#my eyes sting crying kicking screaming

[tojisun]

!! female reader; dirty talking; breeding kink; slight overstim play; unrealistic sex x’>

thinking about how simon’s the type to keep saying filth to you when he’s balls deep. how, in the throes of his pleasure, so pussy-drunk, simon begins to wax poetry about the way you make him feel.

he’s got you folded in a mating press, his lips ghosting wet kisses along your trembling legs. “god, baby,” simon murmurs, his voice a drunken slur. “i need t’wife you up, i swear.” he punctuates this with a thrust, before his fingers pinch your clit.

you choke at the feeling, your legs kicking from where they’re slung over simon’s shoulders. your head thrashes against the pillow, not knowing how else to tether yourself from the stinging pleasure, your mouth falling open uselessly as garbled moans spill out.

“oh this,” he says, distracted by your reaction. “cute little thing, isn’t it?” he looks at your pussy almost with a starry-eyed gaze.

jesus-

“shu-ut up, si!” your voice breaks, weakened from the moans, but simon’s already looking too far gone, his eyes blown wide and his face flushed because of his pleasure.

“y’just squeezed me tighter, baby.” simon rips his eyes from your cunt to look at you with a sort of giddy trance. “y’like it when i play with–” he circles his thumb on your clit, making you squeal. “this? yeah? oh, lovie, you’re gushing.”

he pulls out, torturously slow, teasing, then he’s slamming back in. your ears ring at the resounding wet slide, his pelvis meeting your own with a goddamn squelch, and you scream, clawing at his back at the sharp pleasure that razes through you.

“going t’stuff you w’my cum everyday, baby.” simon giggles. “going t’make you so full.”

he nuzzles his nose on the side of your tear-soaked cheek. “y’want that, yeah? want t’feel sore because of how much cum’s stored in you? want t’be fucked until it takes?”

what-

“si! si!” you cry, mushy mind trying to understand what he’s insinuating. “wha- wh-…?”

“oh but you’d be so gorgeous, baby,” simon groans, his hand leaving your oversensitive clit to hike up along your body, dancing past your groin to plant just below your belly button. simon nuzzles close again, tracing the shell of your ear with his lips, then, “you’d be so pretty carrying my kids.”

those words make your body lock up, something in your mind just shifting right, and then you’re cumming, squirting all over simon’s cock and spraying on his legs.

simon outright moans, pulling back just enough to slot his lips against yours. you couldn’t even kiss him back, still so busy cumming, all cross-eyed at the intensity of your orgasm. it doesn’t matter to him, anyway, not when simon begins pistoning harder. faster. rougher.

every drag of his cock back in your pussy pushes more gushing squirt from you, and simon rumbles with a pleased groan, looking so blissed out as he leaves open-mouthed kisses along your jaw. you dig your nails at his back but simon doesn’t even register the prickling pain, too busy chasing his own orgasm through your cunt.

“s’right,” he coos. “nothin’ else could make me cum, baby. nothin’ else but y’r pretty pussy. y’r tight pussy. god, it’s such a delicious pussy, baby, how am i so lucky to have you, huh?” his words mingle with the thwap-thwap-thwap sounds of his body slamming against your own. it makes you dizzy with pleasure, ragged rasps of breath is all that is passing through your parted lips.

simon croons. “how’d i chance luck and end up w’such a delight?” another wet sound from your pussy rings amidst his words. “mmm, hear that baby?”

you nod, you think. or you moan a reply. honestly, you don’t even know, not with how dizzy you are at the peaking pleasure because there’s no way you’re cumming again–

“that’s the sounds that a happy wife makes,” simon purrs, replying to his own question, and the weight of his words washes over you like the pleasure that’s racing across your synapses. “that’s the sound that someone makes when they want to be bred.”

“simo-nnnnn!” you scream, the sound guttural and ragged, and your eyes can no longer see anything, and your ears are ringing, and- and–

simon laughs, the sound curling into something so, so fond. “y’r so pretty when y’cum, baby.” he kisses your wet cheek. “one more? f’r me?”

fuck-

#suns #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley smut #female reader #IM CRYING BETWEEN MY LEGS WHEW

[donatellawritings]

would rafe ever actually hurt the reader or does he always say empty promises when he’s upset? would you write that? love your work xx

ugh so basically, this is the first and only time that rafe and sweetheart actually break up :(

there was only one instance where rafe had hurt you — and it was one of, if not, the only regret that will continue to haunt him, whenever you shed even a single tear. it was pretty early on in your relationship, he was still struggling to navigate how to handle someone as pure as you, while you were still finding your footing when it came to having such a volatile lover in rafe cameron. you’d been warned by your cousin, kiara — she was firm in maintaining her stance on being against you and rafe being in a relationship … you were her family, you had a heart of genuine gold, while rafe only displayed the facade of being a blood and money hungry man with incessant skeletons in his closet.

“don’t fuckin’ walk away from me, when i’m talkin’ to you,” rafe shouted, hot on your trail as you tearfully made your way into your shared bedroom. mascara-stained tears painted your once blushed cheeks with dark and watery streaks, your lip poked out in a wobbly pout as you turned to face your angered boyfriend, “of course, the baby is fuckin’ crying — i should be the one that’s fuckin’ crying after the way you walked around like a dumb slut,” he scoffed, completely unfazed by your genuine tears of sorrowful frustration. now focusing your gaze at your kitten-heel clad feet, your shoulders slumped as a choked out sob sipped from between your swollen lips.

rafe was completely coked-out, blaming his over-indulgence on the fact that it had been months since he’d been able to enjoy a night out. his usually cold, yet enticing bright blue glaze was taken over by blown pupils and bloodshot eyes that stared at you with nothing, but disdain, “y’fuckin’ look at me when i’m talking to you,” he spoke lowly, a squeaky yelp coming out of you as he gripped your jaw, forcing your head up to make direct eye contact with him. your hand gently held onto his wrist, fat tears cascading down your waterline as rafe painfully pinched your cheeks together, “i want you to get the fuck out of my house — y’wanna fuckin’ talk to other guys while m’making us money? then fucking leave,” he spat through gritted teeth, pushing your face away as you let out a throaty cry.

that was far from the case — rafe had simply caught you making conversation with some random kook who’d failed to take the hint that not only you were uninterested, but you were rafe’s girl. but, rafe was too far gone to see anything aside from what his intoxicated mind wrongfully conjured up.

with a heaving chest, you let out a cry as you reached to grab rafe’s arm, “no, papi, i don’t want to go — please ju-just listen to me,” the second your hand touched rafe’s flexed arm, your head whipped to the side as rafe’s ring-clad hand slapped you right across your pretty face. your cheek pulsed with an aching sting as you blinked, your swollen lips parted in disbelief.

the sharp sound of rafe’s hand connecting with your face instantly caused your boyfriend to sober up, just enough for his eyes to widen in realization as he immediately approached you, “fuck, baby i didn’t mean to fuckin’—” he began, reaching an arm out to pull you into his chest, his heart sinking to his stomach as you backed away from him, bone-chilling cries leaving your mouth as you made a run for the bedroom door. “no-no, mama, please just fuckin’ listen!” he shouted, his arms successfully wrapping around you from behind as he pulled you flush against his tense chest.

“i fucking hate you, let me go!” you screamed, kicking your heeled feet as rafe tightened his hold on you, your eyes burning with reddening tears as you let out a choked sob. your cheek still pulsed as you began to sink to the floor, rafe lowering himself with his arms secured around you as you weakly clawed at his strained forearms, “please, i just want to go home,” you squeaked out, rafe’s eyes glazing over — this was supposed to be your home. you’d given up on kicking at the floor and scratching rafe’s arms, your heaving cries making you a bit sleepy as rafe wordlessly held you against him, waiting until you were calm, before he’d speak again.

tears silently rolled down rafe’s structured face as he hopelessly clung to you. you had every right to hate him and he accepted that, but the possibility of you leaving him for good was really starting to bite at him. with a shaky sigh, rafe leaned his forehead against your shoulder, “baby, pl-please let’s just, let’s just go to sleep,” he whispered, his voice wobbly as he swallowed down a pathetic cry. you remained quiet as you stared at the hardwood floor that had been scuffed by your heels, your doe eyes puffy and red from all of the crying you’d done, your eyelids heavy. “m’so fuckin’ sorry,” rafe cried, feverishly pressing his lips into the back of your shoulder, over and over again, his wet eyelashes now prominent against your exposed skin.

you were completely numb, once rafe slowly rose to his feet, keeping you in his arms as he carefully removed your clothes, replacing them with one of his t-shirts, tears rolling down his face as you remained limp, your eyes blank of any recognizable emotion as you refused to look directly into his eyes. you didn’t even move when rafe softly cradled the back of your head, pressing a kiss into your forehead as you simply blinked, your wispy lashes clumped together from your warm tears. carefully leading you to your shared bed, rafe remained fully clothed in his button-up and slacks, silently thankful that you were able to fall asleep with your bruised cheek finding comfort against his cheek. he couldn’t find it in himself to sleep, once he was completely sober and of a sound mind, rafe knew that he’d completely fucked up.

this wasn’t supposed to happen, not with you. he was supposed to be different, he was supposed to be a man of dignity, yet here he was slipping into his old ways.

so, rafe was awake when you finally woke up, his heart beating just a bit quicker as you raised your head from his chest, your cheekbone a light reddish-purple shade. it wasn’t until your exhausted and strained eyes met his, that rafe wanted nothing more than to fall to his knees and beg you for your forgiveness. but, he knew he’d be selfish to expect you to forgive him, only mere hours since he’d put his hands on you. biting back tears, rafe stood from the bed, “i want to take you somewhere, baby — y’don’t have to change your clothes, just come with me to the car, yeah?” rafe held out his hand, a slight warmth fluttering in his chest as you lightly held onto his hand with a small nod.

౨ৎ

rafe was thankful that you’d fallen asleep, about five minutes into the drive. he’d been wracking over his mistake over and over again, to the point where he couldn’t even bring himself to turn the car around and drive back home with you. slowly bringing the car to a stop, rafe gently parked the car, running a hand over his shaven face with a low and shaky sigh. his tired eyes looked over your peaceful state, your puffy lips slight parted as you fell into a deep sleep. rafe’s heart ached as he gently laid a hand on your thigh, lightly nudging you out of your sleep, a sad and knowing smile tugging on his lips as you opened your eyes.

“rafe, why are we here?” you asked, your voice raspy and hoarse as your eyes glazed.

rafe had driven you home.

unbuckling his seatbelt, rafe shifted to give you his full attention, his hand bringing yours to his lips as you looked at him with tearful eyes, “i want you to listen to me, a’ight? i need to be a better man for you,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, before swallowing thickly as you held in a cry, “m’gonna get my shit together, princess—” he continued, watching as you furiously shook your head. you were stubborn, but this was the one time where he needed you to listen to him.

“no, i wanna be with you — i don’t hate you, i—” you panicked, tears streaming down your face as you softly pulled your hand away from rafe’s, using both of your small hands to cover your face.

“m’gonna come and get you when i get better, okay mama? but right now, you need to go home, a’ight?” he sighed, keeping his eyes focused on the steering wheel. if he even looked at you for a second, he knew that he’d be back on the road, with you in the passenger seat, riding off into the sunset.

sniffling back a sob, you glanced at your boyfriend through cloudy eyes, “you’re breaking my heart, papi,” you cried, your puffy lips now dry as you licked over them. you wanted so bad to crawl into his lap and fall asleep, forget this all happened. unfortunately, rafe had already made up his mind.

“baby, please go home, this isn’t easy for me,” rafe spoke sternly, maintaining his gaze on the steering wheel, tears burning at his waterline as you nodded weakly, before stepping out of the car, gently closing the passenger door as you walked towards your house.

neither you nor rafe had the strength to look at each other as you made your way into your house, leaving rafe a tearful mess as he aimlessly made his way back on the road. every few minutes, he’d glance at the passenger seat, hoping that you’d magically appear next to him and be your usually smiley self, but he knew that couldn’t happen, not for a while.

rafe meant it when he said that he’d come get you, once he got better and he looked to make good on that promise. you were his sweet girl and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself, if he managed to lose you for good. he just hoped that you’d still love him, when he returned.

#anon #asks #rafe cameron #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #obx imagine #obx #sweetheart!reader

[osachiyo]

❝You will be mine forever until you perish.❞ ✧ ೃ༄

—300 (meant to be 200) FOLLOWERS EVENT!

—PAIRING ✰ ZHONGLI x FEM!READER

—CONTENT WARNINGS ✰ explicit smut,noncon, yandere tendencies, mentions of kidnapping, baby trapping, delusional zhongli, unprotected sex, spanking, etc.

—WORDCOUNT ✰ 1.5k

—CHARACTER CHOSEN BY ✰ @lxverss

—EVENT MASTERLIST & RULES ✰

. . . . MINORS DO NOT INTERACT . . . .

Zhongli's gloved hand came down to your ass harshly for the 18th time tonight, making you bite his thigh in pain. He only chuckled darkly at your feeble attempt of hurting him. His hand slowly smoothes down the skin of your ass, the plump flesh jiggling in his big hand as he admires the reddish tint his brutal hits left behind. The handprints evident on your plump behind. You did not want to give him the satisfaction of seeing your tears but fucking god did it hurt.

Your muffled cry could be heard when his hand came down on your ass again, the impact stinging even more this time. He shushed your pitiful noises with a mocking smirk, making the tears in your lashline finally fall down your swollen cheeks. "Does it hurt, darling?" He asked with faux sympathy, making you even more enraged. You wanted to scream at him, pull on his hair for ruining your life like this. But you stayed silent, clutching onto him for dear life as he hummed. "Just one more to go, my love. Your punishment will be over soon enough." You grit your teeth in anger. Punishment for what? Trying to escape from this hellhole of a prison he has kept you in? Tears flowed freely down your chin in frustration, soaking his pants. You hated him. Despised this man who took you away from your family, from your normal life. But you hated the fact that you were aroused right now. Aroused from being forcibly bent over his knee and hit by none other than your captor. You felt the shame burn in your tear soaked cheeks, which only made the bulge pressing into your lower tummy harder, bigger.

This time the hit wasn't just on your ass, he smacked the back of your thighs which he knew were sensitive, worsening the pain. You almost jumped out of his lap from the mere force, a broken sob leaves your throat as he only coos at you, praising you for being a good girl for him. He lifted you up and settled you down on the bed, on your tummy because your ass was swollen from the hits. He rubbed your cheeks, even spreading them a little to sneak a view of your pussy and god were you soaked. He smiled, rubbing a finger up and down your pretty folds as you try to squirm away from him but his firm grip is holding you in place. "You act like you dislike it, dear. But can you tell me why you're absolutely leaking down here, hm?" He spoke softly whilst gently rubbing your clit as if to make up for the harsh behaviour only a moment ago. You buried your face further into the silk covered pillow, lips wobbling as you try not to moan from him playing with your greedy cunt. Your mind was telling at you to kick him away, disgust filling your senses. But your body on the other hand was enjoying what the man did to it, much to your dismay.

He raised your hips up, your swollen ass now sticking out in the air while your face was still buried in the pillow. You whined softly when Zhongli kicked your legs open, forcing his leg between them. The rough material of his pants grinding on your already leaking cunt, a damp spot forming on his sleek pants while you writhed in a confusing mixture of rage and pleasure. He pulled back suddenly, lowering himself, now face level with your leaking cunt as you squirm in discomfort. He gently pats your lower back, as if you comfort you. The thought makes you want to scoff. He puffed a warm breath right on your pussy, making you clench around nothing as you feel your eyes tear up again. You were nothing but a slave now. Nothing but his property. Not like you can right back either, as it was a contract between the two of you. Your train of thought cut off as Zhongli kicked a fat stripe up your cunt with his dragon-like tongue, a gasp escaping your mouth. He groaned into your pussy, mumbling something about how good you taste. The vibrations of his voice make you shiver, more of your slick soaking his chin as he laps up what your cunt offers him. The sweet, sweet honey like fluid dripping out of you with each lick and suck, it has him impossibly hard. If you weren't too distracted by how fucking good his long tongue feels shoved in your sensitive core, you'd notice how the way he was humping the bed right now. The tip of his cock leaking with precum as he gets addicted to your divine taste. He pulled his tongue out, fat fingers now replacing the muscle as he wraps his lips around your swollen clit, making you claw the sheets as a broken moan escapes your throat. The rough leather wrapped around his fingers adding a addictive friction in your tight heat, all while he sucks on your pretty little clit so fucking nicely.

"Cum for me, won't you? I know you will. You're my good little girl, aren't you?" He chuckled, his voice a few octaves lower as thick desire coats every word that flows out of his sinful mouth. You don't answer, that earns you a harsh slap against your clit, making you cry out in sudden pain. "Answer, pet."

You chant his name over and over again, pleas and sobs of "y-yes! 'm cummin' so hard! Don't stop-" your eyes rolled back as he sped up the pace of his fingers, curling them just right to make you gush all over his fingers and tongue, even soaking the lower half of his face as he laps up all you have to offer. He helps you ride out your orgasm as you collapse against the sheets, huffing in exhaustion. But you knew he wasn't done yet. Not by the way you could hear his belt hitting the floor as he flipped you on your back, a growl erupting in his chest as he pushed your legs back, your thighs squishing against your pretty breasts, the position making it slightly hard to breath.

He tapped the blunt and swollen head of his cock against your clit one, two, three times before finally pushing in with a pop! You both groan in unison, the thick head splitting you apart. You panted out like a bitch in heat when he started dragging his cock slowly in your cunt, pushing in slowly. As much as he liked to see you in pain, he knew he’s fucking huge. So he had to go slow to not tear your pussy apart. He stared intensely at your cunt opening right up for him, taking his cock like a champ. He rubbed delicate circles on your clit with his thumb, trying to distract you from the scorching hot pain of his cock splitting you in half. He let out a low growl when he finally pushed himself all in your cunt, burying his cock to the hilt. Fat tear droplets that once clung to your lash line now fell on the silken sheets as you clutch the pillow as tight as you can. You hiccuped when he pulled back, pulling his cock almost all the way out before slamming into you again. You could feel every ridge and vein on his throbbing shaft, bumping against your sweet spot oh so effortlessly while all you can do is writhe and whine below him. It didn’t take long for him to pick up the pace, now slamming into your can with such intensity it had you seeing stars. His finger still skilfully stimulating your hardened clit as he grinned wickedly, his canines showing and eyes glowing a golden hue.

Your eyes widened when you felt his cock getting even bigger in you, stretching your velvety walls beyond their limits as you squirted all over his cock, your slick covering his lower abdomen and thighs, the glossy substance rubbing down his fat balls as he groaned at the sight, pushing all of his body weight on you. “Fuck- take my cum, darling, Gonna make you such a sweet mommy. You want that, don’t you? All fucked and swollen with my- ah shit- all fucked and swollen with my kids… yeah? Take my cum- take it. You’ll be mine forever until you perish! ” He babbled, growling as he dove down to bite your neck hard, drawing blood as he filled you up with his seed.

Once you both came down from your highs, he plopped next to you, shoving a pillow underneath your legs to keep all of his sticky release inside of you. But alas, there was just so much of it that it dribbled out from your pussy, soaking the sheets even more, if possible. Zhongli only sighed, patting your head and kissing your temple as you slowly drifted off to sleep.

He was right.

You were going to be his forever.

—AUTHORS NOTE ✰ you can request the next character for this event in my inbox anytime! thanks for reading y’all! Please comment on this post if you want to be added in the tag list for this series!

—TAGLIST ✰ @luvyein

©sachiyoh— do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated♡

#genshin smut #genshin impact smut #Genshin #genshin impact #dark fic #tw dark content #Yandere smut #yandere x reader #yandere genshin #zhongli x reader smut #Zhongli #zhongli smut #zhongli x reader #zhongli x fem reader #genshin impact x reader smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x reader smut #Lulu’s 300 followers event!

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

IT’S YOU, HAPPY ALL THE TIME ─── jonathan breech ✧☾𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I ask Jessica what drowning feels like and she says not everything feels like something else." — ‘Jessica gives me a chill pill’, Angie Sijun Lou.

pairing. jonathan breech x reader

summary. you’ve bared your heart to your bestfriend, jonathan, more times than you can count, whilst knowing practically nothing at all about him. what is friendship if it is not equal… what is love if it is not returned? can your relationship survive such one-sidedness?

warnings. swearing, TW mention & description of suicide/attempts & depression, very introspective/kind of a character study???, alcohol & drug use, pining, ANGST!!!!, crying, fluff, smut with feelings, p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex (f), SMUT UNDER THE CUT! 

word count. 10k (WTF??!?!!??)

a/n. the title is from “she won’t go away” by faye webster:) btw this is… rly angsty (and SO long omg im still in shock) so beware🫡 ALSO IM SO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IN WHILE!! SCHOOL IS KICKING MY BUTT & THIS FIC WAS AN ABSOLUTE MONSTER TO WRITE LMAO

i. 

There are very few words in your vocabulary you can use to accurately describe Jonathan Breech. 

The boy is an enigma, a matryoshka doll that never ends: he is witty and lighthearted and sarcastic, but you’ll always catch that edge, the air of malaise he carries around himself, the unspoken elephant in the room that screams WHO ARE YOU REALLY?

He had always been more of a figure, a landscape; something to witness, observe-- experience without letting it do the same to you. You don’t know if that’s something you want, either: there’s an imbalance in his hilarity, and he always takes things a step too far. Jonathan lights matches and lets them burn all the way down to his fingertips; he shaves and lets the blade leave stinging little nicks, rivulets of blood running down his neck; he chainsmokes cigarettes in his room and only opens the window when he feels his heart hammering in his chest, desperate for air. 

You meet him — or, first experience him in a similar fashion: he had been in the university library, standing on top of a creaky, old bookshelf, shouting something you couldn’t understand over the music blasting through your headphones. You could certainly see him though, gesturing animatedly, dressed eccentrically in his signature winter trapper hat and a velvet blazer. That thin, effeminate figure of his was making winding, marionette-ish steps along the wood, an action that had everyone readying themselves to catch his inevitable fall. 

Then, seemingly out of nowhere and catching you completely off guard, you caught his eye. He began stepping from one shaky shelf to the next, a complete miracle none of them toppled over, before stopping on one close enough for you to read his lips. 

“Hi,” he mouthed, shifting uneasily on his left foot before regaining a steady balance, “you’re in my class, right?”

You nodded, hesitantly— yes, truthfully, you’d seen him in your Introduction to Literary Studies course a couple of weeks ago, sporting the same outfit as he did now, but you thought nothing of him. He’d been generally well-behaved then, asking slightly odd but in-tune questions that more or less answered all your inquiries, so you didn’t think the guy would have a penchant for, well… book-shelf hopping. 

He grinned, about to say something else, before something — or someone, made him flinch. A professor, probably, considering the unintelligibly muffled, booming voice behind you. However, Jonathan made quick work of the situation, sneakily climbing down and escaping out the door. 

The next time you see him, he’s sidled up beside you in your shared class. “Mind if I sit here?” a familiar voice had asked, to which you murmured a non-committal knock y’self out, before realizing with wide eyes.  His presence had caught you off-guard, as he so often did, and you sensed a pattern blooming. 

Jonathan certainly made for an odd desk-partner; his personality warped the environment around you, and it was suddenly so much easier to tear your eyes away from the lecture and land on Jonathan’s own. It’s something you never thought you’d ever do, because you adore the material being taught. 

At the end of class, he asks you out for a drink: he’s just found the best Irish stout in the entire city, and what better way to make it known than to take anyone and everyone he knows there?

Rejection is written on your face clear as day— you have class tomorrow, an essay that needs to be finished, and honestly, pubs just aren’t really your scene. 

But in the end… you still bite. You can’t help it: he’s disarming and warm and looks like he should smell like a bonfire. Somehow, that just does it for your brain; it’s here you learn of the charm that is Jonathan Breech. 

That night goes everything and nothing like you expected: you expected not to be able to predict his actions, and that’s exactly what happens. When you meet Jonathan at the aforementioned pub, it’s not actually the one he’s meaning to take you to— it’s just the closest public place to the on-campus dorm, which is where he says he’s rooming. 

“‘ve got a neighbor m’pretty sure is trying to sleep with me,” he says absently, ushering you onto the back of his bike, which had been leaning against a NO PARKING sign. “He’s always toget’er wit’ our dorm advisor, so I should l reject him before I get kicked out, if y’get what I mean.”

Now, you honestly should’ve expected this from a guy who jumped from six-foot book shelves, but Jonathan’s biking is all swift turns and jilted stops, mere milliseconds from repeatedly running red lights. You want to ask if he just learned how to ride the thing yesterday, but can’t, not with how utterly reckless and shameless he is about it, his terrible steering making you instinctively wrap your arms around his chest. 

You clutch him tightly, making him hum in approval, and you feel your ears burn flusteredly. You would’ve pulled away, but then he cut from the right lane to the left in one swift move, barely missing several cars, and you practically shrieked instead. “Oh my god!”

“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly. You can’t see his face, having shut your eyes in fear, but after hearing the blatant cheekiness in his tone, you can imagine clear as day how gleefully it contorts. You want to slap him somewhere, anywhere, but that’d defeat the point of being mad at his recklessness, so you squeeze him tighter instead, and he chokes on his breath. “Jesus-- m’sorry, really!”

When the two of you make it to the pub — alive and uninjured! — annoyingly all the way across town, your first few steps off his bike are stuttered, dizzy: “We are-- not going by bike next time,” you gasp, leaning against a random brick wall. 

“Next time, eh?” He grins, and this time you really do slap him— just on the arm, bless your self-control and niceties not to beat this oddly comfortable-to-be-around near-stranger to death. 

The pub, with its forgettable name and dingy stools, has a minimal, lackluster crowd. A kitschy neon sign flickers and dies as you walk in, making you raise a brow, but Jonathan merely drags you by the arm to a cozy corner table, then disappearing deeper within the venue before returning moments later with two pints of black beer in tow.

“Go on, then,” he gestures, setting the tall glass on the table, sitting down in the chair in front of you and taking a hearty sip of his own drink.

You let out a little hesitant sigh at his words, before relenting and taking in a long gulp of the liquid. “…Huh,” you remark, impressed. Jonathan smiled knowingly behind his glass, letting out a smug little ah, you see? 

“Worth the long ride?” he inquired innocently, as if that was the only thing wrong with the night.

“Worth the ride, but not worth almost dying for,” you rolled your eyes goodheartedly, knocking back the rest of the bitter drink and making him whistle. 

The rest of the night goes like this: Jonathan orders two more rounds of the quality Irish stout before the two’ve you are stumbling out of the pub, exploring all the nightlife there is to offer, like the crowd surrounding an out-door live comedy group performing down the street that has you and Jonathan giggling for hours after, or the underground speakeasy you accidentally find yourselves shoved into, a nasally guitarist singing on a smoky stage, several more drinks finding themselves in your system despite how nauseous you already feel.

“You-- d’you fancy him?” Jonathan slurs behind you, steadying himself by pressing his hands to your waist.

“F-fancy who?” you blink blearily, leaning into his warm touch.

“Who else m’I talkin’ about, girl? The singer!”

You shake your head no numbly, practically collapsing into his arms now, your head lulling on his chest. You’re so close you can smell the distinct scent of his skin, that unique musk everyone has, and it’s strangely familiar, like those smells that evoke old, nostalgic memories. It’s like how sunscreen summons the smell of the sun after a childhood beach day, or how vanilla extract takes you back to the smell of your mother’s baked goods on a specific winter evening.

“Reckoned you wouldn’t,” he assumes, hands coming away from your waist to wrap his arms around your shoulders, swaying to the music slightly in the crowded club, “looks like a -- right bleedin’ dope… wit’ that mop of hair.”

You giggle, alcohol riddled beyond belief, unable to formulate a response with the conflicting blurry thoughts in your head: it’s telling you Jonathan Breech isn’t the crowd you want, that you need to go home and work, that you let loose too easily— but it also tells you that you can see yourself becoming friends with him very, very quickly. 

It’s there, in that club, Jonathan Breech moves into your life and fills a gaping hole you didn’t know existed, like a hole in your stockings you only notice when you get home. You have friends, certainly, more than you can count on both hands, but they never get as close as Jonathan does. After that night, an unknown force pulls the two of you together, making you run into him everywhere, and a tight friendship blooms like a lilypad in a raging storm; beauty within the chaos. In the multitude of close friendships you’ve harbored, he is the first to see so many sides of you. The last thing that did was your mother; it had only ever been your mother. 

He is an endearing, amazing friend, both the intent listener and the charismatic speaker all at once; he knows his friends like the back of his hand, can recount their life like he can count the number of moles on his face-- but you, and everyone else, know absolutely nothing about him. 

At least, close to nothing-- you know he likes ice cream and hanging out and going to the pub; you know he likes biking and doing drugs and women; you know he hates the sea and his brother and his father, but you don’t know him. All you’ve ever seen him do is smile or laugh or shout in mock anger; there is a carefully glued mask on his face he takes meticulous caution in preserving-- he is terrified to let go, despite the blasé persona he lets on.

Or maybe the mysterious matter of your bestfriend is tripping you up for no reason; maybe you’re psychoanalyzing something that doesn’t need to be psychoanalyzed, reading between lines that don’t exist. But if you were asked to answer honestly, there’s just something about Jonathan you don’t get. There is a split seam in the tapestry of his life, missing pieces in the story he pretends to tell with utmost accuracy. There are things that he never talks about, that he recoils when asked like you’ve poked a tender wound. 

“So, what were you doing before… all this?” You ask him once, laying on his messy bed in his dorm-room and scanning the water-damage constellations dotted along his popcorn ceiling. By all this you mean going to university, being the resident party boy, aimlessly pursuing a degree you’re 99% sure he picked blindfolded (culinary science) and standing here, with you, snorting a line of something on his creaky wooden desk. 

Jonathan freezes, still hunched over. “What d’you-- what d’you mean?” he says, tone breezy but, uncharacteristically tense… jilted and preoccupied. You could’ve brushed it off as him being seriously focussed on his drugs, but the way he shifts, how his shoulders curl in like he wants to disappear, tells you otherwise. 

“I mean, before going to school here… y’know, what were you like as a dumb teenager?”

You two’re twenty, barely not-teenagers, but it still makes a world of a difference: you’re living away from home, doing what you want, experiencing (a juvenile, naive version of) freedom and adulthood.

“I dunno… kind of a tool, that's f’sure,” he chuckled, rubbing his nose roughly. He’s being funny on purpose, a jester’s distraction: he doesn’t want you to realize his answers’ not really one at all. 

You shifted on his bed, now leaning against his headboard. His answer strikes you as odd and uncharacteristic despite his attempts to evade suspicion: usually, Jonathan pounces at the chance to yap on and on. “What, the great Jonathan Breech doesn’t have any wild stories to tell? No bones broken, girls dumped, houses trashed?” 

He snorted at that, like some inside joke you weren’t privy to was brought up in your words, and he descended back down on a carefully partitioned line of white. “I broke my baby finger once,” he relented vaguely when he finished, dusting off the table and licking the remains off his hand. “I cried and I cried and I cried.”

“Did it hurt that much?” you grinned, mind trailing off to imagine a baby-faced Jonathan Breech, a juvenile highschool boy, doing something silly to break that finger. Maybe he accidentally flung off his bike, broke it because of a dare, or maybe it happened just by slipping and falling. 

“It - uh… didn’t hurt enough,” Jonathan smiled, tight-lipped and paltry. All at once the air in the room had changed, like someone attached a vacuum to the window and sucked everything out. 

Your grin fell, and you watched him carefully: perhaps, had you not been as close to him as you were, he’d have let something show. A twitch in the smile, a break in the facade. But you were, and his face stayed the same, and your thoughts ran circles around themselves. This was… something else, something belonging to the part of his life he didn’t talk about. 

The atmosphere had grown tense, taut, a rubber band twisted ‘round and round, threatening to burst, so you leave the matter of his injury alone; of his life alone. You go back to staring at his ceiling, he goes back to his drugs; Jonathan collapses within himself, and you don’t notice how badly he suffocates… how suffering in silence is also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found.

ii.

Sometimes, despite his self-imposed distance, Jonathan lets someone look inside his head. 

You are both the sometimes and the someone; you don’t know why it’s always you, but you chalk it up to the fact that beneath his unpredictable demeanor, the murky and unreadable feelings he holds for others, is this uncharacteristic constant: he holds a softness for you. It’s what lets you know there’s something haunted lurking beneath his happy-go-lucky surface. 

You don’t know where this softness comes from, either. But you know you see it, in lingering touches, tender duchenne smiles unlike the devilish tilt his lips usually hold, how he clasps his hand around yours after a night at the pub and walks you home because he knows you get paranoid. You see it in how he comes over to your apartment when you don’t answer anyone's calls during exam season, how he remembers what your mother’s name is and what your childhood pet was and what your favorite flowers are. How his lips brush past your cheek when he pulls away from hugs, his hands shuddering around your shoulders, like he’s afraid he’ll crush you.

You only wish you could do the same. You want to sit by his side and mend his heart, lend an ear to his most mundane fears, you want to take his hand into your own and kiss it softly, return all that he has done for you, take the same as you have given to him: what is friendship if it is not equal, what is love if it is not returned? It is something broken, unable; split halves of one heart, an imbalance in the scale, Bonnie without her Clyde, a fish out of water. 

Jonathan pours his heart into your own, filling holes you know you don’t have, and you think he may be overcompensating for something else, seeing things in you that really belong to him. It is maddening, and you just want to beg and plead he lets you in. 

But you settle for the gentle pokes, the prodding, and try to decipher the vague answers he gives you. Most days, you can’t really make sense of it. 

“Sorry,” you apologize, about to leave the outing you planned with Jonathan — studying, or, trying to study, at an intimate coffeebar the two of you frequented — “my dad’s gotten drunk with his lads and my mum needs help dragging him home.”

 “Hey, hey, don’t worry. I get it: my dad used to do that all the time,” he waves your words off casually, but you don’t miss how jilted he says used to and the pain in his tone at all the time.

“Oh, surely she was fit to go to the madhouse?” you laughed once, responding to Jonathan’s complaints about an eccentric classmate in his agricultural studies. He laughs back, he always does, but this one is hollow, forced; barely stopping a grimace from coloring his tone. 

You notice these things like it’s a shadow following someone in the sun. He is lying, hiding; about something you don’t know but it is happening. It is happening, and you are so very curious: you pick up on the littlest tendrils of him, fed wholly on any information you can squeeze out. He is a mystery you want to delve within completely; answer that question of WHO ARE YOU REALLY? and leave no room for error. 

You’d give yourself to him the very same if he merely asked; you’d whisper childhood fears and tell the origin stories of faded scars on your knees and why you check under your bed before sleeping. You’d detail your entire life from sunset birth to starry night end if he even made a passing comment about knowing; you would trust your love, your heart, your entire life in his beautiful, shaky hands. This is the relationship you have built around yourselves, and it is beginning to feel terribly one-sided. 

Alas, your curiosity overwhelms him, and you take it too far, just once. Only once. 

“Where’d this come from?” you murmur, brushing your fingers over a scar above his eyebrow. It’s something you see only now, his hair mussed and wild from the various blankets and pillows on your dinky couch. 

He’s crashing at your apartment tonight, an invited event, because you often miss him like you miss home; the boy is sneaky— he slinks away like a street cat and only comes back for food. It’s only fair he lets you wrangle him back like this, making him stay by your side at least once a week.  

Your words make him freeze, like he often does; it reminds you of hikers, who freeze when they see mountain lions— he thinks if he stops and stares and pretends to disappear you’ll look the other way, drop the question, forget him completely.

But you don’t. You don’t know what’s affecting him -- not that he wants you to -- so you just stare back into his cornflower blue eyes. You stop and stare and see right through him; you hold the question like a knife to his neck, and commit him to memory. 

“The scar?” Jonathan pales, shuddering despite it having long since been healed over. The aftershocks of an earthquake. 

You simply nod, fingers pulling away. You’re still closer than ever though, the two of you being the only things in your cramped concrete apartment, the chosen movie on your telly still running and long forgotten. 

Your attention remains on him, brandished into something dangerous, like you’ll carve the answer out of him if you have to— but the moment passes. He doesn’t say anything and you accept that as the answer. Gone is your razor-sharp focus, and there is nothing more to the matter. 

But Jonathan doesn’t register this, no, he’s thinking, gears in his head turning and creaking. His tongue grazes against the backs of his teeth, jaw chattering like it was as cold as it was when… as cold as it was back then, and he doesn’t want to tell anyone— but it’s you. You’re not just anyone. 

You’re the one he holds a certain softness for. The one he equally bares his heart to and holds the most secrets from. The one he’s most terrified to know. The only one he wants to know. 

So, he decides to tell a partial truth— something digestible. People adore that which can easily slide down the gullet: news headlines don’t detail the goriness of a murder, they give the “insider” scoop of the scared neighbor. To be able to digest information is what makes the world go round, and he does not think you could digest the full truth-- he does not think he wants you to. 

He feels ill at the thought of anything between you changing— oh, how ruined he’d feel if you began treating him like fucking glass.

This abhorrent social pressure is what makes Jonathan grit this sentence through his teeth: “I got into a car accident,” he gulps dry, “when I was nineteen. Was drunk… went fer a spin. I skidded off a -- um, an empty highway. The tall sorts; high up, y’know. Fell.”

His voice makes you look back up at him, and your eyes are beautiful and tense— it breaks his heart. He knows you’re probably thinking it was in-character, how expected that is of Jonathan Breech, how you’ll easily take this partial truth, how you’ll never know the full one until it comes in a letter under your door and he’s long gone. 

“Tell me,” you ask him, lips falling into a near-frown instead of laughing or grinning wider. It’s hushed, whispered like a secret, “What did it feel like? Falling, I mean.”

Jonathan licks his lips, bores his shaking gaze into your own, and tells you not everything feels like something else. That the word connotes all you need to know. Falling meant he was falling; his arms raised and the air took him and that was it. 

It makes your brows twist and your lips press into a thin line: his nonchalance is worrying, no more his signature characteristic— there is something wrong about this apathy toward injury, toward the potential death. 

“Is that how you broke your finger?” You murmur, and it startles him. How you pieced the two things together, how you weaved a web from what little you knew about him; how futile his attempts to hide could be.

“What?” he responds, hoarse. There is a lurking shadow in his bones telling him he’ll taint you, telling him to be ashamed, telling him how badly you will never be his. It is such a damning reality, that no matter how much he may yearn for you, he is too incomplete to meet your needs; he is too hurt not to hurt you too. 

“The car accident. Is that how you broke your pinkie?” you repeat, and you gripped his hand resting at your side, bringing it up to present the finger to him like he forgot where his pinkie was. 

Jonathan’s gaze darts from you to the finger, and he feels his insides quiver; so badly does he want to spill his entire soul to you. But that internal reminder -- hurt people hurt people hurt people -- makes him settle for nodding, parted lips locking closed. 

Nothing special happens that night, no shocking revelation or bombarded confession; Jonathan nods, keeps his lips sealed, and gets up from the couch, figure dreary and fatigued. He murmurs an incomplete excuse, something half-baked and blatantly unconvincing that he has to leave, and you let him go. You think you’re imagining the shudder in his shoulders, the shake in his voice as he says goodbye, and you let him go. 

It’s there, like that club so long ago, you discover another thing about Jonathan Breech: push too far and he shuts down, closes shop and puts up his guard forever. It’s the mere fact of how attentive you are to his words; you remember how he broke his finger, and he realizes he cannot hide from you any longer. 

You’re reaching a point in your friendship -- your relationship, no matter platonic or romantic for all lines have been crossed; nobody is so raw to one another with love not involved -- where you’ll bare your hearts on your sleeves, share your every thought and dream and fear. But Jonathan won’t be able to reciprocate, and the very thought of rejecting you, betraying you, makes his stomach twist in knots. That crestfallen face of yours would haunt him for all time, your every melancholy feature burning into his memory like the scars left by cigarettes on skin.

So he leaves, hurt people hurt people hurt people echoes in his ears all the way home; he turns into an alleyway shortcut and prays death swoops down and takes him right there. He leaves his consciousness curled lovingly in your arms; his shell walks home and prays you’re none the wiser. But you’ve already reached that point in your relationship; you already know. 

When people die, or friendships do, sometimes they end with just a goodbye, a mild, casual goodbye because you think there’ll be dozens, hundreds more-- but there won’t be. Suddenly, alone in that cramped apartment, the buzzing from the tv filling your ears, your couch still warm from someone long gone, you know.

You know you startled him, that he’s left your apartment and he’ll never come back. Your heart cools, and she whispers that you took it too far, that you crossed a line you were never made aware of, that when you see him in class tomorrow he might not sit next to you, he might not talk to you, that you might lose him forever because he is too stubborn to open up and you are too stubborn to let him go. 

Well, you were too stubborn to let him go. 

It’s three weeks before you speak to Jonathan again. Three long, dragging weeks, moments in time where he avoided your gaze, evaded your presence, slipped past you before you got too close. You certainly try, of course— you seek him out every chance you get, trying to get an I’m sorry, please talk to me out before he runs off, but it’s virtually impossible.

Once, after class, you’d caught him in the middle of a flurry of exiting students by the velvet blazer, your hands curled around the lapel. “Jonathan,” you panted, trying to drag him off to the side to escape the bustling activity around you, “please, we need to talk--“

But then Jonathan had faced you, eyes widened and spooked like he’d seen a ghost, a never-before-seen-by-you fear covering his gracefully cut features, before he tugged off the black blazer and escaped into the crowd. He had seen you, widened his eyes, left. Such a simple action tore your heart in two; it had confirmed your suspicions— you’d gone too far, he was never coming back, and you were all alone. There you stood, fingers wrapped around one of his favorite articles of clothing starkly without its beloved owner, completely alone. 

In three measly weeks, he has put up a biting winter of distance between you two. 

Your feelings are unable to comprehend themselves— they fight and sob and run circles around your mind, they make you doubt, crumble, devour yourself from the inside out; they make you ask yourself what you can do to salvage this, what can you do to fix this? What is there to make of him, of his behavior; what do you do with yourself and this guilt?

If you could imagine time was a construct, you were certain you could convince yourself this stretch of time was nothing… propel yourself into a present where Jonathan does not afflict your mind, take over your every thought— does not ruin you like so. If only you could do that, you could close your eyes and reopen them when you’ve let go. But you were always too stubborn to let him go, weren’t you?

It’s three weeks to the day before you speak to Jonathan again, and it happens through the crack of his dorm door, your arm wedged through it because you know he is not cruel; he will let you in without a doubt.  

“Please,” you plead to Jonathan, “just— I just want to talk. Please?”

He stares at you straight, expression cold and reserved, before he breaks and pulls away; bites his lip, lets you in his room, doesn’t look you in the eye. Looking around, you sense something in his dorm has changed; it had gained a bereft quality, like it was attuned to Jonathan’s state of mind and felt depressed beyond your comprehension. There was a cold air to the place, an utmost frigid demeanor to a room incredibly warm just weeks prior. In your absence, the dorm had been neglected, gutted, abandoned. 

“I’m sorry,” are the first words that tumble out of your mouth. “I- I know you don’t like… talking about -- about your life before here, and I’m sorry. But please, Jonathan, just talk to me. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”

He sits down on the edge of his weak bedframe, pulling his knees up and pressing his face into them. “You don’t need to-- don’t… don’t apologize. You don’t need t’make it better, either. All’s grand.” he promises, words muffled and shaky. It’s a weeping kind of tone; you could just as easily imagine him sobbing with that voice. 

Your brows knit. Your emotions are wavering, treading brutally between disbelief, despair and rancor. “Then -- then why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you avoid me? Why did you - why did we spend these last three weeks playing cat and mouse, if you weren’t mad at me? Is this your sick idea of a joke?”

“No! I-- jesus christ,” Jonathan looked up from his hands before immediately pressing two fingers between his eyes, “I wasn’t … avoiding you.”

“I haven’t seen you in weeks!” you point out painfully, exasperated. “You know, you’ve been avoiding me for longer than this. You— you push me away any chance you get. You’re afraid. I don’t know of what, but you’re- so fucking secretive, and it’s tearing me apart.”

“I’m not - afraid of anything. I’m just a private person— you know this. Would you, if I ‘pushed you away?!’” 

At his denying deflection, something within you snaps: “Why won’t you - fucking let me in? I’ve — I’ve bared my soul to you; you know me from the inside out. I trust you with my life— why, why can’t you do the same?”

“I didn’t ask you to do that! And I didn’t — I didn’t mean t’get so close to you, okay?!” He bursts, and you flinch. His hands shakily come up to his face once more; he wipes roughly but it’s no use— you’ve already seen his delicate tears threatening to spill, and it burns more holes in your heart than you thought his suffering would.

“What are you talking about?” you pry, now without any cautious reservations about his demeanor.

“I didn’t mean to get so fucking attached, because - ‘cause I…” Jonathan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, “fuck.”

“What?” you repeat, but it’s softer, concerned; how quickly his body language shifted from irritated to terrified has you scrambling to support him. “Talk to me,” you ask, taking nervous steps closer, like you were approaching a wounded animal.

He sucks in a sharp breath, and holds it, like he did cigarette smoke, before exhaling heavily. “Okay- okay. When I was - nineteen, I drove a car… I drove off a cliff and tried t’kill myself. I was-- admitted to a psychiatric hospital for a year, and when I got out I moved here f’school. I- I… promised m’self I wouldn’t let anyone get too close.”

The confession hangs in the air, a lonely little thing; it’s a bleeding piece of his own heart he’s plucked and placed in your palms. He shudders, and you want to nurture it like nothing else. This is a culmination of a year’s worth of evasion coming to a close; you’re seeing him completely, rawly, for the first time.

“But- but why? You don’t have to— Jonathan, you don’t need to do that just because you - you… y’know.”

“I’m- I know that,” he starts brashly, defensively. “It’s b’cause I am very, very aware of my - of m’own self destructiveness…” His words taper off into something of grief; the Sisyphean struggle of wanting to live, while that depressive boulder pushes him back, colors him completely. “I just… I didn’t want to - t’hurt anyone in case I -- in case next time I succeeded.”

“Next time?” you repeat, and your voice broke in a way you wish was less vulnerable, less blatantly miserable.

“This is why I didn’t want to—“ Jonathan sighs, deflates, “I’m not telling you this because I want you to - t’fucking save me, okay? I’m telling you this because you wanted to know, and I couldn’t hide from you anymore. Because you asked.”

“You didn’t need t’hide it in the first place!” you exclaimed, coming closer to him. “You’ve never had to hide a fucking ‘ting from me.”

“You wouldn’t have understood!” He said back, volume nearing a shout. “You’ll treat me differently now, you see, you’ll look at me fuckin’ different—“

It made your heart sink-- how sure his words were, how certain he was of your rejection. How little trust did he have in you? 

(You remember he wanted to sink, too-- lose himself in the baby blue sea; let it swallow him whole and never be seen again.)

“You - you really think I’ll treat y’differently because of this? You know my every crevice, my every thought-- I have never once doubted that you’ll accept me.”

“I-I… why should I - expect any of this to stay the same?”

Suddenly, you took his face into your hands. “Because I-- I fucking love you, okay? And it’s not just friendly, or romantic, even if it’s both— I’m… I love you like nothing I’ve ever loved before. I accept and adore your every skill and flaw and antic; you wormed your way into my heart and I want to worm my way into yours.”

“That doesn’t mean—“ Jonathan tried to interject, a noise all utter disbelief. You cut him off, though, continuing your sudden confession; you hadn’t been privy to these own romantic feelings of yours till moments prior, but everything being said just felt right. 

“Jonathan, I don’t care if you drove a car off a cliff or cyanide-poisoned our professor or blew something up, because I love you. You, with all your problems and great, big, beautiful life. All I want is for you to want that life; I want you to want me in it. I feel it in my bones that I’m meant to love you; you are meant to be my home, you are everything I am supposed to know. It won’t fix you or fix anything at all but I just need you to know-- I need you to know the why to my every action. It’s because I love you.”

He looked up at you, wide-eyed, head resting in your gentle hold. “I - don’t know what to say… are you - for real?”

“As real as can be,” you smiled back at him, tracing circles along his smooth skin; you could’ve drank in that attentive stare of his for hours upon hours. “I love you, and nothing and no-one, not even you, can change that.” An aching grip had clenched around your heart at his words, that blatant disbelief: are you for real? God, had you ever been-- had you ever fucking been. 

Jonathan’s mouth opened to speak, but instead, he let out an agonizing sort of cry; an exclamation of utter surprise at the loving acceptance. Then, he hesitantly leaned into your touch, as if he’d never hugged before, wrapping his arms around your waist to snatch you as close to him as possible. He held you tighter and tighter as the seconds went by, like this was all a mocking dream his yearning mind had made up; that if he closed his eyes now he’d wake up desolate, alone, without you for eternity. His worst nightmare. 

“…God, I’m so - fucking stupid,” he grumbled, sounding angry, but you could feel vulnerable, hot tears soaking into the fabric of your shirt. “To assume you, of all people, would act that way… you of all people.” He said that tenderly; you of all people certainly meant miles more things you weren’t explicitly aware of, but you still felt the sentiment. “I’m not -- poetic or anything like that… but I love you, too.”

You chuckled a beautiful, wet laugh. “You don’t hafta’ say anything sweet or special. You’re everything to me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, before wrapping his fingers around your wrist and pulling you onto the mattress with him. He flipped you beneath him, and held himself up by the forearms laying on either side of your head. “Fuck, I love you. I love you.” Jonathan repeated the words several more times, strange and foreign but right at home being said to you. Like his mouth was made to only ever say I love you to you. 

Suddenly, you pressed your lips to his, shutting him up momentarily. You could still feel the vibrations of I love you rumbling in his throat as you kissed him. Your tongues danced along one another, an all consuming waltz; you wanted to know everything about him, down to the taste of his tongue, memorize how sweet his mouth felt on yours. Oh, how you longed for this moment; how could you ever think about love again, and yearn for it, without thinking of Jonathan?

You reckoned that’s what this had been the whole time; your love started as a little flame, something under the guise of friendship, but the two of you had fanned it, nurtured it-- all of a sudden the miniature warmth of platonic love burst into a raging, adoring fire. You’d fed this flame with tenderness, and it responded in kind; you could never again look at Jonathan without a certain intimate reverie. Perhaps that’d been why Jonathan found it so hard to cut off this relationship as he had dozens others: something primal and unconscious within him had begged him not to let you go— some higher being knew his home was only ever in your arms. 

Jonathan deepened the kiss hungrily, pressing his weight onto you and pushing you into the mattress. Your head was spinning from the lack of air, and one of your hands had to sneak beneath his hat and tug at his hair to get him to stop. “Hey,” you panted, looking worriedly into his eyes, “what’s up?”

“Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly, hanging his head lowly for a moment before meeting your gaze once more, batting his long lashes. “Jus’ missed you. Thas’ all.”

“Missed y’too,” you murmured, pulling him back down to kiss you again. Your hands left the crown of his head and trailed down his backside, tracing over the curves and bumps of his frumpy yellow v-neck sweater. 

That touch of yours seemed to spur him on even more, and his kisses began to travel; along your jaw, to your pulse, down the long ravine of your neck, tongue darting out to lick the hollow of your collarbone, making you squeal. He chuckled against your skin, a genuine amusement rather than the mocking one you two so frequently practiced, and it all went downhill from there. His hands skillfully tugged off your tank top, knee between your clenched thighs, more teasing kisses being planted along your now bare -- save for your bra -- chest.

You didn’t mean to come over, profess your love and suddenly jump into a steamy, yearning makeout session (which, you were pretty sure was venturing off into sex…) but you supposed that apologizing— arguing, whatever —meant your relationship went back on track to wherever it was heading… which may have been set to end with an ardor romance anyway. This love of yours would’ve bursted at the seams of friendship; it could not be confined by such mere things as labels. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, arching into his teasing kisses along the peaks of your breasts, his hands ghosting around your clothed chest but never touching. “Please, Jon.”

You could feel his cheeky grin on your skin, “Tell me what you want, love.”

“…Take this off,” you demanded gently, referring to Jonathan’s sweater.

“Your wish is my command.” he snickered, obliging and removing the yellow knit-- as well as his white undershirt and pajama bottoms. He was left in a pair of boxer-shorts and that silly, silly winter-trapper hat, his fingers sneaking up to your supple thighs and tickling the edges of your jean-shorts; a silent plea. 

“Eager,” you mumbled, noticing his over-compliance in completely stripping, smiling and guiding his hands to the waistband of your shorts to tug the tight article off. 

When he did so, you shivered, both at the feeling of being only in your underwear, as well as Jonathan’s sharp, attentive gaze. “You’re so beautiful,” he panted, eyes exploring your every sweet feature. 

He was enamored with your bare body, not in a sexual way despite the blatantly sexual situation, but rather in a worshiping, religiously devoted way. It may’ve been blasphemous to think so, but Jonathan’s sudden chaste kisses along the curve of waist only seemed to prove you right; his mouth on you was gentle, like he’d held you before, except now without any guilt or hesitation. It was a holy way of loving you; something all-consuming, becoming the epicenter of a life, becoming the purpose, motivation, and belief all at once. 

That familiar broiling in your gut occurred as he made his way closer to the pulsing, lace-covered place between your legs; your hands were gripping the sheets tightly in pure anticipation, his hot breath on your sensitive skin. “Don’t be such a tease,” you pouted, legs fumbling for purchase along his body, trying to pull him closer to you.

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” he hummed, but his fingers still curled into the band of your baby-blue panties and dragged them down in one desperate go, “but I do wanna taste you….”

Jonathan’s veiny hands pried your quivering thighs apart, murmuring an offhand already stole y’panties, don’t get all shy on me now when you whimpered flusteredly, before he descended on your dripping lips, licking a flat-tongued stripe up to your clit. 

You gasped at the sudden action, but it quickly morphed into a choked moan when he pressed himself further and parted your lips, nose to your pelvic bone; he made quick work of you, artfully curling his long tongue into your hole and slurping your slick. 

“So sweet,” he praised, the vibrations of his voice making your thighs clench around his head. He hummed in amusement at your reaction, lapping you up quicker; he kitten-licked and slobbered, feeding on your sticky cunt, tongue darting in every direction, feeling your walls and prying deeper into your hot hole, which ached for the cock straining against the mattress now. The bottom half of Jonathan’s face was now positively soaked, glistening with his own drool and your needy wetness, all of it mixing dirtily and sliding down the length of his neck. 

“Jon!” you mewled, hands tearing off his trapper hat and flinging it elsewhere before curling your hands into his mousy brown hair and pushing his face deeper into your pussy, desperate to come. You were riding his face now — or, attempting to, more accurately bucking up into him — adoring his unceasing ministrations. He was basically fucking you with his tongue, overstimulating your clit with teasing licks then pulling away, feeling along the ridges of your walls.

“Pick m’hat up later, love,” he tutted, pulling away slightly to see where you’d haphazardly thrown it, and your desperate whine neared a sob. He breathed in sharply, taking in how quickly he’d undone you: in a matter of minutes, your expression had grown wanton, eyes blown out, drooling, hair askew, bra riding up your tits and revealing your sweet, puffy nipples. 

Jonathan quickly forgot about the state of his beloved hat, and went back down on you, mouth devouring in full force once again. You rolled your hips forward, and when he pulled his tongue out of your wet hole to suckle softly on your fleshy nub, your eyes rolled back into your head and your legs shook around his face, toes curling tightly. A choked moan left you alongside the sudden climax, sounding a hundred percent pornographic and all for him. 

You panted, silent and unmoving for a moment, and Jonathan began moving to get up and let you take a breather before continuing, absolutely terrified to push you too far or do anything you didn’t want to do— he was the spontaneous one, and you were the responsible one, but that didn’t mean he ever wanted to force anything upon you. His simultaneous decisions were made mostly in part with your interests in mind; he made the decisions you were too nervous and over-thinking to choose quicker. 

However, you took a long breath, then trailed your hand over the painfully noticeable bulge within his soft boxers. “Wan’… make you feel good,” you murmured, flattening your hand against his erection. 

Jonathan inhaled sharply, pitifully affected by the minor touch but holding back with an incredible amount of self restraint. “I can wait,” he offered sweetly, one of his hands coming up to your flattened hand’s forearm to rub the skin. 

You shook your head foggily, cupping him through the fabric, slowly adding friction by sliding your hand up and down. 

“S-shit,” he bit his lip, “you want this now, baby?”

You nodded vehemently with a whimper, and to make more of a point, you reached behind and unclasped your bra, tossing it elsewhere on his dirty dorm floor, before beginning to slip off his underwear. 

The hand on your arm stopped you, though, in favor of doing it himself and pressing his weight further onto you, your chests flush with one another. You were only able to take in thin breaths, making your head spin, but it also amplified the  arousal blooming in your cunt when Jonathan slotted himself at your soaking entrance, collecting his saliva and your slick on his tip. 

Before he pushed in, however, his head dipped into the hollow of your neck, plush lips brushing past the shell of your ear. “Is this okay?” he murmured, pressing a wet kiss to your temple. 

“Please,” you whined, hands pushing flat on his back to bring him closer to you.

With that, Jonathan slowly buried his length within your cunt, making your breath hitch. “I love you,” he groaned, entering you inch by inch, relishing how your warmth swallowed him whole. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

Your hole was stuffed beyond belief, but Jonathan was gentle with you, caressing your waist with the rough pads of his fingers and massaging you, trying to ease his entrance into something painless. Obviously, with that length and thickness it couldn’t be painless at all, but his attempts helped your mind drift off elsewhere and take some of the attention off the stinging stretch. 

After a long moment of ragged breathing, Jonathan cooing words of praise into your neck as he kissed you without moving, you dug your fingers into the skin of his back: “More,” you choked out, the fullness in your cunt now feeling delicious rather than cringeworthy. 

He smirked against your skin, “Looks like you’re t’eager one now.”

“Oh, get on with it,” you rasped and he let out a low chuckle, sliding out of your hole before thrusting back in. That first movement already made your hips jerk up into him, back arching. It was like all the warmth in your body had collected in your cunt, leaving you freezing from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, but still with a needy, burning fire in your insides. 

Jonathan’s pace was affectionate and rhythmic: you could feel the tenderness in his each and every gentle roll of the hips. It made you feel like the sun, how attentive he was, but he was also so fucking slow. If anything, that had your walls clenching onto him harder than if he hammered into you— that slow build-up of friction was dizzying. You squirmed, cunt clenching and contracting around his smooth thrusts— you wanted to take him within you completely, cause more friction for you were going stir-crazy with this lazy speed. 

“F-fuck! Faster, please,” you cried out, unable to take his sensual movements any longer. Your legs were twitching with his patient movements, and you could’ve sworn you saw a cheeky grin on his lips. The bastard— even in sex was he teasing you, wanting to torture you until you gave in to the pleasure and begged him to ruin you.  

Sure, this was your first time together, and was going extremely pleasantly and sweetly, but you were actually pretty fond of the idea of letting him pound into you like there was no tomorrow… 

At the lewd thought, your walls pulsed around his cock, making him buck up unintentionally, hitting that sweet spot within you. He grunted at the feeling of your tightened cunt, while you cried out his name, pleasure running like a current through your body. Your face was on fire, reminiscent of a raging fever, and your insides were coiling— god, how did his cock just feel so perfect within you?

“Oh,” he grinned in a pant, “found y’spot, didn’t I?”

Jonathan didn’t give you a chance to speak before he pulled out so far his tip was the only thing in your hole, before slamming back in and making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Props to him-- he hit your g-spot with utmost accuracy, and you let out a long, stuttered mewl, scratching at his freckled back, legs twitching. Your wail was almost catatonic, loud and cock-drunk, dripping unabashed, filthy pleasure. 

“Makin’ such sweet noises f’me,” he praised huskily, hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead, “fuck, ‘ve gotta hear that again.”

He must’ve noticed your neediness earlier, when he was slow and languid, for the new speed he set was double- no, triple that: his hips were snapping against yours, balls smacking filthily against your lips, left hand pinning your hips down and letting him sink into you faster. Shocks of pleasure tore through you at the sudden increase in speed- he’d inured you so well to the torturously slow pace from earlier that this new frenzied one felt like getting hit by a bullet train. You were overstimulated and needing more of him all at once, practically vibrating with need under his touch. 

“I’ve- hnngh- wanted this…” you gasped between moans, “f-for so long…”

“Wanted m’cock?” Jonathan questioned in a hiss, feeling with his every inch how your walls absolutely soaked him. His tone was, obviously, sarcastic, but it still made you feel incredibly lewd. 

You shook your head numbly, “Wanted you… I love you, Jon!”

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he purred, fucking you faster and making you writhe beneath him, “love you s’much.”

Jonathan targeted the spongy, swollen spot deep within your cunt, suddenly filled with a renewed vigor and motivation to make you come as quickly as possible, and he pounded into that one, specific spot, watching how you twitched and squirmed, heavy moans exiting you. He was relentless, hands reaching to hook under your knees and spread you wider. 

At the new angle, his cock penetrated you even deeper, fuller, which you thought wasn’t possible with how goddamn full you already felt, but when his thick cockhead brushed up against your cervix you thought you were going to burst. Then, one of his hands came up to your tits to knead the flesh, and you squeaked when he tweaked your soft nipples. He was pawing at your sweet tits, fondling you in a needy, boyish way, like yours were the first pair of boobs he’d ever felt. 

“M’close!” you gasped, mind going fuzzy with pure ecstacy. Your skin prickled with goosebumps, cold  sweat running down your spine, a terribly stark in contrast feeling to the warmth buzzing under your skin. 

“C-can’t last much longer either,” he choked, still pumping in and out of your sticky hole and savoring the feeling of your tight warmness on his long length. He looked absolutely exquisite above you, and you lost yourself in the ethereal picture. Maybe you were in love, or maybe he really was just an empyrean beauty; you took in the sight of his focussed iceberg blue eyes, the cute flush spreading along his pale cheeks and bare chest, how he bit his pink lips to muffle his needy grunts and moans. 

Then, you mewled and convulsed around him, your walls spasming and contracting as you came undone, reaching the precipice of your pleasure. That made him fall off the edge— you had tensed all over- all over, and Jonathan couldn’t help how his hips stuttered, knees buckled, cock twitched; he only gave one last, powerful thrust into you before spilling himself inside of you. He painted your soft walls white, and you felt that familiar heat spreading within you; you welcomed it completely, and wanted such warmth to be there forever. 

You milked him for every last drop, cunt like a vice grip, and Jonathan gave you another wet kiss, this time on your lips, and your hands wrapped around his neck, allowing you to kiss him back. Your brows knitted at the sour taste of yourself on his lips, but it just made everything feel so real— Jonathan and you had “made love”. It was a phrase you always wrinkled your nose at, feeling uncomfortable and juvenile at the intimacy it entailed, but now you understood it completely. 

“I love you,” you repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, unable to say anything else that conveyed what you felt for him. 

Honestly, you weren’t sure anything could accurately do so— you felt infinitely about him, your love touching all edges of your mind, heart and soul, filling you completely. You supposed you felt about Jonathan how the sun felt about the moon— without one, there could not be the other. 

“I love you-- too,” he responded, pausing in the middle at the aftershocks of your orgasm, which had caused you to tighten around his softening, sensitive cock for a second. 

You peered deep into his baby-blue eyes, watching the utter love that coloured them; it was like submerging yourself in a great blue ocean, except you didn’t want to come out, because you knew you wouldn’t drown in those eyes. No, you knew Jonathan would always be there to pull you out. 

Speaking of pulling out… Jonathan slipped himself out of you softly, careful not to agitate that first stretch any more than necessary, before collapsing back into your arms. The two of you tangled yourselves in a messy flurry of limbs on his cushy mattress, sweaty and breathy, something that should’ve been terribly uncomfortable but just wasn’t— you swore you could fall asleep anywhere, no matter your own state or the circumstance, as long as you were with him. 

Blearily, both your eyes began to droop, until you gave into the familiar presence of deep, dark sleep. It was a dreamless sleep for you, but you had an ever present comfort at his weight on yours, something you could feel even in unconsciousness. 

Hours later, in a brisk, shuddering early-morning that you felt all over due to Jonathan’s unruly habit of opening his window at the peak of the day’s hottest weather and forgetting to close it before cold nightfall fell, you awoke to Jonathan watching you carefully, so close you could feel his warm exhales of breath on your cheek. 

There was no goodmorning or anything like that, just pure, uninhibited being, reveling in the space you two occupied together. Like you two were the only things left in the world. 

When Jonathan noticed you woke up, he shifted, presumably to extract himself from your grip. You stopped him, though, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and bringing him closer to you.

“What did it feel like?” you asked instead, for the last time. You brushed your fingers over his scar, and, knowing exactly what you were asking, this time Jonathan doesn’t flinch away. This time, he leans into your touch: it doesn’t burn, not anymore, and he wants your tenderness to swallow him whole. 

You didn’t mean what it actually felt like, of course. You meant, what were you thinking? What have you done, and what will you do to yourself? You meant, I love you.

“It felt like,” falling; not everything feels like something else; I raised my arms and the air took me and that was it-- “it felt like… giving in. Letting my desperation find its purpose. It felt like I’d reached a point of peace… gained clarity after a long stretching, wounded moment came to an end. It felt like becoming something only meant to be talked about in past tense.”

You don’t say anything to that; you know he doesn’t want you to. There’s no need for you to hush or plead or make better, you just need to listen, and love him. He knows you accept him for everything he is, all his flaws and his strengths; he knows your love is all accepting- it veers on saintly. 

At your silence, he melts into your arms and you can finally relax; there is an admission in the action, a release, an acknowledgement -- is suffering in silence not also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found? -- you have found him, at last, and you will never, ever let go.

You take it too far, just once. Only once. And you let him go just once, only once; never again. 

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #jonathan breech #on the edge #jonathan breech x reader #jonathan breech x reader smut #jonathan breech smut #cillian murphy x reader smut

[feirceangel]

Imagine | Saved (Sanji)

Imagine being attacked by a bandit and begging a stranger for help.

Word Count: 1470

Warnings: hurt/comfort

(Not my gif!)

~

Another kick was aimed at your stomach, stars splattering across your vision as you wheeze with pain.

“Learned your lesson yet, bitch?!” The bandit screams as he levels another kick, this time aimed at your back. “This’ll teach ya to talk back!”

You try to fight back tears at the onslaught of kicks but the pain is unlike any you’ve felt before.

All you had done was tell the man to stop harassing some kids who were playing in the street. They weren’t hurting anyone by playing outside, but this ruffian had taken offence when their ball rolled too close to him.

Instinct had taken over before you could think rationally, and you leapt out in front of the children. Hands splayed wide, you demanded that he leave the kids alone.

He obviously didn’t care for that.

And now here you are, splayed on the dirt, crying hot tears as waves of pain wrack your body.

Some of the townsfolk are watching on the sidelines, too afraid to move.

You meet their eyes, silently begging for help. They glance away. The people you’ve known for years and years, who you’ve helped countless times, they look away from your suffering.

That is enough to break your heart as the bandit breaks your body with another swift kick.

Struggling, you slowly start to crawl away. You’re determined to at least try and escape. The odds may be against you but that doesn’t mean you can give up.

Dirt scrapes your chin as you use your sore arms to drag yourself away from your attacker. He laughs at you pathetic attempt, launching into more verbal assaults. His words fall on deaf ears, your only focus on crawling away.

Your ribs sting sharply with every breath you take, your head pounding in time with your erratic heartbeat. Your hot breath blows clouds of dust with each inch you gain, and you can feel bruises forming where he kicked you so brutally.

Before you can struggle further away, a pair of black shoes comes to rest in front of you. You follow the shoes upwards to see legs and then a blond man in a black suit.

He has a cigarette perched between his lips, his expression displaying a disturbing lack of emotion.

You reach out, taking his boot in your hands and dragging yourself closer to the stranger.

You ignore the taunts of the bandit behind you, focusing on the man before you. His deep eyes meet your gaze.

“Please.. help me,” you beg.

Unable to lift your head anymore, you place your cheek atop his boot.

You hear him inhale deeply, followed by the soft thud of a cigarette falling to the dirt, then a rustle of fabric.

He crouches down and gently lifts your head. You’re shocked when he slides his suit coat under your head as a makeshift pillow.

“Of course I’ll help you, darling,” he says, his voice filled with an intense kindness that has you tearing up again.

You watch as he turns from you, his kindness disappearing in an instant as he faces your attacker.

You shiver at the intensity of his anger as he glares at the bandit.

“How dare you hurt her,” he says stepping forwards. “Swine like you shouldn’t even gaze upon such beauty.”

Pain momentarily forgotten, you watch as he tucks his hands in his pockets before raising his right leg.

“You think I’m scared of you?! My bounty is-“

The bandit doesn’t get to finish his bragging.

The blond’s foot moves faster than you can track, hitting the man with a sickening thud that sends him flying into a nearby building.

Astonished, you watch as the bandit struggles to stand up. He’s sweating now, realizing that this stranger is much more powerful than him. He shakes his head as the blond approaches.

“You’re misunderstanding-“

Your rescuer tsks, “It’s too late to grovel.”

The bandit tries to turn and run now that the tables have turned, but the blond is too fast. He brutally kicks the man back into the rubble without hesitation.

“Please-“

Blood sprays into the sky as he directs a kick at the bandit’s jaw.

You hear a sickening crack and watch him fall lifelessly to the dirt with a thump.

Mouth dry, you watch nervously as the suited man walks back to your side. He kneels down, eyes full of concern, the anger having dissolved right after he fell the bandit.

“Mademoiselle, are you alright? Where are you hurt?”

“Thank you,” you manage to breathe out. The pain has returned full force now that the adrenaline has worn off. It makes your vision swim with tears so you close your eyes. You shouldn’t be feeling embarrassed but you can’t help the swell of emotion from rising up.

This handsome stranger just saved your life when no one else would.

“You need a doctor,” the man states, not mentioning your tears as he glances up at the crowd. “Is there a doctor here?!”

“N-no,” a voice in the crowd replies.

Frowning, he returns his focus on you, “I’ll take you to our ship doctor, he can help.”

He hesitates for a second, before taking you in his arms. He tries not to jostle your wounds, guessing that at least a few of your ribs are broken.

The agony of being moved makes you cry out, clutching the fabric of his shirt as he lifts you bridal-style.

“I’m sorry, darling, I know it hurts. You’re doing so well,” his voice is soft, soothing.

You don’t even know this man, and yet you feel so safe in his embrace. His kind words of encouragement bring another bout of tears, as he begins walking.

After what feels like an eternity being held in his warm embrace, you reopen your eyes as you are gently set down.

Your saviour moves away from you, as a reindeer-like creature starts fussing over your injuries and asking questions. You can’t focus on anything except the man lighting a cigarette. He takes a long drag and lowers a hand down to his side.

Against your better judgement, you reach out and clasp his free hand.

“Please don’t leave,” you croak out, now surrounded by more unfamiliar faces as the rest of the crew checks out the commotion you’ve caused.

He pauses and you’re certain you’ve made a mistake. But that thought is squashed as he steps closer to you, “Of course.”

~

You must’ve passed out at some point.

Opening your eyes, you already feel much better. Your chest is bandaged and your headache gone, though it still hurts to breathe too deeply.

You glance to the side and see your rescuer seated beside the bed. He appears to be sleeping.

Shuffling slightly, you turn to get a better look at him. You’ve only just realized that he has curly eyebrows and a small goatee.

His eyes open and you are quick to avert your gaze.

“Are you feeling better?” He asks immediately, sitting up straighter.

You nod, “Yes, thank you.”

“I was worried, but Chopper said you only have two broken ribs and lots of bruising. You’ll want to rest for a few weeks.”

“Broken ribs sound about right.”

He tilts his head downwards, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there in time.”

“What do you mean? You saved my life,” you try to sit up but the sharp pain reminds you that you need rest. “I’d be dead without you.”

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he raises his head again.

“Who are you? I want to know the name of my rescuer,” you ask, smiling a bit.

“Sanji,” he replies, finding himself lost in your grateful eyes.

“Sanji, my knight in shining armour,” you take his hand again. “Thank you.”

“And your name?”

You supply your name and he echoes it with a smile.

“I’m glad I could help you.“

Replaying the events in your head you suddenly realize something.

“You called me beautiful.”

His face flushes red at your sudden statement.

“No one’s ever called me that,” your eyes start to tear up again. “You’re the sweetest man I’ve ever met.”

He nearly melts at your words, face completely red now. Before he can utter a reply, the reindeer guy returns.

“Are you ok?! Don’t move, you broke some ribs so you need rest to get better!”

You smile at his fretting, “I’m alright now thanks to you.”

Sanji smiles as you reassure the doctor that you’re ok. Leaning back, he lets Chopper do his thing as he smokes.

He can’t help but wish that he made the bandit suffer a bit more when he sees you wince in pain. And he doesn’t let himself think about what would have happened had he not been walking down that particular street.

Fate was in your favour today.

#female reader #imagine #reader insert #x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece reader insert #one piece imagine #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #Sanji x you

[sarawritestories]

Unwavering Presence Chapter 12

Cassian X Archeron Sister (Reader)

Summary: Cassian and Y/N both have a nightmare and look for comfort within each other. Spending a week out in pure bliss of cooking, meeting with a sweet Illyrian girl and snuggling in bed the couple hit a snag in the road.

Content Warning: Nightmares that depict murder, Asphyxiation, mention of wing clipping and scars. Weaponizing trauma against a victim and cliffhanger

Word Count:4.6K words

Banner used by @saradika

A/N: the last few sneak peeks I posted about are not in here but will be in the next one, I'm so sorry this took so long I was in a funk I couldn't shake! Though I'm not sorry for the cliffhanger.

ACOTAR MASTERLST

My arms were pinned above my head with Xavier’s hand gripping both of my wrists tightly. I writhed under him as he pawed at me. “Dolls, don’t move this much.” With his free hand he gripped my neck and forced his tongue down my throat as he pressed his length against me. Tears warmed my cheeks as my moan of agony was swallowed up by his mouth. “Shhh. It’s alright, it’ll be over soon.” He whispered over my lips as he slanted them down over mine again and I began to squirm. Xavier released the grip of my neck, his leather clad finger touching down my naked body. Until he reached my clit, and I gasped causing him to slither his tongue into my locking me tightly into place as he began to play with me like a toy.

I kept my eyes open as his disheveled blond hair fell forward from his face and tickled my collarbone. He moaned in my mouth as he slid a digit inside me, and I tried kicking my legs. Only the sharp sting of his hand against my core caused me to pause. “Stay still or I will get the spreader bar.” His blue eyes bore into mine with a seriousness that chilled my blood. “Do you understand?”

I steadied a breath, “Yes sir.”

He smiled, kissing me again, the feeling of his mouth on mine made me feel dirty and made me want to shrink into myself. Having enough I bit down on his bottom lip hard. He released me and I rose to my feet and tried to flee. His hand gripped my hair and I screamed, “No!” As Xavier yanked me back and forced me to my knees. “Get off me!” I shrieked.

“Let’s fix that mouth of yours, shall we?” He pressed the tip of his cock against my lips, the precum coating them, He released my hair only to pinch my nose. It didn’t take very long for my lungs to cry out for air, and I opened my mouth. Before he could do anything, a growl emulated from the corner, “Do not touch her.” Cassian’s voice grounded out. His siphons were the only thing I could distinguish as my vision was beginning to go out of focus.

Cassian had come for me, and when I turned to see him, silver glimmered in the illumination of the moonlight, and I screamed but it was too late. Graysen had taken the steel and sliced Cassian’s wings. “Cassian!” I cried out as the assault to his beautiful wings continued. I reached out for him only for Xavier to loop his arm around my waist. “Cassian!” He groaned on the floor, blood pooling underneath him. As I made another attempt to reach out to him. To have my fingertips reach his. “Please wake up, please wake up, Cassian.” I sobbed.

Bolting awake sweat raced down my back and face as I took in my surroundings, realizing I was in my room in the cabin and not in human lands. A little voice in the back of my mind kept saying:

Find him. Find him. Find him.

Rising from my bed I padded my way to the door to go find the General of the Night Courts Armies.

Cassian’s POV

 Screams erupted all around me as my brothers and I raided the camp in search of my mother. Her screams flooded the camp, and I locked eyes with Rhysand and with a dip of his chin I bolted to the sound of her screams. My lungs were burning as I pushed myself to run faster thought my mother's screams were still so far from me. The night breeze pierced my skin as I pushed forward as the outline of the camp came into view.

As I entered the threshold of the camp another bloodcurdling scream rang through the camp, no one stirred, no one came to her aid. Weaving through the makeshift cabins the silhouette of male and a kneeling female caught the corner of my gaze. I changed course and headed in the direction where my mother’s beautiful face came into view. Terror consumed her features as tears ran down her face. “I’m sorry, my sweet boy.” Her voice cracked and Cassian collapsed to his knees. Mother pulled his face close to hers, “Look at how you’ve grown, Sweetheart. I’m so proud of you.” She connected her forehead to mine, and I shut my eyes and took in her scent of snow and wildflowers.

“Cassian.” The voice caused my eyes to shoot open, and no longer was my mother’s eyes looking back at me but the familiar hues of Y/N. “Cass.” Her voice was shaky, and her fear was palpable.

I felt arms loop around mine and angrily yanking me back from the youngest Archeron sister, “No! Get off me!”  I thrashed as the two Illyrians pulled me away and the male that was behind Y/N lifted his battle Axe. My siphons roared to life and red power blasted from my body. The two warriors release me and I bolt toward, Y/N as the Axe slices through her neck.

I fall to my knees as the assassin drops the axe, “Long live the queen.” The male murmured barely falling to my ears as the gruesome scene laid bare in front of me.

I could feel the presence of my brothers as they approached and my tears turned into sobs as I lifted the body close to mine, Ignoring the fact her head was not attached and sobbed.

I bolted awake, sweat coating my skin and along my hair line. Pulling my hair up in a bun I sat at the edge of my bed trying to catch my breath. It took a few minutes before I took in my surroundings and realized that I was in the Cabin. Y/N’s room was right next to mine and just needing her in my arms I stood up and headed to find her.

Opening my door, I stepped out to find Y/N emerging from her room. Her face met mine and I could see the tear-soaked cheeks and her gaze met mine. “Hey.” She said tucking her bottom lip between her lips.

“Hey, you.” I gave her a small smile; I rubbed the back of my neck. “I was actually coming to find you.

“Oh?” She gave me a small tilt of her lips upward. “I was coming to find you too.”

Something warmed my chest at her words, and I held out my hand, “Come on, Princess.”

Y/N hesitated, then in a flash she slapped my hand away and wrapped her arms around my waist. Pressing her face into my chest. I heard her release a soft sigh as I coiled my arms around her. “I had a terrible dream.” She murmured.

I pressed my chin to the top of her head taking the scent in. She was here, she was alive, she was in my arms. “Me too,” my hand slides up her back and runs through her hair.

She sniffled and my body went rigid, “Graysen chopped your wings.” She whispered. She pulled back to look at them, her gaze was assessing, and I stilled as I realized she was checking for injuries.

I stroked my thumb against her cheek grabbing her attention, her eyes filled with worry.  “I’m okay, Princess, I flexed my wings so she can see they are uninjured. “My wings are perfectly fine.”

Y/N nodded, “What about you? You said you also had a nightmare,” Her voice a soft whisper and she gripped my hand, her soft fingers a stark contrast my calloused ones.

“I’m alright.” Her brows furrowed causing a little indent on her forehead. I leaned down pressing my lips where that crease resided and pulled away. Satisfaction bloomed in me as her face relaxed slightly, the wrinkles disappeared. I took her hand in my own and I quietly led her back to my room.

“Cassian What are you doing?” She questioned me as I opened my door.

“You have ruined my sleep schedule, Princess. If it’s alright with you, I would like you in my bed.”  Her cheeks tinted with the lightest shade of pink though panic enraptured her eyes, as if she was going back to a memory with Xavier. I tugged her hand lightly, “Hey no,” I leaned down to meet her eye level as my free hand gripped the back of her neck. “Come back to me, Sweetheart.” She blinked once… twice and there she was, my girl.  “I just want to hold you while we sleep.  Your presence comforts me.”  I chewed on the inside of my cheek at the admission.

Y/N gave me one of her toothy grins, one that could make me fall to my knees. “I’d like that. I sleep better when you’re close.”

I pressed my lips to hers for a moment and then kissed the tip of her nose, “Let’s get you to bed.” I adjusted my hands to hold her back and under her knees and picked her up and held her close to my chest. She gripped her arms around my neck and her Jasmine scent immediately calmed me.  “You died.” I whispered as I kicked the door shut behind me and continued and made strides to the bed. I placed her down at the edge of the bed.

Crawling in next to her, she laid her back, her kind warm eyes never leaving mine. “I what?”

Lying on my side and wrapping my arm around her stomach pulling her close. I nuzzled my face in her neck, peppering it with soft featherlight kisses moving up to her jaw and pressing my forehead to the side of her face, “In my nightmare.” I murmur against her skin. “I watched you get slaughtered in my dream. It started off with me looking for my mother and when I found her, she morphed into you.” I could hear her heart begin to race and I tried to rub soothing circles against her clothed side to calm her. “I watched you die. I just…” I paused and released a sigh, pulling away from her. Laying on my back fanning out my wings holding my hand out and felt her soft hand slip into mine and my fingers curled around hers. “I just needed a reminder that you were ok, that you were alive.”

“Darling,” Y/N whispered shifting on the bed and could feel her facing me. “Look at me.” I refused, she pulled her hand away from mine and her cool delicate fingers found my cheek and she lightly pushed my face to meet hers and her eyes held nothing, but warmth and comfort and I could feel a tug at my chest. She sat back, adjusting the pillows against the headboard as she sat back. Her hand still touching my face she lightly tugged, “Come here, Cassian.”

The tone of her voice made me move, and I braced my arms on both sides of her hips, a few loose strands falling from my bun. She swiped them out of my face and then she patted her chest, “Lie down,” My body obeyed her command instantly my arms slid around and gripped her back. My ear pressed against her breast where her heart held a steady strong beat. She was showing me that she was alive. She tugged the bun from my hair, and it cascaded down in every direction. As if she could sense my need for her touch, she began running her fingers through my hair. “Feyre would do this for me when I had a bad dream. Especially when I left Xavier. This was the best thing she could come up with to calm me.”

“Remind me to get her flowers before we go home?” I grumbled, snuggling my head deeper into her chest. “This is nice.”

Y/N kisses the top of my head and begins to hum a soft tune, after a few moments the hums turned into words, and she began to softly sing in my ear. A lullaby I was unfamiliar with. Though I can’t focus on the words as her soft melodic tone seeped into my bones and wrapped around my soul. Her beautiful voice, her fingers massaging my scalp and her strong pulse ringing in my ear my eyes grow heavy. Before slumber can pull me under, I could have sworn she whispered, “It belongs to you anyway.” Then sleep consumed me.

I stirred the next morning to find my head pressed against a pillow.  I lifted my head up blinking away the sleep and found the side of the bed cold. Pans collapsing and clanging on the ground in the kitchen followed by a slew of curses had me sliding out of bed, tying my hair back and following the sound. Making sure to quiet my footsteps I leaned against the door frame leading into the kitchen. Y/N was grumbling picking up the scattered cook wearing her hair in a braid that looked disheveled. Her cheeks were flushed, and I couldn’t help but admire her plump ass as she bent over to put things away, fighting the urge to collide my hand against it with a sharp slap. As she stood, and grabbed something off the counter, I made my presence known, “What’s going on in here?”

Y/N must not have noticed I was here because she jumped and in doing so the contents of the bowl she was holding flew in the air and landing all over her. She turned to look at me and pushed out her bottom lip, “You ruined my surprise.” She mumbled, shaking her head to get the flour out of her hair; a plume of flour swirls around her.

I pushed off the doorframe and approached her as I fought the laughter from escaping my lips. I looked at the contents on the table and my chest heaved. “You were trying to make breakfast?”

The youngest Archeron sighed in defeat, “You were upset last night because of your dream, and you made breakfast for me when I was upset. I was trying to do the same.” She looked at the mess in the kitchen, “Clearly, its not working out and I woke you up in the process. I’m sorry.”

This time I do laugh, and she tucks her head down in embarrassment. I lift her face and wipe some of the flour off her face. “My sweet, Princess. You’re cute. How about this. You go get cleaned off. I will clean up here and we can cook together.

Her face lit up, “Really?” I nodded and she smiled, “I’ll be right back.” She bolts out of the room and called out, “I’ll bring you down a shirt.”

I chuckled and began cleaning up.

The smell of eggs wafted through the kitchen as Y/N whisked the mixture for pancakes and I fried our eggs. She was swaying her hips dancing to whatever melody was in her head, “Do you always do that?”

She turned continuing her little dance moves as she poured the batter onto the pan, “Do what?” Pulling away when she gets a few perfect circles on the pan.

“Dance when you’re doing something?” She looked up and the dancing stopped as she thought about it.

“I guess I never noticed before.” She placed the bowl down, and held out her hand, “May I have this dance, General?” She wiggled her eyebrows her hair neatly put up a Violet bow in her hair wearing her leathers.

I flipped the eggs and glanced at her from my periphery and her eyes shifted from playful to soft and pleading her lips pushed out in a pout. Knowing that I could deny her nothing I tucked in my wings and gripped her hand in mine and my other around her waist as her hand rested on my bicep. I began to sway with her in the kitchen, flexing my bicep muscle every now and then. “We might burn the food.” I pointed her out as spun her around and pulled her back into my arms.

“We might,” She hummed. She smiled, “But we’ll at least have some fun.”  

I rolled my eyes and tapped her butt. “I don’t like wasting food, back to the pancakes, Princess.”

She grumbled and crossed her arms but made her way back to the pancakes and flipped them. Y/N proceeded to swish her hips and as we finished making breakfast, I found myself moving my hips along with her and getting swept up by the invisible beat she was dancing to.

When we finished eating our breakfast, I pressed my lips in a tight line watching as the sun gleamed on Y.N as if the mother was praising her handy work in how beautiful she made her. My lips turned upward as she furiously scratched words into her journal. She was focused and I rubbed at my chest trying to ease the tightness there. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

Y/N looked up from her journal and the sun glinted around her hair like a halo, “Sure. What’s up?”

“The other day when I had to leave because there was an incident that happened at the camp.” She tilted her head and I continued, “A little girl had her wings clipped. It’s a terrible tradition my people have when a girl has their first bleed. They take away their ability to fly, so they can focus on doing housework. It was one of the first thing that was banned when Rhys came into power, but the leaders of the camps still find work arounds.”

There was a tick in Y/N’s jaw, her eyes becoming glassy. She cleared her throat, “That’s horrific. We can discuss that later though, what’s the favor?” She shut the notebook and straightened her posture she reminded me of a solider waiting for orders.

“The little girl, Grace is her name, asked if I could bring you over to visit.” I smiled as her face shifted to one of shock. “She wanted to meet the human who saved her and her family.”

Y/N stood up and pressed a hand to her chest, “I would be honored. Can we go now?”

“Of course, Princess. Let’s get going.”

 We landed back into the camps and placed Y/N down and gripped her hand and walked her over to one of the cabins. She squeezed my hand and took a deep breath. Once we reached the front door Y/N knocked twice and waited as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “You, okay?”

She simply nodded and before she could speak the door opened and both of us had to look down to find Grace looking back up at us. “Hi Cassie! She ran up and hugged my legs. I pressed my hand on the back of her head, my grin growing wide.

“Hi, Little one.” I said and got down on a bended knee and held her tiny hands, “How are you feeling?”

Her eyes beamed, “I feel so strong, though my wings hurt when I stretch them. Will that ever go away?” I opened and shut my mouth unsure what to say but then Y/N cleared her throat and saw Grace realized there was another person with me. “It will pass, with time though every now and again it will throb. It will be more uncomfortable than painful.” She whispered and got down on her knee. “I’m Y/N, I heard your name is Grace.”

Grace lit up at the sound of her name, “Cassie, you kept your promise!”

I placed a hand on my chest in mock offense, “I’m sorry as your General I always keep my promises.”

Grace moved from my embrace and walked toward Y/N grabbing her hand and leading her inside the cabin and I followed behind the two girls. I was greeted by Grace’s mother, her brown hair pinned up, her wings tucked tightly, and she pressed a hand on my arm, “Thank you, General. She hasn’t stopped talking about being brave for her Cassie. Your kindness has made this whole situation easier for both of us.”

I held her hand gently in mind and gave it a squeeze, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t there sooner. I wish I could have prevented it.”

Grace’s mother provided a small, “It may not have been preventable, General.”

“Please call me, Cassian.”  I smiled.

“Diana,” She returned, “Go on Gracie. hasn’t stopped talking about you bring Y/N here.”

I walked deeper into the cabin in the common living space to see Gracie drawing and Y/N coloring alongside her. “Y/N where you hurt like I was?”

I stilled and watched as Y/N’s posture stiffened though she gave a smile, “Yes, a bad man hurt me. I have scars on my back because of it. But we do share one thing in common with each other.”

Grace eyes grew wide, “We do?”

Y/N nodded her body relaxing once more, “Cassian came to help us, when we needed him most.” Gracie looked over to where I was standing. Y/N’s gaze was burning the side of my face and when I met her stare she smiled.  

“He is like a knight in shining armor saving the princess!” Gracie squealed. “We were the princess!”

I smiled and walked into the room, “You sure are!” Grace ran up to me and leapt into my arms and I was quick to catch her.  “Cassie, are you going to marry Y/N?”

Y/N coughed the air becoming tight with uncomfortable silence. I cleared my throat, “I have to know, curious girl, why would you ask that?” I tickled her sides, and she began to giggle.

“Well, you saved her from the bad man, and you were holding her hand when you walked in. You clearly love her.”

I looked at the woman in question her cheeks were flushed but she said, “Well, Cassian is a good male, he will always help someone in need. As for him holding my hand he is aware that I get nervous and fidget, he was trying to bring me comfort.”

Grace furrowed her brow, “But you two must get married. I know you love each other.”

Y/N smiled, “Tell you what we can revisit marriage when we come and visit again.”

Grace gasped, “You want to come visit again?”

I flicked the child’s nose, “Of course we’re coming back, I have to check the bravest female in windhaven.”

Grace puffed out her chest in pride. “I won’t let you down, Cassie.”

I nodded, “You never could!”

“Would you two like to stay for dinner?”

Grace smiled, “Yes they would,” there was no room for argument, and we stayed for dinner.

The next week, Y/N and I fell into a routine, meals together, she would go in the study and write as I went to the camps. We still had not heard from Rhys so I had to assume that they were still in the Summer Court. When I get back Y/N and I would make dinner together and then she would get into one of my shirts and I would hold her close to my chest and we would simply fall asleep.

One day I left for Windhaven to discuss some plans with Devlon and enforcing that the females are aloud to train.

Devlon crossed his arms, “They will train after their chores, Is that simply not good enough?”

I snarled, “They deserve to have the choice to not do the chores if they don’t want to.”

Devlon snorted, “Says the male who is parading human trash around, and she follows you around like a little pup.”

I bared my teeth at him, “Mind your place, Lord. She is under the protection of your High Lord. Your just mad she bruised your pride.”

Devlon lifted his chin the sign of pure arrogance, “I could care less of an opinion of someone beneath me as a human whore, who is sleeping with a bastard born brute.”

I clenched my fist as my jaw ticked, “I will not tolerate your tone, step out of line again, and I will be personally mandating all your men doing the chores while the girls will train.” I took a step closer to him, “I hear you say one more thing about Y/N Archeron, I will not hesitate to sink your teeth in. Are we in an understanding.”

Devlon walked around me and made sure to collide with my soldier, “The females will train. Get out of my Camp, General,” He drawled out my title and left the tent.

Frustration pent up I followed him out and took to the skies to head back to the Cabin.

Once I reached the Cabin, I noticed the fae lights still on, I was later than I anticipated, but I walked in and kicked the snow off my boot and slammed the door behind me. The anger stirring in my gut was festering and I didn’t want my princess to be subjected to that. I stomped up to my room and slammed the door. I sat on the bed and pressed my palm against my eyes to try to relieve the pressure that had started to bloom in my head.

There was a soft knock on my door. “Cass? Are you okay?”

“Go away, Princess.” I murmured and pressed my palm deeper into my eyes. As the door opened.

I heard her footsteps growing near her and I pulled my hands away from my face and leveled a glare at her. She paused and retreated a step, “I wanted to make sure you were okay.” She spoke quietly, my eyes glazed to her hands where she was picking at her nails, she was nervous. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m fine. I want to be alone.” I barked out. Sighing, I ran my fingers through my hair.

When I looked back at her she looked stricken, as if I hit her.  She pressed “Cass, let me help.”

I snorted my rage boiling over as I rose to my feet, and she took an instinctive step back. I barely registered the fear in her eyes, “Tell me, Y/N, how could you help me. You can barely help yourself. Always hoping someone will save you; Rhys, Az, Feyre, are you that incompetent of taking care of yourself. That you resorted to sleeping with an abusive-“

I didn’t get the sentence out before her hand collided with my cheek. “You know I was coming to check if you were okay. I did not expect you to be a prick. I made dinner all by myself, so you came home to warm meal.” Guilt washed over me at her words, “Whenever you feel like acting like a grown adult; come join me.” She turned and headed for the door, “I don’t need a reminder about how low and insignificant I am.” She taps her head, “I hear those words repeatedly in my head, and yet Nesta had never failed to remind me of just how worthless, and beneath her I am.” Her voice cracked and it matched the ache in my heart, “I never thought you would stoop so low.”

Looking up at me I could see the hurt in her tender eyes. “Princess, Wait.” Her shutting the door; the solitary clicks of the door meeting its latch, was the only sound in the room.

For a moment I stared at the empty space where she had stood, then I crumpled to my knees. Tugging at my hair, my brain began to whirl, Hurt, Hurt, Hurt. You Hurt her. I had made her feel the same way she felt with Xavier and Nesta. “What. Have. I. Done?” I whispered as I curled in a ball my wings cocooning me, trying to block out the sobs I heard coming from the other room.

I am a monster.

To be continued...

Story Tags: @hellodarling1357 @hnyclover @waytoomanyteenagefeels @amara-moonlight @impossibelle @esposadomd @sleepylunarwolf @stressed-reader @kylaisra @marvelouslovely-barnes @magicstrengthandcourage @spideytingley @awkardnerd @donttellthecats @tastydewdrops @vermillionwinter @asweetblueberry2 @bunnyredgirl @homeslices @azriels-mate2 @oksloan3 @wallacewillow0773638 @fandom-crashlanding @writingstreetspirit @hannzoaks @minnieloo @tuggboatfishin @judig92 @atrxidxs @dustyinkpages @secretlyhers @mxblobby @blogforficslol @historygeekqueen @turtleshavesoulmates @scooobies @anuttellaa @earth-to-lottie @slytherintaco @fxckmiup @tinystarfishgalaxy @cheesebookgirl @oucereeng @st0rmyt @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @misslunatic1655 @azrielsmate3 @nebarious @tele86 @chelsiemp @fightmedraco @blackgirlmagicforever @fullmoon-94 @thehighlordishere @jenniferpendragon @ray4hotchner @phoenix666stuff @misskennygirl @whitewolfsbitch @highladyivy @tenaciousperfectionunknown @packsvlog @heyyhelloohii @parabatai-winchester @julesofvolterra @lilah-asteria @lyanna133 @mp-littlebit @nickishadow139 @milswrites @eve175

#cassian x reader #cassian acotar #acotar #acotar fanfiction #cassian x you #cassian imagine #cassian fanfic #cassian fluff #cassian angst #archeron sisters #cassian #feyre archeron

[pushingboi]

I take a deep breath as a contraction rolls through my body. Creeping upwards from my dilating cervix to the top of my belly is a pain that feels like it radiates through my whole body. I focus everything on breathing through it as you gently massage my sides, slowly rubbing your hands over my side, my belly and my back. You can feel the pressure hardening my overfull womb, every muscle contracting over my distended belly. I sway my hips, feeling the worst parts of the pressure alleviate as I move. "Fuck," I mouth.

You trace your hands over the front of my belly, so big you can hardly wrap your arms around the widest part. The fine, dark hair trailing a path from my pubes to my chest is stretched thin over the bump.

Inside, the baby fidgets, cramped, impatient and overdue. It kicks, not a gentle fluttering, but a frustrated squirming, beating the top of my uterus with its heels. "I know, baby. I know." I sigh, meeting the kicks with firm pressure from my fingers, hoping it can feel me. "It's squeezing me too."

I lean into your warmth, smiling, and inspect my beautiful voluptuous belly with pride, feeling as one with the flourishing life growing inside my womb. Despite the ache I'm filled with so much bliss and love and life, embracing the feeling of fullness for the last time as our baby is about to be born.

-

I breathe through contraction after contraction, persevering through the labour. Slowly the intensity increases, the pain increases, and I become more and more frantic and feral as instinct consumes sense.

The pain is constant now. There's no rest or relief from the end of a contraction, just a cycle of agony. Hot, productive agony, or slow, exhaustive agony. I kneel on the ground, rocking back and forth.

"It hurts.. it hurts.. it's tearing me open.." i sob. I reach between my legs and slip my fingers inside, hoping to feel a head there, but it feels so far up still as I feel through the folds of my pussy.

I try to re-center and breathe, breathe through the contraction, but the focus fades and is replaced with desperation. "I want to push.. I have.. I have to puushh!"

I lean into the pressure as I make my maiden effort. I groan through it. I push again, and push, every effort offering the tiniest morsel of relief.

I catch my breath, and push again. I gasp, and push. and push..

I feel progress - I feel the head descend with every push, and with every inch closer to my pelvis I feel it intensify. The pain radiates from my back through my hips, wreathing my pelvis in an aching pressure almost like a growing orgasm.

"Aaaaaaaaarghhhh!" I roar in frustration as I push. "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! AAAAH!"

The head fills the bowl of my pelvis, crushing my birth canal as it stretches around the width. Suddenly, the waters gush free from my womb, and I'm overwhelmed by animal instinct.

There is no reaching me now, all I can do is scream as I fall back, gripping my taut belly and bearing down. Fluid and viscera drip down through the lips. "My pussy!" I cry. "It's.. It's in my pussy!" My labia begin to part in a teardrop around the head. As I stop and catch my breath it retreats again. Only time to catch my breath before I arch my back and heave, sprawling my legs open and screaming through the struggle.

For such a potent display of effort I make remarkably slow progress, but progress still. It begins to appear again, my woolly pussy bulging around the mass.

I toil and push, legs spread and pussy bared to the sky, as if pushing into the widest, most open space I can would somehow be easier to push out into.

The excruciating contraction rips through and crushes my belly like hands trying to pop a balloon by squeezing it. I thrash against the pain, bucking my hips rhythmically with each push as bit by bit the bulge splits open around the slick dark hairy mass. "FUUUUUCK!" My only hope at breathing is to scream. "AIIIIIIIYYYAAAAAAAAAAAUUGH!"

Sweat rolls down my skin, stinging my eyes and wetting down my hairy skin to a greasy sheen.

My face flushed red and belly gnarled and rolling, the scathing pressure continues to propel the baby downwards through my hips, the head slowly stretching me open, from a broad almond-shaped slit, ploddingly opening into a wide, round split.

The baby buffets my inside with amazing strength to its kicks, a strangely comforting motion of solidarity. The urge to push ceases momentarily as one contraction ends, and I lay sprawled, panting heavily.

I feel with my fingers over the unfolding arrival between my legs, and ever so briefly, smile and choke out a laugh between loud breaths. "There's our big baby.. being born..!"

Freed momentarily from the imprisoning intensity, I revel in the feeling of the baby filling my birth canal, my pelvis skewered around my child, grinding every pressure point within me. The slow grisly stretch of my pussy fills me with another kind of intensity, a kind of genuine, irreplaceable sensual ecstasy tingling through my abdomen.

The moment doesn't last long as I feel the next contraction, trying to steel myself but it hits as a tidal wave bludgeoning my senses.

"Aaaaurggh! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" I moan. It doesn't get better, only stronger and stronger. My body tenses and trembles, my face scrunching as my body pushes. Whether I want to or not, I'm pushing. The head gradually quakes outward through my aching cunt.

I open wider and wider around the head with every push, bucking my hips and baying like a hound. I make short reckless pushes, no room left in my delirium for careful technique. All I have is the overwhelming urgency to do whatever it takes to birth this baby. As the head ploughs further through my strained opening it becomes abundantly obvious that this baby is absolutely huge.

Every time it seems the head is crowning it opens me even more miraculously, until the unfurling lips of my vagina are deformed over capacity, almost pressing against the inside of my outstretched thighs. I'm left screaming in violent rapture.

Finally the head begins to crown in earnest. "The baby! Is coo-minggg- ouuuuuuut!"

I throw my head back, glassy-eyed, and heave through the contraction. The wide head eases out, face upwards combing my engorged and tortured clitoris. I buck my hips once and the head is born with a gush of fluid, a head so wide and oblong its fat bruisy cheeks appear almost wider than the span between my legs.

The contraction ends just then and feel a brief respite again, and try to regain my strength. As my breath heaves the baby squirms within, fortunately helping turn itself to wards my left thigh in the process.

There's a short peaceful moment of near-stillness, pierced only by the beating of my heart ringing through my head, the rise and fall of my chest.

The urge returns slowly at first, and I brace and push. My pussy bulges out again, the head hanging free, but returns to position as the push ends. I push again, persevering. It's agonizingly slow, and I fear the shoulder may be stuck, but I have no choice but to keep pushing until it comes out. For several excruciating minutes and two contractions i push frantically through the seething hot pain. My strength fades but my determination and adrenaline carries me through.

I steel myself for a final effort to birth the baby. I take a deep breath, hands on my still-pregnant belly, and curl inwards as I begin to push once more.

I bellow out long and loud, an ear-splitting expression of every ounce of pressure through my body. My mind, my body, my world, everything to me becomes that one push. push. Push. Push. Push. PUSH. PUSH. PUSH. PUSH! PUSH!!

It works; bit by bit the pressure works downwards, my whole groin bulging out with the pressure and suddenly the wide top shoulder shears forth beneath my clit, followed by the other shoulder, unfurling with it an awkwardly- folded arm which reaches out from my opening reflexively.

"AAAAAAGH- COME OUT!"

I give birth to the baby at last as it erupts free past the hips. I grip at my belly, feeling the contents of my womb spilling out onto the floor with an immensely pressurized gush of fluid.

I moan with the rush of relief and fall back, recuperating momentarily after the ordeal. From between my legs I hear a quiet gurgling and a gasp, and dart upwards to check on the baby.

At first I just stare - there's a baby. I just pushed it out of me. That's my baby!

I marvel at the sight - it's a girl! She's huge, probably 12lbs! I can't believe I was able to birth her at all with my small frame. As she begins to cry I ever so gently pick her up and take her to my breast.

#sorry I didn't write second person into most of this one #op

[aurorawritestoescape]

FLAT LINE || dark!Dave York x f!reader || 800

18+ mdni DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, non con, smut

creator chose not to use all the warnings

*****

His obsidian eyes are boring into yours, as you’re thrashing and wriggling, completely naked, while his hand on your throat is holding you pressed to the bed. Your legs are getting tangled tighter and tighter in the cold sheets, soaked with your and your boyfriend’s sweat and cum.

You two were having one of those nights, drinking, smoking and fucking on a loop until this monster slithered into your house and took a shot. Only one for now but you’re sure there’ll be one more.

You’re trying to push him off with your trembling hands, eyes darting between his bloodcurdling stare and the splatter of blood on your wrist. Soon you focus only on them as your mind tries to save you from seeing the whole picture-you’re dying tonight.

The killer lets go your throat, you cough and then try to scream but like in a nightmare nothing comes out of your burning throat.

When he’s done condescending you with this joke of a fight he grabs your hands and cuffs you to the bed. You haven’t done this with your boyfriend tonight but the images of him tying you up a few times before emerge from your memory and you gush more.

As if sensing this pathetic reaction of your body, the man spreads your legs and leers at your puffy cunt.

“You’ve had a fun night, sweetheart?”

His tone is calm, static like a flat line and your heart seems to stop beating, as if already giving up.

His fingers easily slip inside your stretched hole and you jerk and try to kick him off. The killer grabs your ankles and holds them pressed to his shoulder, one big hand is enough to keep your legs together.

He renders you completely helpless, hands chained to the bed, legs bound by his strong grip.

His fingers return to your hole and he pushes them deep into you, with the same cold dead eyes.

“How many times did he come inside you tonight?”

You mewl at the question, staring up at him, vision blurry with tears.

He quickly pushes your legs off his shoulder and holds them up. You squeal even before he slaps your cunt with the back of his hand. Hard. It burns like hell but your whole body buzzes as the stroke sends a wave of arousal from your overstimulated clit to every cell in your body.

“How…many?” He slowly repeats the question and you hurry to reply, scared of another hit.

“Three”

“Good,” he says and gently rubs your swollen pussy.

You half moan, half cry out as your walls contract at his touch.

He breathes in sharply when a trickle of creamy liquid flows out of your hole.

“She’s all used up and filled to the brim. Lovely.”You hear him say quietly and to your horror he opens his pants with a free hand and pulls out his cock. It’s hard and huge and you whine a pathetic ‘please’ which he leaves completely unnoticed.

He sits on his knees and then gets on top of you, your ankles still in his hand, caging your legs between his body and yours.

The killer plunges in fast and hard, quickly parting your walls with his thick long cock. He’s bigger than your boyfriend and you feel a sting of the stretch.

The man moans over you, pleasure twisting his face, very close to yours now. Hearing him you can’t stop your pussy from squeezing his length.

“So much cum, sweetheart. Feel it pouring out?My balls are soaked,” He whispers against your cheek, his soft lips tickling you.

“Please,” you mewl once again and once again it stays unnoticed.

He lets go of your legs and you don’t have time to react before he manhandles you into a mating-press, bracing his elbows on the bed by your shoulders and starts pounding into you. Your abused cunt burns at first but all the cum inside quickly turns the pain into pleasant stimulation and you chew on your swollen lips.

He growls and roars over your heated face and you squeeze your eyes shut with embarrassment hearing your pussy squelch loudly as his cock churns your boyfriend’s cum inside your cunt.

“Can she take one more?” You hear him growl and open your eyes in fear. If he comes soon it means you have only seconds.

“Please, please, let me go… don’t k…” his palm slaps over your mouth and he bites your cheek, making you squeal into his hand.

“Shut up. Daddy’s coming.”

A few more thrusts and you see him close his eyes as he stills while his warmth is spilling inside you. Then he rolls his hips, spurting his seed again and again until you’re so full of cum you feel it press on your walls already stretched out by his cock.

When he seems to be done, his lips brush against your stinging cheek and you feel cold metal pressed to your temple.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” is the last thing you hear.

*****

Thank you for reading!

Comments and reblogs will make my praise kink go brrrr!

No tag list for this one. If you’d like to be tagged in my dark fics, let me know♥️

#dave york x you #dark!dave york #pedro pascal #dead dove do not eat #tw noncon #dave york x f!reader #dave york fic #dave york #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #I’m on my period ok #dave york smut #dave york x reader #dave york the equalizer 2 #dave york fanfiction #the equalizer 2 #tw dead dove #dead dove fic #dead dove #tw blood #tw death #murder daddy #dark fic #dark fanfiction #blurb #ficlet

[psychedelic-ink]

𝑩𝑼𝑹𝑵 𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝑴𝑬

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

genre: smut, angst, dark fic

word count: 3.5k

summary: joel looks after you, provides for you, fucks you until the sun comes up; his only ask is that you never leave his apartment, not willing to face another loss. One day when you find the door unlocked, you decide to take stroll, promising yourself that you'll be back before he returns home.

warnings: canon typical violence, possesive!joel, dark!joel, willing captivity, stockholm syndrome, fear kink, dubious consent, rough sex, piv, mention of fingering, mention of oral, physical assault from a stranger, choking, spanking, thigh fucking, creampie

thank you to @inklore who I have been screaming about joel endlessly and helped me come up with this idea and thank you to my brainwave twin @pedrito-friskito for beta-ing ❤️❤️❤️

The air is a warm caress to your skin. 

You feel the flickers of amber licking where your skin shows, the smell of coal and wood heavy. Your nostrils burn at the smell. Your eyes dart around, heart fluttering in your chest in a similar fashion to a curious child. You don’t remember how long it’s been since you’ve been outside of the confinements of Joel’s apartment. 

He found you on the brink of death, skin cut up and torn by hunters. You shudder when you remember how effortlessly he scooped you up, swearing never to let you out of his sight. He brought you back to his apartment, cleaned your wounds. You thought he was joking—but he wasn’t. Joel kept you locked up; loving you, providing for you, and reading to you behind closed doors. You were his secret, the embodiment of all the things he missed and craved to feel under his hands once more. 

You never said a word. After being shattered and put back by the world over and over it felt good to be looked after. For someone else to think about your well-being without you having to. Your mind screamed at you in your dreams. It whispered that you should leave, escape, that this wasn’t a life to live and that you were a prisoner to the whims of a broken man. 

But how could you listen to reason when he filled you up so beautifully? 

It was as if he hears your mind racing at night, dragging you away from thoughts by pressing his fingers into you, stroking you until you woke with a cry of pleasure. You would open your eyes to the oddest of hours, either with the hardness of his cock or the sensual glide of his tongue—it didn’t matter, your body would forever crave him, this much you knew.

You don’t think much when you notice that Joel forgot to lock the main door. Pulling on your boots, you slip outside, curious what the world had become while you were drowning in the blissful ignorance he provided. Joel never allowed you to leave, even with him by your side. 

You kick a small rock, watching it skip ahead with an almost bored look. It doesn’t take you long to realize that the world is still deep in shit, maybe even more so since Joel took you in. There are more soldiers, more bodies burning, warming the sky. It makes you sick, your stomach rolling uncomfortably as bile raises up your throat and stings your tongue. 

“Haven’t seen you before, you lost sweetheart?” 

You flinch at the voice. Slowly turning, you see a man with dirty blond hair and an equally dirty beard, he grins at you with yellow teeth. He takes a step forward and you take a step back, you feel your pulse in your throat. 

“Don’t be afraid,” he purrs, crowding your personal space with two easy steps. “Why don’t you come with me? We could have some fun. You look lonely,” 

“Well, I’m not,” you snap with falsely found confidence. “Leave me alone,” 

He clicks his tongue, an ugly snarl curling over his lips. “Such a big mouth on such a pretty thing…I’m not sure I like that,”

A chill settles at the bottom of your spine. You feel two others rounding you, scowling as they circle you like vultures. You swallow, your demeanor softening at the nearing threat. 

“I’m not alone,” you croak. “Let me go please,” 

The man seems pleased by this. He mulls over what you said, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. With a tilted head he approaches, fingers brushing your cheek. 

“I think you’re mistaken,” he hums. “You’re alone, and we’re here to keep you company.” 

When the same fingers that touch your cheek move to trace your lips, you bite. Your teeth sink into the boney flesh, hard enough to draw blood, he scurries back with a shout. The other two move forward, and one grabs your nape. “You bitch—” he hisses into your ear. 

“Let me go!” you struggle, eyes darting around in hopes to see a god-forsaken soldier but they were none. “Fuck—”

You hurl forward with a punch to your stomach, you nearly empty your stomach all over the concrete. Saliva fills your mouth and you swallow. You feel a painful tug on your hair as your head is forced back. The face of the blond man comes into view, he growls. “You’re gonna fucking regret that,” 

Bare knuckles clashes angrily against your cheekbone— again and again. You taste blood. You spit. Between squinted eyes you see red coloring cold gray, your tongue swipes over your bottom lip, tracing the slash your teeth made into it. 

“We could’ve had a fun time,” the man mutters. Another blow to your face follows, your eye already feels swollen. “But I don’t feel that charitable anymore.” 

Before being buried in darkness, the last thing you think of is Joel. You never should’ve left. 

You wake to a gentle touch—two calloused hands cradling your face, thumbs tracing smoothing lines down your face. Your vision is blurred and you can barely see, but the silhouette in front of you is familiar, it smells of home. 

“Joel?” you call out wincing at the dryness of your voice. “Is that you?” 

Your right eye throbs painfully, warm to the touch, pounding like a beating heart. Joel lets out a breath of relief, his head dropping between his shoulders. 

“Thank god,” he mutters, he hooks his arms under your waist and knees, lifting you up from the cold concrete. “What the hell were you thinkin’?” 

Warm tears roll down your face and you sniffle, the salt burns your skin. “I’m sorry, Joel,” you whisper. “It—It hurts,” 

“I know baby, I know,” he huffs, steps now moving hastily. “I’m going to patch you up, then I’m going to find the fucker who did this to you, alright? Don’t worry. I got you, you’re good, you’re okay…” 

You slip in and out of consciousness on the way back home, and when you finally find yourself leaning into the comfort of the couch, you’re still not quite sure what happened. 

Joel gently presses a wet rag against your eye. He cleans the caked blood on your lips and the rest of your face. He’s not the best at hiding his anger, with every swipe of fabric, you feel rage curling angrily in his belly. You refuse to look at him. Too afraid that as soon as you make eye contact he’s going to scold you. 

Not addressing it makes it worse. Joel grunts, a string of curses following after every dab against your skin. 

Suddenly his hand falls to his knee, “Look at me.” he commands and you do. With his flared nostrils, he glares at you, hot iron pressing into your skin. “Why did you leave?” 

The skin over his muscles is drawn taut when he asks. You blink quickly, nose wrinkling with the stabbing pain spreading through your swollen eye. 

“I was curious,” you say quickly. “I was going to come back but they jumped me—” 

“Do I not fuckin’ give you everything?” he shoots up to his feet, startling you. His voice trembles. “I cook for you, feed you, take care of you, and—and you leave?!” 

You open your mouth to speak but as soon as you do something whirs past your head and shatters against the wall. Shards of glass sprinkle down the couch. With wide eyes you turn back to look at Joel, he’s hysterical, pacing back and forth, crimson red crawling up from his neck to his cheeks. 

“You could’ve fuckin’died if I didn’t find you in time—” he stops, eyes finding yours. He takes a sharp breath and makes his way back to you, sitting on the coffee table. “Fuck look at you. You’re trembling. I’m sorry, I would never hurt you. I was just scared, I can’t bare the thought of losing you,” 

Joel pulls you so you’re straddling his lap, large palm cradles the back of your head while the other lays on your waist. You wrap your arms around him, nails digging into the soft fabric of his flannel. Your chest heaves as you try to breathe, your chest aches. You never wanted to hurt him, or get hurt for that matter. Your body feels on the verge of splitting into two, the physical and emotional pain like knives digging into your skin. 

“Can you tell me who did this?” he mutters, his voice a low rasp. “Do you know who they are?” 

You shake your head as you describe the blond man and his ugly snarl. You tell Joel what the stranger said to you, how many there were of them. His fingers twitch, searing anger floods through his veins. 

“I’m going to take you to bed now. I want you to rest,” 

“Don’t go,” you squeal. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.” 

“Just worry about yourself. I’ll be right back, promise.” 

Right after the door shuts, a jingle of keys and a loud lock echoes in the small apartment. Joel rattles the door for good measure, checking that it’s properly locked just in case you would think of going out again. Not that you would. You don’t even remember why you wanted to leave so badly in the first place. 

You’re not sure how much time passes. You flinch at the sound of the door slamming shut, your curious gaze flicks to the entrance of the bedroom. You’re surprised when Joel staggers through the door, his hand holding the nape of the man who attacked you. The man is heavily bruised, bleeding with a limp to his step. 

You feel a mixture of relief and shock, your mouth opens and closes right after, not knowing what to say. 

“Is this the fuckhead who bruised you?” Joel spits, shaking the man. The blond whines and gives you a pleading look. You stay silent. Joel asks again, louder this time. “Is this him? Answer me.” 

Goosebumps trail over your skin, it’s like needles stabbing into your skin. The man turns white, struggling in Joel’s grasp but there’s no escape for him. 

You look down, hugging your knees close to your chest, “Yes,” you whisper. 

A gunshot. A thud. 

With a sharp gasp, you cover your ears and squeeze your eyes shut. You breathe heavily through your nose—in and out, you try to focus on the way your lungs expand with oxygen. Joel shot him. He actually fucking shot him, tears overflow your lash line. You tremble uncontrollably, your palms clammy and cold with sweat. 

The bed dips and you feel fingers circling your wrists. Joel pulls your hands down to your stomach, still holding you as his eyes trace the tear streaks going down your face. His fingers tighten, blunt nails scratching skin. 

“He hurt you,” he states, no emotion to his voice. “Don’t feel bad for him. He doesn’t deserve it.” 

“I didn’t want you to kill him,” you answer slowly. 

“I know. You’re too good for that, too pure,” he cups your cheek, fingers dropping to hold the point of your chin. “I hope you understand now. There ain’t no limits when it comes to you, I would rather watch the world burn,” 

It’s hard to focus on what he’s saying when there’s a dead body laying on the floor. You sniffle and rub your nose with the back of your hand. He smiling now, a gentle smile. You’re not supposed to mimic the expression but you do, a soft tug at the corner of your lips. Your heart swells. 

“That’s my girl,” he muses, the pad of his thumb following the seam of your lips. “I would kill a thousand more to see that smile,” 

You part your lips, allowing him to slip his finger in between them. He groans when your swirl your tongue, sucking him deeper. He shifts on the bed, cock uncomfortably straining against his jeans. He removes his finger and pulls at your bottom lip. Your eyes meet. 

He’s dangerous, you remember suddenly. The words that were uttered to bring out sympathy bring out fear instead; the lengths he’d go to keep you safe, the promise of more lifeless bodies made as an offering to you. However, that’s not the only thing that makes you shudder. It’s the fact that you enjoy it. Joel protects you from the darkness, a beacon of violently bright light. He’s something that you never thought you’d have. 

A protector. 

You say nothing when he pushes you down onto your back. He strips you slowly, heavy fingers tracing every inch of your naked body. Joel remains clothed, only his jeans unbuttoned and unzipped. You feel like a piece of art that he’s only allowed to touch. The same fingers that pulled the trigger brush the swell of your eye, still pulsing under his touch. 

His lips find yours in a frenzy. The moment of softness gone, leaving only hunger and need in its wake. You feel the clash of teeth, the lick of his tongue. The cut on your lip stings when he nips your bottom lip, you gasp, the blossoming pain forcing your hips up to grind up against him. 

He growls into your mouth and you swallow the sound. Blindly you reach out and pull his hand to your throat, a plea falling from your lips as you beg him to squeeze. He does so with little objection. His thumb smooths over your pulse, feeling it before starting to block the airflow. Your eyes water and a choked moan rips from your throat. Joel shimmies down, brushing his lips down your breasts and drawing a stiff nipple into his mouth. He nips at the stiff peak and flicks his tongue. 

Arousal pools between your legs, cunt dripping and leaving the inside of your thighs wet. He presses two fingers against your clit, a wave of pleasure hits you unexpectedly, you claw at his wrist but he doesn’t loosen his grip, instead, he tightens his hold. 

“You’re never gonna attempt that shit again are you?” he mutters, inhaling your scent. “Don’t force me to do anything I’ll regret, little bird,” 

You feel incredibly cold, the words spoken chill you from the inside out, an icy exterior forming around your skin. But your body reacts independently from the fear. Your breathing hitches, eyes rolling back as your heat chases the pads of his fingers. Joel cups your sex and roughly grinds his palm into your clit, you let out a muffled cry You feel your eyes starting to bug out. 

“I can’t lose anyone else.” your vision starts to fade to black, you can’t breathe. Joel mouths your other nipple, the tip of his tongue drawing soft circles. “I need you to understand that. The only thing you need to fear is what I’m willing to do to keep you with me.” 

You wheeze and your lips go numb, your nails start to tear away at his skin. 

A sharp sting blossoms over your chest, more slick drips from your pussy, he teeths at your nipple again and again, not stopping until your panicked whimpering becomes breathless moans. 

You’re not sure what prompts him to do it but he finally lets go of your throat, the sudden flood of oxygen makes your head spin. 

“Turn over.”

With wobbly arms and legs, you oblige. The rough fabric of his jeans scrapes the back of your thighs, he thrusts forward, pushing his shaft between your legs and coating it with the arousal gathered between your legs. His fingers brush your neck, tracing where he squeezed earlier. Instead of flinching you lean into his touch, aching to feel the warmth of his bare skin. 

He continues to glide his cock between your wet folds, his breathing heavy, he stuffs his fingers into your mouth. You lick eagerly, your walls clenching around nothing. The warm fan of his breath tickles your damp skin, tongue tracing down your shoulder blades. 

“J-Joel— please,” 

“You think you deserve my cock?” 

Your vision dotted, a whine falls from your parted lips. You push back into him. He moans into your skin, nipping over your spine. His hand slices through the air, delivering a sharp hit to the meat of your ass. You cry out and bite the inside of your cheek. 

“I have half a mind to fuck your thighs and leave you wantin’” his chest heaves. “Especially after the scare you gave me,” 

“I’m sorry,” you hiccup. “I really am. I just wanted to look around. I-I never wanted to leave, just needed some air,” 

Your pleas are followed by his sigh, he sounds exasperated but his voice softens nonetheless. He soothes the pain by kneading you like dough. “How about we go out every Friday?” 

You shake your head, trembling when the head of his cock catches against your clit. “I don’t want to—’Just want you,” 

“Is that so,” he hums, nodding. “Good. Maybe you really did learn your lesson,”

“I did, sir. Please,” 

“Fuck, I love hearin’ you beg sweetheart,” he says, delivering a particularly hard thrust between your legs. You keen at the drag of his cock, head falling back with a moan. “Beg me for it.” 

“Please,” you whimper. “Please, sir. I need it so bad. I want your big fat cock,” 

Joel visibly shudders at that, he takes a fistful of your hips and grinds into you. Harder, faster, his cock throbs, balls draw tight. You’re so fucking wet, drooling all over him. He sucks a sharp breath and buries himself into you with one smooth movement. Your pleas rise into a high-pitched whimper. 

The warm heat of your cunt is indescribable. Momentarily he forgets everything; the outbreak, the dead body he needs to dispose of— all of it gone in a blink of an eye. And it’s all thanks to your sweet pussy. 

Joel holds you down, his grip like iron as he pounds into you with hard strokes. You scream but make no sound, your body nothing but a toy for him. Feeling the soft, dark curls that fill the space above his cock gives you a sense of adrenaline and need. Your eyes pinch close, the pillow rubbing your skin raw. Your back arches to support the way he’s tearing you into half, hips lifting up toward him more. 

He smacks you again, the muscle under his heavy palm rippling at the strike. But the pain is welcome, shooting down your back and to your core. You cry out for him, thanking him for fucking you, the words awaken something animalistic in him. Joel moves punishingly, a stark reminder that he’s still angry with you. He jackhammers his hips down into your body. 

He slams his hips, hoarse groans attached to the beating sound of him hard against your ass. Sweat beads at his tailbone, trickling down his tanned skin. 

Forgiveness comes in the form of him trailing open-mouthed kisses across the blades of your shoulders, the trickle of his hair sends goosebumps up your body as he moves. You hear him growl through gritted teeth, your stomach goes taut, legs tense. Joel moves, rocking in and out of you. He knocks the air from your lungs. 

Joel hits that deep soft spot inside of you, stroking over it with the drag of his cock again and again. You feel your skin prickle, your core sucking him needily. You scream in the plush of the pillows, he reaches down and pulls you up so he can see your face, even if it’s from the side. 

“Look at you,” he says, southern drawl thick. “So cock drunk. Good–fucking–girl,” 

Your eyes roll back when he grinds against the deep, soft spot inside of you that makes you see stars. You forget about the swell of your eye, the cut on your bottom lip. His thighs shake as he holds you in place, feeling you squeeze his cock in a way that promises to milk him dry. 

Joel empties himself into you with short, hard thrusts of his hips that your pussy pulls and pulls, throbbing around him. He pulls out, strings of slick stretching between your sweaty bodies. You’re all shiny and swollen, glistening with remnants of him and you. You collapse to your side, breathing heavily. You gasp when he affectionately swats your ass. 

“I’m going to take care of a couple things now,” he rasps, addressing the elephant (body) in the room. “Stay put. Don’t go anywhere. My forgiveness is not a cheap thing, bird.” 

When you nod, he leans over you and presses his lips to your temple. 

You don’t look when Joel drags the body of the man who assaulted you out of the room. You don’t think of the outside when you hear the familiar locking of the door. 

Pleasure still buzzes in your veins, your head floating above it all. You stretch and smile lazily. You wrap yourself with a blanket, ignoring Joel’s seed still dripping down your thighs. 

Sleep is soon to take you, your dreams limited to the inside. 

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x ofc #joel miller x f!reader #dark!joel miller #hbo the last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

[thecuriousquest]

U2 & Bakugo?

You dropped this: 👑

-🧼

Leaving Isn’t Easy

Thanks, Soap Anon! You’re too much of a cutie pie. Love you tons, and thanks for the awesome prompt request!!! Bakugou is one of my favorite characters to write for! 🖤🤘

Tag List: @issamomma @repostingmyfavs @palesweetscherryblossom @chickennugnugnug

Warnings: Yandere themes, NSFW (abuse), violence, hitting, face slapping, kicking, hair pulling, physical threats, knife threats, Katsuki is a sad boi, kidnapping, choking

Request: “The only way out of this house is death.”

Yandere Alphabet Prompt

Master List

—————————————————————————

You’re fighting for your life, clawing at the arms of the hulking pro hero above you. Katsuki Bakugou chokes you with scarred and heavy hands, making you feel as though he’s about to crush your neck and kill you at the same time. Your legs go from thrashing and kicking wildly to twitching as your soul slowly slips from your body.

Just as the last of your life clings to you as if trying to hold on for just a little bit longer, he decides to let go. Bakugou gets up, kicking you so hard in the uterus you think you might be infertile now. He’d be doing you a favor, but still, it hurts so badly that you can’t help but vomit.

Gasping for air that you feel will never come to you, finally, you manage to suck in a deep breath. Wiping the bile from your lip, you look up at him with rivers in your eyes. Drops of rain cling to your lashes, rolling down your cheeks in despair.

Pointing an accusatory finger at you, he snarls in your face, “Don’t you fuckin’ look at me like that when you were the one who tried to leave! If I hadn’t caught you, who the fuck knows what could’ve happened to you, dumb bitch!”

“Bakugou…” you whisper with slight resistance in your voice as an arm clings to your hurting lower stomach. “It’s not too late to let me go home. I won’t tell anyone. We can act like this never happened.” You can’t help the cough slithering up your throat like a dry snake with rough scales.

His palm cracks down on your cheek, his other grabbing you by your hair, forcing you to look into dark rubies hidden by ash blonde hair.

“It’s Katsuki! This is the last time I’ll say it: This is your home now. Get that through your fucking head because the next time I have to say it, I’ll make you carve the words into your own arm with a dull knife.”

“Okay! Katsuki, I’m sorry!” You throw your hands up, a pleading gesture for mercy. You’re apologizing even though you did nothing wrong.

The sting in your cheek and your hair has you begging him for relief, screaming for him to let you go. He shoves you back, sending your head mere inches from banging against the hardwood floor. You stop yourself from hitting your skull in time, sending your arms out to catch yourself.

You watch, wearily, as he slides down the wall, letting his hands catch his head as he rakes fingers through his spiky hair.

“I don’t want to have to keep repeating myself. I love you. ‘M not letting you go, dumbass.” He grabs you by your ankle, reeling you in towards him.

It surprises you, and you grunt in pain as he collects you in his strong arms. He sits with his legs crossed, and he places you in his lap like a child holding a puppy.

If he’s trying to comfort you, it’s not working. You’re tired of crying. You no longer want to break out into tears because of this man, but he kicked you, slapped you, kidnapped you, and threatened you. This isn’t even the first time he has assaulted you. You feel like you should have built up some kind of immunity to his cruel treatment by now, but you react the same way every time. You’re scared of him, and it shows.

His voice grows rougher, deeper, sadder as he leans into your hair, placing his chin on your head. “I won’t lose you. I…can’t lose you. You’re mine, and you’re not going anywhere. You hear me? The only way out of this house is through death.”

#triggering content #triggering themes #yandere themes #yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #my hero acedamia #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #yandere my hero academia #yandere boku no hero academia #mha katsuki bakugou #yandere katsuki bakugou #yandere bakugou #yandere katsuki #yandere katsuki x reader

[omkookie]

"Don't worry. It's just me."

⌈ ⚠️ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⌉ Smut, Yandere!Rio, NONCON, somnophilia, choking, unprotected sex. Fem!MC

Yandere Rio is so twisted that he no longer acts like Rio. He’s lost in the madness of his obsession, and his crazed mind can’t reason or differentiate right from wrong anymore...🩷

....

Rio thinks it's too much. Your endless studying, and undying devotion as Belle. You work far too much, way too hard, and you don't even treat yourself. That's why, as your caring butler he takes it upon himself to take care of you and relieve you of your stress. You wake up with his hand clasped over your mouth and his cock inside of you.

Your worried eyes frantically try to focus on him through the darkness of your room, and you thrash around, trying to scratch and kick your assaulter until you finally hear a familiar voice speak. "Don't worry. It's just me~" Rio says under his breath, And your eyes water with stinging hot tears. You feel dreadfully weak because you realize that it’s him. He, your most trusted person was raping you. That breaks your heart far more than knowing someone else was doing it.

Rio hears your muffled cries and quiet sobs, yet he pretends not to. His hand moves to your neck, and he gives your throat a hard enough squeeze as a warning for you to be quiet. “I’m going to take my hand off of your mouth, okay?” He speaks, and your erratic breathing increases as he warns you not to scream. “Don’t scream.” He says sternly, making sure to tighten his grip on your throat to get his words through your head.

He takes his hand off of your mouth, and you let out a whimper as you ask him why.

Why is he doing this?

“Because I love you so much! I want to make love to you and take care of you. You’ve been working so hard.” He says, as his other hand moves toward your hip to hold you.

What happened to your Rio? This one couldn’t be him. He just couldn’t.

“It’s okay! You don’t need to cry.” He tells you. “You know, I’m veeery happy to be with you.” He chuckles at the end, and you feel your stomach twist in disgust.

“I love you so much.” He repeats those words like they're a mantra.

He uses your body as he pleases, eventually tiring you out enough for you to stop resisting. You’re helpless, You can’t get him off of you, and he won’t be letting you go any time soon. His hips slam into yours harder now, making you jerk in surprise. You know he’s close, and he knows you’re tired. “You’re already sleepy?” he asks, and you nod, even if he can’t see it in the dark.

“Just give me a moment… I’m almost done.” He whispers, and you wait tiredly. Wait for him to finish filling you with his cum as if you were some toy. After what feels like forever, He finally does. A fresh stream of tears runs over the dried ones on your cheeks, and Rio snuggles against you, pressing you firmly against his body.

"I love you, Goodnight.” He kisses your shoulder, and you remain quiet.

You lie there, trapped in his arms and unable to get as much as a wink of sleep after what has happened. You feel dirty, sinful, disgusting. You want to take a shower and scrub your skin, hoping you can get him off of you, wash him away and wash off all of the guilt and shame that you feel.

You can’t sleep that night. You can’t get up and clean yourself, You can’t move an arm without his grip on you tightening. He’s not sleeping, and as his hand wraps around your neck to hold you in place, It slowly sinks in to you that you’ll never be able to sleep normally again.

#ikemen prince #ikepri #rio ortiz #ikemen prince x reader #ikemen prince fanfiction #ikemen prince smut #.noncon #cw;smut🍋 #rio ikemen prince #ikemen prince rio #yandere fanfiction #yandere ikemen prince #yandere x reader #yandere #fem!reader #ikeprince rio #ikepri rio #yandere noncon #yandere fic #cw;yandere❤️

[starysky1289]

Toxic!Stepsis!Vanessa X Reader. Pulled over

TW: toxic relationship, degradation, duncon

You were speeding, you knew it. It was late at night going down some old country road, but you had to get home before Steve did. Your awful stepfather would give you an earful about coming home late and why you should act better even though you were an adult. You though you where in the clear, before the whine of a siren stopped you.

“ fuck..”

You pulled over slowly, digging through your purse for your license and registration. You rolled down your window and waited for the officer to step towards your car.

“ I’m sorry officer, I know I’m speeding, I’ve just gotta get home, here’s my stuff “

“ well if it isn’t my sleezy little step sister. Why do you gotta get back to your mommy’s house so fast? “

“ ….. Vanessa…I don’t want a earful from Steve about coming home late “

Vanessa clicked her tounge, leaning against your car. she was in her uniform, with the blue work shirt, black pants, and that ridiculous black tie. You could go on about how you saw no use in it, but there were other issues right now.

“ he’s your father, respect him. “

“ he’s Your father. I don’t have to respect him. “

“ don’t get an attitude with me Y/N. “

“ fuck you vanessa. “

She growled slightly, opening your car door.

“ Step out of the vehicle. I’ll need to..speak with you about your attitude. “

You groan, unbuckling and stepping out of the car. Vanessa grabbed your arms and pushed you against the car door, grinding against your rear.

“ What are you doing-! “

“ your not too good at keep quiet. Keep quiet or I’ll make you “

She pulled off you, dragging you to the patrol car, you heard a small click come from the chest, as she pushed you into the back of the car. You desperately tried to fight against her, but she bit down in your throat, making you losen your grip against her.

“ yeah..my slutty little sister melts for me…”

She cuffed you to the bars in the back of the car, you tried your push against her, but she’d kiss you and you’d melt again.

“ w-why are you doing this…”

“ I can do whatever I want with you. I’m the law. “

“ but why now..why not l-later..I don’t want to be yelled at. “

She moved her hands down your body, stopping to massage your breasts through your shirt.

“ i would love nothing more than for my father to yell at you, I hope he kicks you out too. Cause then the only place you’d have to go is to me. You can hardly keep a job, you hardly have any money. Your worthless. “

You had small tears form around your eyes, you wanted to scream and cry and run from her but you couldn’t. You where enjoying this to much, the degradation, the humiliation.

Vanessa pulled your sweatpants and undergarments down with one swift pull. She pushed past you and sat besides you in the car, closing the door as she did.

“ there, see? Nice and comfy back here huh? Keep it that way so the folks we bring in don’t kill themselves thrashing around. “

Vanessa dragged her fingers along your bare thighs, gripping them suddenly every few moments. You groans against her touch, you needed to get out, to go home and not think of how she made you feel anymore. Your mind melted, leaning back into the seat, slowly losing the picture of Vanessa, it became replaced with someone else

“ f-feels..feels s’good… o-oh Mary~…..”

“ fucks Mary? “

Your trance was quickly broken, as you looked over at Vanessa, who stared at you with anger running through her gaze.

“ s-someone I’ve been s-seeing…I was..was coming home from her place…”

“ really? I thought you where mine. “

“ we’re step- “

You felt a stinging pain against your thigh, and another, and another. You’d cry at Vanessa slaps, yanking on the cuffs.

“ I don’t care what we are. Your body. You. Belong to me, and that’s all you’ll ever belong to. “

Her voice was low, like a growl in your ear. She moved her hand to your pussy, slamming two fingers in. You moaned, thrusting your waist against her, you hated how it felt just hated it, but she was so good at it, you couldn’t help but cry out in pleasure.

“ yeah, has she touched you yet? “

“ n-no…”

“ does she even realize how needy you are? How much loving you need to be held together~? “

You didn’t answer her, just trying to melt back into the soft moment you had, but Vanessa would keep pulling you out of it. She slid another finger in, and bit down your revealed shoulders.

“ you need to be trained, you need to be owned. Your nothing but a pretty toy arnt you? And you melt when your step sister fucks you huh? “

“ y-yes..yes I love it! “

“ so we don’t need Mary do we~? “

You went quiet again, your head was morphed to the thought of her, how good her fingers felt curling into your sensitive G-Spot, how deep she’d bite, you loved all of it, you loved being owned, even if it was by her.

You felt yourself getting closer, your moans grew louder and heavier. You pulled against the restraints, words fell out of your mouth as your tried to blabber a beg.

“ P-please I need..n-need it so bad…m-make m c-cum nessy please m-make m-me cum…”

“ already you rembered to beg this time. But not yet. “

Vanessa pulled out, you whimpered as she moved to get as between your legs as she could in the car. She ran her tongue through your folds, and your moans poured out again.

“ V-Vanessa! Please i-i need to c-cum, please just p-pretty please! “

She only nods, focusing on how her tounge runs through your folds, sucking on your overly sensitive clit. With one final moan, you felt yourself cum, and the rush of orgasmic pleasure filled your veins.

“ so good for me…so..ill ask you again…do you need Mary anymore, when you can just have me whenever? “

“ a-ah….no…I-i…I don’t need her…”

Vanessa smirked, and kissed you gently, undoing your cuffs.

“ good. I’ll message my dad, say I saw you stuck in traffic, here’s your pants and such. Get going. “

You quickly pulled your pants on, walking out of the vehicle and towards yours. You glanced back at her, as she stepped into the drivers seat, pulling away without looking at you again. As you settled into your seat, you sighed, pulling away to drive to your parents home.

#vanessa shelly #five nights at freddy's #vanessa shelly x reader #vanessa shelly smut #toxic!vanessa #stepsis!vanessa #tw degradation #tw toxic relationship #tw dubcon

[sheeple]

Miracles don't exist | 35: The cellar

Genre(s): Riddle!reader / Slytherin!reader / kinda slowburn / little happy moments Fandom(s): Harry Potter Pairing(s): Theodore Nott x Reader / Harry Potter x Riddle!reader Summary: Being the Dark Lord's daughter and raised under the strict supervision of the Malfoy's is no easy life. Especially if you start crushing on your father's arch-nemesis, Harry Potter. And that while being engaged to one of his follower’s sons. Warning(s): Torture / mutilation / time is weird in this one [Masterlist] [Mini masterlist] [Playlist]

The Death Eaters drag you kicking and screaming down the hall. They've managed to disarm you before you could do sustainable damage to any of them. You trash in their hold, trying your best to get out and run. Maybe you even have a chance to snatch your wand.

You let out a groan as they throw you on the ground. A hand reaches out and grabs a fistful of your hair. You whimper and move along with the hand. Bellatrix has a sneer on her face as she presses her wand into your neck.

"For how long have you been spying on us?"

You shake your head as much as her hold permits. "I haven't-"

"LIAR!", she screeches and raises her wand. A hot red flash passes over you before your body contorts painfully. You let out a yell. The feeling of millions of knives piercing your body. "TRAITOR!"

By the time the curse had let up, you're breathless. Your head lulls to the side, tears in your eyes. And to be honest, the only thing you can think about is that you're glad Theo isn't here.

She shoves something in your face. A letter. The same one you wrote during the Ministry hearing. It must have fallen out of your pocket during the chase. Yaxley for sure must have picked it up.

"That isn't... mine." Determined, you look at Bellatrix and give her a sneer. 

Bellatrix raises her hand and strikes you. Your cheek stings and flares up as you feel your nose starting to bleed again. "You dare to betray the Dark Lord?! Betray your own kin?! You should be killed!" Bellatrix raises her wand again, a murderous glint in her eyes.

You don't flinch. If you're going to die, you'll die fighting. Collecting the blood in your mouth, you spit it in Bellatrix's face. An audible gasp goes around the room as they watch the red glob hit her face.

"Go ahead, kill me. You were never my family", you hiss, giving her a cold stare, "I wish you would have rotted away in Azkaban."

Bellatrix shrieks, going absolutely ballistic. She summons a knife and holds you down. First, you’re hit with another round of crucio so you stop struggling in her hold. You can handle that. But then… The point of a knife gets slowly pressed into the flesh of your collarbone before the spell has run its course. You try to wiggle away, crying and sobbing as the pain only multiplies as Bellatrix carves something in your flesh.

It feels like it goes on for hours. At one point you stopped moving, seeing no will to do so. You stare off into the distance, seeing the Malfoy's stand huddled together. Draco looks horrified while Narcissa clings to Lucius. 

Is there no one who would stand up for you? No one would save you from this torture? Yes, but you’ve sent that someone away. For his safety. Yes, everything for Theodore’s safety.

By the time Bellatrix is done, you're halfway passed out. You barely notice how you are grabbed and dragged somewhere. Somewhere dark where the door slams loudly and a heavy lock turns.

You lay curled up on the cold floor, your body twitching and gasping for breath. In between the ringing in your ears, you hear footsteps approaching you.

"Please", you gasp, "no more. Please..." Rolling to your belly, you do your best to crawl away from whomever it may be that is ordered to do your next round of Crucio.

"Miss Black?", asks a soft voice and you stop. You roll back and look at the person who said your name. Mr Olivander

A relieved sob escapes you. At least he won't hurt you. 

The older man — who looks worse for wear — gives you a small smile. "Miss Black- or should I say Mrs Nott? Cedar, almost 13 inches, swishy, with a core of unicorn hair, if I am not mistaken." Mr Ollivander nods and walks off, returning with a lantern. 

With much difficulty, you push yourself into a seated position. "Oh... you're bleeding, dear." He points to your collarbone. You reach out but hiss as the flesh is still tender.

You look around, your eyes adjusting to the dark. "Where are we?"

Mr Ollivander hands you a small bowl of water. Your hands still shake as you take it gratefully and take slow sips. "We're in the cellar." The old man groans as he goes to sit against a wall.

He looks deadly pale and his cheeks are fallen in. "How... how long have you been down here?", you ask carefully. He must be the one you've heard screaming a while back.

Mr Olivander's shoulders slump. "I'm afraid I do not know. Time moves differently down here. It's made so no witch or wizard can use their magic to escape." 

The wandmaker spoke the truth. Despite the once-a-day meals — at least, you think it is. Could be a once-in-many-days with the way your body aches — there is no indicator if it's day or time. 

Draco often sneaks you and Mr Olivander extra food. It's mostly in the form of an apple which he rolls through the bars of the door. You turn away every time he whispers your name, his hands clutching the bars tightly. Only after he leaves deflated, do you scramble to eat the apple. 

As time passes Mr Olivander and you get cellmates. At first, it's Griphook. He's a sour man who distrusts any who's a witch or wizard. He mostly sits in the corner and grumbles to himself.

Next is Luna. You're actually happy and at the same time sad to see her. You throw your arms around her and squeeze her tightly. "Are you okay? Are you broken? Does something bleed?" You turn her over and rake your eyes over her front to see if any blood has seeped into her clothes.

"I am fine. I however do not know where I am." She looks around before her eyes fall on Mr Olivander. She makes her way over to him and strikes up a conversation as if it's a normal Tuesday at tea time.

Running a hand over your face, you turn towards her. "What date is it?"

"The Christmas break has just started."

The shock dawns upon you when you count out the months. It's been three months. Three months trapped in this blasted cellar. You knew it was more than a couple of weeks, as your wound has healed and is only a scar now. 

Oh Merlin, Theo must think that you've died. That either Bellatrix or Voldemort have killed you. Tortured you before ending your life abruptly and too soon.

You slide down a wall, hand clasped over your mouth as tears spill out of your eyes. You stay like that for Salazar knows how long. The heartache of the idea that Theodore mourns your death makes you immobile with sorrow. It feels pointless to move if you can't communicate with him that you're indeed alive.

What you can only assume are months passing by before something happens. There is screaming from upstairs before someone's coming down the stairs. You hide in the dark, pressing yourself up against the wall as two people get pushed inside. 

The two figures rush towards the gate. "What are we gonna do? We can't leave Hermione alone with her."

Luna slowly creeps forward and calls out a name. "Ron? Harry?"

The two figures turn around and as a light flickers on, it indeed are Ron and Harry. Harry's face looks pretty busted up.

Slowly everyone comes out of their hiding spot now. The two boys' eyes fall upon you. Harry rushes towards you, wanting to hug you. But you flinch away, hiding behind a pillar. Harry stops with a frown on his face. "What happened to you?"

An agonising scream is heard from upstairs and your stomach drops as you recognise the voice. Hermione. "Oh no", you whisper, moving closer to the door. You flinch as she screams out. Involuntarily, a whimper escapes you. You can imagine what Bellatrix is doing with her.

"We have to do something!" Ron turns towards the group, a distraught expression on his face.

Mr Olivander shakes his head. "There is no way out of here. We've tried everything! It's enchanted."

Another whimper escapes you and you lean your forehead against the icy bars as Hermione pleads and screams.

Harry crouches down and takes something out of his sock. A shard or something. He speaks to it, begging for help. 

Wormtail comes scurrying down the stairs, wand in hand and pushing Ron and Harry away. He takes Griphook before he's gone again. 

Ron returns the light and at the moment Dobby appears. He stumbles a bit but is overall happy to see Harry. "Dobby? What are you doing here?"

"Dobby has come to rescue Harry Potter of course! Dobby will always be there for Harry Potter!"

You take a good look at the elf. It has been some years since you've seen him. Harry actually made Lucius free Dobby in your second year. You know that because your uncle loudly complained to the whole manor how annoying it was that they lost a house elf.

Dobby seems to spot you and bows to you. "Miss Black! It is good to see you alive."

You give him a small and tired smile. "Happy to see you too, Dobs."

"Wait- are you saying you can apparate in and out of this room?", Harry realises. Of course, the Dark Lord's minions didn't house elf-proof the cellar. They're idiots. 

And so a plan is hatched. Dobby firstly take you, Luna, and Mr Olivander to some address Ron provided.

"No", you protest, "I want to help. I want to fight. I want to hurt them like they hurt me!" Tears fill your eyes.

Harry shakes his head. "You're in no condition to fight. You have to go to safety."

Reluctantly, you hold one of Dobby's hands with Luna and you are pulled and squeezed before you land on something wett. Sand. 

Hurling, you puke up the joke of a meal you've been provided with. Falling over, you lay on your back and stare up at the sky. Never once in your life, you've been so happy to see it being overcast.

Pressing the balls of your hands into your eyes, the first whimper escapes you before you start to weep. You're okay. It's finally over. You're out of that blasted cellar.

The only clear though is that you have to find a way to track down your Teddy and hope he hasn't been doing anything stupid in your name.

Taglist (bold means I couldn’t tag you): @the0doreslover @lqndkxlmqma @st4rrry  @choppedpartymuffinwinner @ledtassoo @literallyobessed @lestat-whore​ @vanishingcherry @harrysnovia @pietrobae @ireallywannasleep127 @yeolsbubbles @fruityfrog505 @fluffybunnyu @theroyalmanatee @shinrjj @hegdus @kermits-bitch @m1kasawps @noah-uhhh-what @mypolicemanharryyy @fals3-g0d @decapitated-coffee @thatgirljas13 @slytherinambitious @raineisms @mastermindmiko @timmytime17 @regsg18 @supernatural-lover @bubybubsters @lafrone @hermionelove @the-sander-fander @akengii @aliciacat20 @unstablereader @burns-in-the-sun @rachelnicolee @damagelove @mqndrqke @llpovi @clairesjointshurt @222244445555 @jolly4holly @padf00ts-l0ver @fandom-life-12 @prettyb1tchsblog @pari-1 @f14ever @nopedefe @randomgurl2326

#harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter scenarios #harry potter x reader #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x you #harry potter x slytherin!reader #harry potter x riddle!reader #draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy scenarios #theodore nott #theodore nott scenarios #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x slytherin!reader #theodore nott x riddle!reader #hogwarts #hogwarts scenarios #hogwarts x reader #hogwarts x y/n #hogwarts x you #hogwarts x slytherin!reader #hogwarts x riddle!reader #hogwarts!au #slytherin!reader #riddle!reader

[writerslittlelibrary]

Thank you so much for writing my request. Omg that was amazing if you could do a part two pretty please (also like reader scared of Maria but I didn’t think of what to call her apart from agent/director hill)

I hope it wasn’t much problem writing it

Sending you this love💛💛💛

-🦈

We are your mothers 2

masterlist requests masterlist

part 1

summary: when you get kidnapped, your moms do everything in their power to get you back, only to find out that now you'll never call them mom again...

pairing: Blackhill x daughter reader

warnings: yelling, nightmares

genre: angst

words: 1169

a/n: part 2 is finally here! also, covid's been kicking my ass and I can't really breath or see (due to teary eyes) so sorry if this isn't great. I really wanted to write the part 2, and I might improve it or make it longer when I feel better :)

(also who has covid three times? why is that a thing🤨)

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work 

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

It had been over a week, and you were yet to interact with your mothers. Yelena was the only one you let close to you, but even she had no idea what you had endured. You didn't sleep a lot, nightmares haunting you, seemingly even when you were awake.

It broke your mothers hearts, to hear you scream and cry every night and not be able to comfort you. They made that mistake the first night, and the moment they walked in, you tried to crawl away from them, falling off the bed in the process. They tried helping you, but when they got close, you shielded your head and face with your arms, shaking in fear with the thought they might hit you. Natasha had spent that night crying in Maria's arms, hearing how Yelena shushed your cries and cuddled you back to sleep.

When the mornings came, you wouldn't come out of your room, afraid your moms might be in the kitchen. Natasha picked up on that quickly, and her and Maria started having breakfast at least an hour before you'd wake up.

Most nights they spend crying. Maria tried to be the strong one, comforting Natasha to the best of her abilities but she failed, and soon broke down beside her with the fear they might never get to hold their little girl ever again. 

It was a frightening thought to the both of them.

“How you doing, baby spider?” Yelena asked as she walked into your room, seeing you drawing at your desk. You shrugged. Yelena sighed softly in disappointment, but made sure not to let you hear her. You hadn't spoken a lot, and despite Yelena's many efforts, you wouldn't speak to her either. 

Yelena sat down on your bed, leaning back and facing you.

“I was thinking we could go to the mall today. Maybe visit that bookstore you like so much?” Yelena tried, but you didn't even acknowledge her sentence. 

Yelena sighed to herself again, getting up and walking towards you. You quickly closed your sketchbook when you felt her coming close, turning around with your chair to face her.  

“Will Miss Romanoff and Miss Hill come too?” you asked Yelena softly, and she smiled hesitantly at you. “You know they are still your mothers, right? They'd love for you to call them mom and mama again…” Yelena tried carefully, but you flinched from even hearing those names.

You shook your head and turned back around to your desk, tears stinging in your eyes. 

Yelena wasn't sure on what to do, but she decided that after a week, it was finally time to push. “Why wouldn't you want to call them that again? They've missed you so much.”

Tears streamed down your face, but Yelena just couldn't drop it. “They love you.” That was when you let out your first sob, crying as quietly as possible. Yelena didn't hesitate to lean forward, capturing you in a hug and letting you cry on her shoulder.

“What happened to you? What did they do to you?” Yelena asked softly, rubbing your back with one hand while the other cradled your head against her. 

You sobbed and shook your head, trying to tell her, but your sentences came out muffled and in broken sobs. Yelena continued to comfort you, softly sushing you and continuing to rub your back. “We all love you, y/n,” Yelena said softly. “Just know that.”

After your sobs reduced to sniffles, Yelena tried to pull back to look at you, but you just pulled her closer.

Quietly you explained what happened. You left out most details, but covered the most important parts: they hurt when you didn't listen, and all you could see were your mothers.

Yelena had tears stinging her eyes as she heard you explain, holding you closely as she tried to keep in her own sobs. Hearing you talk about Natasha and Maria like that, hearing what you thought they did to you, broke her heart into a million pieces. She kept rubbing your back when your sobs started up again, whispering comforting things into your ear as you explained. 

After a few minutes, when you both calmed down, Yelena finally pulled back, pulling you to face her. “We all love you. Natasha and Maria love you more than anything in this world. They would do anything to hear you call them mom and mama again,” Yelena explained, wiping some hair from your face.

You nodded softly, your tears finally reducing. 

“I'll try,” you said, hugging Yelena one more time before standing up.

Yelena held your hand as you walked to the common area, your moms found sitting on the couch, watching a movie together to try and distract themselves. 

“Natasha…” you softly called, her head whipping around to see you standing there, squeezing Yelena's hand out of fright. “Hi baby,” she said softly, slowly getting up to walk towards you. You tensed up slightly when she came closer, but Yelena squeezed your hand reassuringly.

Natasha came closer carefully, reaching her hands up to try and touch you. When she saw you didn't try to move away from her, she softly put her hands around you, pulling you into a hug.

Maria soon joined, putting her arms around you both as you quietly embraced each other.

When Natasha pulled back, she carefully reached her hands to your face, wiping some hairs that had fallen in front of it away. “I love you so much,” she spoke, tears stinging in her eyes. You kept quiet, tears stinging in your own eyes as well.

“We both do,” Maria spoke, putting her hand on the other side of your face carefully.

They were so afraid to hurt or scare you away. You nodded softly, your tears now streaming down your face. When you fell asleep that night, it was on the couch, your head on Yelena's lap and your legs on Natasha's.

You still hadn't spoken to them, but it was progress. You fell asleep in the same room as them, even going so far as letting Natasha touch you. 

Natasha smiled to herself as she saw your sleeping form, softly stroking your legs as you slept. Yelena had told them everything that night, and both Natasha and Maria had broken down after hearing what you'd been put through. 

You hadn't really said anything to them, and it would for sure take a long time before you'd call them mom and mama again, if you'd ever even call them that again, but Maria and Natasha were willing to wait, helping you wherever they could. 

They love you, and they always will.

(Tags : @marvelogic @marvelav @lgas202-blog @jusnough @carol-romanoff @natsbraids)

#black widow #marvel #natasha x reader #blackhill #mcu #avengers #natasha romanoff #natasha x daughter #natasha x reader platonic #blackhill x daughter #marvel reader insert #marvel requests #writing requests #reader insert #maria hill x daughter #maria x natasha #maria x reader #maria hill x reader #maria hill

[deep-fried-egg]

She never got to say sorry

CW: angst, major death, very short, breakups

"Yes y/n! I don't love you anymore! I love Chad! Why can't you just leave my apartment now!" Tara yelled at her now ex girlfriend.

"What the fuck Tara! You can't fucking kick me out of the house like that!" Y/n screamed back. "Besides, you're the one who was cheating!" Y/n shouted with tears in her eyes.

"Whatever.  I'm leaving now." As y/n was leaving Tara decided to tell her one more thing just to add salt to the wound.

"Whatever! I didn't even love you anyway! I was just using you to get closer to Chad." Tara spat. Y/n could feel her heart shatter to pieces. "Tara-" Before she could say anything else Tara had already slammed the door.

She felt betrayed, angry, and hurt all at the same time. How could she? How could she just say she never had real feelings for me like that?  What is wrong with people these days!? She thought bitterly as she walked down the street. Her phone dinged signaling an incoming call.

Y/n sighed in frustration before answering the call right before hearing a familiar voice...

"What's your favorite scary movie?"

~

I pounded on Sam's door literally BEGGING to be let in Because ghostface is chasing me.  Luckily as soon as Sam heard the name ghostface she slammed the door open and let me in.  Bless her soul.

Sam locked the door and told me to go to the bathroom to hide . I nodded in thanks as I went into her bedroom. It had a large window facing the neighbors apartment and luckily Sam was good "friends" with the man.

I heard a blood curdling scream from the kitchen so I peeked my head out And saw ghostface on top of Sam trying to stab her but Sam was using all of her strength to push the knife away from her face.

I gathered all of my courage and hit ghostface in the back of his head with a potted plant which luckily gave me enough time to bring Sam and Tara into the bathroom with me to hide.

Ghostface started twisting the door handle trying to get it open But that only lasted for a couple seconds as the kind neighbor opened the window because somehow he KNEW ghostface was after us??

He signaled for us to open our window as well so we did and the man put a ladder in between the gap of the two windows.

Sam quickly made it across with no trouble and so did Tara but when it came to me... ghostface already bursted into the room and slashed my arm with his knife.

I quickly got onto the ladder but Ghostface grabbed one end of the ladder and started to aggressively move it while Sam, Tara and Sam's "friend" tried to hold the ladder still.

I let out a loud sob at the thought of death in such a cruel way and I stopped moving.  Ghostface tilted the ladder to the left as soon as my grip loosened  and I fell off.

I quickly tried grabbed onto the nearest surface but I failed.  My loud scream rang through the small alleyway and I felt a stinging pain when my face slammed against the side of a dumpster leaving a crisscross pattern on the right side of my face.

All of my friends had to watch this happen to me.  All of them except ghostface, apparently.  He didn't seem to care as he walked away from the gruesome scene.

As Tara looked down at my corpse laying on the sidewalk below her she Covered her mouth and ran to the nearest garbage bin to throw up into it.

As soon as she finished puking the trio walked downstairs and to the alleyway and Tara immediately ran up to my dead body laying on the concrete and she shook me trying to "wake me up" but deep down she knew I'm dead...

"Please Y/n! Fuck I'm so sorry! I'm sorry for everything I said please... please forgive me!" Tara cried as she clung to me, trying to listen for a heartbeat for some type of closure that I'm still alive but she found none...

"Come on Tara...we have to call the police." Sam pulled her sister away from my corpse while crying some tears of her own.

Tara reluctantly Let herself be separated from me  by her friends as she stared at my lifeless body until the paramedics arrived. She held back her tears all the way until they finally took away my body. Tara watched with bated breath, hoping it wasn't over yet until they placed me in the body bag and rolled me away to the ambulance.

#eggsub thoughts #ask #jenna ortega x reader #vada cavell x reader #lorraine day x reader #wednesday addams x reader #camila montes x reader #phoebe atwell x reader #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter x r #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega

[wannab-urs]

Eat You Whole

Pairing: Dave York x F!Reader

Summary: An interplay between violence and love OR Dave shows up at your door looking half dead. WC: ~1400

Image disclaimer: The header is not meant to represent reader in any physical way. It’s more about the whole idea of dipping your tongue into a blood red fruit that has been cracked wide open. 

Content/Warnings: Love as violence; smidge of love as consumption; technically minor offscreen character death – not described in the slightest; Dave is severely injured and the injuries are described; aggressive kissing, blood, oral m!receiving (facefucking), hair pulling (reader has hair), pain kink, crying, spit/drool, rough sex, dom!dave kinda, no prep for reader, unprotected PIV (do better), creampie, reader and dave hit each other (but like sexually), marking, treatment of injuries. No use of Y/N. 

A/N: I really am blown away by the response to Ouroboros and was very inspired to continue the story due to your lovely comments! Technically can be a standalone. See endnotes for timeline explanation. Thanks to @beskarandblasters, @atinylittlepain, @idolatrybarbie, @theywhowriteandknowthings, and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for letting me bounce ideas off you and sorry Kel, you got outvoted <3

Dave York Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

If you must die, I’ll envy even the earth that wraps your body –Albert Camus

I even wanted to bruise him, so that he would not be able to forget me –Françoise Sagan

You can have my heart if you have the stomach to take it. Kiss me hard enough to invert me –Yves Olade

He’s at the door. You know it’s him though it’s been 9 days since the last. Skin mottled more yellow than purple, torn flesh knitted back together, barely anything left of him on you now. 

He’s a lot worse off than you’d done to him. A bandage haphazardly wrapped around his head, covering his left eye and what you can see of his face swollen and bruised beyond recognition. 

You dance fingertips over his cheek bone where vibrant fuschia and buttercup yellow marr normally golden skin. He flinches away from you. Split lip, swollen, still a shine of deep red in the cut, curling into a snarl. 

You pull him inside by his shirt collar, kick the door shut. You’re furious. Sure hands sliding under his shirt, he grits his teeth as you pull it over his head. Now shaking hands trace the edges of a soaked gauze strip taped to wine stained ribs and he whimpers. Winces and trembles in a way you’ve never been privy to. He’s always taken stinging palms, digging claws, sinking teeth with little more than a growl. He’s never shown you his pain this blatantly before. 

And it terrifies you. His job has always existed as an abstract concept, something that maybe explains his bent toward brutality, but not something you talked about. The battered state of the man in front of you rips whatever wool had covered your eyes away and it is devastating. 

You could lose him. Nearly did. And you’d never have known what happened. This man who is both everything and nothing to you could be swept away with the ocean tide and you’d be left adrift. Wondering. 

You press a kiss to his collarbone. Soft. Maybe softer than you have ever touched him before. Certainly with more care. His breath is shuddering as he wraps his arms around you, cradling you to his chest. You’re afraid to lean into him for fear of breaking him – this man you thought invincible not two minutes ago. 

“Touch me, god damnit,” his voice rough as though he’d been screaming. Maybe he had. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, David.” You say it into his chest. Forehead just barely grazing the skin there. 

“Since when?” He grips you tighter, pulls you into him. His breath leaves his mouth in a huff like you gut punched him, but you feel his cock twitch against you. 

Sick fuck. You unbuckle his belt and stuff your hand down his pants. He’s achingly hard, leaking into his boxers. He fists your hair in both hands and drags your mouth to his. You taste iron as you lick into his mouth, bite down on his already split lip. 

You swallow his groans, you want to swallow him whole so that he can never come so close to leaving you again. Your fingertips dig in between his ribs reclaiming the flesh there. He is yours to tear apart, to put back together, and to dismantle all over again. Yours. 

Your lips drag down sucking your claim into his neck, his shoulder, his chest. You sink to the floor, drag his pants down with you so his cock springs out. You have to have him in your mouth. It’s a desperation bordering on delirium. You take him down to the very root.

Hands still fisted in your hair, he drags you off him only to thrust back in. No care for your need to breathe or the bruises he batters into your soft palate and no care for your teeth clipping his cock. Tears stream down your face unchecked meeting drool spilling from the corners of your lips and settling in the hollow of your throat. 

You think you could come like this, with him taking your throat and your hands wrapped around his thighs egging him on. He jerks you off of him with a guttural, almost primal yell, throwing you to the floor. He drops to his knees in front of your sprawled form.

“Take your clothes off.” Dominant even in such a supplicant pose, even when his features are etched with pain, his shoulders hunched as if to ward it off. You tear your shirt off, shorts and utterly soaked panties quickly following. 

He surges forward, sheathes himself inside you, and oh it hurts. He has torn you open and spilled your guts on the floor. Your wetness does little to ease the feeling of being split open like this. You bring your hands to his face, press your thumbs into his purpling cheek bones in retaliation. 

The snarl he lets out is feral, animal, but he crashes his lips into yours. He snaps his hips into you again and again, your moans and his broken, strangled cries mingling on your tongues. You drive a knee into his ribcage and he screams, rears back and slaps you across the face. You come instantly, writhing beneath him on the floor as your cunt seizes around him. His hips stutter to a stop as he comes deep inside you. He falls into you, covering and filling you completely. 

After an eternity or only a moment he slides off of you, not recoiling in his usual manner. His body still touches yours, legs tangled, his arm across your torso. He must have bled through the bandage on his ribs, your skin smeared red below his arm. 

“What happened to you, Dave?” Now he recoils. Rolls completely away from you and sits up, his back to you. You have to know. It’s burning you up inside. The fear. You crawl to him on your hands and knees. Tentatively, for fear of him running away, you reach out. Let your hand rest on his shoulder. When he doesn’t flinch away you run your fingers up his neck, into his hair, onto the bandage. 

You start to unwind it and he sits, statuesque, facing away. The fabric falls to the floor and he turns to look at you. There’s an empty space where his left eye should be. Crusted blood like smeared mascara below the gaping wound of his eye socket. 

“Fuck.” You whisper it before you can stop yourself. It’s grotesque. Brutalist.  

He jerks his head back around to face the wall, but you grip his chin and pull him back to you. You press the barest kiss to his left brow. “Will this happen again?” He shakes his head minutely. Whatever threat caused this has been dealt with. You feel like you can breathe for the first time since he showed up at your door.

Another gentle kiss. You’ve never been gentle with him or he with you. It puts a crack through your chest, the way his one brown eye clouds with something like longing.

You let go of his face and he drops his head into his hands. You stand and go to your bathroom. You do not stop to take stock of your marked skin in the mirror this time. Instead, you collect gauze, medical tape, bandages, rubbing alcohol, a needle and thread. 

This is not the first time you’ve needed it. Not when the darkest parts of you slither out to meet the darkest parts of Dave and you rend flesh from each other’s bodies. And this is not the first time Dave has shown up with the remnants of a job still on him. 

You kneel between his bent knees, peel the ruined bandage from his skin. You brush your lips down his chest and over the gaping chasm between his ribs.  His breath hitches in his throat. He slips a hand into your hair and pulls your mouth to his. Licks blood you for once did not draw yourself off your lips. No teeth clacking, biting, tearing – soft and plush lips pressed firm over yours. 

You clean the blood from his wounds. Rewrap his eye. Stitch the skin of his ribs while he grinds his teeth, a whimper falling out from behind closed lips. Another press of lips over new gauze.

When you’re finished you stand and tug his hair til he stands too. You kiss him softly before crossing the room and crawling into bed. 

He looks up at the ceiling and takes two deep breaths, taps his fingers on his thigh, and then he joins you. 

–------

Timeline notes: I’ve done some timeline fuckery. In Ouroboros, Robert has already loaded up Carol and the kids and taken them off to some safe house a few months before. Dave meets reader after that. This installment takes place after what is his SPOILER [Death Scene] in the movie, but he wins the fight. Barely. Robert meets the same fate that Dave did in the movie. 

Tagging people who seemed to like the first one! 

@pr0ximamidnight @gasolinerainbowpuddles @bonezone44 @catchallfangirl @heareball @cool-iguana @youmeand5bucks @morallyinept @janaispunk @ireallyreallylikeyourwriting @sin-djarin @toxicanonymity @rootytootyvoodooty @blackfemalenerd @axshadows @heavennumber2 @pedrostories

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