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corazondebeskar-reads · 5 months

Text

the art of breaking (dark!joel miller x f!reader; dead dove do not eat)

very dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 10k

Summary: Your meeting is happenstance, but everything that follows? Well, that’s all Joel. He just knows you’re going to be his perfect little toy. He just has to show you how.

written for the #deaddovedecember2023 event hosted by @romana-after-dark | also on ao3 | dedicating this to @kewwrites, who is a master and icon of unsettling-but-still-romantic dark fic & whose incredible vibes made me feel brave enough to write this. love you ty 🖤

dividers by @saradika-graphics

NOTE: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

Seriously, I am saying this as clearly as I can: read the warnings carefully. If anything listed is something you don’t want to read, don’t. The working title for this was “the darkest joel” for a reason (and I actually tamed it down/cut out some of the intense scenes). It’s modern-day/no outbreak, but Joel still lost Sarah and went off the deep end. He was probably a good dom at some point, but now he’s just fucked up.

If you're worried it'll be too dark, it probably will be.

Warnings under the cut:

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, non-con, dub-con, very dark!Joel, BAD bdsm etiquette, not SSC/RACK compliant, sadist!Joel x masochist!reader, coercion, corruption, manipulation, isolation, gaslighting, captivity, sadism, masochism, pain play, extreme punishment, semi-permanent damage (a bone is broken, I’m not fucking around), whipping, spanking, face slapping, tit slapping, impact play in general, mentions of vomit (no description), oral, anal, vaginal, degradation, humiliation, overstimulation, edging, denial, dacryphilia, bastinado (mentioned), restraints, very brief knifeplay, tiny drop of blood play, Joel sees reader as property, inadequate aftercare

Again, I cannot say this enough. This is a dark fantasy and should not be taken as representative of a good d/s relationship—it’s abuse masquerading. Just because I wrote it doesn’t mean I’m condoning it.

Please read responsibly.

I. in media res

-the fracture

There’s one comfort Joel almost never denies you.

Well, never denies himself.

Unless you’ve been real bad, you always take your place in bed with him at the end of the day. You think it’s so he has easy access to you if he wakes up horny, but honestly, that happens a lot less than expected. He works hard all day; he needs his sleep.

No, he likes the comfort of your warm body next to his. The way you curl up and press kisses to him, no matter how bad he hurt you during the day. His sweet little pet, desperate for every bit of his affection you can earn. He’s always gentle with you here.

It’s part of what makes The Pit so effective.

It fucks with your brain on so many levels, exposes you to so many fears, and then you have to reconcile that you were bad enough for Joel to deny himself the comfort of you in his arms at night. That you’re so undeserving of his love.

Of all of the ways he punishes you, this will be the worst. You can take the humiliation, the pain—not easily, but you can, and there’s usually immediate care after.

But a night in The Pit will tear you down completely.

You hadn’t known what to expect when he said you’d have to spend the night alone, but it wasn’t this.

“No, please,” you scream, stumbling to keep up as Joel pulls you by your hair.

“Shut up,” he snarls.

The soil is loose, clinging to your sweat as you try to right yourself. It’s a futile effort. When you reach The Pit, he holds you down with his boot on your chest while he unlocks and opens the bars.

“Get in,” he says.

You’re sobbing and shaking, skin already gone cold. Somehow, you manage to obey.

The Pit is exactly what it sounds like. It has an open wooden frame with mesh on the side walls to keep the dirt in place. The bottom is bare soil. Mounted to the top of the beams is a grate of bars that sit flush with the ground.

It’s big enough for you to curl up at the bottom—which is what you do now.

“I’m sorry,” you cry.

He shuts and locks the gate.

II. from the start

-intact

It was kismet, really, that he was there that night. He didn’t usually go out for drinks with the guys, not wanting to be the boss who was always cramping their style. But Tommy had dragged him out tonight, and so he was witness (with the rest of the pub) to your relationship falling apart.

And okay, maybe he went outside for a smoke after you moved the fight to the alley so he could eavesdrop. But it wasn’t his fault. How could he not?

You had said, “Maybe you’re just not man enough for me,” to the brawny but pathetic prick across from you in the booth. “Wanting you to be rough doesn’t make me a freak.”

“That’s not rough; that’s fuckin’ abuse. You’re sick,” your boyfriend had practically shouted.

The discussion evolved into a screaming match in the alley, where Joel had been pleased to be right. It was about more than just a little rough sex or spanking.

At the end of it, your boyfriend stormed off, and you went back in the pub. Joel found you at the bar, throwing back another shot and wiping your tears away.

“You did good back there,” he says.

You startle and look at the stranger. The very handsome stranger. Rugged, with a salt and pepper beard and a scar across his nose.

“What do you mean?”

“Standin’ up for yourself. Not a lot of people woulda been confident enough. ‘Specially not a girl lookin’ for that.”

You glare at the bar counter. “M’not a weirdo.”

“Nah, you’re not. Shit like that is perfectly normal. He’s just pathetic.”

You look back up at him, and he sticks one hand in his pocket, trying to adjust himself discreetly. The tear streaks on your cheeks are getting to him.

“I don’t know. He’s probably right. It’s not your garden variety shit,” you say. The tequila and his gentle eyes have loosened your tongue.

“I doubt that. Try me,” he says.

“What?”

“Try me. Tell me what he freaked out over, and I’ll tell ya if it’s weird. Trust me, I’ve seen it all.”

You hesitate, but he looks genuine and kind. “I asked him to hit me. Like, in the face. And to, y’know, pin me down and—” you trail off.

“And make ya take it?” he guesses.

You nod. “He thought I like, I dunno, actually wanted to be raped,” you whisper the last word, eyes darting to the people around you.

Joel laughs. “Honey, that’s so normal, you wouldn’t believe. I’ve helped ladies out with that little roleplay more times than I can count. If that’s your deepest, darkest fantasy, and he couldn’t take it, then you’re better off without him.”

“It’s not,” you mumble.

“Speak up, honey.”

“It’s not my deepest, darkest fantasy. It’s probably one of the least of them.”

He grins. “Then you’re definitely better off. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with likin’ things on the darker side, sweetheart.”

You’re feeling hot all over and are about to ask him more when your phone rings. It’s your idiot boyfriend, who’s realized you have the car keys.

“I better go. Thank you,” you say, standing and offering him your hand.

He gives it a firm shake, tipping his head. “I’m Joel. And if you’re ever so inclined, I’d like to take you out sometime.”

You laugh. “Let me break up with my boyfriend first, Joel.” But you dig a pen out of your purse and write your number on one of the tiny bar napkins.

Your first date was so normal. You’re not sure what you expected. To jump right to hardcore sex?

But no, he turns up at your door in a neatly pressed green button-up, black slacks, and an ostentatious belt buckle. He greets you with a kiss on the cheek and a bouquet of wildflowers, lavender stalks nestled between pink honeysuckle and red salvia. Not a traditional arrangement, but it reminds you of a summer sunset.

“From my garden,” he says a little sheepishly, but you like them a lot better than some generic store display. You tell him as much and his cheeks flush a little.

You return the kiss and pop the flowers in a vase of water before he sweeps you off in his pickup. You aren’t surprised, really, but it’s more charming than some of the other men and their gaudy trucks.

Joel’s is older but well-kept, with minimal rusting around the wheel wells. The bed is open, and you can see streaks of grease and paint spills. A silver tool chest is mounted against the back of the cab. Everything inside and out has a light coating of sawdust.

He isn’t some insecure man with a truck big enough to make up for what isn’t in his britches, that’s for certain. You’d hazard a guess that the corded muscle of his forearms and the breadth of his shoulders are well-earned.

He holds the door open for you, which you tease him for as you slide onto the truck’s bench seat.

“Ain’t doin’ it ‘cause you’re incapable,” he drawls. “Or because you’re a lady,” he adds when he sees the glint in your eye.

“Oh yeah, cowboy?”

His grin is lopsided, a little dark. “Nah. I just think you deserve to be taken care of, s’all.”

You flush, the back of your neck burning, but you don’t fight the smile that threatens to break out. “Thank you, Joel.”

He shakes his head. He’s pretty sure, now, that if he plays his cards right, he’s found somethin’ special.

He waits three whole dates to take you to bed, and even then, it doesn’t start dirty.

“Let me get to know your body first, baby,” he urges when you ask him to fuck you rough. Instead, he takes you apart piece by piece. First with his tongue, and then his fingers. He brings you to the edge over and over, but never lets you fall.

After a while, you’re a broken record, pleas and sobs spilling from you.

“That’s music to my ears, darlin’,” he says, pulling his fingers out abruptly to see how your cunt throbs for him. He spits on your clit and watches it drip down to join the mess between your thighs.

“Please, please, Joel,” you beg.

“Please who now?”

“Please, sir,” you try, and are rewarded with his sharp grin. But not with an orgasm.

He slaps your cunt. “That’s more like it, baby. You remember who you’re talkin’ to, alright?”

You nod. “Yes, sir; thank you, sir.”

He shakes his head, sucking on your clit for a moment before pulling back to get a good look at you. “You do like a little pain, huh?”

“Would like more,” you say.

“Oh yeah? What would you let me do to you?”

“Anything, please, sir.”

He clicks his tongue at you. “Don’t go sayin’ that to someone you barely know. It’s okay to mean it when you trust somebody, but you’re gonna end up in more trouble than you bargain for if you pass that out like candy.”

“I do mean it.”

“Yeah? You’ll let me do this?” His open palm smacks across your face, leaving a sting tingling on your cheek and a lightness to your brain.

Tears spring to your eyes, but you nod frantically.

“What about this?” he grabs a nipple in his calloused fingers and yanks, twisting.

You yelp, but it trails off to a moan, and you nod.

“Goddamn, baby. S’good. But what about this?” He flicks open the switchblade he keeps in his pocket.

You jerk and whine, eyes wide and wet as he brings it to your breast. Your breathing falls shallow as you try to hold still, the point scraping the delicate skin as he circles it. But the look you’re giving him almost has him cumming in his pants like he were twenty years younger.

“Fuck, you weren’t kidding. I mean, you’ve gotta have limits; everyone does. But you just want me to hurt you, huh?” He digs the tip of the blade in a little on the side of your breast, cock throbbing as you gasp, and you both watch a tiny drop of blood bead and trickle down the blade.

He puts it away. “No,” he says when you whimper. “Not today. I ain’t prepared for all that.”

Joel doesn’t like to break his toys. Not permanently. Just enough that he can put them back together how he likes and then do it all over again.

“Don’t need to be prepared; just do it,” you whine.

He slaps you again and wrenches your head up with a hand in your hair. “First of all, I fuckin’ told you no. Second, I know you want to be a stupid little cunt for me, but I’m not about to cut you open without any goddamn first aid shit.”

He leans back and smacks the breast he had cut. He hits you over and over, alternating sides, until your chest burns, and you’re sobbing.

He looks you over briefly and then shoves his hand between your thighs. “You’re wetter than a slip ‘n slide, baby.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says, and wipes the tears from your cheek with his thumb. He feels your cunt twitch when he brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks it clean.

It’s the last straw for him. He’s not opened you enough, but he has a feeling you’ll like it better this way anyway.

You cry out, back arching when he shoves into you. He meant to go slow, he really did, if only to drag out the anticipation. But you’re so warm. So wet. So he just stuffs himself inside.

It’s not that he doesn’t believe you love the pain; it’s just that he can’t resist feeling the evidence for himself. He slaps you across the face while you’re still processing his cock, and the resulting clench and jerk of your body drag a moan from him.

He holds back, regulates his urge to pull each whimper and scream from you, but it’s still so fucking good. It’s been a long time since he’s doled out real cruelty to a slut like you who loves to suffer.

When he finally lets you cum, it’s when he’s about to. He pulls out and spanks your cunt, granting his permission. As your pussy flutters desperately around nothing, he cums on it, watching the way it gets prettier as he paints it.

You black out for a minute. When you come to, he’s wiping you down gently with a warm washcloth, wicking the sweat off your face and chest before cleaning his cum from your curls. You whimper, and he grins, leaning over to steal a kiss.

Even after that first night, he goes slow. He can’t scare ya, not while you still have someplace to run. Plus, it’s so much easier if he starts planting the seeds for your training now.

He knows you’ll beg for it, anyway. He’s been getting the nastiest text messages from you. Part of it is the dopamine; he’s not stupid. But part of you really wants this shit. And the rest? Well. You’ll get there.

It’s the little things. He orders you a black decaf at the drive-thru when you ask for a latte. You start to correct him, like you think he’s made a mistake, but he gives you a look, and you shut your mouth immediately.

When he pulls away from the speaker, you look over at him again. “Sorry,” you mumble.

“Sorry…?”

You squirm a little, heart pounding, unsure if he’s really doing this at the Dunkin’ Donuts. “Sorry, sir.”

He smiles and rubs his hand on your thigh where it peeks out from your skirt. “Thanks, baby.”

And that’s all it takes. You take the cup when he hands it to you and you’re quick to say, “Thank you, sir,” even though the kid at the window is still passing things through to Joel and can clearly hear you.

-fissured

It goes on like that for a couple of months, but it doesn’t all go so smoothly. One night, he picks you up from work and takes you to a restaurant, saying he wants to treat you. Halfway through the meal, he asks for your panties.

“What?” you say, shocked at his vulgar language in the dining room.

“Take ‘em off and hand ‘em to me.”

You go to stand, probably thinking you can go to the bathroom to obey.

He shakes his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Right here, right now, baby.”

“Joel,” you hiss, sitting back down, “I can’t do that.”

He fixes you with a calm smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, raising one finger in the air. “I’ll give ya three choices. The first one, the one I’m going to advise you pick, is that you do it right now, and I’ll only punish ya for talkin’ back.”

“The second one,” he holds up another finger for emphasis, “is you can go to the bathroom to take ‘em off, but you’re gonna pay for it when we get home. The third one is where you don’t listen, we leave right now, and you learn to fuckin’ regret it.”

Your breathing is shallow, and your pretty eyes are shining. If he wasn’t fully hard before, he is now.

“I-I can’t,” you whimper. “Please, sir.”

“You got about thirty seconds to make up your mind.” The softness is gone—from his voice, from his face, from the set of his shoulders.

“Fuck,” you whisper, and you stand up. You’re only in the bathroom for a minute, and when you sit back down, you try to hand them to him under the table.

“Nah, that was only a choice if you were good,” he says, smirking and laying his expectant hand on the white linens.

Mortified, you ball them up tight in your fist and press them into his hand. He slides them into his pants pocket.

He doesn’t say anything else about it for the rest of dinner, asking instead about your projects at work and your visit with your parents over the holidays. You feel sick, barely eating a thing, and biting your lip to stave off the tears.

As soon as you’re in the truck, you start to cry. “I’m sorry, I was just scared and—”

“Shut up. You made your choice. You’re not sorry. You’re just afraid of the consequences.”

“N-no, I am sorry, I mean it.”

“You’re gonna have to prove it.” He doesn’t look at you on the drive home, doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t even turn the radio on; just listens to you sniffle.

When he parks, he sets his hand on your thigh. “Don’t worry, baby. I know you can be my good girl. All you gotta do is take your punishment and learn from it, okay?”

You sniffle again and nod, blinking through tear-laden lashes at him.

“So pretty when you cry for me,” he murmurs. He gets out and comes around to open your door, offering a hand to help you step down from the tall truck. You take it, and he holds on, leading you inside his house.

He sits sprawled on the couch, thighs parted wide to make room and waits until you’re comfortably kneeling between his legs. You’re sat in silence, head bowed, arms folded behind your back.

“Tell me what you did wrong today.”

This is a first, but not a last. Even on days when nothing egregious has happened, you will follow this ritual. He’ll ask for your sins, and you’ll confess. There will always be something you’ll owe him for.

“I argued when you gave me orders. I was disobedient.”

“Anything else I need to know about, baby?”

“No, sir.”

“Why’d you argue?”

“I was afraid. I’m sorry.”

“Save your grovelin’ for after, baby. Why were you afraid?”

“I didn’t want people to see. I didn’t want to get kicked out or arrested.”

“You think I’d let anything happen to you? You think I would have given you an order that put either of us at any kinda risk?”

Your face burns. “I—”

“I thought you trusted me.” He sounds hurt, and you’re a little nauseous when you look up to see his eyes wide and sad, lips turned into a wounded scowl.

Your shoulders slump. “I didn’t think. I panicked.”

“Hmm. Okay, I can work with that.”

You look up at him, brow scrunched and lips pouting as you try to parse his words.

He smiles. It’s cold, and his eyes are steel.

You swallow hard, and his grin widens, quirking into a smirk.

“Alright, baby. I got just the thing.”

He leads you into the ensuite. You kneel on the little rug by the tub while he fills it. You’re too afraid to ask what’s happening, so you just sit quietly. He leaves the room and doesn’t come back until the tub is nearly full, and you’re starting to worry that you were supposed to be monitoring it.

He comes back in, and once it’s nearing the lip of the tub, he turns off the faucet. He has you kneel on the top of the three steps leading up to the edge. It’s the most luxurious thing in this house, and you suspect he installed it custom so he could soak his aching muscles.

He bends you over the edge so you’re leaning close to the water and crouches down behind you. It’s a pleasant surprise when he spreads you wide and licks from your clit to your asshole.

He stays there for a few minutes, indulging in your wet cunt and the cries it draws from your lips. After he’s had his fill, he stands up and lubes up his cock before pushing his way into your ass. He’s generous with the lube but rarely preps you, since you both like it better when it hurts.

You’re writhing a little beneath him, wriggling your hips to try to ease the passage. Once he’s fully seated inside you, he grabs the back of your head and shoves it under the water before fucking hard into you.

You thrash, displacing water from the tub, until he yanks you back up.

You gasp for air and scrabble to get a grip on the wet tile, but he pushes you back down and groans at how tight you get while you’re struggling.

He pulls you roughly back up. “Gonna keep going until you stop makin’ a fuss.”

You go to protest, to panic, and he pushes you back down.

The next time he pulls you out, he spanks you until your skin is burning. “Fuckin’ trust me. You think I’m gonna let you drown?”

“No, sir,” you cry, but it’s garbled as he pushes you back down. You’re still fighting him each time.

He pulls you back out and repeats the beating. “Relax, or we’re gonna be here all night.”

He continues the process a few more times and then gives you a reprieve, letting go of your hair so you can rest your cheek against the cold edge of the tub while he pounds into you. He reaches and rubs featherlight circles around your clit until you’re softly moaning.

“You gonna trust me?”

“I’m trying, my body panics,” you pant.

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to ya. You hear me? You know you’re panicking, so focus on me instead.”

“Yes, sir.”

It shouldn’t make sense, but you think he’s long warped your brain anyway. The next time he pushes you underwater, you clench your fists tight and focus on what oxygen you do have, even if he knocks a little out with each thrust.

His hand in your hair is your anchor and buoy. You tense when you feel your body start to jerk, trying so hard to control it.

He pulls you up. “Just like that, baby. Again.”

It gets just a little easier each time. He leaves you under longer, until your lungs are burning, and you’re on the edge of gasping in water, but he pulls you out in time.

“Fuck, you’re doing so well.” He’s a little fascinated. He hadn’t really been sure it could be done or if your survival instincts would go into a frenzy. But here you are, letting him almost fucking drown you.

Not that he would.

Despite being balls deep in your tight little asshole, he isn’t trying to reach his orgasm. Not yet, staving off his pleasure so he can keep a clear head.

He keeps it up just a little longer. You’re getting tired and tolerating less and less time underwater. The last time he pulls you up, he pinches your clit and tells you to cum while he fills you.

He dunks you again while you cum, and you clamp down on him tighter than you have before, convulsing on his cock. When he pulls you back up, you’re gasping and sobbing. He pulls out and wraps you in a towel, easing you to the wet floor while he cleans up.

When he comes back to you, he helps you stand and dry off, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“So?”

Your brow furrows. It’s not what he usually asks after a punishment, but you think you know what he means. “I’m sorry. I trust you, I promise.”

“I know. M’so proud of you for taking that. You’re turning out so nicely, sweet thing.”

In the morning, you’re almost late to work after sucking him off when you should have been getting dressed. He’s about to walk out the door to head to the site when he hears your frustrated voice from the bedroom.

“Joel, where are my underwear? I need to fuckin’ leave.”

“I told you, baby. There was a price to pay when you picked the bathroom. Y’ain’t wearing ‘em anymore.”

“What?”

He doesn’t need to see you to smirk at the shocked expression he knows is on your face. “We’ll talk about it more tonight; I gotta run.”

-avulsed

“Y’know, baby,” Joel says, leaning forward to rub your shoulder. “They just don’t fuckin’ appreciate you.”

You’re bent over, elbows on your knees, crying with your face buried in your hands. You sit up and sniffle, wiping the tears. “It’s fine; it’s not like I need to be coddled at work.”

All the stress of the PR world is getting to you, and you hate it, you fucking hate it, but you dropped 50k on a degree, so now you’re stuck.

“But they make you work all this overtime, cut your team in half, and then berate you when you can’t meet the client’s deadline? You do not deserve that, baby.”

You let him coax you into his lap, facing him so you can bury your face in his soft, worn tee. He rubs your back and holds your head to his chest.

“You’re too good to me,” you mumble.

“Nah, darlin’, I’ve told ya a thousand times. You deserve to be taken care of.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I, well. I was thinkin’...”

You wait, but when he doesn’t pick back up, you sit up and look at him.

“I dunno. It’s nothin’,” he says.

“Please tell me?”

“Alright, fine. Now, I don’t want ya to feel any pressure. It’s just a thought. But maybe you should just quit and stay with me a while, ‘till you can find something better?”

You can’t tell if he’s joking. He must see something on your face, because he tips your chin up so you’re looking into his eyes.

“I know it’s sudden, but I mean it. Let me take care of ya while you figure shit out. We don’t gotta treat it like living together if y’ain’t ready. But I’d be open to that conversation, too.”

It doesn’t take much more than that. The first couple weeks, he lets you give it a try—searching for new degree programs, applying for jobs you know you’re overqualified for just to try something different.

After nothing pans out, he suggests you both take a week off. Him from work and you from the burden of trying to escape unemployment. Just relax, like a little staycation.

It’s bliss. You go on dates, eat pizza and marathon the “Jurassic Park” movies, and fuck like crazy.

On the third night, he sits you down. On his cock, of course. While you’re bouncing and brainless, he cups your cheek. “Baby, you’ve been too damn stressed still. What if we… well, what if we tried out a day or two like we’ve been talking about?”

Sometimes, you whisper to him in the darkness, usually while he’s balls deep, how you wish you could be his all the time. His good girl. His pet. And he whispers back, lures you right in with promises of taking care of everything, of you not having a worry or care in the world. Just him.

Now, he fondles your tits while he murmurs to you. “We can just wake up together, and I can take care of ya. Everything you need, baby. All you’d have to do is be good for me, yeah?”

You moan and grind down harder on his cock. “Please, sir. I want it more than anything. Just to be yours.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

Joel had no patience for brats, so he usually broke his toys in sooner into the training process. He liked ‘em nice and obedient—scared, if that’s what it took, but devoted. But you had been from the start—you wanted to be good in all the ways you could never seem to be to other people. Your family, your job, the world seemed to just demand more and more.

Joel was the first person to make you feel like you had actually, really, truly pleased him. There wasn’t a higher mark you should have made. There wasn’t any expectation for you to give more and more.

His orders were complete, always. You learned that very quickly. Attempts to go above and beyond were rebuked.

“If I wanted that, I woulda said so,” he told you. And like everything else, you committed his words to memory.

It helped that he gave praise freely. You didn’t have to wonder if he was satisfied, if you should have licked him differently, if you should have made prettier faces while you came. He reassured you until you believed him, and then kept going anyway.

It made it easier for him to slowly peel you away from the ungrateful world.

“You don’t have to take that,” he’d say after watching your face fall further and further while on the phone with your mom. “Family ain’t supposed to make you feel like shit.”

They made it too easy, really, and your relationship with them would have likely just fizzled out. But in the end, he had to step in and snap it off.

You asked him to come with you to dinner at their house. He was hesitant. He wasn’t really the boyfriend type. He wasn’t really even your boyfriend. That was too weird a word for either of you, not when he owned you.

But he knows you didn’t want to go alone, and he has a feeling he’ll be cleaning up the mess anyway.

You want to give them a chance. Things have been so tense, and they said they missed you. But they didn’t even make it through the entrée without ridiculing you.

When your father asks how work is going, you quietly confess to quitting, hastily reassuring them that you are looking for a new position. Though, and you keep this part to yourself, you maybe haven’t been trying that hard.

“What do you mean you quit? How are you paying your bills? You better not have come here to ask for money,” your father says, setting down his fork to glare at you.

“Well, I’ve been living with Joel,” you mumble to the tablecloth.

“I didn’t raise you to be a gold digger,” your mother chides.

Joel tries to bite his tongue and let them dig their own graves. But your father calls you a “fucking whore,” and he can’t stand it. Can’t stand the way you’re cowering in your chair, fighting back tears.

“You watch your mouth,” Joel snaps at your father.

You look up, mouth agape, eyes darting from Joel to your parents.

“Mind your business,” your dad tells him.

Joel stands up and throws his napkin on the table. “She is my fuckin’ business. I wouldn’t stand by and let anyone talk to her like that. You’re not an exception just because you managed to get it up long enough to cum in your wife.”

“Joel,” you whisper, tugging at his sleeve. You’re burning, melting on the spot, from the vulgar way he’s talking to them. For him, someone who’s always strict about manners and proper hospitality, to talk back like this? God, you think, he must really love you.

He puts a hand on the back of your neck and holds firmly as you lean into it. He rounds back on your parents. “You treat her like fuckin’ dirt beneath your feet, and I’m tired of it. You don’t deserve the fuckin’ dirt beneath her feet.”

He shoves his chair back and grabs your hand. “C’mon, baby; we’re leaving.”

You take it and stand up, letting him pull you along. Your father follows you into the foyer, and you try not to look at him while you shove your shoes on.

Joel holds your coat out while you slip into it, and you tune out whatever your dad is yelling now. You don’t want to hear it; you know it’s nasty, and your whole world has narrowed to Joel anyway.

He holds out the key. “Go wait in the truck, baby.”

And you do.

He comes out about five minutes later, red-faced and huffing with fury. He doesn’t say a word when he gets in; just throws the truck into reverse and pulls away. You both ignore the blood on his knuckles.

Once you’re on the road, he looks over at you and sighs. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

You unbuckle and slide over to the middle seat, tucking your hand between his warm body to curl around his arm. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Whaddya sorry for? None of that was your fault.” He kisses the top of your head and cups your cheek at the stoplight. “It was gonna happen eventually, anyway.”

“Thank you.”

The rest of the ride home is silent while you breathe in his comforting musk and try to relax. But the tension is unrelenting, the horrible rotting feeling eating away at your spine.

He knows. Knows what you need, knows what he can do to seal this moment forever. He waits until he’s unzipping the pretty little cocktail dress you’d stressed over.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, breaking away from where he was sucking his claim down your neck to swap out your delicate necklace with his collar.

He unhooks the bra and kisses the marks he left behind with the cane, your penance for being allowed to wear it. It leaves you bare to him, and his hands turn greedy. He presses biting kisses against your lips while digging fingers into your bruises, swallowing your whimpers.

He grabs you by the neck and squeezes the sides of your throat, holding you to him while your vision blurs. When he lets go, you stumble, but his arm around your back holds you upright. He slaps your face with quick, sharp blows in rapid succession to keep you unsteady.

“Knees, hands behind your head,” he says, and lets go.

You fall but are quick to right yourself and take the position. He wastes no time, giving you another harsh smack before grabbing your hair and shoving his cock into your throat.

You choke and gag but keep your hands in place even as your head spins. You feel limp and grateful that he doesn’t seem to require any effort from you as he uses you without mercy.

“Look at you. You’ve got my whole cock down your throat. You’re so fuckin’ good for me.”

Your eyes are already glazed over, and you moan your appreciation around him.

He pulls out and hauls you to your feet. “I know what you need, sweetheart. Get your ass downstairs.”

He fucks you, beats you, uses you wherever he wants. But the basement is where he keeps the heavy equipment and where you know you’re about to have your mind and body pushed to the absolute limit.

You’re ready, he thinks, when he gets down and finds you waiting perfectly in place for him, eyes wide like he’s descended from on high. He jerks a thumb to the wooden post, and you meet him there.

“Forget about what they want you to be,” he murmurs as he closes the steel cuffs around your ankles. “You know what you want, baby. Right?”

“Mhm,” you nod, already slipping away into that safe place only Joel can get you to.

“What do you want to be?” he asks, binding your arms up over your head to the eye bolt at the top of the post.

“Yours.” It’s half-whisper, half-whine.

“Yeah? You just wanna be mine? You don’t want to get a new job?”

“No,” you finally confess. “But—”

“But what, baby? If you say somethin’ about money or bills, I’m gonna be mighty unhappy.”

You bite your lip. “I’m scared one day, you’ll wake up and not want me anymore.”

“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, sweetheart. You think I put all this work into helpin’ you, into teaching you how to be mine, just to toss ya out? You’re hurtin’ my feelings.”

“I’m sorry,” you say automatically.

He slides a silicone cock into the bracket lined right up with your mouth. It’s a fairly standard size, since he knows you’re going to thrash around and doesn’t want you gagging too much and throwing up.

Your torso gets tied to the post by your tits, the wood nestled between them and rope woven around. Securing you there forces your head onto the toy, but he doesn’t make you take it all the way. You keep your mouth open and don’t move closer or further, waiting for his command.

“Suck on it whenever you’d like. You’re going to need it.”

Your eyes roll back a little at his promise. If he thinks you’re going to need something in your mouth to self-soothe, you’re in for an absolutely amazing time.

“Focus on me. That’s all you’ll need to do from now on, baby. No more worries in that pretty little head, okay?”

The first strike is a warm-up. When you feel the lash of his favorite whip lick your ass, you moan. It’s a moderately short signal whip that he wields like a fucking pro. His warmups are quick but thorough, and you’re squirming when he moves on to your thighs and shoulders.

“Already?” he says, laughing when you whine around the silicone cock.

You’re absentmindedly sucking on it when he starts a harsher assault. A particularly sharp strike stings at the valley where your ass meets your thighs, and you yelp, jerking a little and gagging yourself on the dildo.

His smirk burns into your back as the cry melts into a moan, and you writhe a little, trying to get friction where you need it most. What you get, though, is the tip of the whip against your cunt.

By the time he moves around to your tits, they’re covered in spit, heaving with the effort of holding back your orgasm. He comes up to you first, and pinches at your nipples.

“Aw, does my dumb little cunt want to cum?” He croons, tugging and twisting until you moan. He laughs when all you can get out is a muffled “mhm.”

“Tell ya what. You can cum all you want while I hurt you tonight, okay?”

He punctuates it with a particularly cruel pinch, and that, combined with his permission, is all you need to let the pleasure shudder through you.

“Yeah? You gonna get off to being my little toy? Gonna let me do whatever I want?”

You moan around the fake cock, easing it further into your throat.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He doesn’t give a warm-up on your tits, figuring you’re already so far gone it doesn’t fuckin’ matter.

He’s right. The first lash is harsh, a welt blooming across the top of your breast in its wake, but you groan, trying to press your cunt up against the post for any relief.

You don’t need it, though. He brings you to your peak again with the skilled flick of his wrist, landing blows across the fat of your breasts. He waits until you’re mid-orgasm to bring the whip hard across your nipples.

The resulting wail almost makes him cum in his pants. He does it only twice more, relishing in your agony, but restraining himself from just letting loose. Not with the whip, as much as he’d like to. Maybe later with a flogger.

Once he’s taken it as far as he’s willing to risk, he moves back around to give the rest of you the same treatment. The hardest hits push you over the edge, and by the time his arm is getting tired, you’re sobbing and writhing in your restraints, overstimulated in every way.

He unlatches your ankles first, helping you find steady footing before untying your wrists and torso. You drop to your knees and open your mouth, throat aching for his cock after the tease of the toy.

He doesn’t have the willpower to torment you by denying it tonight. Instead, he nearly pops the button off his jeans in his urgency to pull his cock out and shove it as far down your throat as he can.

Your arms find their place behind your back, and you just take it. He fucks into you without restraint. It’s filthy, from the mess you’re making to the wet choking sounds he pushes out of you with each thrust.

You’re shaking, and he pulls out abruptly.

“I said while I’m hurting you. You don’t get to just cum from getting facefucked.”

“Then hurt me, please,” you sob. It’s right there; you’re so close.

He slaps you across the face and laughs as you cum, shoving back into your throat while you’re still riding out the aftershocks.

He pulls back out, and you whine until he yanks you up by the bicep and pushes you over to the padded bench, bending you over it and shoving into your sopping cunt.

“Still disappointed?” he teases.

“N-no,” you pant. “Please hurt me.”

“Beg me properly, greedy little cunt.”

You clench around him just at the words, but obey. “Please, sir, please hurt me so I can cum. Please.”

“I’ve been hurtin’ you all night, baby,” he says, voice thick with false pity. “Don’t you want me to be gentle with you now?” He can feel how hard you’re trying not to cum as he mocks you.

“No,” you sob. “No, love me, hurt me, please.”

It’s got an edge of desperation and heartbreak to it that he just loves.

He smacks your already bruising ass until you sob harder, shaking uncontrollably as you cum. He wraps his hands around your throat and fucks you through it until he cums, hips stuttering, and filling your cunt with his spend.

He lets himself collapse a little on top of you, pinning you with his weight against the bench with his softening cock still buried in you. “Feel loved now?”

You’re still crying, and when he folds his arms around your chest, elbows resting on the table, you cling to him. “Love you,” you murmur over and over, pressing kisses up and down his forearms.

He nuzzles his face into your neck, kissing and sucking at you. “I know, baby. You know I love ya.” He’s half-hard—not something that happens a lot anymore at his age, so he’s not gonna waste it. He pulls out just to manhandle you up onto the bench on your back, climbing up between your legs and shoving back in.

It’s a little sloppy until he’s fully hard again; your combined cream making things a little too slippery. Once he’s erect, though, he sets a punishing pace, folding you in half with your legs up by your ears. He works your clit with his hand, relishing in the way you’re fucking exhausted and overstimulated, but your poor clit’s been neglected. It means he can twist and pull on it, tugging until you give him more and more, until you’re sobbing for mercy that you know you’ll never get.

He doesn’t ease up until he pulls out to cum over your tits and face.

“Mine,” he snarls, shoving his fingers into your swollen cunt and feeding you what’s left of his first orgasm and your… well, he’s not really sure how many. A fuckin’ lot. “You’re all mine. Little fuckin’ toy to do whatever I want, right?”

You’re still gasping for breath, having been half-suffocated in that position, but when you look at him, it’s like he’s a fucking god. “Yes, sir.”

-broken

The day had started out fine.

He’d laid out a dress for you to wear. Sometimes, he made you go around bare for a while, just to fuck with your head a little, but he prefers to unwrap you like a present.

Plus, the sight of you crawling around in nothing but a slutty, barely-there dress is picture-fuckin’-perfect. He’d know; he’s got a bunch of ‘em on his phone.

And crawl, you do. You haven’t been allowed to walk further than a couple of feet in a long time. There’s penance to be paid if you can’t avoid it.

Joel collects your penance whenever possible, gathering what’s owed for your sins and dealing out forgiveness when it's settled. It’s how he shows his love.

And he does love you. How could he not? Such a perfect little toy. He’s spent so much time training you right to be his prized possession.

He knew it’d happen eventually, so when you commit one of the worst offenses, he has to make it count. You were testing your limits, of course; he had expected it. He had expected it months ago. It was worse now, after you’d been so good and earned so much trust. But now that you’d been nothing but his for two months, you had finally fucked up.

Your punishments were never painful. Okay, they weren’t pain-focused. Sometimes, he had to put you over his knee to let his frustration out before he could give you a proper punishment. But the pain wasn’t the point—you both liked it too damn much. No matter how much farther he took it than a regular session, and no matter how sick you were with guilt, you were always a soaking wet mess after a beating.

This time would have to be different, though.

It was time to finally break you.

He knew as soon as he got home. Not the particulars, but that you’d made a huge mistake.

On the surface, nothing was amiss. You were knelt by the door in your pretty little dress, a short number in navy blue. You had your head down and arms folded behind your back in perfect posture.

But something was off. It didn’t feel like you were happy he was home. And he was pretty sure there would only be one reason for that.

He hung up his keys but didn’t bother to take off his shoes, coming to stand in front of you. “What’d you do?”

You flinch and have to re-tense to hold the position as a sob escapes you. Your hands are balled into fists to fight the urge to cover your face. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t ask if you were sorry. I asked what you did.”

If it were still the early days, when this shit usually happened, he might have been just a little softer. At least until he coaxed the confession from you, anyway. But you were in too deep, now, too entangled in this life that he had little patience for your reticence.

“I—”

“I recommend you spit it out. You’ll tell me in the end, anyway.”

You start to cry. “I can’t say it.”

“You better figure it out pretty fuckin’ fast, little girl.”

“I had an orgasm,” you blurt, whimpers escalating to sobs.

He pauses. It’s worse than he thought. The rush of disappointment and anger sends his heart racing, and his fingers flex in longing for a cane.

“Did you enjoy it?” he says.

It catches you off guard. “No, I promise.”

“That’s too bad, ‘cause it’s the last one you’re gonna have for a while.”

You aren’t surprised; you’re actually relieved. Of course, of course he’ll fix you.

He finally takes his shoes off and sets his phone on the counter, beckoning you to follow him to the living room. Taking his seat on the couch, he waits until you’re settled at his feet.

“Why’d you do that, baby?”

“I-I didn’t mean to. I was edging for the last time today, and I don’t know what happened. It was just there, and I knew it, I knew it was coming, and I—” You choke on the guilt, the grief.

“You what?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t convince myself to stop. I kept thinking ‘no, you stupid cunt,’ but I couldn’t pull my hand away.”

He regards you for a moment. He’s burning inside, but trying to calculate the most effective approach.

“Thank you for telling me right away,” he says, but even though he means it, the words are cold and clipped. “Which hand?”

You look at him, eyes wide and brows furrowed. “What?”

“Which hand did you use? Give it to me.”

You lift up your right hand, and he cradles it in his.

“Listen close.” He waits until he’s sure you’re focused on him, on his words.

This is where things have fallen apart in the past. No amount of training and manipulation can get someone across this hurdle; they have to mean it. The last thing he wants is someone running to the police because they don’t fucking understand how serious he is.

“This is going to be your last chance to back out. I will stop right now and let you pack your shit and leave. But if you stay, you’re agreeing to anything I do to you past this point.”

You bite your lip, stomach churning. “You’re scaring me,” you whisper.

“Good. You should be scared. What you’ve done is one of the worst things you could have. That’s got some serious consequences, baby.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“I gotta hurt you. Bad. Y’ain’t going to like this; I can promise you that. I can’t punish your cunt because you’re such a stupid pain slut; anything short of permanent damage is gonna make you wet. And I’m not lookin’ to do permanent damage.”

Your lip trembles, heart pounding. You’ve never been so afraid, but you’re also enthralled. Lured in by the timbre of his voice and the salvation it’s promising.

He squeezes your hand where he’s still holding onto you. “I’m going to break one of your fingers.”

Your heart falters, blood rushing. “Oh god,” you whisper, shaking your head. Instinctively, you tug back on your hand, but he grasps it tight, tight enough that you feel the bones grind under his large fingers.

“It’s up to you. That’s half the price for forgiveness. The rest is gonna be spending the night alone.”

Somehow, that sounds worse. You can’t breathe.

“Gotta choose, baby. You wanna go? I’ll pay for a cab. You can walk away, but you can’t ever come back.”

You think you might be drowning. Leave? How could you leave? There’s no debate in your head; you have nothing without Joel. Nowhere to go, no one to turn to. And the idea of losing him feels catastrophic.

You’re crying again, and you’re vaguely aware of his soothing voice trying to coach you through breathing. When you focus on him, just like he’s taught you, you start to calm down.

It’s Joel, you think. He’ll take care of you. And he said he didn’t want permanent damage. You just have to suffer for your betrayal and he’ll forgive you.

“I think I might throw up,” you warn him.

He sighs, the fear of losing you flooding away, taking some of his anger with it. “We’ll do it in the bathroom.”

He stands up, and you follow, albeit slowly, as the wave of nausea rises. You do throw up as soon as you get in the bathroom, thankfully making it to the toilet. He holds your hair and rubs his hand across your shoulder blades.

“It’s okay, baby, get it out of your system. You’re being so brave for me,” he croons. He helps you up to sit on the edge of the tub and gets you a little cup of mouthwash.

“I’ll help you brush your teeth after,” he promises. “I’d do it now, but, well. You’re probably going to puke again.”

When you’re done swishing the mouthwash, when it’s all turned to foam and you’ve spit it back in the cup, he swaps you for water. You rinse and spit that, too.

He’s laid a few things out on the counter. You feel dizzy all over again. Something tells you the comfort you feel is wrong, but he’s prepared an ice pack and medical tape, and has four little ibuprofen out next to another cup of water.

The other, louder part of you is whispering, see? He’ll take care of you. The act of wondering what’s wrong with you feels like a farce. You’re thinking it because you think you should, just going through the motions.

He takes off his belt and brings it to your mouth. You clench it between your teeth, letting a shaky breath through. His hand cups your cheek, and you lean into the warmth.

“I knew you were somethin’ special,” he whispers. You’re not sure he meant to.

Your whole body is shaking uncontrollably. He watches you for a moment, worried you’re going to faint, and then sits on the floor with his back against the tub, pulling you into his lap. He lays you back against his chest, caging you in with his arms and thighs. The ice pack sits to his right, already popped and frozen. Waiting.

Gently, he lifts your hand and brings it in front of your chest, taking it in his left. It’s a macabre mockery, the way he cradles it in his palm, fingers wrapped around the sides. In his right hand, he notches his thumb on the knuckle of your middle finger, bringing the other fingers in below it.

He doesn’t drag it out, doesn’t take pleasure in your terror. When he moves, it’s faster than a gunshot. Your scream is raw, breaking free from the spaces between your teeth and the belt. The taste of leather will remind you of this moment for the rest of your life.

He has the ice pack on it before you mentally register that it’s over. You’re sobbing. Horribly, he’s right, and you are sick again. He holds your hair in one fist, holding the ice pack to your mangled hand in the other.

When you’re done, he pulls you back against him, wrapping his limbs around you in a perverse embrace as you shake harder. With his free hand, he brings a damp, cool cloth to your face, cleaning you of the viscera of your sickness.

He’s shushing you, head bent close to your ear. “It’s alright, baby, it’s over. You did so good. I’m so proud. I love you so much.”

It’s good that he doesn’t expect an answer because he doesn’t get one. You’re too lost in the pain and shock.

When it’s time to take a break from the ice, he grabs the medical tape and wraps it around your index and middle fingers. You cry out again as he jostles the break. Once he’s splinted it, he lowers your hand gently to your lap so he can grab the medicine.

“I can’t; I’ll throw up again,” you say, voice cracking.

“Don’t have a choice, baby. Gotta keep the swelling down.”

He feeds you each pill, one by one, chasing them with sips of water.

You look so sad and precious that he almost feels bad. Unfortunately, he’s also rock fucking hard, so he shifts you a little to pull his dick out.

You don’t say anything when he lifts you to lower you on it. He’s careful, trying not to shake you around too much. He was right; you didn’t enjoy this pain. You’ve never been this dry for him before, and you whimper pathetically at the pinch and sting of his girth.

You may be worn out and in agony, but your cunt doesn’t get the message. He grins when he feels you getting wet and clenching around him. He doesn’t push it though, doesn’t torment you, just fucks up into you gently until he fills you.

You’re limp against him now, and he presses a kiss into your hair. “You may have to walk for a bit,” he muses. “But I’ll cap your penance at ten.”

You wince. Ten strokes with the cane on the soles of your feet every day until your finger heals? You usually only owe enough for two or three. It is a mercy, though, so you nod and thank him.

Joel can hardly contain the way his chest is flooding with warmth. You’re so close; he can feel it. So close to being completely his to put together just the way he likes.

He can’t wait to take you to The Pit.

-kintsugi

You’re cold. So cold. You’re curled in on yourself, tucked into a corner in the hopes that you’d be able to keep warmer. Your whole right hand throbs.

Moonlight only cuts across the corner, but it’s a comfort still. The soil is loose and you keep shuddering, feeling the tickle of a dozen phantom insects.

Worst of all, your chest aches, like he may as well have hewn you open. Dry sobs work their way free every now and then, leaving your mouth tacky and your throat full of cotton.

The only rest you get is when you blessedly pass out. Every time you close your eyes voluntarily, you see the heartbroken look on his face when you begged him not to leave you there.

“I wish I didn’t have to. I wish you hadn’t broken my trust and I could keep you close, baby. But you’re never going to learn how to be good if I don’t show ya.”

Bad, I’m bad, he doesn’t want me anymore, you think to no end.

When the sun starts to rise, you’re limp, still in your corner. You barely turn your head when a shadow falls over The Pit, but your heart starts to pound when the lock clicks, and Joel raises the gate.

“Oh, baby,” he says, soft and sorrowful. “C’mere.” He reaches out a hand, and you scramble to him, letting him take your left arm in his grasp and pull you out. You move immediately to your knees, body bent forward as your knotted muscles protest. He scoots his boot out of the danger zone near your broken finger.

You keep whispering, a broken record of “Sorry, please, I’m so sorry.”

He picks you up and holds you to his chest, shushing until you fall quiet. It doesn’t take longer than a few seconds as your brain desperately clings to any scrap, any way you can be good for him.

He brushes the loose dirt from you before going inside and upstairs to the ensuite. He sets you on the little rug next to the full garden tub, and he tests the water with his fingers before peeling his clothes off.

You flex your left hand, balling it in and out of a fist. You’ve never been particularly ambidextrous and wonder how you’re going to wash him without falling in or hurting your hand.

Before he gets in, he feeds you four more little red pills. Once he’s settled, he reaches out and guides you carefully by the waist, pulling you into his lap in the warm water.

That’s all it takes for you to start crying again. He doesn’t try to quiet you; just holds you there against his chest and lets you sob.

By the time you’ve calmed, the water has cooled, but instead of getting out, he just drains a little and runs more hot water.

Joel tips your chin up gently with the knuckle of his index finger. “You ready to be my good girl again?”

You nod, lip trembling.

Joel does nothing you hadn’t asked for. The trouble for you was that you asked for too much. Gave him too much. And it was far too late to get any of it back.

He gave what he could, though. Couldn’t replace what he’d taken, so he pours himself in the cracks, puts you back together with a firm hand and loving care. Sure, his love doesn’t look like what you’re used to, but he knows you see it for what it is.

“I know, baby. You took that all so well. Don’t worry,” he pauses to kiss you, “I forgive you. My perfect little toy.”

pls be nice, I'm so nervous about this.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #dddne #tw noncon #non con #dark fic #tw abuse #seriously heed the warnings #don't like don't read #deaddovedecember2023

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lilisettean · 3 months

Text

Ice Wine | Zayne/Reader

About: A slight misstep and slip of hand when playfully shoving Zayne caused you to fall onto his lap, with you straddling him.

Pairing: Zayne/Reader

Notes: A partial rewrite and continuation of Zayne: Drunken Intimacy. I liked the memoria event from this card but when compared to Xavier and Rafayel's... Yeah...

AO3: Read here!

Warnings: Dubious consent (reader is drunk), light bondage, hints of dominant Zayne, hints of brat/brat taming. Age 18+ please! Enjoy :)

“I… Whatever. I’m going to sleep.”

You mumbled, pointedly ignoring the warmth lingering on your cheek. At this point, you don’t know whether you were flushed because of the alcohol in your system, or because of the position you were in.

While inspecting Zayne’s chin for bruises, a slip of your feet made you tumble forward, causing you to straddle him while you looked at him for possible injuries due to your headbutt earlier.

The suggestive position you were in hadn’t registered until he kissed you, his face mere inches away from yours afterwards. It didn’t help when you tugged at his loose tie again to tease him, only to be met by his hands gripping at your waist, pulling you closer to him.

Unlike most of the time when his skin was cold, almost icy, to the touch, you could feel heat radiating off him, warming you even further.

“I thought you had good reflexes.” He remarked, his eyes not once leaving your face. You met his gaze head on, determined not to shrink away from his intense focus on you. “For a hunter to be caught so easily… It seems you’ve gotten careless, no?”

“...Do I need to be alert when with you?”

He froze at your reply, his grip on your waist loosened momentarily before tightening again. “How sly.” He smiled as he leaned into you, closing the gap that was present. “One would think you are tempting fate.”

“Yes, how sly.” You mumbled, unperturbed by the sudden closeness. “You haven’t drank a single drop of wine, and yet you act as if you are drunk. You’re not making any sense here.”

“With you in front of me like this… How am I supposed to make sense of anything?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, a question ready on your tongue but then something within you clicked, a sudden realization shocked you out of your drunken stupor.

The heat.

Zayne never was warm to the touch, unless he was sick. But he was neither that nor a drinker, so that left only one possible explanation.

You quickly glanced down, and you were appalled to find the neckline of your dress was pulled down further and the strap of your dress falling to the side, giving Zayne an eyeful of your cleavage. It didn’t help that because of the dress, you opted to use pasties instead, leaving your breasts barely covered.

Combined with you straddling his lap, and your face flushed from the alcohol, the sight made it seem as though you two were–

No longer hiding his true intentions, Zayne slid one of his hands down your hip and under your dress, caressing your thigh. “Am I still not making any sense to you?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Seeing you shiver at his touch yet not pulling away from him, he continued. “You wouldn’t object if I kept you close, would you?”

Instead of replying however, you hooked a finger onto his loose tie, and–

“Mmph–”

It was as though a switch had been flipped the moment his lips met yours. Gone were those gentle touches and careful caresses of your skin, his need to be with you– be in you– consuming every single rational thought he had.

While you had the element of surprise, shocking him when you sealed his lips with yours, he quickly wrestled back control, taking the lead of the kiss by tilting his head slightly for better access and pushing his tongue against yours. The roughness of him pulling your hips closer to him, to have you straddle his crotch and feel his clothed cock nudging against your inner thigh, made it seem like he was as drunk as you were, having lost control of his tightly held restraint.

No, he was as drunk as you were. But instead of being drunk on those fruit wines you brought home, he was intoxicated by something– someone– else.

You.

“Zayne–” You gasped between kisses, your face no longer flushed due to the alcohol, but because of the intensity of his kisses, not giving you much respite between them. It didn’t help that his hands were roaming all over you, the warmth from his touch seeping into you, banishing all hints of drowsiness away.

You fumbled with his tie and cursed at the many buttons his shirt had while he tugged down the straps of your dress, peeling away the annoying pasties that were in the way and cupped your breast, thumbing over your pert nipple.

“A lot of people asked about you tonight.” Zayne remarked as he kissed your neck, his breath tickling your skin. “They asked if you were single.”

“What did you tell them?” You asked moments later, too distracted by the hand that was under your dress. He had dipped his fingertips under the waistband of your panties, toying with it and teasing you for what’s to come.

“No.” His denial, while quiet, was firm, commanding almost. “You are not. In fact–”

Zayne adjusted the position you were in, keeping you close and– oh.

“You are taken.” He stated, emphasized by the bulge pressed against your clothed heat. You could feel the outline of his cock next to you, its hardness causing warmth to pool within you. Against better judgment, in which you should undress him and yourself before attempting anything, lest you ruin the outfits, you wiggled your hips and responded in kind.

And before you could react, he slid a hand under your hips and lifted you up, and pinned you down to the sofa, forcing you into the same position as earlier when you had tugged on his tie.

Unlike earlier when you were in control and him pulling away at the end however, he was hovering above you, one of his hands right beside your head while the other was still on your hips, his body right between your thighs.

Your heat clenched in anticipation, waiting for him to pull you closer and onto his clothed cock. But instead of that he paused to look at you, his half lidded eyes roaming all over your form.

You took the chance to take a good look at him as well, to see if he was just as affected by this non alcohol induced heat. His tie was long gone and his shirt was half buttoned, revealing his broad chest. While his pants remained the same, you could see the outline of his cock straining against the front of his pants, making you wonder how it would feel against, and inside you.

Zayne felt his cock throb at the sight, and he couldn’t help but bunch your dress up further to your abdomen, exposing more of you to him.

“The dress…” You mentioned, suddenly made aware of it. He had paid for both of your outfits before you could’ve and you’d hate to ruin his gift. But he silenced you by lowering himself down to your lips and sealed it with his, distracting you.

You were so caught up in him that you barely noticed him pressing closer to you, his hand that was on your hip no longer there. It was only when you heard the unbuckling of his belt and the telltale unzipping that you remember about the dress.

“The dress will be ruined if I don’t take it off.” You breathed out after you broke away from the kiss, your eyes darting down to where his cock would be. And sure enough, it was right on top of your heat, its tip glistening with precome. Zayne tilted your chin upward before you could stare at it further however, forcing you to meet his heated gaze head on.

“Don’t worry about it. I want it on you.”

“Have you been imagining fucking me while in this dress, Zayne?” You teased, and when he responded with a small smile only, you laughed. “Who knew ‘Zayne the Terrifying’ had such dirty thoughts?”

“I may be a terrifying man, but I am still a man in the end.” He replied as he pushed your panties to the side, and dragged a finger up against your entrance. “Especially when it comes to you.”

With that, he captured your lips once more, slotting himself between your slick folds, and thrusted slowly against you. His hands were on your hips, sliding your wet heat up and down the side of his stiff cock as he fucked your folds.

It was difficult to concentrate, every single coherent thought disappearing like mist with every thrust against you. You had half a mind to unbutton his shirt further, to slip your hands under them and drive him mad with want like he did to you, but that required focus, which you had none of. Especially when his cock grazed over your clit, forcing whatever drive you had out of you.

The ache to have something, anything, within you grew every time his tip caught onto your entrance. You waited with bated breath for the inevitable push of his hardened cock into your waiting heat, only to have him thrust upward again, leaving you wanting.

You reached down to take matters into your own hands. But before you could do so, Zayne caught your wrist and pinned both of your hands above your head.

“Zayne–” You whined in protest when he reluctantly pulled away from you. But instead of teasing you as expected, his attention was elsewhere, his free hand grasping onto something on the side while he kept you pinned down with one hand.

You tried to see what he was looking for, but couldn’t as his attention returned to you once more, his half lidded gaze freezing you in place. He merely smiled at your confusion, and you were about to question him when you felt it.

He was binding your wrists with something… soft. Was that silk– oh.

His tie.

Zayne leaned down to nip your earlobe, the corners of his lips twitching upward when you wriggled against your restraint. “Behave and let me.” He whispered, his soft demand contrasting your whimpers. “Impatience will get you nowhere.”

“And if I don’t?”

“In that case…” He trailed off, pulling away from you and sat up. His cock was no longer between your folds, and was instead replaced by his finger, prodding and teasing your heat. He traced the edges of your entrance, coating his finger with slick, before pushing it in.

Before you could question him on how this was going to force you to behave, he curled his finger and prodded at your soft spot, touching it every time he pumped his finger in and out of your heat.

Just when you were accustomed to his touch, he pulled his finger out of you entirely. A thin strand of slick connected your heat and his finger, snapping when he brought it up to his lips, staring directly into you whilst he licked his finger clean.

“Now…” Zayne said, positioning himself between your thighs once more. He had wanted to please you and push you towards that high you wanted at least once before burying his fingers, then his stiff cock, inside you, but your impatience– and his as well if he were to be honest– forced his hand. “Will you behave and let me prepare you?”

“Or do you want me to make you beg?”

#love and deepspace #love and deep space #love and deepspace zayne x reader #no fade to black smut? ok .#*thanos voice* fine. i'll do it myself.#seriously tho the memoria is very zayne and i like that he's worried for mc #but unfortunately i am down bad so...

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yooniesim · 5 months

Text

Small Simblr Saturday Appreciation Post 💜

Hey y'all! Since @tau1tvec came up with the idea for this event, I thought I'd shout out some of my personal favorite always free creators :)

To start it off though, you know I gotta recommend @alwaysfreecc, the finds blog currently managed by myself, @superflare, @nicatnite88, and @toastie-sim! We only reblog cc creators that are always free (no exclusive or early access) and use the tag #alwaysfreecc to find your posts! If you're an always free cc creator, please use the tag and/or mention the finds blog so we can get your catalog reblogged there 😌 now, onto the list~!

@xiuminuwu - a creator I've really been loving lately! they have a variety of cute cc, including poses and unique, fashionable clothing~

@hexcodesims - a very underrated creator with tons of clothing edits for masc frame sims, I also love their big bud press palette~

@herecirmsims - makes amaaaazing unique poses for a variety of situations

@adelarsims - has awesome ideas that you wouldn't think of, amazing variety of cc like hello

@janjumjam - adorable cc for kids, gives me happy feels and nostalgia

@ceeproductions - some of my fav cc on this site, great variety for both masc and fem frame

@powluna - super cute items for kiddos... a staple in the mods folder

@ssspringroll - occult cc for daysss, cool sliders and presets, they got it all

@nicatnite88 - yes I'm biased, but the variety and hustle cannot be denied, just look at the amount of cc!

@bobnewbie - hairs, facial hairs, accessories, gorgeous sims... what else could you want?

@darlyssims - UNIQUE. really cool ideas for hairs, accessories, and more

@cliffirem - clothes and hairs with an alt twist i really enjoy

@sammi-xox - beautiful skinblends and super useful skin details

@warwickroyals - gorgeous formalwear, especially good for all you royal simblrs!

@marsosims - cute cute cute all over... hairs, clothes, even build/buy cc!! we stan

@whyhellosims - lots of stuff for kids, build buy cc, and a slant of humor!

@creamlattedream - masc cc staple in this house, lots of cute recolors and casual wear

@pluto-sims - the cutest patterns EVER, adorable kids clothing, posters and walls~

@deathpoke1qa - unique is my word for the day bc my lord... it's popping off! alt staples you can't miss

@icchixxxxxx1 - hairs hairs hairs... and more cute hairs! if you like the cutesy anime look but still mm, go here

@mellosakicc - so. many. t-shirts. but also other clothing, tats, and hairs! another alt cc maker with work ethic for days

@whirliko - cute bright recolors... we have no choice but to stan the pop of color

@shandir - conversions, historical, occult, variety... hello??? get going

@mangosimoothie - the ideas are popping... once again things that would never pop into my brain but are brilliant... just go look and see what I mean

@igorstory - facial hair... a totally unrepresented niche of sims cc.. I have all their stuff... download it

@madameriasims4 - CLASSICS. STAPLES. I use their clothes all the time and they also got build/buy stuff.

@aniraklova - alt & punk vibes to the tippy top, fallout, chains, mohawks, whats not to love??

@pixelunivairse - ONE OF MY FAVS. use their cc constantly for my fem frame sims. uses tons of cute patterns that I love

@demondare-sims - cas cc i love, I use it pretty much every time I play, mm and practical

@fiftymilehighclub - talking about work ethic, it's here... so many recolors in bomb palettes that you'll never download them all... or can you??? try

@sforzcc - retired from cc making, but I gotta recommend, bc I use their wardrobe sooo much... brilliant

@casteru/@woosteru - also retired, but same as #16, I use their cc every day!

@xldkx-cc - am I just listing staples of my mods folder now? yes!! I am not biased!! go and get all that cas cc and poses and deco sims NOW!!

@a-luckyday - if you don't know ms a luckyday poses u have not lived in life!! they have a huge amount of them, solo, couple, group, accessories, and more

@gothoffspring - really cute and vibey recolors, I use them a lot, also some build buy items too!!

@jellymoo - we love the clothing... mm aesthetic to the core and cute af

@gladlypants - lotsa adorable items I adore, variety of patterns too

@birksche - tons, I mean TONS of hairs bro, years worth, always free... a treasure trove

@teekalu - supreme maxis match, vanilla vibes that are so lovely... ideal for low cc players

@honeyssims4 - poses, honey!!! the variety will shock you. and they ALL look good

@sewerwolfx - really cool stuff with alt style, some recolors and some from SCRATCH, we love to see it

@historysims4 - historical cc from many different eras!! iconic

@hamsterbellbelle - some of the most unique scifi cc i ever seen... idk how they even make some of that stuff! must see

@surely-sims - beautiful legendary amazing gorgeous never been done before... their fallout inspired cc made me weep and almost solely furnished one of my households, work

...annnndddd I hit my limit!!! I guess thats it for now but maybe a part two... 😉

#ceci speaks #text #smallsimblrsaturday #alwaysfreecc #i tried to put a lot of ppl i havent seen mentioned as much #but theres still so many to love #can u tell my mental state deteriorating as the post went on #it is currently 6 am i am going to bed #hopefully this is coherent when it posts from the queue LOL #alwaysfreecc creator boost

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mochinomnoms · 3 months

Note

"I want all of you. Every piece of you" + Sunlight with azul please! Fluff/nsfw

🦩

azul ashengrotto x gn!reader [tags] — nsfw-ish, fluff, lots of reference to the myth of icarus [wc} - 910 prompt 15: “I want all of you. Every piece of you.” song: Sunlight (Hozier, “Wasteland, Baby!”) note - idk why but i had a hard time with this one, so it's more romantic that nsfw. it's more alluded to it than explicit francesca (1k event)

“I had been lost to you, sunlight / And flew like a moth to you, sunlight, oh, sunlight / Oh, your love is sunlight”

Growing up in the deep sea, the only light was provided by bioluminescent algae shaped into lanterns. Not from sunlight. Growing up in the deep sea, the only warmth Azul experienced was from the embrace of his mother. Not from sunlight.

So the early day sun peaking through the roof opening of the grotto over his eyes was still foreign, despite his time living on the surface. The warmth of the light was pleasant, however, it was currently blocked by something, or someone.

“Azul, love?” you spoke softly as he sunk deeper into the water until only his eyes were visible. He felt a warmth in his cheeks as you admired him.

“Come on, let me see you. My pretty, pretty boy.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d seen him like this, but you’d only seen his merform once during his overblot. Azul wasn’t fond of the idea of letting you see him in his natural form, though. He spent so much time specially curating his image as a human, someone sleek, neat, and confident. Not this…squishy, wriggly, clumsy form he was born with.

He was a creature suited for nothing but the dark, cold spaces of the deep sea, only seen by the bioluminescent patterning on his skin.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t want to go back to the docks?”

He flinched as he heard a splash, hiding behind a rock as he felt you move through the water. Azul rested his forehead against the cool surface of the stone, sighing and closing his eyes.

“Please, Angelfish, are you sure you want to do this? I don’t want to scare you…”

The sound of water alerted him to your movement again, though he couldn’t make out where you were without

“I want you.” A soft hand threaded through Azul’s hair, making him open his eyes and look up at your form. You were sitting on the rock he rested against, leaning down as your hair fell over your shoulders the closer you came. The sunlight peering through the cave roof shone over you like a halo, you looked like a painting an artist made of an angel.

“All of you. Please? My love?”

Despite his mind screaming at him to back up, to not let you touch his slimy, squishy skin, his tentacles had a mind of their own.

One of his arms curled around your hand, another around your waist, two more around your hips, drawn to you. Drawn to your affections that you so freely give to a greedy man like he. Azul sighed again.

“You’ve taken the water-breathing potion, yes?”

“Mm-hm, just a bit ago.”

“… Good.”

You gasped as Azul dragged you into the water as he sunk backwards. The water under the grotto was dark, almost black, except for the rays of sunlight turning the water into an ethereal green. Once again, Azul found himself beguiled by your visage, hair and clothes floating around you…his arms tightening his grip at the sight.

They truly had a mind of their own, drawing their energy from Azul’s true thoughts and urges. And how could he resist when you so freely offered yourself, love and body, to him.

Azul tangled himself in your embrace, claiming your mouth with his, drawing your tongue into his mouth to suck and explore. He reveled in the whimper that left you, tightening his hold as his tentacles slithered under your clothes, groping and suckers leaving behind marks.

“Mmmh, Azul…” You gasped, exposing your neck for him to suckle marks, trailing down your body. Several of Azul’s arms gently pushed your clothes and undergarments off to have easier access to you. His suckers attached themselves to your sensitive area, shivering in its taste.

“I almost forgot the benefits of being in this body… I can feel and taste your entire being with more than just my tongue. Your pulse drums beneath my grip, the salt on your skin floods my senses, and the sweetness down here.”

One tentacle with a spade-shape was brushing over your hole, pressing in slowly as you clenched onto Azul’s shoulders at the sudden stretch.

“S-slower, Azul please, it’s too much—AAAH~”

Pressing his tentacle dick into your heat, Azul nuzzled his nose against your own as he fell deeper into desire. He shuddered at the surrounding tightness, getting drunk at the pleasure of your being, at the kisses you fluttered against his face, at the thought of permanently mark you as his with more than just his seed.

Like Icarus reaching for his love Apollo, Azul would gladly risk flying too close to the sun, and feel the intense burn of its fiery gaze. Unlike Icarus, the way you looked at him like he was the celestial body itself made him certain that you’d never burn him and cast him back to the dark sea.

Perhaps it was the intoxication from the sybaritism in his veins, bringing him and closer to an orgasm, that would let you two see the god. But he had no need when you were before him, his warmth. The Apollo to your Icarus, the root to his pleasure.

The cry you let out as he brushed against a particularly sensitive spot, throwing your head back as the sun shone on you like a heavenly being, reaffirmed you as his own sunlight.

comments and reblogs appreciated 🩷

#mochi asks #twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto smut #azul ashengrotto x reader #twst smut #twisted wonderland smut #francesca (1k event)#🦩 anon

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intersectionalpraxis · 2 months

Note

Canada has never allowed Palestine to be listed as the country of birth for anyone born after 1948 because Palestine is not technically a country, but these passports still list the Palestinian city they were born in. This information is on Wikipedia (the Canadian Passport article, under the Place of Birth section) and sourced with the actual country policy. It sucks, but it is not a new stance Canada is taking, and it is not a conspiracy.

I can’t speak to what bureaucratic failing is happening to this person’s grandmother, but it’s unlikely there will be substantial mainstream coverage because nothing has actually changed.

Maintaining focus on the reality of the genocide taking place is vitally important for collectively taking action in effective manners, so please take this in good faith.

Thank you for the information. I just want to be clear I never stated it was a conspiracy, nor did that creator or folks who were pointing it out over on twitter. The erasure, especially now that I know it happened after the Nakba of 1948 is further evidence of Palestinian erasure and cultural genocide by another settler-colonial country.

I don't know if there will be a follow up about her grandmother, but I will update if there is something more to share. I also didn't know this had deeper roots, but these are the articles referenced in the wikipedia page.

This is quite disturbing, considering how long this has been implemented and normalized. Saying any Palestinian person can't list their birthplace is beyond inhumane and cruel. I can see why there is no coverage on this -because that's how it has been for well over a decade and more.

The post wasn't meant to deflect from current events -that was not my intention either. While this is still important to talk about, I haven't stopped talking about what is going on right now. I posted about this because it was something I was unaware of and I'm sure many of us were as well. I will attach this to the original post I made for more context.

#feminist #social justice #free palestine #palestine #free gaza #current events #settler violence #cultural genocide #canada politics #canadian government #canada #end the occupation #ceasefire now #world news

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neet-elite · 3 months

Text

Adonis — (SDV) Alex [VALENTINES EVENT]

Pairing: Alex / F!Reader Genre: Smut 18+ WC: 6192 Warnings: ropes/restraints, worship, overstimulation, dacryphilia, size difference, established relationship, L-bombs, drool/spit, creampie Synopsis: “Comfy?” He smiles at you, all genuine and tone full of adoration. More than anything, he wants you to be happy and comfortable, even with the awkward position he’s currently resting in. Wrists tied tight behind his back, legs kept spread for ease of access. He doesn’t mind at all, so long as you’re kept pleased.

A/N: there needs to be more alex content. there needs to be more worshipping alex content. there needs to be more- you get the point. i love my dumb himbo so much and wanted to completely and utterly dote on him for valentines day so here's to ruining big strong alex tonight <3 happy valentines day !!!

When you came to him with pretty pink ropes this afternoon he’d imagined something… Different, at the very least. Not that he’s complaining, no! Absolutely not, he would never even dream of complaining about anything when it comes to you, even as his arms flex and bulge against the tight restraints you’ve forced upon him tonight. The feeling of his muscles burning under the scratchy material only heightens his approval of how tonight has turned, a low grumble of appreciation rising from his chest when you finally join him on your shared bed, nestled nice and snug between his thighs. It’s one of his favourite places to see you, truthfully.

“Comfy?” He smiles at you, all genuine and tone full of adoration. More than anything, he wants you to be happy and comfortable, even with the awkward position he’s currently resting in. Wrists tied tight behind his back, legs kept spread for ease of access. He doesn’t mind at all, so long as you’re kept pleased. Because that’s what a good boyfriend does, and he hopes to excel in that regard.

You nod in return, cute smirk on your lips for him to gently laugh at. Despite his bindings, he’s comfortable too. Of course he is, you’re right next to him; the love of his life and his valentine girl tonight. Though he’d imagined the night going differently, having has his own hopeless romantic plans for tonight, he can’t deny the giddy excitement that bubbles to his lungs with the way you observe him, leading to breathless laughter as you settle nicely between his legs. “Good. I’m glad,” He says as he sinks into the soft sheets, thankful for their gentle embrace against the rough ropes. “I love you.” He whispers once cosy, mouthing it once more when your small hands brace against his toned chest, the barely noticeable dig of your nails into his exposed pecs causing him to inhale sharply.

You haven’t clued him in to too much of your ambitions tonight, only that he requires restraint for your plans to exist. He’d readily accepted when you asked him to sit still, God, he’d give you the world if you so much as asked, so a little rope is nothing compared. Especially when your nails trail down to his tummy, so lightly that he shivers into your touch, arching his back just a little more in an unvoiced asking of more— which you obviously pick up on, giggling to yourself when you immediately withdraw your hands in favour of watching him squirm.

He can’t help but smile back at you, beaming at the cute sounds you make as he wiggles around, pretending to try and escape for your enjoyment. “Whatcha got planned this evening, hm?” He encourages you, egging you on to continue teasing him, bulge quickly hardening in his underwear before your very eyes with the flirty way you’ve been treating him tonight. Like an endless honeymoon, he’s forever starstruck by your embrace, skin tingling and cheeks flushing at even just the little hum you let out in faux thought. You know him like the back of your hand, so he’s not too concerned with what you must be thinking about having him endure. That, and he trusts you. Wholly and completely, you’ve always got his best interests at heart.

You wouldn’t be his Valentine if that wasn’t the case.

So when you hit him with; “It’s a secret.” he can’t help but nod pliantly, eager to let you get on with the show in your own time. Because if he’s honest, watching you have fun between his legs is enough to have his cock twitching, the feeling of your thighs riding his own as you sit obediently before him is so nice, skin on skin contact going straight to his head— and his heart. “S’at so?” is all he offers you, head tilting to the side with curiosity over your actions. The way you keep dancing your fingers along his tummy, smiling to yourself when his muscles flex and move under your dainty touch. He’d be a liar if he said he wasn’t excited, clearly evident from how his boxers tent before you’ve even had a chance to touch his cock. And, the fact that he wants to ignore your ask of sit still in favour of thrusting his cock towards you; an attempt to beg please, look at how much I need you.

Because he always does need you. Wants for you so badly that even just ghosting his tip is enough to have him sighing, biting down on his bottom lip mischievously when you quirk a brow at him.

“What?” he questions you sincerely, releasing another sigh into the space left between when you repeat the action, only this time a little more purposeful. Has his legs stretching out more, opening further to receive more of your love. “Feels good, babe.” He hums, staring right back at you and your playful expression, happy to have your hands on him in any capacity, but especially when you palm circles gently around his leaking tip. Fuck, you affect him so easily— and he’s all too eager to show you. Shifting his weight around so that his back slides a little off the bed headboard, inching closer to you the bolder your touch becomes.

“Can’t blame me for enjoin’ it.”

“I’m not.” You reassure him, but your little giggles give you away. Not that he cares, mind you. Where others might be embarrassed about being so in love, so completely infatuated that barely there rubbing is enough to get him going, his head resting back against the headboard in satisfaction; he couldn’t care less. It only goes to show just how completely in love with you he is, unafraid to showcase just how needy he is for you as he rolls his hips into your open palm, moaning quietly to himself when you reciprocate his begging with a loosely closed fist around the tip of his cock. Fuck, that’s it. Can’t stop himself from fighting with his restraints a little in an effort to properly appreciate you some more, but he’s immediately reminded by the harsh burn against his skin that you’ve disallowed him from such luxuries.

And that’s so fucking hot to him, fuck; he gets it now. To be prohibited, forbidden to cup your cheeks and press sloppy kisses all over your cute little face. Banned from running his hands up and down your arms, from pinching your waist and pulling you gently onto his lap. It feels strangely good to be completely at your mercy like this, in spite of his squirming and huffing. You wanna play with him to your hearts content? God, please, he finds himself thinking. Offering you more wiggle room by planting his feet by either side of you, cock squished between his thighs with your palm petting his hidden length. Feels too fucking good that he’s already a little dizzy with desire.

But he wants for more. Always does when it comes to you, quickly finding that he can never have enough of you.

“Planning on teasing me all night?” He flirts, even if he intrinsically knows he’s in no position to do so. He’d helped you tie the rope as tight as possible, so despite his strength he knows he’ll never be able to burst out of his bondage. All bark and no bite, but he figures you don’t mind his pestering when you wrap your tiny fist around his fat cock tighter, immediately knocking the wind out of him. You’ve got the upper hand here, and the fact that you know that only riles him up some more, cock twitching in your hold as his breathing grows heavier. Was it always this hot in your room?

“No, I’m just taking my time,” you elaborate, keeping good on your promise by giving his cock another squeeze, and he’s sure that despite the fabric barrier you can feel how hard it pulses against your fingertips. He’s about to retort back but you forbid him even that, smiling as you speak. “Appreciating you like you deserve for once.”

Brief confusion surely laces his features, he knows he’s not the best at hiding his emotions, especially from you. But as if you know exactly what he’s concerned about, you begin tugging his cock so lightly it’s almost painful, his boxers quickly proving bothersome with how they steal most of your touch, even if your hand is wrapped around his girth nicely. “You always take care of me, Alex…” you pout cutely, and he can’t deny that. It’s probably his favourite thing to do in the world, to take care of you. And by that he means that he likes to eat you out for hours on end, hands wrapped bruisingly around your waist to keep you pinned in place until he’s done. Bouncing you up and down his fat cock all morning because you deserve one more orgasm, c’mon, just gimmie one more, promise. Fingering you all night while you try to work, because you work so hard all day, babe. lemme reward you. “It’s my turn now… Is that okay?” you ask so sweetly that he automatically answers with a nod without much thinking, too busy leaning into his imagination of recalled instances, the cute moans he’s fucked out of you during the course of your relationship, how pretty you look when begging and crying for him.

And then it dawns on him, hits him all at once with alarming clarity. If that’s what you’re referring to, then… “W-Wait, babe, promise m’good. Would rather look after you actually—” he rushes to reassure you, voice shaking in both worry and excitement; he’s not sure which is strongest.

You still stroke his cock as you speak, and it makes it difficult for him to think at all, let alone think straight. “Mm, I thought you might say that,” you start, letting go of his pulsing hard on for him to whine at, his cheeks flushing deeper at the dulcet tone you’ve managed to get out of him. Embarrassing, sure, but his cock argues otherwise. Leaking more precum inside his underwear, making them all sticky and sheer for you to bite your lip at. “But I really wanna look after you tonight, for Valentines day… Can I?” You seek his consent again, and how can he say no to that pretty face? You nust understand, right?

So that’s what the rope is for. To make sure he can’t interfere with your plans, forcing him to accept defeat not only verbally with a swift yes, of course babe but also physically. Wrists pinned to his back, your legs keeping his own open just like what he’s done to you plenty times before.

Fuck he’s so turned on. You’re so fucking hot to him like this, in control of the situation so completely that he can’t even touch you? He nods up at you, eyes squinting in on where your hands idly toy with the hem of his boxers, assumedly awaiting his go ahead.

“Uh, yeah, fuck. Sure. Please, even.” He laughs to himself, but it’s halfhearted at best. Quickly transitioning into a lewd gasp when your hand makes contact with his bear cock, his hips instinctively lifting to aid you in getting his underwear completely off. Once they’re thrown to the side he hisses into the cold air that greets his wet cock, choking on a moan when you press a finger to the back of his tip to pull him towards you, letting go only to make him heave at the slap of his cock against his tummy. The lewd trail of precum connecting his tip to his belly button is quickly collected by your finger, the sight of you pressing it to your puckered lips sends him over the edge, and he grits his teeth in return. It’s unfair, he thinks. How you’re too hot for him to handle, how you know exactly how to get to him like this. A curse and a blessing, though right now he’s inclined to believe the former to be more true. He knows that to be the truth when it’s him treating you the way you deserve.

The sound of your hum pulls him from his selfish thoughts and he looks up at your face, only to be greeted by the hunger present in your gaze staring right at his cock. Your hand is so close, hovering right next to his cock that he almost twists his hips to the side so that you’re forced to grab it; but he refrains. Holds off, preferring to offer you the full control that it seems like you want.

“So pretty.” You muse to yourself, and he instantly looks away from you, feeling all hot and bothered by being called something so… Well, additionally feminine. “You're so pretty, Alex. so big and strong and pretty,” It’s not that he dislikes the term at all, but rather that he’s never been called it before in his life. Fuck, he laughs internally. You’ve got him feeling like some kind of shy kid, all embarrassed about being complimented when it’s usually his favourite thing in the world. He’s used to compliments due to his rigorous workout routine, but here you are calling him with his cock out of all things pretty. “Wanna make you feel as pretty as I think you are, okay?”

And he can’t compete with your wishes, nodding shyly without glancing back at you. The coil in his tummy convinces him that it’s a good feeling, actually. That he likes being pretty, particularly if it’s coming from you. Because you’re pretty too, and he trusts your judgement above all else. Even if your judgement has him all shy and blushy, unable to meet your eyes until he feels the pressure of your palm gripping his hot and heavy length and he’s once again pulled to you, like a fucking magnet. God, he loves you so much. Loves the way you flutter your eyelashes in his direction, drinking in the sight of him so unsure and giving his cock a reassuring squeeze, an unspoken it’s okay, promise, and he immediately falls back into you.

“Yeah? Y’think so?” he regains some composure, trying to return to the cocky confident attitude he’s used to, but the glide of your hand up and down his exposed cock is enough to convince him to shut up; be honest. “Ah, fuck—" he lets slip, eyes rolling due to finally being touched like this, the full weight of your hand wrapped snug around his girth coaxing him to dribble more pre, feeling it roll down his length for your little fist to pick up. He loves the sight of it a bit too much, probably. How small you are in comparison to him, how even your hands pale in comparison to his cock. Old habits surface and he wants to bully you lightly about it like he usually does, cooing sweetly about how he has no idea how you take him so well, but you distract him by tucking some hair behind your ears before drooling onto his tip— as if there wasn’t enough lubrication as is. “You do so much for me,” you whisper sweetly after spitting, “Let me repay your efforts.”

Dirty, such a gross sight that he’s got no choice but to buck into the vulgar act: because he likes it. Loves when you act like this, all slutty and depraved, hiding behind an act of innocence when allowing your drool to dribble down his cock for fist collection like his pre. Usually it’s him that acts like a dog in heat, rutting and rubbing himself on you every chance he gets— but to have you acting like the one starved is so fucking pretty to him. Talk about being pretty, even as you’re doing something so perverted like using your own spit to jack him off with, you still look like an angel to him. Has his head all cloudy, unable to focus on anything other than the slick sounds of your tiny hand stroking his fat length fully, collecting all the oozing pre to leave his cock all wet and shiny and feeling so fucking good oh my God; he could probably cum for you already, feeling so vulnerable from the role reversal. Your intentions to treat him tonight have already been fulfilled, and he has to let you know somehow.

Leaning forward as much as possible as is allowed with his upper arms pinned behind his back, his hips try to jut with the motion. Further into your magic touch, chewing at the inside of his cheeks to keep his moans in check; doesn’t want to be too noisy this early on in your (un)kind treatment. Slowly, he inches closer to you, automatically tilting his head to the side as he nears your lips. “Just one?” He asks softly, whispered against your skin as you in turn move to face him in kindness. It’s slow, calculated and soft, barely existing between due to how difficult it is for him to keep this forward position, prompting him to moan into the kiss. His arms bulge with his cock, straining to keep as close to you as possible so as to kiss you more, his tongue peeking out for just a second before he immediately falls back with a muted oof. Still, the feeling of your lips on his has him weak in the knees, only filling him with more primal desire to please you, a low and long whine crawling up his chest as your pace on his cock quickens. A wet slick sound soon fills the room to rival his whines, pairing nicely with the cute gasp you let out when his hips jerk harsher into your closed fist. It’s clear how badly he wants— no, needs you to continue, grinding his teeth together in an effort to shut himself up, but it’s pointless. You’re so good at getting him off, jerking his cock so perfectly that it’s impossible for him to shut up about it as more moans spill from his dry throat.

And just as he’s getting into it, you stop. Of fucking course, a greedy gasp escaping his now open mouth at the sudden loss of contact. He wants to whine more about it, thrust his bobbing cock back into your hand, beg for some more attention— don’t you see how pretty he is? But just before he has a chance to embarrass himself for you he notices the way you sit back, trailing your hands up to your own underwear and peeling them off, not missing the string of slick keeping them connected to your cunt— “Oh, shit…” He heaves, unable to look at anything other than your perfect angel cunt, tongue clicking against his teeth in habit before he gives you a wolf whistle. “Fuckin’ perfect, God, need you so bad.” He mutters, more to himself than anything else, but he’s happy to hear that you’ve heard him when you lightly scold him to be patient.

Easy for you to say from your position, you’re not the one tied up and exposed, you aren’t currently riled up beyond belief with no way to resolve the issue. But nonetheless, he listens. Because he loves you, and if you want to spend Valentines day bullying him then he’ll play along.

Next is your top, thrown in the swiftly increasing pile of clothing on the floor. His vision switches to your tits, mouth watering at the sight of them, tongue lolling out a little at the urge he has to nip at them like usual. And through routine, he tries to reach out for them; only for a frustrated groan to swiftly follow when he’s reminded of his pinned position. “So pretty, shit— please tell me you’ve got more planned?” he practically pouts up at you, only looking at your face briefly before nodding down at your cunt, a crass gesture but he’s not got much more choice here. “Wanna be inside ya, please, baby—”

More begging wants to follow, but he shuts up at soon as you start moving towards him too, shifting your knees to either side of him and situating your cunt above his cock so dangerously close that he’s sure all it’d take is a quick fuck of his hips upwards for him to get exactly what he wants, but your hands on his chest for stability remind him of your previous words. Patience.

“Do you, now?” You taunt him from above, sexy smirk prompting his eyes to roll to the back of his skull again in sheer sexual restlessness.

“Mhm, want it so bad you don’t understand— huh?”

Cut off by the feeling of something on his tip, he cranes his neck to look between your legs only to be met by the sight of your slick dripping down over his cock, wetting him further with your own sweet juices. It’s immediately too much for him, balls tight with need to claim you as his own, to fill you so full of love that it starts gushing out of you, because it’s what you deserve. But you’re being so slow with it, taking your time to take what you own, and he both hates it and loves it at the same time. Hates how he can’t still his rapidly beating heart, or the ache in his cock to be buried so deep in your cunt that you can’t remember your own name. Loves the way your slow treatment has him acting up, got him so desperate for just an inch inside your tight little hole that he’d do just about anything for a taste by now. In love with you and how you make him wait, knowing deep down despite his frustrations that the wait will be worth it— because it’s you.

And yet still, having you rest your tits against his chest, his lips automatically finding your own while you lower your hips minimally, fucking— he can’t fucking focus when you kiss him like this, slow to catch up to the feeling of your hole threatening to engulf his cock; instead you just circle his tip with your cunt, rubbing up and down on it without allowing him entry, and he’d love to remedy that by humping until he catches your hole, but your tongue slips into his parted lips and he can’t quite seem to remember what he was about to do. Too hypnotised by the way your tongue glides against his own, the sloppy sounds of your lips smacking against his, how your saliva tastes when it drips down his tongue and he swallows it back his throat. Obviously, he grows feverish for you. Making out with you as you hump his cock to your hearts content, treating him more like a toy than your loving boyfriend; and he loves it. Fuck, use him all night if it means feeling this good, gently nibbling on your bottom lip during the kiss to show his gratitude.

So it’s no surprise that you catch him off guard when you finally sit down on his cock, just the tip at first to warm him up, but the previous teasing and shared heated kiss has him so aroused that he has to beg you not to move in fear of shooting his load far too early. Wants to be able to give you all of himself before cumming, throwing his head back to try and focus on staying composed enough to last for as long as you want, but you make it difficult by squeezing your cunt around his already profusely leaking tip.

“Fuck, w-wait— shit, uh, hold on—” he continues, huffing and heaving with heat in his chest; he doesn’t think he’s ever been so turned on in his life. “Feel— you feel too fuckin’ good, need a minute.” He breathlessly laughs, fighting the urge to fuck his cock inside you with one swift thrust, failing when he still humps up into you just a little. Enough to knock you off balance, but not enough to fully bury himself inside of you. No, that pleasure is all yours.

“Alex—” you gasp, all cute and breathy and he realises just how challenging it’s going to be not to take charge tonight. The desperate tone of your voice, how drawn out and pretty his name sounds falling from your lips; he’s having a rough time not taking care of you right now and he’s sure it shows from how hard his cock flexes inside of you.

All he can do is breathe. Try to collect himself enough to calm down, but it’s only a few more seconds of waiting before you’re lifting yourself up off his cock on your own accord, one eye squinting as he tries to find the words to ask you to hold on but they get stuck in his throat when you sit all the way down fast and hard, cunt completely wrapped around his fat cock so fast that he can’t stop his hips from matching your movement in a swift fuck upwards— seemingly setting the pace as you bounce up and back down his cock, only for him to return to motion on pure instinct alone.

And it’s stupid, really. A dumb move for him to make even if he couldn’t help it, because he’s already so close to cumming, and now you’re bouncing on his cock so expertly that he can’t see anything for a moment due to his eyes squeezing shut. You’re so soft and warm inside it’s insane, drives him nuts to have your walls pulse and constrict around his greedy cock so snugly, to open his eyes and watch your tits tease him with every bounce you make in his lap, your face scrunched up in sheer pleasure with that pretty smile plastered on your lips.

He’s so in love, that’s his excuse. The reason he’s babbling praise and attempting to escape his rope bindings is because he’s so in love with you that it’s physically painful not to show you. Sure, he can say it; “Don’t fuckin’ stop, no matter what.” He contradicts his earlier begs. “So tight for me, fuck, look at your tits—” his voice strains, interspersed with too loud moans that rival the bed squeaks as he fucks you from below just as much as you bounce on top of him. But nothing compares to grabbing you, pinching and prodding the fat of your thighs, leaving a trail of saliva on your chest from hot kisses; he hopes you pick up on his want for more.

Only you could have him feel like he’s melting, rolling his hips into you so sloppily, a complete mess of drool and slick and moans. You only make matters worse for him when you adopt a sultry tone, like you aren’t as fucked as he is which he hopes isn’t the case because he’s so so close he can feel it, crawling up from his spine to his tip, cock trembling in your tight messy cunt; right on the edge already— “Oh?” Your nails dig into him with your gasp, and he keens for you. A high pitched whine responding in place of anything coherent, because your cunt walls refuse to let him sound anything other than pleasepleaseplease oh fuck please— “You look— look like you’re enjoying yourself—” you moan, and he is! God, maybe a bit too much given how he paws at his own back skin, arms surely red raw from how desperately he attempts to escape the ropes, feet digging into the sheets to cause him to slip down a little on the bed and oh; the new angle you’re able to fuck him in is deeper, your plush insides sucking his cock off too well for him to handle as he sobs for you. The wet skin on skin smack rings in his ears, balls slapping against your ass as you ride him hot and heavy. Too much—

“Close— God, fuck—” he cuts himself off with a deep inhale, expression contorting into one of anger as instinct takes over, his hips driving into you with enough speed to leave you merely hanging on to his neck as he knocks you over on top of him, allowing him to send his appreciation over your perfect little hole directly down your ear. “Gonna cum, angel. Makin’ me feel so good, fuck, m’sorry—” he babbles, thrusting into you once, twice more before he’s spilling. The sweet praise you send his way does little to quell the fire in his tummy, causing his hips to stutter into you when you whisper “Pretty boy, thank you—”. Shooting his fat load right against your cervix with snapped thrusts, humping himself stupid with how he doesn’t slow down in the slightest; riding his high for all he’s worth as your sloppy hole milks him dry. And even when he’s empty he keeps fucking into you with short thrusts, leaving you able to sit on him again with the tiny bounces he has you sit through.

Silence falls following. With how hard he’s fucked you it’s no wonder he can’t catch his breath, struggling to say much of anything other than sorry and thank you as he comes down from his high. He’d like to thank you better, of course, but there’s no way he could ever make it up to you other than by making you cum as hard as you’ve allowed him to, so he sucks in as much air as he can and begs you again.

“Lemme— can you uh, untie me?” he huffs, hair sticking to his forehead with exertion, sweat shiny on his chest. “Wanna make you feel good too, deserve it.” He mumbles, exhaustion present in his body, but the good kind. The type that screams: just had the best sex of my life, and he’d adore to make you feel the same way.

But rather than answering him with words, your body does all the talking he needs. A slow pace to start, but it’s enough stimulation to leave him wincing. His voice is shaky and rushed when he asks what you’re doing, “Baby, c’mon…” he tries to bargain with you in spite of your gradually increasing pace, the lazy way in which you trace circles against his chest almost coaxes him to give in to you, but you’ve fucked him right into overstimulation. Empty. And when he regards you with confusion he’s only met with a serious glance. One of determination, like you’re communicating that you’re not done, you haven’t came yet.

And while he appreciates the sentiment, his cock is already spent. Sure, he’s still hard, but he’s came so much that it drips out your tight little hole and down to his balls, sounding a sickeningly sweet squelch every time you drop back down in his lap. It’s hard to ignore how hot that is, even as he tries to withdraw his hips. “I-I’ve got nothing— fuuuuck— don’t got nothing left for ya, I—”

“I know.” You reply simply, but so sweetly that the innocence dripping from your threat leaves him dazed, hips automatically circling inside your hole to stir your insides up like how your words have his heart stirred. “You’re so cute when you cum, Alex.” You compliment him, knowing that he’s so starved for your affection despite receiving it in droves that that’s all it takes to get him back on track.

That’s all there is to it, he supposes. You know he’s spent, and so he does his best to steel himself for your bullying but fuck if he isn’t sore. Pained whines escaping his exhausted throat, still rock hard and pressing insistently against your insides, shoving his cum further into your cute cunt every time you impale yourself on his cock. Tip all red and angry and still drooling for you, mingling pre with his seed, tears welling in his eyes from the too good feeling emanating from his cock. It travels down to his balls too, leaving them all taut despite how he’s just emptied them. “I don’t— don’t think I can go for much longer, babe.” He cringes at himself, how he sounds like a bitch in heat instead of you, the way he stutters and stops and moans between his begging. And to humiliate him some more you do exactly as he’s asked for and stop, sitting stationary on his worn out cock only to warm him.

“Ah, fuck, wait—!” he scrambles, the overwhelming heat of your cunt leaving his cock all tingly, an unbearable feeling of unrest sitting thickly in his chest. “Keep going, please, I’ll do m’best fr’ya.” He tries to convince you, and given that you’ve yet to cum he figures you’ll easily give in.

“Promise, baby. Just— Keep fuckin’ me. Feels so good, promise.” He sniffs through sobs, the stupidly good feeling of your gushy insides prompting tears to stain his cheek, rolling down in fat globs like how his tip dirties your insides, weeping for you to keep abusing him until you’re satisfied. And he’s not sure if it’s his words or his sobs that convince you to keep going, but the way you so tenderly cup his cheek and kiss his tears away before starting an unfairly brutal pace leaves him dumb; so it doesn’t really matter. The small “Cute.” You mutter against his cheek has his blushing again, and all he knows is that you’re bouncing on his cock and he feels good, his hips trying to match your pace as you take to grinding while humping his cock but he fails so miserably that another cry wracks through him, frustrated with need and unable to do anything about it.

Despite it all though, he loves you and the way you’re making him feel. The itch in his fingers to drag you down his cock and keep you there, instead fucking into your filled up hole while you cry for him drives him insane, sobbing and moaning in tandem with the gush of your cunt, drinking up all your lewd moans hushed against his chest as you focused solely on getting yourself off, using his cock like some sort of dildo and leaving him a downright deplorable mess of fluids is insanely sexy to him. And in spite of the pain you fuck out of him, it’s good. Delicious stings of hurt that only convince his cock to remain hard, to continue trying to fuck your pretty little hole with mistimed thrusts as you grind his pelvis— he knows you’re close when you start to shake in his lap, by the way you hold your breath against his chest.

“Please, gimmie it.” He asks for your orgasm, doubling his efforts to make you cum even if his hips draw back further every time he buries balls deep inside you again due to the pangs of pain. “Need t’feel ya cream my cock, angel. C’mon, y’can do it.” He slurs, a few more tears streaming down his face from exasperation.

But when you do eventually cum, he’s all smiles. Can’t fight the twitch of his lips as he beams down at you, even if you can’t see it. You just make him feel that good, y’know? Like he can’t fight his more primal nature when it concerns you, humping into you to help you ride out your high like you deserve, because you’ve treated him with such kindness tonight that he’d be stupid not to offer you the same treatment back. The sound of his name falling from your pretty plush lips is thanks enough, he thinks, and your drool on his chest is just extra.

He gives you space to come down even though you didn’t offer him the same— mostly because he can’t imagine going again after the overstimulation you’ve made him endure tonight. And he’d hug you if he could, pet your hair and call you a good girl, but he’s afraid to speak over the sniffs and sighs you’ve fucked him into. Besides, the moment is tender enough that he doesn’t feel the need to reassure you; the sticky mess between your thighs should be comfort enough. For now, he’s content just to kiss the top of your head with his eyes closed, smile never leaving his face as you wiggle softly in his lap, enjoying the remnants of your orgasm in the silent comfort he provides.

That is until you twinge around him. A soft movement, almost as if you were just moving around to find the most comfortable position against him, but he knows you better than that by now. His face falls as your cunt squirms around his cock, immediate anxiety taking hold in his chest that easily resolves into horny tension when you coo against him: “Too pretty, wanna go again.”

“Okay babe.” He grunts, sucking his tears up and rolling his eyes back all at once. “Okay, c’mon angel. Make me feel good again, kay?”

#sdv smut #sdv alex smut #stardew valley smut #stardew valley alex smut

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nebulablakemurphy · 11 months

Text

Moves & Countermoves (Part 19)

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing. Trigger warning: discussions of trauma surrounding ‘desirable’ victors.

Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18

“Tell me about the stairs,” Dr. Aurelius says.

Y/N stares at him blankly, the stairs.

He waits a moment, tapping his pen to paper. “At the request of your husband, you will be issued a nightlock pill, to use in the event that you are captured.”

Y/N nods. One of the stipulations to Haymitch agreeing to her deployment, on this mission to rescue Peeta.

‘Show me you can reach it with your mouth.’ He tested the accessibility of her suit’s pill pocket, rigorously. ‘Show me you can still reach it with your hands behind your back.’

It isn’t something he wants her to use, but knowing that whatever Snow has planned for her would make Peeta’s captivity look like child’s play…

“By President Coin’s orders, I cannot release this… medication unless you are of sound mind.”

“You have reason to believe I’m not?” Y/N asks.

“One of your former guards told me you asked if anyone had ever jumped from the elevator.” Aurelius purses his lips.

“It was one time!” Y/N waves a hand, “and it was a joke.”

“You have a dark sense of humor.”

“You would too.”

The therapist affords her a soft smile, “you may be right. Even still, you are my patient. I need to act in your best interest. So please, tell me what happened on the stairs.”

Y/N takes a deep breath, “it’s kind of a blur. Everyone was pushing, yelling, especially after the upper levels were damaged and the rain started coming down.”

“How did you feel?”

“I felt…worried, I guess.”

“In what way?”

“About Haymitch, Madge and the kids. Worried about what was happening to Peeta. Worried about getting Katniss into the bunker.”

He jots this down.

“That was a normal response.” Y/N snaps.

“Very much so,” the doctor agrees, “not every note I make is a bad one.”

Y/N crosses her arms.

“Did you worry for yourself? Your own safety?”

You’re supposed to say yes.

“There is no right answer, Y/N.”

“There’s an answer that gets me to Peeta and one that doesn’t.”

“True,” he shrugs, “but I trust you not to lie.”

“You shouldn’t.” Y/N narrows her eyes. “I’m a good liar, I’ve been doing it since I was fifteen.”

“How do you feel about death? Is it something you long for, or run from?”

“If I die, my kids lose their mother, my husband loses his wife, my sister loses her sister. The list goes on. So it really doesn’t matter how I feel about death. All I know is that I cannot die.”

“Yet you think you could bite down on this pill?” He presents the dark purple capsule.

“As a last resort. If I have fought tooth and nail and I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I can’t get free? I could.” Y/N decides.

Dr. Aurelius nods, holding the nightlock out to her. “Best of luck.”

————————————————————————

Haymitch curses Katniss’ name, as he shuffles through the crawl space she’s gone to hide in, after refusing to make the propo saying thirteen survived Snow’s attack.

Have kids, they said. It will be fun, they said.

Though none of his biological children have forced him to squeeze in such a tight space, parenthood is not for the faint of heart.

He plops down beside her with a sigh, “so this is the end, huh? I guess we’re just gonna hide down here forever.”

“I can’t be the mockingjay,” Katniss chokes out.

“Not the mockingjay,” Haymitch tosses a bit of hair away from her face, “just Katniss.”

She blinks at him, warily.

“Look, I know I’m not good at this pep talk stuff. That’s Y/N’s department.”

“She doesn’t want to see me,” Katniss understands.

“She spent the morning getting cleared by her shrink.”

“Cleared for what?”

“They’re going to rescue Peeta.” Haymitch tells her.

“What?”

“The dam went down in district five, took out most of the power to the Capitol. Knocked out their signal defense, Beetee’s inside their system, reeking all kinds of havoc. The window is open to us, for how much longer? I don’t know, I guess until the Capitol can get the power back on.” Haymitch explains.

“And Coin?”

“I can never fully support that woman. But Plutarch got word that Peeta and the others are in the tribute center. With the power out, Coin sees this as an opportunity. She knows that Peeta is the Capitol’s weapon, the same way you’re ours. And as opposed to having you two pointing at each other, she’s going to get him.”

“I have to go help them.” Katniss springs to life.

“Woah, hey,” Haymitch reaches out a hand to stop her. “What’re you just gonna jump out of the vent and go storm the Capitol? Besides it’s already underway. Six soldiers went in, volunteer only. Y/N, Gale, Boggs and three others.”

“You just let her go?” Katniss frowns.

Haymitch admits, “she’s not the type of person you ‘let’ do things. But you know how that is, sweetheart. Between the two of you,” he lets out a low whistle, “I’m exhausted.”

————————————————————————

Madge breaks her dinner roll in half. Splitting it between Everest and Arista, the same way she’s watched Y/N and Haymitch do since they got here. Making sure little bellies are full, before their own.

Pollux approaches, motioning to the seat across from Madge, at the metal mess hall table. He sets down his tray and pulls out his note pad, to jot a message down. “Is this seat taken?”

“No,” Madge greets him, “please, sit.”

“Hi, I’m Pollux. You’re Y/N’s sister, right?”

Madge nods.

“She keeps your picture in her pocket.” Pollux smiles. “And them.” He points to the oldest children.

Everest’s eyes scan the page. “Our mom told us about you. What happened to you in the Capitol…I’m really sorry.”

“Honey,” Madge runs a hand over his hair.

“Thank you, Everest. It’s nice to meet you. Your mom talks about you all the time, she is so proud.” Pollux turns the page quickly, for more room. “Arista and Daisy too, of course. Your mom loves you all very much.”

With that the children turn back to their meals.

Madge smiles, stabbing at her food with one hand, while patting the baby in the sling. The tray moves and Pollux holds out a hand to stabilize it. “Oh, thank you. It’s ok though, you eat.”

He draws the hand back, long enough to scribble, “I’d offer to hold the baby instead, but I don’t think we’re there yet.”

Madge laughs, “funny.”

“It’s really no trouble.”

Madge shrugs, as he grips the edge of her tray, loosely. Managing his own dinner just fine.

Cressida calls him away, after a while, for Finnick’s live propo, to help jam the Capitol’s airwaves.

“I’ll see you around.”

“I’ll see you.”

————————————————————————

“This is Finnick Odair, winner of the sixty-fifth Hunger Games, coming to you from district thirteen, alive and well. We survived an attack by the Capitol, but I’m not here to give you recent news.”

“Why is Finnick doing a propo?” Katniss wonders, watching the split screen of the control room. The large, right panel is an image of Finnick. Just outside the rubble, where they asked her to film earlier, the sun has set and the lights are trained on him. The left hand side is home to six smaller panels, with the soldier’s helmet cam footage.

“It’s a lot more than that,” Haymitch informs her.

“Beetee’s commandeered the system,” Coin says, proudly.

“They’re down to generator power, so there’s a more limited range of frequencies available to them. I’m filling them all up with Y/N and Finnick. It looks like they’re both live.” Beetee assures Katniss.

“Snow will think she’s still here?” That’s brilliant.

“Not many will see it, but those who do will assume they’re just propos.”

“What they don’t know is that these broadcasts are jamming their entire system with noise. Early defense warnings, internal communications, everything. As long as one or both of the broadcasts are going through, our team should be able to get in and out without being detected.” Beetee assures her.

“You can survive the arena, but the moment you leave, you’re a slave.” Finnick narrates. “President Snow used to sell me, or my body, at least.”

“Mockingjay one, you are twenty seconds from perimeter defense.”

“I wasn’t the only one. If a victor is considered desirable, the president gives them as a reward, or allows people to buy them. If you refuse, he kills someone you love.” Finnick presses on, looking straight at camera.

“Ten seconds.” The hovercraft pilot begins counting down. “Nine, eight, seven, six.”

“Just because a victor is married doesn’t mean they’re safe.”

“Five, four, three…”

“The Capitol’s more generous patrons paid dearly to watch the wedding night, even more to witness the conception of the most beloved children in Panem.”

“Two, one.”

Katniss freezes, surely he doesn’t mean- it couldn’t be. The dress, that stupid dress they crammed her in. Why it upset Y/N so badly. Snow was taunting her.

“No response from perimeter defense, we’re inside Capitol airspace.”

“Yes,” Beetee rejoices.

Haymitch is watching the smaller screen, his jaw tense, doing his best to ignore the eyes that fall on him. Twisting his wedding band around and around. It doesn’t matter what secrets Finnick reveals, so long as he keeps jamming the signal. Keep Y/N safe.

“To make themselves feel better, patrons will offer presents of money or jewelry. But I found secrets to be a much more valuable form of payment.”

“Gear up,” Boggs orders the soldiers on the hovercraft. They are just seconds away from the tribute center. “Masks on.”

Their lenses are tinted for night vision, the red light inside makes Y/N’s heartbeat faster.

“Open the door.” Boggs says, his voice echoing through her headset. “Command, this is team leader, preparing to deploy gas. We will confirm once inside.”

“Such a young man when he rose to power, such a clever one to keep it. How, you may ask, did he do it?” Finnick is captivating, well spoken.

Katniss is hanging off every word.

“One word, poison.”

The timer for the gas grenadines finishes, on Bogg’s stop watch, “get ready to drop.”

Y/N secures her harness to the wire, giving it a firm tug. Descending through the open loading dock, releasing the wires as they reach ground.

“Clear.” Boggs, informs the team. “We’re inside, headed for target number one. Cell B forty-five, lower level two C.”

“So many deaths to well known adversaries, even allies who were deemed as threats.”

It’s dizzying, giving equal attention to Finnick’s message and the feed from inside the tribute center.

Haymitch is glued to that screen, her screen. Like he wants to reach through and bring her back with him.

Once Peeta’s holding cell is gassed, they are cleared to enter.

“Snow would drink from the same cup, to deflect suspicion. But antidotes don’t always work, which is why he wears roses that reek of perfume. To help cover the scent of sores, in his mouth, that will never heal.”

Poison, Katniss shakes her head to clear it. He’s still talking about poison.

Inside the room is a lab, full of jars, experiments. Cages. Medical equipment, some with blood still visible.

“What the fuck?” Y/N whispers, reaching out to try and make sense of it.

“Abernathy, on me.” Boggs warns, they need to stay focused.

“What is this place?” Gale asks, venturing deeper.

Their screens lights up, all of them at once. Too bright to see.

“Ahh.”

There is a collective hiss, from those in the tribute center. The power’s back on.

“Beetee?” Katniss has a hand flat against her belly, where the worry eats her alive.

“Ma’am, the Capitol air defense is rebooting. It’s coming back online.”

“They must be diverting power from another source, filtering transmissions. Another sixty seconds and we’ll be cut off.” Beetee scowls, typing furiously at the control panel.

“Get them outta there,” Haymitch demands.

“Madame President, should we call back the hovercraft?”

“Broadcast me,” Katniss decides, “if Snow’s watching this, maybe he’ll let the signal in, if he sees me. Put me on the air so he can see me.”

“Yes,” Plutarch snaps a finger. “Yes.”

“Put her on,” Coin agrees.

“Can we still do this?” Haymitch’s hands are shaking as he positions the camera in front of her. “Can we still get in?” Can we still save her?

“Yes, for the moment,” Beetee replies. “The line’s open, he will only see you.”

“Ok, Katniss,” Haymitch steps away. “Go.”

“President Snow.” Katniss says, “President Snow, it’s Katniss.”

The static continues to crackle. No more Finnick, no more footage from the tribute center. Just her.

“President Snow, can you hear me?” Katniss repeats, hoping for a miracle. “I need to speak with you, are you there? President Snow.”

“Miss Everdeen,” his voice is distorted for a moment, until the signal hones in. “What an honor. I don’t imagine you’re calling to thank me for the roses.”

“I never asked for this. I never asked to be in the games.” Katniss reminds him. “I just wanted to save my sister and keep Peeta alive. Let him go and I will stop being the mockingjay. I will disappear and you’ll never have to see me again.”

“You couldn’t run from this anymore than you could’ve run from the games.”

“Please, you’ve won.” Katniss says, “release Peeta and take me instead.”

Snow shakes his head with a smirk. “We are long past the opportunity for noble sacrifice.”

“Then tell me what to do, I’ve always kept my promises. Haven’t I?”

“You said you didn’t want a war, and that’s just what happened. I told you what a fragile thing peace was and still, like a child, you took pleasure in breaking it. I know what you are, I know you can’t see past your narrowest concerns. But please, Miss Everdeen, I doubt you know what honesty is anymore.”

“You asked me to convince you that I was in love with Peeta,” Katniss challenges. “Haven’t I at least done that?”

Snow takes great pleasure in what he’s about to say, it’s written all over his twisted features. “It’s the things we love most that destroy us. I want you to remember I said that.” He pauses. “Don’t you think I know Y/N and your friends are in the tribute center?”

Katniss feels the floor fall out from under her.

“Cut them off.” Snow says, turning away from the screen. It returns to the static hum of nothing.

They had comms back, but now Beetee’s lost them again.

“What happened?” Katniss sobs.

“Boggs, do you read me? Boggs, come in.”

“He knows they’re in there,” Katniss calls to Haymitch. “It’s a trap.”

“Katniss, calm down.” Haymitch whispers.

“We have to get ahold of them, tell them to get out. He knows.”

“There’s no signal, we can’t contact them,” Plutarch sighs.

“No, Haymitch.” Katniss crumbles, “he knew the whole time, he was taunting me! No, Haymitch-”

“No, no, we don’t know that.” Haymitch hushes her, because he has to be strong. He has to be steady, even with his world falling to pieces.

“Did I lose them all tonight? Did I lose them all?”

Haymitch pulls her into a hug. “Shhh,” he smooths down her dark waves, the same way he would his other daughters.

She holds fast, allowing him to comfort her. “Did I lose them?” The cry is muffled against his shoulder.

“Shh,” he sways them, gently.

“No, no.”

“Katniss,” Haymitch breathes, “listen to me. I need you to listen.”

She nods, unable to calm her erratic breathing.

“If Y/N died, I would feel it. I would feel it in my heart, if she was gone and I don’t. If she’s alive, Peeta is alive, Gale is alive. All we have to do is wait.”

————————————————————————

“Systems are back online.” The pilot informs them.

There’s nothing they can do. Communication with thirteen is shut down, no way to get through to Beetee. They’ll either shoot them out of the sky or they won’t. The only way out is through.

Y/N doesn’t mean to, but she holds her breath. Waiting until they clear Capitol airspace to resume a normal pattern.

Of the five other soldiers on this rescue mission, there is one medic. She begins tending Annie, Johanna and Peeta in turn. Starting IV fluids, as they are all dehydrated; unconscious from the gas.

Annie looks like herself, maybe a bit gaunt, but recognizable. Peeta is thin, so thin and covered in bruises. Johanna’s head has been shaved, cheeks hollow and ribs showing. Y/N tosses off her helmet, running both hands over her face.

“Soldier.” Boggs puts a hand to her shoulder. “You did good. We accomplished our goal. Now we can all go home.”

Y/N nods, blinking away tears.

“Take a breather, there’s a separate compartment through there,” he motions to the rear doors. “He’ll need you when he comes to.”

Peeta does not wake for some time, beginning to struggle at his bindings. No, he realizes, it’s not a binding that holds him. It’s a hand. Just one wrapped loosely around his.

It feels familiar, soft. Someone he knew once, it smells of artificial air. She is warm, the space around her is warm, gentle and kind. A second hand strokes his hair, the way he once wished his mother would.

His eyelids begin to flutter open, daring to reveal that he is conscious. If he’s wrong…if it’s not her and they’ve tricked him again, it will be his own fault.

“Peeta,” Y/N says, staring down at him.

He blinks up at her, in the too bright light. His breathing heavy as she tries to move away, to give him space, but he holds her. Squeezing her fingers.

“Peeta, do you know who I am?”

His throat is sore, voice hoarse, from screaming. “Y-yes.”

“Good,” Y/N smiles.

“Where am I?”

“We’re in a hovercraft, on the way to district thirteen.”

Peeta studies her face. There was something…something is missing, something’s wrong. “What happened to the baby?”

“She’s fine.” Y/N assures him. “Keeping her siblings and Haymitch company.”

“You’re all ok?”

Y/N nods, “yeah, honey, we’re all ok. Now we focus on getting you healthy. Ok?”

He doesn’t flee from her touch, only the occasional flinch when he forgets where he is, until she reminds him that he is safe. “You came back for me.”

“Of course I did.”

Y/N leaves him briefly, with the doctors, upon arrival in thirteen. She needs to find Haymitch, tell him she’s ok. And she is running, searching, colliding into him, with such force that they are both sent off balance.

Down to the floor, the dirty, cold floor. But no place has ever felt better. To hold him, for him to hold her and inhale the scent at the crook of his neck.

“Never again.” He pleads, massaging the back of her scalp, like he does when she’s falling asleep. “Never do that to me again.”

“I’m sorry, Haymitch.” She nuzzles the delicate skin of his throat.

“Don’t make me live in a world where you don’t exist.”

‘All I know is that I cannot die.’

Part 20

Series Taglist: @praline357 @flowercrowns-goodvibes @justheretoparty420 @avocadotoastwithegg @treehouse-mouse @emo-markie @spilled-mi1k @magical-spit @greaser9902 @jessicamellarky @yourebuckingkiddingme @smuha2004 @sendhelplease @ninimackbrews @wittiestrain184 @r1dd1kulus @erenluvr69 @helpimhyperfixating @jackierose902109 @jellybear455 @dreammgc @dadbodfanatic-x @ftdtcmlovr @inky-sun @ms-brek-ker @undercover55655 @mischiefmanaged21 @avoxrising @koiphisch @drwho-ess @daisydaisybilly

#moves & countermoves #haymitch abernathy fanfic #haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch abernathy #haymitch abernathy x y/n #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy x you #haymitch fanfic #haymitch x y/n #thg haymitch #haymitch abernathy x yn #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark

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russellsppttemplates · 19 days

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Girl where is Finn and Julia I missed them 🥹

Note: they're up to mischief! 👀

"What are you two up to?", you asked, looking around the playroom and seeing Finn and and Julia looking back up at you. It was insane how much the two toddlers looked like their father - they were two Max clones you had brought to the world.

Julia gave you a cheeky smile before looking at Finn, "be good, alright? We just tidied this room so Luka and Lio can come and play as you have space to actually play", you chuckled and left the room to make sure the cookies you were baking weren't burning.

Julia and Max exchanged a look and giggled, returning to the building blocks they were playing with.

"I'm bored", Julia whined, dropping the construction she was working on and looking at her brother. Finn seemed to agree wirh his sister, looking around at something else they could play with or do that wouldn't get the room all turned around and upside down.

"We could play outside?", Finn suggested, making Julia nod excitedly.

They both walked to the living room slowly, opening the floor to ceiling window as quietly as they could so they wouldn't be caught, "we have to be quiet, Julia, or else mama will notice", Finn whispered, smiling widely when the coast was clear and they had all access to the garden.

Julia was the first to step onto the grass, squealing when her fluffy slippers got wet, Finn giggling as he looked around at everything that was wet from the rain earlier in the morning. The spring weather was still undecided whether or not it wanted to come in full force so you often had rainy mornings despite the rest of the day being warm and sunny.

A puddle on the grass caught their attention as Julia ran to it, landing on it after a big jump and splashing it around, "it feels funny, Finn!", she added, pointing to the patch of mud under her feet.

Finn's eyes lit up before reconsidering it, "we'll get wet and dirty", he said as he let if foot tap the muddy puddle, "but it does feel funny", he smiled as he jumped with his sister.

It was all fun until their auntie Victoria and their cousins stepped inside from the driveway, following the noise since they assumed you were all outside.

"Uh-oh", Julia said as Victoria looked at them with her hands on her hips, "your mama has no idea you're here, right? Did you two sneak off? You know it's not nice", she half scolded, knowing they wouldn't get into too much trouble or so anything unsafe as the pool had a fence around it and there wasn't much where they could get seriously hurt on.

When Luka pulled you to follow him to the garden, you definitely didn't expect to see your children in muddy clothes, "what have you two done?", you shook your head, "you can't leave like that, okay? No more of that please!", you asked.

"We know, mama", Julia said event though she had loved every minute of it as the smile on her face let you know that much.

They were safe and clothes could be washed, "C'mon, in you go - through the kitchen and into the laundry room so I can put those into the washer straight away and wipe the floor right away", you guided them, taking a quick photo to send Max.

#max verstappen blurb #inês writes blurbs #f1 blurb #f1 x reader

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wildestdreamsblog · 1 year

Note

I reaaaally love your blog and writing. You deserve all the followers and attention!! Yandere is so difficult to make accessible because it has so much potential to be negatively triggering instead of….like….arousing…ly? The whole fear to….haappy chemicals…I don’t know the science 🥹 but you do it perfectly.I am always amazed and in love with what you write❤️❤️❤️

For your follower event, if you arent too full alreadddy. Thinking “You were only supposed to be a temporary psychologist where a member was confined “ with Hoseok or Seokjin?

I had a dream like that recently and I can’t get it out. I would love to see your rendition 🙏

Happy Easter, I hope you enjoy the chocolates and bunnies ❤️

My Sunshine

Pairing: Patient!Jung Hoseok x Psychologist!Reader

Warnings: Soft Yandere, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Slight sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: ahhhhh yes, our love for twisted love! Tysm for loving my works! Belated Happy Easter hehe this was late but tysm for celebrating with me.

3000 celebration

He kept on smiling.

Had you met him under differences circumstances, you were certain that the thought of him being a danger to the society wouldn’t cross your mind. You were sure that under different circumstances, you and him would be friends. He had that specific aura in him, as though he was the sun that brought light to the world. He looked as though anyone could mess up and he wouldn’t have it in him to be angry. Not only did he look kind, but he was one of the most good looking men you had ever laid eyes on. His prominent jaw and his heart-shaped lips were only some of the attributes that stood out. His eyes were crinkling as he continued smiling at you.

Jung Hoseok looked like the kindest person you would ever meet.

Except that he did send twelve people to the hospital. The worst part of it all was that he was seen to be laughing as he beat up the men. He was said to be having the time of his life as he bathe on their blood.

He was happy.

Just like now.

You cleared your throat and crossed your legs, your notepad resting on your thighs as you tried to calm your nerves. Hoesok looked like he was not affected by any of this, as though he was not mandated by court to be evaluated psychologically. He was too calm as though he wasn’t currently confined in a mental institution because, and he quoted, he was a menace to the society.

Yet there he was, sitting on the couch in front of you with his hands resting on his lap- an image of a good, patient student.

“You look nervous, Doctor. Please, don’t be,” he broke the silence with his comforting voice, his eyes shining with genuine worry over your state. “I don’t bite.”

Oh, but he did bite that one guy. But not you, though. He decided you looked like a good person. The psychologist that came before you was on mental health leave. He stated that Hoseok’s case was stressing him out, that he was beyond saving and so they temporarily sent the new doctor in. For the life of him, he didn’t know why he was the cause of that doctor’s stress when all he did was smile at him.

Maybe he should stop smiling? Ahh, but he was just so happy, he thought.

“How are you, Hoseok?” You finally asked, looking up from his files to the man himself who was still…smiling so unnervingly.

He tilted his head in what someone could described as adorable. “The food is bland, doc. I think I’m losing weight since they sent me here two months ago,” he replied with a shudder, remembering the tasteless meals they made him eat. He even volunteered to replace the cook and they only looked at him with fear in their eyes. He was being serious, though.

You stood up without a second thought, going straight to your bag to grab your packed lunch. You were walking to him when you paused, suddenly thinking of the warnings they told you.

Don’t get too close, they said.

Don’t get fooled by his innocent face, they said.

He’s dangerous, they said.

He’s obsessive, they said.

In hindsight though, you should have listened to them. But then you kept on walking and placed your food container on the coffee table in front of him. He was watching you curiously, that smile was still ever so present on his face. He watched you hesitate before looking at him, your hand holding your own utensils.

“I won’t hurt you,” Hoseok claimed with a nod. He knew you what you were thinking. He wasn’t a bad man, he would never hurt you.

You blinked owlishly when he caught on what you were thinking before slowly placing the utensils in his large hand. “I’m choosing to trust you, Hoseok.”

A bad decision, really.

That day, he finished the food for the first time since he was institutionalized. You were good at cooking, and he found himself looking forward to his visits. He found himself hating when the clock strikes one hour. He hated when he had to leave.

The first few visits, he would only smile at you and would evade your questions with his silence. And so, you started talking about your day, your family, your work- anything to fill the silence for an hour. Jung Hoseok merely listened. You did it for another two visits until he started chiming in, asking you follow-up questions with such genuine curiosity. It was during the fifth visit when he started sharing about his childhood, about how he had a loving mom and a younger sister…about how they both perished because of some stupid break-in that happened when he wasn’t there to protect them.

He was sixteen.

You told him it wasn’t his fault, that he had no control over what happened before. You told him that he shouldn’t blame himself.

He grinned at you and told you that yes, he didn’t have control before. But now, he had all the control and power. “I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to my family again.”

You frowned at his words before looking down at the file you had already gone through several times. Did you miss the information about his family? You were certain he had none. He was said to be merely existing with no known ties. Or had all of you been fooled?

“You’re cute when you’re confused,” he observed as he leaned in, his chin resting delicately on his hand. “Your face is so expressive. You’re like a…sunshine.”

Your eyes widened from his unexpected compliment, and you couldn’t help but feel you cheeks warming up. “And I like how sunshine makes me feel,” he trailed off before smiling even brighter at you.

Brushing off the confusing feelings he evoked from you, you looked at the peculiar man, in front of you before straightening your back. “It says on the file that you no longer have living relatives.”

“I’m referring to the future family I’ll surely have, sunshine,” he divulged dreamily as though having a family of his own was promised to him.

That day was the first time you saw the swirling darkness and insanity in his eyes.

You didn’t look up when he entered the room for his visit this time, your eyes focused on your laptop to keep your emotion in check. You heard the nurse removing his straight jacket before leaving the room.

Hoseok observed you from the distance he hated, your head bowed on the device when he heard it. You sniffed, your eyes looked swollen.

Were you crying?

Hoseok felt his hand turned into a fist, his smile faltering slightly. He badly wanted to come to you if not for the device enclasping his ankle. He detested that thing- how it could control him, how it could stop him from going to you.

Additionally, he wondered why he cared…or why he didn’t care that he was falling for you.

“Who do I have to hurt, sunshine?” He inquired with a reassuring smile that did anything but reassured you. You haltered your movement before slowly sitting down in front or him.

“I didn’t bring you food today. I’m sorry-“

He waved his hand at you, his focus not on the delicious meals you always brought him. His main focus was on who he had to hurt for hurting you. “Why are you crying, sunshine?”

You swallowed the rising tightness in your throat, tears desperately wanting to fall. “I’m not-“

“Tsk. We don’t lie here, sunshine. You made me promise not to lie to you. Shouldn’t you, too?”

“I just-“ you took a deep breath to calm yourself before looking at anywhere but him. “I just had an awful week, Hoseok. It’s just a lot. My other clients aren’t exactly as…kind as you are. I have a lot of responsibilities on top of my grandmother’s hospital bills-“ you cut yourself off before you could even rant longer. You dared to raise your eyes to his, only to find him listening intently. The twisted gears in his mind turning as he processed what you were saying. “I-I’m sorry. You’re my patient. I shouldn’t have-“ you trailed off before clearing your throat. “That was unprofessional of me. You have your own problems and you didn’t need to hear mine.”

He regarded you for a moment with silence that wasn’t welcomed, a tad bit too long before he beamed at you once again. “Would you like to hear about my past, sunshine?”

“Of course,” you answered, hiding your excitement. You barely scratched the surface with him, only letting you know what he wanted you to know. And besides, his old psychiatrist would come back soon. After all, his court hearing was fast approaching.

He smiled eagerly at you before tapping the space next to him. He saw you hesitated. Hoseok hated that. Oh what he would give to see you come willingly to him, he thought. Ah, it would come. He was sure.

“It’s a secret, sunshine,” he added as though it would convinced you. “You need to come near me so I can whisper it to you,” he reasoned out with a pout, his eyes twinkling with mischief. You were safe with him. He promised himself never to hurt you when he accepted that he was falling for you. He watched you with enthusiasm and when you finally sat next to him, he felt the happiest. He turned to you before thoughtlessly holding your soft hand in his larger one. Your heart beat faster. You never expected his hand to be warm and strong. He was confusing you. Jung Hoseok was messing with your emotions. They did warn you, but you had always been a stubborn girl since you were young. You were about to pull it away from him when he spoke.

“My father was the leader of an…organization,” he began, his eyes focused on the way your hand was smaller than his. He loved how the size difference made him feel. He loved… “It was his enemies who murdered my family.”

You stopped pulling your hand away from him. He was finally sharing. He was finally letting you in his dark and bloody past. “Where is your father, Hoseok?”

He chuckled as if you asked him a funny question. He was now nuzzling your hand, rubbing it so gently against his cheek.

You didn’t have to know who was his first kill.

You didn’t have to know it was his own flesh and blood.

“He’s dead, sunshine. Not that I care,” he mused before planting small kisses on the back your hand, his hold tightening when he felt you about to pull away. “He was an abusive person who hurt my mother. That’s not love, right?” He asked you before turning his head to you. He was close…so close that you could clearly see the color of his eyes, could clearly count the little freckles on his face. He was so close that you could feel the heat coming from him.

Hoseok smiled at you before lifting his hand and caressing your cheek with the back of his hand. He was watching his hand touched your skin as though he was enchanted by it. He smiled, still smiling when the conversation was as heavy as this way. “You don’t hurt the people you love. Because if you did, that’s simply not love.”

You went home that day with your thoughts scrambled by what he revealed. You weren’t aware that he was that powerful, that his family was one of the richest and most powerful family in the country. You weren’t aware of how dangerous he really was.

But you were now as you looked at the email from the hospital stating that your bill and any succeeding treatments were all taken care of by none other than the Jung Group of Companies.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said for the fifth time today, your patience running thin from how stubborn he was. You were sitting in front of him despite his insistence that you sat next to him. He missed you. Thrice a week visitation was starting to not be enough for him. He worried for you constantly.

Did you eat?

Did you come home safe?

Did any other fuckers looked at you?

Did they?

Did they try to get your attention?

Did someone try to touch you?

Did they?

See, he worried. And it was for that reason that he had someone following you for your protection, and well…his sanity.

“Come sit with me, my sunshine,” he smiled at you as he patted not the sit beside him, but his lap this time. Your eyes widened at what he wanted. You weren’t a fool, you noticed him becoming touchy with you. You noticed him starting to be possessive of you. You were shaking your head before walking further away from him.

He hated seeing you walked away from him. He tilted his head to the side before giving you what he knew you couldn’t resist. “My sunshine,” he called you in a sing-song voice, smiling so sweetly at you it made you sick. “If you come to me now, I’ll tell you about why I beat those boys. And wouldn’t that make your job easier?”

He could see the fight in your eyes, could see you wondering whether you should trust him. In his opinion, you should trust him. He only wanted what was best for you, and well…he was the best for you. He watched you make your decision, and at the end, your sense of self-preservation lost the fight. He was triumphant as he held you in his arms, his hand caressing your waist.

God, he loved you.

“You see…those men,” he whispered from behind you, his lips touching your neck as he spoke and you couldn’t help but feel goosebumps from the way he touched you. “They were the one who murdered my family.

You stiffened from what he said…and from his lips that were peppering open-mouthed kisses on your neck. His hold on you was tight, his other hand caressing your smooth thigh. “And if you do a bad thing, shouldn’t there be consequences? You know…I waited too long for justice to come. I was patient, until I wasn’t. They weren’t atoning for their sins, sunshine. They keep on hurting innocent people. And I stopped them,” he whispered hotly in your ear, his finger so close to your core. Fuck, were you just as twisted as he was? How could you be attracted to him? To this?

Your core clenched when he traced your slit on top of your underwear. He chuckled when he felt how wet you were. He couldn’t wait to marry you. He couldn’t wait for the beautiful family that the two of you would create.

“That way, they could no longer hurt anyone. Am I not the good guy here?”

You could see it clearly now. Jung Hoseok had a distorted concept on what was right and wrong. He saw everything as black and white, his foundation was that he was good to those who were kind, yet he was even worse to those who were bad.

He enjoyed delivering his twisted justice.

“And if I’m the good guy, don’t I deserve the happily, ever after?” He whispered. You turned to look at him, his pupils blown wide evidencing his lust. He smiled at you before leaning in and kissing you so softly you thought it was your imagination. “I think I do, my sunshine. I think I deserve you.”

A knock woke you up from the twisted and hypnotic words from Hoseok. Your hour was done. You stood up hastily, fixing your skirt and blouse before facing him. Fuck, what had you done?

“I-I think…I think you need another doctor. This is our last meeting,” you stammered at the calm Jung Hoseok. He was sitting on the couch with his legs spread apart, his eyes focused on you. For the first time since you met him, he lost his smile. He looked dangerous. He was dangerous.

You should have listened to them.

Next week was his final hearing, and he already knew what would happen. He wasn’t a Jung for nothing. If you thought you would leave him that easy, you were in for a treat. He would be with you after his hearing. It would all be done. You would finally be in his arms each night. And it was that thought that calmed him down.

He only smirked, “See you next week…my sunshine.”

#3000 celebration #jung hoseok fic #bts fic #bts yandere #jung hoseok yandere #jung hoseok x reader #jung hoseok x you #j-hope fic #jung hoseok x y/n

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