearer. Colors are brighter and everything in the world feels small in comparison to this moment, this feeling. He always knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that you are the endgame. That everything he had suffered in his lifetime was supposed to, in some shape or form, bring him to you. He knew--hoped-- that the two of you would grow old together. That the two of you would experience everything he missed out on together. But the thought was blurry, an afterthought or dream that he had on the rare nights that he gets a good night's sleep. But now, now it's so much clearer. 

He can see it like it's a movie, playing in his head and projected through his eyes. He can feel it, taste it on his tongue. Instead of being a distant thought, it’s right around the corner. Calling to him, beckoning him forward like a piece of forbidden fruit. You are here and you are real and it’ is better than any fucking dream his mind could come up with. 

He’s pulled away from the thought when you shift, causing something hot and prickly to shoot up his spine. He hisses, hands moving to grip your hips desperately. 

“Wait,” he pants, something desperate and shaky in his voice, “D-don’t move yet. Please, I want this to last. Give me a minute”

You freeze under him, suppressing the whimper that wants to leave you. He’s thick and throbbing inside of you, stretching you wide. It hurts slightly, but the pleasure of just having him inside you is delicious. It makes you needy and arousal drips from you. It catches Simon’s attention, his eyes focused on the proof of your enjoyment. You can’t help but squirm under his gaze, both you and Simon moaning as his cock grazes your walls. 

“Fuck, okay, love. Just- god you feel so good.” 

You whine under him, gasping when he pulls out slightly and pushes back in. He starts off slow, only pulling out little at a time. As he progresses, as the pleasure reaches new peaks every minute, he pulls out more and more until he’s going tip to base. You moan and whimper, arching your back as Simon grunts and pants. He’s honestly surprised he hasn’t come yet, the constant pressure around his cock feeling too good to be real. 

Your walls flutter again, and he buries his face into your neck. He tries to distract himself by kissing at your skin, eyes screwed shut. You mewl his name, hands holding onto his shoulders as he pumps into you. You call out to him, mumbling about how close you are, how good he’s making you feel. He lets out something close to a whimper, muffling it against your skin. His hands squeeze you the same time you squeeze around his cock. Both of you let out choked noises as you come. 

Simon pulls away to watch, a groan leaving him at the sight. Your face is contorted in pleasure, your chest rising and falling as you breathe. Knowing he’s the reason you are left in this state brings him to the edge, his hips thrusting into you a few more times before he lets out a dragged moan. 

“Oh, love. Fucking made for me,” He groans. His head falls forward again, resting against your head as he lazily pumps his release into you. “All mine, my love.”

You hold him to you, both of you trying to breathe properly again. After a few minutes, he begins to pull out, a hiss leaving both of you. He’s soft again, but perfectly content. He leans down to capture your lips into a slow kiss, and you hum into the affection. Simon rubs at your skin before he pulls away, eyes shining with something powerful. He smiles softly down at you and you are enraptured. 

When he looks at you like this, it feels like everything is falling into place.

I love this man so much, I am not normal about him :((

#cherry's requests🍒 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #cod simon riley #ghost cod #mw2 ghost #ghost mw2 #ghost call of duty #call of duty #cod ghost #cod smut #cod x reader #cod mwii #cod mw2 #mw2 #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost x you #cod simon ghost riley

[ohmyeyesmyeyes]

a waste of a beautiful dress - n. hischier

summary: an unhappy valentine's day date doesn't always end up with you watching lord of the rings alone with a glass of wine...at least, not when a certain captain can help it

warnings: talks of sex/bad date, mention of alcohol consumption, descriptions of the above facial injury, swearing, cutesy 2.1k thing

a/n: this is a short imagine-thing i wrote on valentine's day that i kind of forgot about (i was gonna write more but i just couldn't think of what to do, so if the ending's weird, that's why!) and i didn't want to not publish this for you guys, so...enjoy!

“Is everything okay?”

You blinked, the elevator coming back to focus around you, the walls distorting the reflection of someone that, rather against your will, you’d found growing increasingly familiar with each week. The bottle of wine in your grasp felt suddenly heavier under his careful scrutiny, and you felt your fist tighten around it, almost protectively.

You could only imagine what you looked like: nice clothes – maybe a little too  nice for an evening stroll or a walk around the block, and a tarnished, almost numb expression on your face, even despite the conflicted tornado swirling inside your mind. There was no doubt he’d deciphered your distracted look and the dejection written so plainly on your face. Yet, though you knew what he saw, you refused to feel pity for yourself.

You inhaled, plastering a tight smile on your face as you looked towards him, his beloved beanie on his head and a backpack on his shoulders. His head was dipped a little, a slight furrow between his brows, ever telling of his caring tendencies, and you suddenly felt a little better, even despite the previous events.

“I’m fine.” You tried, slyly moving the bottle further out of his sight. It didn’t work: his eyes seemed to catch the slight motion before meeting yours, a look of disbelief on his face, “You?” You asked, desperate to turn his attention away from you.

Nico Hischier wasn’t someone you’d have found yourself chatting to casually mere months ago, at least not past the usual pleasantries. Though, it seemed the mutual friends and the many parties had oiled that creaking joint somewhere along the way, and – hesitantly – you were friends to some degree. So much so that every so often the two of you may find yourselves in the other’s apartment with a mug of coffee or a glass of wine in hand with something playing on the TV.

Of course, no one else knew about that.

He sighed, leaning back against the mirror opposite you. There was a cut under his eye you hadn’t seen immediately, but when he leant back the light seemed to catch the green skin and the scratch. He seemed to notice your concerned wince before you could point it out, his hand flying up to lightly press underneath it, “It’s fine, I just caught a puck yesterday.”

Before he could say anything else, and you knew he would because he started to frown again, you interrupted, a slight laugh of mirth passing your lips, “No big deal.”

He froze a little, but still a smile replaced the apprehension as he shook his head, "Better my cheek than my teeth.” 

“That’s true.” You grinned in agreement, attention immediately turning to the opening doors as they dinged, your floor appearing before you.

“After you.” Nico gestured, following closely behind as you both wandered to the end of the hall, your eyes glued to the patterned tiles beneath your feet, before a thought suddenly struck you, and with some urgency.

“Do you have Arnica?” You turned to Nico, your hand hovering under your own eye when he blinked in confusion, shaking his head, “For your eye? It helps with pain and bruising.”

“Uh…”

“Unless you want to keep your battle scar?” You teased lightly, unzipping your bag to pull out your keys, only to notice his still-close presence by your shoulder, even despite being outside your door.

You looked up, only to be met with a sheepish smile, one that you knew meant you’d caught him, but he shrugged, “The Arnica seems sensible.”

“Sensible?” You pushed your key through the door, turning the lock.

“It’s not much of a battle scar when a rubber disc wins.” He rationalised, walking through your doorway when you held it open for him and immediately gravitating towards the cat bed towards the far end of your apartment.

By the time you’d locked the door, shed your coat and placed your bag and the wine on the counter, he’d returned, still in his coat, beanie and backpack with a fond look on his face, your cat snuggled in his arms with no complaints of the attention except a rumbling, contented purr.

His eyes seemed to drop to your dress, and widen a little, and you knew there was absolutely no dodging his questions, not when he seemed to grow a little wary and dart his gaze to the bottle of wine on the counter.

“Did you have any Valentine’s plans today?” he asked lightly, briefly turning his attention back to the cat in his arms, most likely to give you a moment to steel yourself.

You hesitated, adjusting the straps on your dress. Nico was lovely, you knew that; he’d never once said or done anything to make you feel uncomfortable, but there was something more serious and vulnerable as to what you were about to say – lying wasn’t really in the cards, mostly because you knew he knew whatever had happened already hadn’t particularly ended well.

He’d caught you on the verge of tears in an elevator by yourself, clutching a bottle of wine, for fuck’s sake. You didn’t do that on Valentine’s day unless something had gone wrong.

“I did.” You breathed, quickly wiping down the counter surface and avoiding looking at him, trying to fight the embarrassment clawing its way up your throat, threatening to spill colour onto your cheeks.

You had nothing to be embarrassed about whatsoever.

He said nothing, just watched you carefully, keeping his distance. If you didn’t want to talk about it, you knew he wouldn’t even press the subject.

“I had a date earlier–” out of the corner of your eye, you saw his gaze cut to the clock on the wall: half-past six. “It didn’t go well.”

He nodded, treading carefully with his words, “How come?”

“He made some comments that I couldn’t really ignore, and when I asked him about it, y’know, to just clarify some things, he kicked off, I corrected him, he sulked, and then left halfway through when I went to the toilet.” You said in one breath, feeling your skin prickle with the reminder of the entire ordeal, scrubbing at a spot on the counter – sometimes grease just didn't budge.

There was the dull thud of paws against your floor, and you looked up to see Nico standing at the opposite side of the counter, an unreadable expression on his face. His brows were pulled together, but there was no telltale crease; his mouth was parted, but in a way that suggested he was a bit more hesitant at finding out what you had to say than a mortified scowl.

“What did he say?” His tone of voice was unwavering, but the slight edge to it sent your heart pounding a little harder nonetheless.

He had a sister, he was probably thinking of all the worst possible scenarios.

You felt your voice get caught in your throat, and you found yourself wishing you’d never even been this honest with him in the first place, because you felt…embarrassed, almost, to admit it fully, “He made a ‘my place or yours after this’ comment and I told him I didn’t want to sleep with him, so he left the first chance he got.” You said quietly, still making yourself busy with tidying the kitchen.

You inhaled deeply, spinning on your heel and fiddling with some of the utensils before you could gain the courage to even look in his direction. You didn’t want to see him pity you.

Except, when you did look up, you saw none of the pity you’d been expecting. In fact, his mouth was pressed firmly shut, and when he caught you looking at him, he – very insistently – muttered, “Well, he’s a fucking dick.”

You felt the corners of your mouth twitch up in some hint of a smile, “Thanks.”

Then, almost like it did in the elevator, the light seemed to catch the shiner under his eye, reminding you of the very reason he’d walked through your threshold in the first place, and you began to wander through the hallway, “I’ll go get the Arnica.”

He nodded in response, shucking his coat and draping it across the back of one of the stools, before bending down to stroke the cat nuzzling at his shins. You rounded the corner into your bathroom, rifling through the cupboard for the tube of cream, before making your way back into the living area, the tube outstretched in your hand.

He took it from you gently, leaning his elbows across the countertop as he read the information on the back of it silently.

“What about you?” You asked, and he looked up, “Any Valentine’s Day plans?”

He blinked, sighing, “I laid in bed for an hour longer than usual.” He said simply, “Then I went to a late morning skate, came home, watched some TV, went to the gym, and now I’m here. So, no, not really.” He inhaled, and you felt yourself grow a little uneasy when he started poking the swelling under his eye, looking into his phone to apply the cream, “You got any more plans?”

Your eyes darted to the bottle of wine, “I was gonna drink wine and watch Lord of the Rings.”

He breathed a startled laugh, “Sounds like a good plan.”

“It is.” You agreed, pausing to consider something, before taking a breath, “Do you wanna join me?”

It wasn’t something you’d never done with each other before; in fact, the two of you seemed to get along better without a cacophony of people interrupting (though that wasn’t much of a surprise), however there was something more delicate and meaningful in the knowledge of the day: Valentine’s Day was undoubtedly something that was weighing on both your minds. It was impossible not to – the posts on social media, the love hearts plastered in shop windows and the flowers everywhere didn’t let you forget it.

It just felt different, somehow.

Nico’s fingers faltered under his eye, and he looked up, brown eyes a little wider than usual, with his mouth parted in surprise. Evidently, he’d been thinking along similar lines to you, but Valentine’s Day wasn’t just about romance and love and whatnot: it was also just another day.

He blinked, eyes searching your face for regret in asking, or for some sign that he should turn down your offer, no matter how tantalising it was.

“It’s not gonna drink itself.” You joked lamely, watching as he slowly nodded, ducking his head down to mask the smile you knew was now on his face.

“Are you sure?” He mumbled, placing his phone on the counter and screwing the top back onto the cream. His eye was now shining a little, but it gave you inexplicable comfort to know that it was at least taken care of temporarily.

Even looking at it seemed to send a dull ache thrumming across your cheekbone.

“I’m sure.” 

Then: “Did you eat on that date?” He asked, raising a brow.

“No.”

He frowned, but showed nothing to say he was particularly shocked by that answer, and stood up from the stool very quickly – quick enough to startled the cat, and quick enough to have to catch the stool from falling over in his haste, “Do you maybe want to get something to eat, first? I know a good place a couple of blocks away.”

You stuttered, not entirely expecting such a spontaneous proposal, “Sure, I just—I should change first, though.”

His eyes dragged down your figure, and for the first time ever, you found yourself trying to regain control of the sudden blush that threatened to stain your cheeks, before he tutted, met your eyes, smiled and shook his head, dimples as clear as they’d ever been. There was something bright in his eye, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d assume there was some mischief lingering there – as though he knew exactly what you were refraining from doing under his gaze.

“Personally,” he started off slowly, “I think it’d be a waste of a beautiful dress.”

You sucked the inside of your cheek, looking down at your dress. It was beautiful, though arguably it had already been wasted on the day considering the hellish date experience, but maybe eating out with Nico would change that? 

“In that case…” You trailed off, grabbing your coat and slipping your shoes back on, “But–” You whirled around, Nico’s hand going suspiciously fast to cover his mouth, though the crinkles by his eyes certainly told you everything you needed to know, and arched an accusing brow in his direction, “I’m changing when we get back.”

“Fine by me.” He held up his hands in surrender, mouth pressed tightly together to prevent himself from laughing, and you rolled your eyes at his innocent act, but said nothing.

#nico hischier x reader #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier oneshot #nico hischier fic #nhl fic #nhl oneshot #nhl imagine #hockey player x reader #hockey fic

[xxbimbobunnyxx]

Ice Cream Emergency

Alpha!Jj Maybank x Omega!Best friend!Reader

Summary: When you ask your best friend to bring you ice cream on an unbearably hot day you don’t expect to present as an omega right before he gets there. WK: 1.6k

Warnings: General omegaverse behaviors (knotting, scenting, breeding kink, marking), hair pulling, best friends in love, porn not plot, uhhh I think that’s it? 18+MNDI!!

A/N: Idk how much the OBX girlies like omegaverse because I haven’t seen much of it here but I’m an omegaverse slut so I offer you this. Thank you my love @babygorewhore for beta reading for me as always.🖤

It was hot, unbearably so. The summer heat combined with the lack of air conditioning in your apartment making it impossible to escape. Sweat stuck to every inch of your barely clothed skin as you sat in front of the fan on your couch. Practically sticking to the faux leather. Your body ached, the heat absolutely exhausting you and sucking all the energy from your body. So naturally, you texted your best friend, telling him it was an ice cream emergency before dozing off where you sat.

You woke to the sound of banging on the door, your body shooting up from the couch. You immediately get dizzy, slumping back into the cushions. It takes you a second to register your surroundings, your body even more flushed and covered in perspiration than before, specifically between your legs. There was practically a puddle where you sat and your core ached in a way you had never experienced before.

“Hey dude! You in there? I brought your ice cream! It’s hot as hell out here, open the door!” The sound of Jj’s voice automatically sends a stabbing pain shooting through your insides, another gush of what you thought was sweat but you now realize is slick dripping from between your legs. Fuck, you were in heat, you were presenting. And your alpha best friend was outside, banging on your door.

You’re tempted to ignore him, but you know he will just go around back and try and jump through your window if you do. He knows you’re here, your car is outside and you specifically asked him to come over, there’s no way around it. You sigh, pushing yourself up onto your shaky legs. Another wave of pain washes through your core, causing you to stumble and almost lose your footing entirely. When you reach the door and pull it open Jj’s scent floods your nostrils, sending another wave of slick down your thighs.

“There you are loser, took you long en-“ His words are cut short, his pupils dialing as he takes a deep inhale of the air. His eyes roam your figure, taking in your flushed skin, the way you’re practically swaying on your feet, the slick dripping down your thighs. “Oh, fuck. Are you-?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry Jayj, I think it would be better if you just go.” You sigh, going to shut the door in his face but he shoves his foot in the way to stop you.

“Wait. I could…. Help you?” He scratches the back of his neck as he chuckles awkwardly.

“What do you? You mean? Jj… I can’t ask you to do that.” You practically whine, your knees almost buckling from his scent. You want him to stay. You really do. There’s not anyone else in the world you’d want to spend your first heat with. But Jj is your best friend. You don’t know what it would mean for the two of you if you did this together.

“Well it’s a good thing you didn’t ask then, huh? I’m offering.” He chuckles, leaning down to smirk at you. He smells so fucking good. He’s the first alpha you’ve smelled as an omega but you can’t imagine that there’s a scent better than this.

“Are you - are you sure about this?” You look up at him with your bottom lip between your teeth, searching his eyes for doubt but you only see certainty.

“Never been more sure about anything in my life, baby doll. Let me help you.” He takes your face in his hand, running his thumb along the apple of your hot sweaty cheek. You lean into it, the feeling of his skin soothing you immediately.

“Alright.” You nod, nuzzling into his palm like a small kitten.

“Alright then.” Jj walks into your apartment, kicking the door shut behind him. He rests his hands on your shoulders, rubbing soothing circles on your heated skin with the tips of his fingers. “Tell me what you need, omega.”

“I don’t - I need - I need you. Please, alpha.” You whimper, bending at the middle when that stabbing pain shoots through you again. Jj’s hands shoot to your hips, guiding you to sit on the couch.

“It’s okay babe, I’m gonna help you. Lay down for me.” You lie back, your tiny tank top and your little sleep shorts completely soaked through with sweat and slick, your legs spread. “Fuck, you smell so good.”

Jj leans down, pulling your shirt over your head before ripping your shorts and panties from your body. He drinks you in, his eyes roaming every inch of your exposed skin. If your mind wasn’t so hazy you might feel shy under his gaze, but right now all you wanted was for him to touch you.

“Jayj, please.” You whine, wiggling your hips.

“No need to beg, pretty girl, I’ve gotchu.” He hooks his arms around your thighs before leaning down to run his nose through your slit, inhaling deeply with a groan. He flicks his tongue out collecting your nectar, moaning at your taste. “Taste just as sweet as you look.”

He wraps his lips around your clit, sucking as his tongue circles around the bud. He inserts two fingers inside you and curls them upwards, caressing along your g-spot just right. It sends you over the edge, your slick gushing around his fingers and all over his chin. He pushes himself up on his knees, pulling his shirt over his head and undoing his shorts, adding them to the pile of clothes on the ground.

“Holy shit, Jj.” Your jaw drops and your eyes feel like they’re going to pop out of your head at the sight of his cock. It’s fucking huge and hard and leaking just for you.

“Yeah? You like what you see, baby doll?” He takes his cock in his hand, stroking it a few times.

“Where the fuck have you been hiding that thing!?”

“Psh, wasn’t hiding it at all. You just never asked to see it.” He winks at you, smacking his head against your sensitive clit a few times, sending your eyes rolling into the back of your head. “You want it? Want me to fuck this pretty little pussy?”

“God, yes, please.” You roll your hips against his, causing his shaft to run along your slick center. He lines himself up, pushing himself inside of you inch by inch.

“Oh fuck, you’re so tight.” Jj grabs your hips as he starts to fuck into you at a linguid pace, his eyes intent on your face, his ears absorbing every sweet little sound to leave your lips.

“Harder, fuck me harder.” You grab onto his face pulling it close to yours so you can crash your lips together. He starts to pick up the pace as his slips his tongue into your mouth, tangling it with yours. You grab onto his shoulders, your nails leaving crescent moons in his skin.

“God fucking damn you feel so fucking good, always knew you’d feel good.” Your mind is so hazy it barely processes his words, barely.

“You’ve thought about this before?” You pull back from him so you can look into his eyes while he continues to fuck into you hard and fast.

“More times than I can fuckin’ count, baby.”

“Fuck, me too, I’ve thought about you so much. I love you Jj.” You don’t know why you say it, but it just rolls off your tongue so easily, it feels so natural. And it’s true.

“Yeah? I love you too, pretty girl, always have.” He smirks down at you, connecting your lips in a gentler kiss than before. “But I’m still gonna fuck you like a whore.”

He leans up on his knees, pulling out so he can flip you over onto your stomach before slamming his cock back into you in one thrust. He grabs onto the fat of your ass, fucking you harder than before. He lands a smack on your ass, causing you to let out a long drawn out moan.

“You fuckin’ like that?” He lands harder smack on the same cheek and you yelp.

“Yeah, I fuckin’ love it.” You push your hips back into him, causing him to go deeper inside you, hitting your g-spot over and over again.

“My baby doll likes it rough, huh?” He smacks your ass again before grabbing onto your hair, using it as leverage as he ruts into you. His hand snakes around you so he can run circles in your clit with his fingers tips and that’s all it takes to have you cumming around his cock. Your slick coating both your thighs as your walls flutter around him.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, holyfuckingshiiiit.”

Jj let’s go of your hair and your body slumps forward, your cheek pressing into the cushion. He grabs onto your hips, placing one foot on the couch so he can chase his own high.

“Yeah alpha, fuckin cum inside me, give me your knot. I want it so bad.”

“Yeah? You want me to breed you, baby? You’d look so fuckin’ sexy all pregnant with my baby. Shit.” He leans forward, hooking his arm around your shoulders to pull your back flush against his chest, his cock practically assaulting your cervix.

“Yeah, I wanna make you a daddy. Wanna be yours forever. Mark me.” He doesn’t hesitate to sink his teeth into your mating gland, breaking the skin and bounding you to him for life. The feeling has your walls clenching around him and his cock spilling inside you as you both come undone together. You wince when his knot swells inside you before cumming on his cock one last time.

“Jesus Christ, baby, you’re something else. You know that?” Jj chuckles, rolling you both on your sides with your back to his front, his knot still inside you.

“Yeah? You aren’t too bad yourself, Maybank.” You chuckle, nuzzling into his arm, leaving a gentle kiss on his bicep.

#jj maybank #jj mayback x reader #jj mayback imagine #jj smut #jj Maybank smut #jj Maybank OBX #jj outer banks #jj maybank fic #jj maybank fanfiction #jj Maybank x you #alpha!jj maybank #obx fic #OBX smut #Dolly writes

[bby-deerling]

daydream believer (law x reader)

your last night with law before he leaves the crew in zou (been having brainworms about law not expecting to get out of dressrosa alive)

wc: 1.4k masterlist

cw: established relationship, suggestive content, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending

tagging: @willowbelle @sanjisjuul @eelnoise @kaizokuniichan @risenwrites @ragethebunny @mirillua @sanjisprincesswifey @atanukileaf

A murky, dust-filled cloud had been continuously swirling around Law for months now, growing with intensity with each passing day.  Abandoning you in the dark, he’d pulled the wool over your eyes and procrastinated the inevitable for as long as possible, trying to avoid a break in his resolve due to emotional attachment; however, the chips were now set, the cards were drawn, and the Polar Tang was docking in Zou in the morning.

The only piece that remained was to tell you that he’s leaving.

“I’m leaving to take care of something on my own, and I most likely won’t make it back.” he says, carefully rehearsed, as if it were as mundane as asking for a cup of coffee in the morning; however, the tremble in his hand is impossible to miss as it grazes along your cheek, soft as a feather.

Law could have told you ages ago.  He could have mentioned it when the stress of his impending mission had started to manifest into irritability and frustration that could only be quelled by holding you tightly and burying his face in your hair.  He could have told you during any little moment over the past three years—he could have even given you a choice and told you before your feelings for him grew too deep, giving you the option to escape from the unknowing choice you had made to love him for a short while until he vaporized into a dwarf star.

But he was imperfect, and incapable of denying himself the selfish pleasure of loving you.  Like him, you were a chronic worrier, and the knowledge of his possible impending demise would have hung over your head in a dense, debilitating haze, worsening your already crippling insomnia—it would be cruel to tell you—at least that's what he had told himself.

“And you have to do this alone?  You’re certain that we can’t help you?” you ask, with less resistance than he’d expected; perhaps it was a side effect of the fact that he had put off looping you in on this until the eleventh hour, or more likely, that you simply trusted him enough to know that if he had gotten to this point, that he had exhausted and carefully thought through every possible option.

“I’m certain.” he replies firmly, the mere thought of Doflamingo getting his strings wrapped around any of his crewmembers—let alone you—making him internally shiver.

The emotions pooling in your eyes would be mistaken as dismay and defeat by anyone less attentive, but Law has studied each curve and twitch on your face enough times over to know you were filled with painful understanding.  You were practical, like him.  You knew he couldn’t risk any of you getting even a scratch on you for the sake of his own vengeance.

“Does anyone else know?” you ask, hastily wiping at the salty tears that form in the corners of your eyes.

“Bepo knows what he needs to.  That I’m dropping you guys off on his home island for safe keeping.  Penguin and Shachi know I’m leaving temporarily, and I’m telling the rest of the crew in the morning.” he says, his words once more feeling almost too practiced, a side effect of rehearsing this conversation in his mind countless times.

“So, they don’t know that you might not make it back.” you state quietly as you aim for clarification, averting your eyes from his, opting to draw circles along the tattoo that frames his chest.

Law takes a heavy inhale and swallows before replying.  “They might have assumed as much, but I’m only explicitly telling you. Because I trust you, and because—” he says, pausing to take another deep breath, taking in the courage to finish his thought.  “I have to tell someone, so that they can tell the rest of the crew that this was my decision and mine alone.  I don’t want them to think it’s their fault.” he says, his voice nearly trailing off into a whisper.

“But it is.  Because we’re not strong enough to protect you.” you insist, phrasing broken up by sobs catching in your throat.

“No, it’s not.  Don’t think about that right now.” he pleas in a hushed whisper, directed at both you and his own tumultuous state of mind.  Steady hands tip you over gently from your side onto your back, and he cages you in, leaving you helpless to the power of his gaze; many a time had you been pinned underneath him like a piece of prey to toy with, but this time, he simply wants to look at you between shaky and unsteady breaths.

“I love you so much.” he whispers, running his thumb across your bottom lip.  Such words were rarely spoken by him, saved for the dead of night where his mumbles can be smothered by the darkness that hangs inside his bedroom.

 Shivers run through his spine as you give him a teary-eyed smile and reply with a soft, broken “I love you, Law.”

The words are hauntingly familiar, but this time, he’s the one with the lipstick smeared across his face and cigarette between his teeth.

“I’ll try my best to be back in a couple of months—” he murmurs, unable to restrain himself from giving you a smidgen of false hope. “And in the meantime, I want you to not worry unless you hear the worst.” he continues as he traces the side of your cheek with his fingers, using the soothing cadence of his voice to mask the fact that he’s demanding an impossible task from you.  Always his steadfast willow branch, weathered by storms and bending ever so slightly past the limits of the tension he puts you through, you sigh and nod.

“Now, let me give you something to remember.” he says, low and gentle, and lacking the snark and teasing bite that normally saturated his tone while he picked you apart.  Each dusting of a touch along your skin conveyed that this was a reward, for taking this as well as you are, for promising to not fret too much while he’s gone, for putting up with him for all these years.

For loving him, without reservations, and with unwavering trust.

“Something to remember until you come back.” you whisper, a slight stubborn insistence clinging to your voice even as it wobbles in the space between you.

Law lets out a deep exhale.  “Until I come back.” he replies against your lips, too drunk on the tantalizing possibility of returning home alive to allow his mind to consider what such a promise might do to you, should the worst come to pass.  The tiny, slight hint of force behind your statement is enough to get him to tell you whatever you need to hear to feel better—you bend for him, constantly attentive to his whims and wishes, but he folds and snaps for you without fail, with such consistency that it frightens him to the core.

He would do nearly anything for you.

He would die for you.

It was a shame he had already long since committed to the likelihood of dying for revenge.  He wonders if you’ll grow to resent him for it.

Despite the hopeful sweet nothings that he lovingly coos into your ear, when the day breaks and the time comes to truly part, he chooses his words carefully, murmuring them softly as he pulls you into a tight hug.

“I’m so lucky to have found you.” he whispers, pressing his lips to your cheek for what he believes is the last time.  True to your word, you hold off on tears until he’s out of sight, playing his tantalizingly soothing reassurances in your mind like a comforting, deeply ingrained melody, though they lose their potency as time wears on, and your patience and sanity both begin to wear thin.  However, curious news of a certain unprecedented pirate alliance serves as a source of continued faith.

And, luckily for you, Law was unintentionally prophetic, returning in a couple months, just as promised.  After being smothered by Bepo, he does a quick headcount, briefly panicking as he realizes you’re missing, though his worry vaporizes once he turns his attention to a rustling noise nearby.  He repeats an inverse variation on his parting words when he sees you once more—though this time full of snark as he stifles a chuckle.  “You’re lucky I found you.” he teases, reaching out his hand to you.

Tripping over your own feet in an attempt to reach him before Bepo, you’d fallen flat on your face and entangled yourself in a bush.

#one piece x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x you #trafalgar law x you #law x y/n #trafalgar law x y/n #trafalgar law #x reader #one piece fanfiction

[makeyoumine69]

Hi! For the 2k followers celebration: Daddy kink, non con, rough sex. Pet name Sugarplum, thank you! <3

Watch Me Burn

— PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Reader

— SUMMARY: Patrick waited for so long to get his hands on you, and now that you’re finally his, he'll make sure to fulfill all his fantasies, whether you like it or not.

— CONTAINS: Non-con smut, oral sex (Patrick receiving), unprotected p in v sex, Daddy kink, degradation, manhandling, pet names, dirty talk, humiliation, choking, hair pulling, biting, spanking.

— WORDS: 1.5k

— A/N:Thank you so much for your request! It was such a pleasure to write this, so don't mind the length, I just couldn't stop myself, but I hope you like it!

— LINKS: [MASTERLIST] [buy me a coffee]💓

Anger and despair were eating you from the inside out and that feeling was almost scorching — you could feel the searing pain piercing through every pitch of your trembling body. Naked and embarrassed, you were resting on Bateman’s king sized bed. Even though you were not tied up, you didn’t make any attempts to run away, considering you knew you wouldn’t have a chance to escape him.

Playfully humming to himself, Patrick was setting up the camera, he was fully stripped too, however you were doing your best to avoid looking at him — the way his toned muscles were lilting each time he made a move, and not to mention his fully erected cock, bobbing up and down with the bead of the pre-cum on top of his blushing tip.

“What is this sad face?” He suddenly asked after checking if you were on the full screen for the camera. “Not funny anymore, Sugarplum?” 

When you didn’t reply, Patrick got closer to the bed and beckoned you to its edge — and this time you couldn’t just ignore him. Tentatively, you moved to the place he wanted you to, his cock twitching from the sight of your exposed body, plus the way it was shaking was giving him a special sort of satisfaction.

With a devilish smirk, Bateman grabbed your chin possessively, forcing you to look at him while he briefly stroked himself. “C’mon, baby. Give it a taste.”

With your eyes already wet again, you got closer to him and wrapped your shaking hand around the base of his dick. When you opened your mouth, you thought you were ready to endure all the things which this night would bring you, but at the very last moment, you closed your eyes and pleaded: “No, I can’t! I can’t do it,” you tried to return to your previous place but his dead grip on your throat didn’t allow you to do it. “Patrick! NO! Please, d-don’t make me do this!”

As soon as you saw his large palm getting closer to your face, you flinched, knowing that he would slap you, but instead, he just slipped his thumb inside your mouth.

“I can’t believe you didn’t take me seriously when I said you would be mine,” Patrick hissed and kept jacking himself off in a steady pace, pushing his finger deeper inside your mouth. “Not a pleasant feeling, huh?” He chuckled arrogantly at your pitiful lowing. “You will get used to it, I promise.”

Everything started to happen so fast, your little mind didn’t have a chance to follow and your head was spinning as if it were hit with a hammer. Growling, Bateman stuffed your mouth with his throbbing cock, pushing it almost till the base and squeezing your nostrils tight, asphyxiating you and ignoring the way you were desperately clawing at his hands.

“If I find any scratches on my skin, I will rip off your fucking nails!” He scoffed and yanked you by the hair. “DO YOU HEAR ME?”

Annoyed, Patrick pulled out from your mouth and you used this moment to inhale deeply, not even thinking about the string of saliva mixed with his pre-cum running down your chin. 

“Yes…"

Bateman growled in return and shook you several times.

“Yes, who?” He spat his words into your dull face, squashing your cheeks.

“Yes, Daddy!” You dared to stare into his eyes, although you regretted it almost instantly, as they seemed to be brighter than the Sun and it was too much to look into them.

“You better not test me, Sugarplum.” Patrick crooned in a sweet voice, sliding his leaking dick along your swollen lips before he gave them several slaps. “Actually, I don’t want to hurt you,” he matched his words with a light stroke on your cheek, but the next second he pushed himself inside your mouth once again. “I was thinking about having you for too long… I was imagining how warm your mouth would be,” he almost moaned with his eyes closed as he began to rock his hips against your face. “Fuck, it feels even better than I thought.”

Never in your life have you felt yourself more vulnerable than now and with each passing moment it was getting worse — his obsession about you became your darkest curse.

When Bateman got bored with you giving him head, he easily manhandled you to get on all fours while he was setting himself behind you, so now you both were facing the camera and the mirror on the opposite side of the room. That damn mirror made you close your eyes to avoid seeing that pitiful sight, but once you felt his red tip prodding against your shamefully moist opening, you couldn’t help but turn around to face him — your scared gaze met his lustful one and for a moment you thought you were going to black out.

“Mmmhm, w-wait!” You mewled the moment Patrick rammed inside your tight hole. “It… a-aaaww… it’s so big!”

Cramping the sheets, you could swear you felt each inch of his girth stretching your soft walls and that sensation was both painful and delightful — it made your eyes roll back into your head and lose attachment to reality.

“Shit, you’re so tight,” he husked and thrusted deeper, pushing on your back to bend you lower. “And so fucking wet, you like to be treated like that? Am I right, bitch?”

“N-no!” You whimpered as he gripped your neck and made you arch your back towards him, almost splitting you in half.

“You’re… mmmhm… you’re such a little pathetic liar!” Punctuating each word with a harsh, long stroke, Patrick sped up and forced you to look up at him. “I’ll make sure everyone knows how much of a slut you’re! Now, look at the fucking camera!”

Panting, he let go of you and spanked your ass hard, you could see several tears falling down on the sheets before you raised your watering eyes on the camera.

“How would your friends and family react to seeing you like that?” Bateman continued to taunt you, slamming into you relentlessly, so you could feel his heavy sac hitting your soaked pussy. “Do they know how nasty you are?”

“P-please stop! Stop saying things like that,” you cried out, wiggling in his grasp but Patrick only pushed on you harder and when he covered you from behind completely, you wailed so loud because the angle of penetration was too much to bear. “Please, Daddy! Please, ahhh—please don’t do that!”

“Do what?” He murmured into your ear, resting his hands beneath you, so now they were wrapped around your neck like tight ropes.

“Don’t… don’t show this to anyone, I beg you!” You hated yourself for sounding so miserable and broken, but just the thought of your friends or family watching you like this made you wanna sink through the ground.

His low snickering drowned in lewd sounds of your bodies slapping against each other, along with slick squelch your cunt made each time his throbbing cock slid inside and outside. 

“Argh, look at you! You’re so pathetic and ruined… and I like that.” He nipped at your neck and rolled his hips against your ass to push himself even deeper, his swollen tip roughly brushing against your cervix. “How far are you ready to go for it?” 

You swallowed your salty tears, clinging to the bed with all might you have to bear the hard pounding. “I… I’ll do everything… you want.” 

God, your words just ascended him right to heaven — the power he had over you was overwhelming — how long he was waiting for it, how long he was dreaming about you saying this. Now, he was going to make you pay for each time you denied him, so you would remember how weak and defenseless you were against him.

Leisurely, he backed into his previous position, his pulsating dick slided out from your abused pussy and that gave you a brief moment to catch your breath.

“(Y/n), my dear (y/n),” he repeated your name like a mantra as if he was trying to hypnotize you. “Show Daddy how obedient you can be.”

Shaking, you got on your knees and turned in his direction to see him biting his lower lip and the next moment you cut the distance between you two to kiss him as hard as you could. When you heard him moaning against your mouth you looped your arms around his broad shoulders, and though you did it to save your reputation, you couldn't deny the fact how utterly handsome this man was. And maybe if you two met under other circumstances, you could really fall for him, but now the only thing that had left for you to do was fuck yourself on his beefy shaft and hoping that he would destroy this cursed tape, so no one would ever see this. If only you could wipe your memory, if only you had listened to the warnings about Patrick Bateman, if only…

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines

[ghouljams]

Project X-⬛⬛⬛⬛ Tags: Cyberpunk au, Gaz x f!reader, sexism, bodyguard vibes, military bullshit, espionage, android!reader Summary: Asset protection is one of those things Gaz is good at but hates. It's a boring specialty on good days, and a pain in the ass on bad days. You're a breath of fresh air, charming, witty, competent. He doesn't know why you need an escort, until he does.

"Got a job for you," Price says, dropping a dossier in front of Gaz. The younger man flips it open and tabs through. It's old school, paper and ink, easily destroyed if anyone came looking for it. Must be pretty high on the classified roster.

"Asset protection," Gaz asks, frowning at the neatly typed words, the blacked out squares next to names and places.

"Asked for you specifically." Price tells him, taking the seat next to him and pulling a cigar free.

"What is it?" Gaz flips through again, usually there's a photo or description, something to indicate what he's supposed to be guarding.

"Didn't say." Price grumbles around the cigar in his mouth. He clicks his lighter and burns the end to smoldering. A heavy inhale and he's pulling the tobacco from between his lips. "Just that mum's the word."

Gaz hums, discretion is the name of the game. He's worked with a lot of high value targets, babysat a lot of wealth, and even more weapons. All in all it shouldn't be too hard a job. His eyes land on a page, mission objectives, almost fully blacked out. "It's a person," He declares. Price leans over to inspect the page following Gaz's finger where it points at one of the only legible words on the page: escort.

-

The car is nice, at least. These things are always harder when the car sucks. Gaz leans against the black metal, waiting for your first handler to finish whatever pass off checklist they have. Some diplomatic function, boring. It's more fun when he's got a package to worry about, people just make his job harder. Supposedly that's why they pay so much. The front door of the, frankly pretty gaudy, hotel opens and he pushes off the car to stand at attention. Your handler is wearing a suit, but Gaz can see the crisp kevlar under it. The same way he can see the outline of some serious fire power on their hip.

You're something else. Something Gaz has never seen before. There's something elegant about you, something in the way you walk, the soft way you lay your hand on your handler's arm and thank them. Every movement is so perfect, well trained, your skin practically glows in the neon lights that seem to infect every inch of the city. You smile at Gaz when you see him, pull the fur shrug draped at your elbows up around your shoulders. You offer your hand as you walk towards him and he takes it, foregoing professionalism to kiss your knuckles. You laugh a little and pat his cheek.

"What a charmer," You tell your handler, "I can see why you came so highly recommended."

"Best in the business," Gaz grins, opening the car door for you. You're careful stepping in, prim and proper as you take your seat against the leather. He closes the door on you, and your handler catches his arm.

"We expect the asset back no later than 0100. Try to keep eyes on it." They tell him gruffly. Gaz shakes the hand off with a glare.

"Not my first time doin' this mate, try to keep your eyes on your own work." The handler narrows their eyes but lets him go. Gaz makes his way around the car to climb in next to you. The driver is another of your people, he assumes.

You lean forward and press the button to raise the driver partition. When you sit back it's with a sigh. Gaz settles his elbows against his knees to watch you. You peak at him out of the corner of your eye, it's cute the way you look away quickly. Gaz hums, feels his smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You turn in your seat to look at him, your fingers scratching idly at the skin under your ear.

"You have questions," You start for him. He nods. "Let's here them."

"Your file." He offers.

"Completely redacted, I know." You sigh, leaning back in your seat again. It's nice seeing you casual, something about you was almost too poised back there. Spy work, Gaz notes, those fuckers are the only ones that are that conscious of their bodies. Unnaturally natural, that's the best way he can describe spies.

"You're in espionage," He tells you. You give him a smile and an affirming hum.

"You're clever." You compliment.

"Observant," Gaz corrects before he tackles the real question of the evening, "What are we doing?"

"Information extraction," You tell him easily, "All you have to do is make sure I get out in one piece."

"That dangerous, huh?" Gaz asks.

"More like a test run," You toy with the bracelet around your wrist. You must be new to the field. Strange that he'd be tagging along for the ride, but Gaz isn't complaining. Not when your eyes meet his and it feels like he's been hit with something electric.

"You got a name?" He needs to call you something, needs to attach something substantial to your face. Your smile is almost pitying when you shake your head. Classified then. "How about a nickname?"

"You can call me whatever you want," you laugh. He'll get a name out of you eventually, but he can work with that for the moment.

-

Getting into the gala --fuck it's always a gala, Gaz hates galas-- is startlingly easy. You give the bouncer your ticket and when they have trouble finding your name you lean comfortably over their arm to look at the guest list. If Gaz was a jealous man he might track the way the bouncer's eyes fix on the low drape of your dress's neckline, oogling down your dress while you point to your name. You look up at them through your lashes with a soft, "Here I am" that could stop a man's heart. Stop's Gaz's heart at least, and he's pretty sure it stops the bouncer's too.

He follows you a step behind, eyes scanning the room for threats, and potential enemies. You appear as nonchalant and unbothered as your cover identity would. A prime minister's kid, here to be shown off as a stunning product of your country. Never mind that the actual prime minister is unmarried and a known agoraphobe. You're quite charming bumping elbows with the upper crust, natural. Gaz would think you were born and bred royalty the way you so seamlessly integrate yourself into conversation.

You laugh a little at a Russian oligarch's joke, slip your hand on his arm as his hand slides against your back. Dirty old men, Gaz thinks to himself. He gives the geezer a glare and you wave him off.

"You must excuse my guard," You tell him sweetly in Russian, "My father, you know, so overprotective."

"So I've heard," The Russian purrs. Gaz tries not to gag. Surely this man doesn't think he actually has a chance with you.

He does.

Gaz trails behind you as you giggle and feign drunkenness, clinging to the Russian's arm as he leads you to his private room. Now this song and dance Gaz knows. You take the mark somewhere private, maybe wind him up a bit, then you take him out, and grab the intel. He doesn't expect you to unclip your necklace and loop it around the Russian's neck as soon as the door starts to close. Gaz glances at the empty hall, and quickly slides into the room to shut the door.

You're far too quick twisting the thin piano wire chain around your hands and pulling it hard against the man's windpipe. He hardly has time to struggle before falling limp. There's something cold and calculating in your movements. Something precise Gaz has never seen before as you release the tension and let the body drop. No wasted movement, no twitch out of place. It almost reminds him of Ghost the way you barely breathe a sigh when you straighten up.

You stare down at the body on the floor, your expression blank, your eyes dead. You seem to snap back into yourself and turn to look at Gaz. All the warmth rushes back into you when you meet his eye. First times, Gaz thinks, they're always the hardest. You glance around the room, searching for something he can't see. It looks like a normal suite, but you must see something different. You're confident in your movements as you walk towards a wall of screens and mirrors.

You push a few buttons on the pad next to the mirrored wall and grab the Russian by the hair to get a retina scan. Gaz has seen a lot of computers in his day, but nothing like the tower that opens up out of the wall. Huge black computers with blinking lights and neon displays, the wires that hang from them seem to spill like blood out of the casings. You look at it like it's the flayed corpse of an angel, something holy and terrifying. He wonders what they trained you on to make you look like that.

"Watch the door," You order.

"Rog," Gaz gives you a thumbs up and tugs his gun from the holster under his jacket. He'll think about your upbringing later, when you're safely back in the car to rendezvous. Then he'll have time to get to know you better.

You both nod, and Gaz slips out into the hall. He keeps his foot in the door, careful to leave himself an exit if things start getting dicey. Behind it he can hear the low hum of the computer and short deft keystrokes. You're quick, clever. He likes clever. For a first mission you feel a lot like an old hand at this. There's no nervousness, no anxiety he needs to comfort, like you're made for this sort of thing. He supposes intelligence agencies are getting better at recruiting, or better at grooming their agents.

Whichever it is you're a wonder. Of course your handler would want you back in one piece at the end of this. You're not the sort of agent that they could disavow, you're an investment towards future endeavors. A good one too.

It's quiet in the hallway. Just quiet enough to hear the music from the gala downstairs. Eventually someone on the Russian's detail will notice he's missing. Hopefully the man's reputation is bad enough they can assume why he slipped off.

As if on queue a man in a suit rounds the far corner. Gaz sets his shoulders back, and holds his arms behind his back, standing at parade rest to hide his gun. No need to raise any alarms while you're working.

"Mr. Kuznetsov is needed downstairs," The man tells him as he gets closer, staring down his nose at Gaz.

"'Fraid I can't do that mate, he's occupied." Gaz smiles, his finger itching against his pistol's trigger.

"Tell your whore to un-occupy him," The man threatens. Ah well, violence for violence. The pistol is leveled and shot as quick as Gaz can draw it, his bullet carving a hole through the man's jaw and up to splatter his brains on the ceiling. Something buzzes and sparks in the man's ear, shouts for backup over a microphone. Well, that's unlucky.

Gaz ducks back into the room, gun drawn as he presses his shoulder against the wall. He keeps his eyes on the hallway through the crack in the open door.

"Gonna have company here soon sweetheart, might want to hurry-" He glances at you, his eyes fixing themselves on the wires the string from behind your ear to the computer terminal, "-up."

Your eyes dart unseeing between screens of rapid text, the port at your hairline glowing almost as brightly as your eyes do. A bot. You're a bot. But you were so- How- There are no seams in your skin, no hesitation in your movement, you speak and act exactly like- You laugh at jokes, your eyes crinkle when you smile, you have to be human. Otherwise Gaz doesn't know what you are.

Your dexterous fingers move to unplug your uplink from the tower. The cord slips back up and into the hidden panel you'd pulled it from. "All done," You turn to face him, pushing the panel closed, your eyes meet his and panic flashes across your face. Gaz pulls away from the door, and hears it click shut.

"What the fuck are you," Gaz asks before he can think through the ramifications of the question. You open your mouth and are stopped by someone pounding on the door. Gaz glances back at it and makes a decision. "Exit now," He orders you, and you nod quickly.

"There's a fire escape."

"Out you go doll," He tells you, "I'm right behind ya."

#cod x reader #x reader #x oc #cod x oc #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x oc #kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #gaz mw2 #gaz modern warfare #gaz cod #gaz x oc #f!reader #x f!reader #android!reader #cyberpunk au

[mockerycrow]

Lil late but imagine the cod men comforting you after a horrible closing shift (mines tomorrow)

They just pull you into a hug and give you a lil smooch on the forehead. They most likely already made you some dinner and if you dont wanna eat. Thats fine they'll put the plate away for later. They'd just spoil you for the rest of the night and help you fall asleep

Tomorrow (Gaz x GN!Reader)

gaz masterlist - crow’s mega masterlist

Summary: You had an awful closing shift as well as a streak of bad luck all day. You come home to your boyfriend.

A/N: I decided to do gaz for this,,, and i made it an entire fic because i love him so much <3 and this surprisingly isn’t self indulgent, i get real fuckin’ mad after bad shifts lol

[WARNINGS: Angst/comfort, mentions of harassment, minor violence, panic attacks/hyperventilation, dissociation, implied unsafe driving.]

Your chest felt too tight and your clothes were sticking slickly to your skin due to being drenched in whatever drink a customer had thrown at your head. Your temple throbs from the impact of the glass cup, and there’s small cuts littering all over your face—which they sting when your face curls in pain. You know driving home in this state was a horrible idea, but all you wanted was to get out of there and hide. You’re sitting in your driveway, your car still running—although in park—and you’re gripping your steering wheel so harshly your knuckles are turning lighter than your hands. You gasp desperately for a good gulp of fresh air, but fuck, you can’t breathe—all you can focus on is the sensation of the glass colliding with your face, the way you slipped not once, not twice, but three times, the way you were late to work, and how you got screamed at by a different customer for not getting their items in time, even though it was rush hour—

You sob before harshly sucking in air, and then you end up coughing as you inhaled not only air, but also spit. The overwhelming feelings that had built up are finally crashing down, and the waves won’t stop crashing. Your throat is silently begging you to stop inhaling so harshly, and but your lungs are louder with their demands as it feels like more and more pressure is being put on your ribs and chest—There’s a tapping on your driver side window and you hiccup, turning your head and through your tears, you make out the vague silhouette of your boyfriend, Kyle. He points downwards and your brain gets the message, your shaky fingers reaching out and pressing down on the unlock button. Without a moment of hesitation, Kyle pulls on the car handle, swinging open the car door. He steps closer to you, not yet touching you. “Hey- hey hey hey, love.. Take a breath for me, hm?” His soft and comforting voice filters through your muffled ears, and he’s safe, he’s safe—your hand comes shooting out and you grab onto his shirt, feeling the material. You sob again as you feel his warm arms wrap around your body, not caring about how your clothing is damp from work.

Your head spins as his hand gently comes up and cups the back of your head with such gentleness that you can’t help but feel as if he was sent from some prayer you made earlier in the week in the back room of your workplace. “Take a big breath for me, darling. It’s alright,” He repeats softly, his chest vibrating with every word. You hiccup and inhale sharply—it hurt your throat, but it’s a start. You don’t know if your heart or his that’s pounding in your ears, but you try to focus on it, anyway. Kyle hums softly as he strokes your head again, murmuring soft praises when you get a good, full, deep inhale in. “Mhm, just like that.. Do it again, yeah?” He encourages, his fingernails scratching up and down your damp shirt against your back—if goosebumps weren’t already raised from being cold, they would raise from his touch. Your lungs burn, but no longer screaming for air, just for some normal breathing patterns. Your sobs slowly slow down to sniffles and quiet wails, and your head is still light and floaty—it’s typical after what just happened. Your limbs feels exponentially heavier than before and you don’t notice Kyle pulling away or him cupping your face gently until you hear his voice quietly calling out for you.

Your eyes flutter open and it takes a moment for them to land and focus on Kyle; you notice he’s crouching down a bit to be on the same level as you. “Hey, you.” He murmurs, his thumb stroking across your cheekbone lovingly. “You with me, now?” You sniffle and shudder for a second before nodding—but you felt so tired. Kyle grabs one of your hands and his other hand supports your elbow. “Let’s get you inside and cleaned up, hm?” He hums, and you allow him to guide you out of your seat—he must’ve undone your seatbelt at one point. Or did you drive home without one on? You didn’t care to think about it anymore, not when you watch Kyle collect your belongings and your keys from the car, and watch him lock and arm the thing.

You blink for a moment—and you find yourself inside, stripped down to your underwear. You panic for just a moment, but then you blink, looking around and you spot Kyle rummaging around for some comfortable pajamas. You swallow some spit in an attempt to wet your throat. “Kyle?” You croak quietly, and his head whips around to look at you. “What is it?” He asks ever so gently, as if he’s ready to fetch whatever you would need. You take a moment to put the words together as your brain doesn’t want to cooperate, and you raise your hands to shakily wipe your face off. “Hug?” You whisper, your voice nearly giving out half way through your sentence. Kyle hums for a moment before plucking out a comfortable pair of pajama pants. “Just one moment, love, gotta get you some fresh clothes, hm?” He responds, only glancing away for a moment to see a shirt, and he takes it out of the door. He closes the drawers with the side of his body before he approaches you, and he puts the shirt on the bed whilst he still has the pants in his grip. Your eyes never leave him in some form—like he’ll disappear if you look away. “Got you some pants, sweetheart. Let’s get y’dressed.”

Your body feels numb—not in the “it feels so heavy and I can’t move it” numb, but you watch as Kyle’s fingers grasp yours arms and raise them so he can pull the shirt down onto you, but you don’t feel him touch you at all. And yet, you don’t seem to panic at this fact, either. Kyle keeps looking at you with a worried yet loving look as he helps you shuffle into some dry clothes. He kisses your forehead and you blink at him for a moment, processing what he was doing. You notice his lips moving, but you don’t hear a thing he said. “Pardon?” You whisper, your eyes scanning his face—from the way the corner of his lip twitches downwards when you ask him to repeat himself, to the way his forehead wrinkles when he furrows his eyebrows. You want to tell him to stop worrying so much, but it feels like it would take so much effort to do so. “I said I made dinner before you came home, are you in the mood to eat?”

You sit there for a moment and blankly process it—food? Food would probably do you some good, but you know it’ll only taste like nothing right now and feel like rubber, so you shake your head. Despite the cringing feeling of you opening your jaw to speak, you do so anyway. “Just..” You swallow some spit to continue speaking. “Don’t ask me what happened right now.” You pause for a moment before making eye contact. “Hold me?” Kyle’s heart breaks in his chest, his stomach tightening for a moment. Without a moments hesitation, he’s kicking off his shoes and untying his sweatpants—he tends to sleep in only a shirt and a pair of boxers, maybe just his underwear if it’s hot or he wants to feel you completely. He doesn’t say yes or no, but you already know his answer by the way he’s undressing. You feel your eyes burn as they fill with hot and salty tears; without hesitation, your beautiful boyfriend always knows what you need—it’s such a weird power he has, even when he’s away on base, if you’re feeling off? Your phone is ringing with a call from him. You always ask how, and he always replies, “I just know, sweetheart.” Kyle and you lay down on the bed, on top of the sheets. Your arms wrap around each other—so intertwined, just the way he likes it. Your hand comes up and you brush your finger against his cheek and he smiles bashfully at you, pressing a soft kiss against your forehead; and you know he’s got you. He always does.

“It’ll be a better day tomorrow.”

#call of duty #call of duty mwii #cod mw2 #cod #mw2022 #mw2 2022 #modern warfare ii #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x gn!reader #kyle garrick x gn!reader #kyle gaz garrick x gn!reader #gn!reader #gaz #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick #gaz <3 #gaz cod #gaz modern warfare #cod gaz #gaz mw2 #gaz call of duty #i love gaz #kyle gaz garrick x you #gaz x you #mw2 gaz #call of duty modern warfare #mwii gaz #gaz mwii

[ellieluvr420]

Friends? Never. Pt.11 (Ellie Williams x reader)

SYNOPSIS: You and Ellie had been bitter enemies for years now but before that you were best friends. You had always planned to be roommates one day but when that becomes a reality the situation isn't exactly how you both imagined it.

Your night had been rough, you thought you needed space from Ellie and in a way you did but all your mind was plagued with while trying to fall asleep on Lacey's sofa was how you craved to be in Ellie's arms, in Ellie's bed, at home. All you wanted was home so after a sleepless night filled with huffs and sighs and tossing and turning, you thanked Lacey and headed home as the sun was barely peeking up over the horizon.  

When you walked through your front door, shutting it quietly, you expected it to be quiet, silent even, you expected Ellie to be sleeping in her room but instead you hear the faint, nasally call of your name from the living room before Ellie's tired face pokes out from the doorway.  

"Hey babe." Your voice was laced with relief as the most genuine smile crept across both of your faces, she walked over to you sheepishly, barely making eye contact until you pull her into the tightest hug as you breath in the smell you had missed so dearly over the past night. "I'm sorry I left, I thought I needed space, but I was wrong, I missed you so much, I just didn’t know what I was feeling about Abby or how to deal with it.” You pause and note the silence accompanied by her sorrowful expression as you pull away and gaze at her. “Are you okay?" You speak as you lean back into her shoulder as you feel her body relax into you.  

"Yeah, of course." She pulls away looking dead into your eyes as if trying to see through them. "Are you?" 

"Better today." She pulls you into another hug, completely consuming your every thought and feeling.  

"I'm sorry." 

"Don't be, please, it's not your fault." You knew your reassurance would fall on deaf ears, but you didn't care, you'd say it until you could no longer speak. You feel light kisses being pressed to your neck, but it didn't feel sexual, it felt like she was trying to take the pain she knew you were feeling away with every kiss and in a way, it was working. You feel better now you're back with Ellie but for some reason your cheeks began to feel damp and your vision started to cloud, you couldn't understand why you were crying because she wasn't making you sad, she was making you happier, it didn't make sense, you sniff frustratedly and her head shoots away from your neck to look at your tear-streaked face.  

"What's going on babe? Do you want me to stop?" 

"No, no, I don't even know why I'm crying I'm being stupid." 

"You're not being stupid, you're never stupid. Come on let's go upstairs." You let her lead you upstairs and as you reach both your bedroom doors, she looks back at you. "Yours or mine?" 

"Yours, please." She nods and opens the door to her room, letting you inside and leading you straight to the bed where she holds you into her chest as she gently rubs your back. 

"Do you wanna talk about it?" 

"I don't really know what to say. She wanted to kill Joel, so she couldn't live but she had nothing, I just hated being the one to take the last thing from her." 

"I'm-" 

"Don't you dare apologise again, Ellie, I'm serious." You shut her up by pressing a soft kiss to her lips that turns sloppy but still tender as your body's press closer together until there's no space between either of you. Your legs entwine together as she slots one of her thighs between yours and rests the other atop, her chin resting on top of your head as you break from the kiss to catch your breath. You press your face into her neck and inhale deeply, you had missed her so much. She tightens her grip around you as you scratch at her scalp and peck at her neck repeatedly. “Ellie I’m so sorry I left; it wasn’t the right thing to do. I love you so much, you make everything better.” 

Ellie wasn’t sure why she was shocked, she knew in general it was quick to say ‘I love you’ but with all your history it didn’t feel quick at all and you had said you loved her yesterday but this time you had said it first, she felt her cheeks heat as a lump in her throat formed. She tried to will the tears away because she felt silly, she was so happy so why was she crying. You felt the subtle increasing heaving of her chest and you look up to see her cheeks shiny with tears, you pull away so you can face her as your bodies are still tangled together. “What’s up babe?” 

“Nothing, nothing, I’m just really happy. I love you so much.” She kisses your nose gently and you snuggle back into her knowing she’s okay.  

“We’re being so gross and sappy right now.” 

“I know I think I might vomit in a second.” You both giggle as you stay wrapped in each other’s arms, neither of you daring to move a muscle. You stay cuddled together until you both doze off basking in the warmth of the rising sun. 

When you woke, your body sticky with a layer of sweat that was no doubt from cuddling with Ellie despite the blistering heat, you noticed the absence of the auburn-haired girl, you surveyed the room and noticed the door was wide open and at the same time you hear a crash accompanied with a “FUCK.” that sounds like its coming from the kitchen. You jump out of bed and race down the stairs to be faced with Ellie covered in some sort of batter that was also splattered over the floor and cupboards, you notice the bowl on the floor that you assumed was the culprit of the crash you had heard.  

“Er what you up to babe?” She jumps and whips round to face you with a frustrated glare on her face as her eyes flick between you and the bowl on the floor. 

“Shit did I wake you up? I was gonna surprise you goddamit.” You smile and inch closer to her, further inspecting the mess she had made. “I was gonna make pancakes, but the bowl jumped off the counter and got shit everywhere.”  

“Mhm likely story. Do we have enough stuff to remake the batter?” 

“Yeah I think so.” 

“Well you go get yourself cleaned up while I sort out the mess the bowl made in here and then we can try again.” She smiles warmly at you playing along with her story despite the knowing quirk of your eyebrow as she walks past and kisses your cheek muttering a small ‘thanks’ before scooping some batter from her top on her finger and swiping it onto your nose with a mischievous giggle. “Ugh Ellie, go clean up you idiot.” 

“Okay, okay, I’m going.” She walks backwards with her hands up in a surrender gesture before she smacks straight into the wall with an ‘ooph’. “Don’t say a word.” You’re desperately trying to hold in your laugh as she walks out of the room, this time glancing at the position of the doorway while glaring at you. 

Once she’s left you get to work cleaning up the immense mess she had made as you wonder how on earth she actually managed this. You’re finishing cleaning the floor when Ellie walks in in fresh clothes. You stand as she walks over to you and wraps her arms around you, swaying you both gently, she had never been this clingy but the energy between you two had shifted, since you had come back from your walk with Abby, it had been different. 

Ellie had felt clarity in her mind for the first since since she can remember as you walked through the door last night, even looking at your sullen face and after your night apart, she understood your devotion to her and her happiness, it only strengthened the love she already knew she felt for you but it made her determined to make your actions not in vain. You executed Abby because you wanted to give her time to fix her relationship with Joel, she had to do that for you, she at least owed you that. She’d forever be in your debt, and she was happy that way, she always would be. 

“Come on you, we’ve got pancakes to make me.” 

“Hey they’re not all for you you know.” 

“Well duh... you can have the leftovers.” 

“Gee thanks.” 

“That’s what you get for waking me up.” 

“Wait, did I actually?” 

“No but still, make me pancakes.” She rolls her eyes before going back to the cupboards to get all the ingredients out for the second time this morning as you watch her back and arm muscles ripple under the tank top she had changed into. You’re basically drooling as she turns around with a knowing look at your ogling.  

“Like the view?” 

“Oh yeah.” You saunter over to her as she turns back to the counter to start weighing out the ingredients and as you pinch her ass cheek she jumps and scowls at you. “What? You can’t blame me. Your ass is so cute.” 

“Shut up.” She pours the flour into the bowl and goes completely over the amount that she was supposed to put in as the scales mock her displaying the weight of the flour. “Hm good enough.” 

“No Ellie take some out.” 

“Fine.” She takes a large pinch and throws it straight at you as you stand there dumbfounded.  

“Are you fucking serious?” 

“Oh shit there’s a hair in the flour, I think it’s one of yours.” 

“Ellie that is a short red hair, that is obviously yours.” She just shrugs before leaning over the bowl and blowing at the hair but the flour just explodes onto her face which sends her stumbling away as she coughs and splutters, you can barely stand you’re laughing so hard as she goes to the sink to wash the flour off her face. When she turns back to look at you with a grumpy expression, hair stuck to her damp forehead you can’t help but smile at the sight, when you had moments like this with her it only reminded you of your childhood friendship and how pure it had been before everything, the nostalgia warmed you and you beckoned her over to help you continue making the batter. 

Somehow you both managed to make a few pancakes each, yours looking considerably better than Ellie’s and as you watched her finish the last bite of the sort of pancakes-sort of pile of pancake mush that was created when she tried and failed every time to flip her pancakes in the pan you couldn’t help but reach over and swipe a little bit of syrup that had collected on the corner of her lip with your thumb before popping it into your mouth with a devilish grin as you both make eye contact. Her cheeks turn rosy and she gulps before standing and taking both your plates to the sink, she goes to leave them there but the look on your face sends her straight back to the sink to start washing them up, you giggle and grab the towel hung over the handle of the oven to start drying the dishes she was putting on the draining board, you watch her hands as the veins flex with her movements only to be interrupted by Ellie bumping you with her hip. You bump her back and she stumbles slightly which leads her to bump you back harder this time, you stumble to the side and catch your foot on her chair that she hadn’t pushed back under the table and go crashing to the floor. She rushes over to you, her hands still soaking wet, in fits of laughter as she pulls you up. 

“Oh my god I’m sorry I didn’t mean to do that... Are you okay?” There are tears falling down her cheeks as she fails to control her hysterical laughter, it’s so infectious that you can’t help but giggle along with her. “Go put a movie on, I’ll finish up in here.” You assume that’s her way of apologising for your tumble and as you walk past the chair you had tripped, you loudly push it into the table as you glare at her sheepish face. 

Ellie finishes tidying up... to her standard and joins you in the living room only to find you kneeling at the record player and flipping through the collection of vinyl's you had both amassed over the years. She watches as you pull out the Crooked Stills album ‘shaken by a low sound’ and place the needle so it plays your favourite song on the album ‘ain’t no grave’. 

“Oh I love this one.” Ellie exclaims from behind you as the melody starts to fill the room. 

“Me too.” You hold out your hand to her and she takes it before spinning you round and pressing her front to your back and swaying you both as her hands find their place on your hips and her head rests on your shoulder. You stay swaying until she spins you out again causing a giggle to erupt from your lip. 

“Babe watch this.” Is all you hear before you see her start doing a poor imitation of a robot dancing. You watch with a confused look on your face before she huffs. “It’s a robot dance... whatever Joel does it better.” 

“I hope so.” 

“Shut up you.” As she says this, the song switches to ‘ecstasy’ which is the song that had played at the tipsy bison that night where you danced together. Your cheeks heat as you remember what had happened that night and the guilt threatens to consume you once again but her hands on your cheeks ground you and bring you back to reality. “Let’s make a different memory to this song hm.” She presses a light kiss to your lips and pulls you into her by your waist as you wrap your arms around her neck. You dance together until the song finishes and the warmth throughout your body feels like its radiating a glow around you.  

The day had been perfect and now you and Ellie were snuggled up on the sofa watching another Jurassic Park film that Ellie had begged to put on when there’s a knock at the door. You both look at each other quizzically as neither of you were expecting guests, let alone at this time of night. 

“Stay here, I’ll get it.” Ellie says before jumping up and walking to the door. You pause the film to listen to whoever was at the door. 

“Oh, hey Dina, what’s up?” 

“A bunch of us are sneaking out to go party, there’s a campfire by the lake. Thought you might wanna come.” 

“Oh errrr...” She looks back in the direction of the living room as she scratches at the back of her neck. 

“Oh come on Ellie, there’s booze and me and Jesse raided Eugene’s growhouse so there’s a butt-ton of weed too.” 

“Oh well then we have to go.” You add enthusiastically as you pop up next to Ellie and grab onto her arm that was nearest you. Dina quirks an eyebrow at Ellie but she completely misses it as she’s too busy gazing at your excited face like you put the sun and stars in the sky. 

“Yeah, I guess we’ll come, when’s it starting?” 

“Well I’m heading over now but you guys can come whenever.” 

“Yeah okay, we’ll get ready now and meet you there.” 

“Cool... See ya.” Dina shoots Ellie one last strange look that she catches this time before turning on her heel and walking away. You squeal and run off to find an outfit as she bids goodbye to the cosy night in she was very ready for but she just couldn’t say no to you. 

When you’re both finally ready, you start the short walk to the north-west side gate, one of the perks of living right on the outskirts and Ellie observes as you nimbly pick the lock before you both slip out to freedom. 

As you approach the campfire you take note of the group of about twenty people, some chatting, some dancing but no one looked particularly sober even from a distance. The smell of weed hits you as you get closer and you notice the audible sniff from Ellie before a small sigh. You go to grab her hand and hold it in yours but you stop yourself as you realise you’re in public. You don’t know why that stops you but it does.  

The night was fun, you had drank and smoked a bit and you were dancing with Dina as Jesse and Ellie watched while they chatted until Jonah calls everyone over for a game of truth or dare.  

“Seriously Jonah? Are you twelve?” 

“Shut up Dina you know you want to play. We’ll spin the bottle to see whose go it is and if the two people who went before you both say truth you have to do a dare. Got it?” Everyone nods as they take their places in the circle and the game commences. There had already been multiple rounds before two people in a row say truth which means whoever goes next has to do a dare. You aren’t even shocked when the bottle lands on you, somehow you just expected it but what you didn’t expect was to be dared to kiss anyone in the group by Dina. You shoot Dina a look that she laughs at smugly, you knew what she was doing, and you weren’t even mad. Without a beat you crawl over to Ellie that was sitting a couple people away from you before clambering into her lap and holding her crimson-painted cheeks. She looks at you like a deer in headlights which mimics the look on everyone else’s faces at your open display of affection. You press your lips to hers passionately and swipe your tongue over her bottom lip, as she grants it entrance into her mouth, she wraps her arms around your waist and pulls you into her. You almost get lost in the heat of the kiss until you hear gasps and whooping which prompts you both to pull away and avert eye contact from everyone whose eyes were glued to you both. You press a quick kiss to her cheek and whisper in her ear: “That was hot babe” before climbing off of her and crawling back to your original position. 

Everyone moves on pretty quickly and the game continues until eventually everyone is too tired or intoxicated to continue and the numbers dwindle until Dina and Jesse say their goodbyes and it’s just you and Ellie left. You climb onto her the second Dina and Jesse are out of view and start kissing up her neck as you push the flannel she was wearing off her shoulders. You sit up and whip your top off before standing and kicking your bottoms off. You grin and remove your underwear until you’re standing before her completely naked as she watches in awe. “Race you.” You mutter before running to the lake.  

“Wait, that’s not fair.” She rushes to take off the rest of her clothes before running at the lake and cannonballing into it where you were floating and waiting for her. She swims up to meet you and takes you in her arms as you wrap your legs around her waist and kiss her forehead.  

“I had the best day El, thank you.” 

“Me too babe.” 

You both stay like that enjoying the cool of the water under the silver moonlight until you notice the subtle shiver of Ellie’s body and the blue tint of her lips so you drag Ellie out of the water and back home to warm up together cuddled up in bed. 

tags: @emiliabby @readbydayana @radioheadfan699 @isitadinosaur @lil-elliesgf @amberputh

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