#I don’t think I use the creaky voice | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

filmtv2022 · 3 months

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The Case (18+ MDNI)

Story: Heading to the beach to hang out with the rest of the Dagger Squad, Jake manages to turn an ordinary day into quite an adventure. One that turns your friendship into something more. On the hunt for your sunglasses case he finds another case with an all together different purpose... your favorite toy. Unable to keep his thoughts to himself he tells you just how much he'd like to see you use it. And who knows... maybe before the end of the day he'll get that treat.

Warnings: Smut/Sexual content + swearing + alcohol consumption + use of sex toys

A/N: Umm... well... I'm not even really sure what to say about this other than I hope you enjoy it. Also, as always, I apologize for any mistakes. Oh... and if you want to reblog and/or comment that would be fantastic!

A warm breeze ruffled the curtains above the sink as you scanned the counter for missing beach necessities. The heat-soaked air filled the room beckoning you out into the morning glow. More than ready to get the day going, and unwilling to lose your standard spot behind the Hard Deck, you steadily made your way through the last of your mental checklists. One by one you tossed the rest into the already stuffed backpack that leaned precariously on the edge of the counter. Two types of sunscreen (lotion and spray), snacks, water, and your emotional support Kindle all made their way inside, but there was one item remaining. Turning around in a hurry, you knocked into Jake as he rounded the corner into the room.

“Shit.” You mumbled into his chest as he wrapped his arms around your body to keep you from falling. Your palms pressed flat against his pecs to keep yourself steady.

“If ya wanna cop a feel all you gotta do is ask.” Smirking, he stared down at you, “What’d you forget now, darlin’?”

“My sunglasses.” Pushing off his chest, you removed yourself from his grip, “And my patience for your bullshit.”

“Can’t help you with the second, but I’ll get the glasses. Where are they?” Letting you go he took off down the hall before he heard your response.

“On my nightstand, they’re in a case.” The creaky wood floor groaned beneath his pounding steps. Reaching for the bag, you zipped the main pocket, shoving down the bottles of water you slipped inside. Going through the list again, you were lost in thought when Jake returned from his search. His voice startled you, but you’d never let it show. Turning around you found him leaning against the entryway with something in his hand. The sight of it sent your stomach plummeting to the floor.

“What’s this?” His eyes never left you as he held out the item in his hand, his lips pulled into a mischievous grin at the sight of your internal panic.

“Where the hell did you get that?”

“It was in a case… on your nightstand. Now answer my question.”

“Don’t be an ass. You know what it is. Give it to me, and go get my glasses.”

“No, not gonna happen. I wanna hear you say it.” His eyes locked onto yours, fixing you to him.

Narrowing your vision, you glared back, unwilling to hand over full control of the conversation, “It's a vibrator. Ya happy now?”

“Extremely.” A hazy far far-off look came over his features as his eyes dropped to the little green toy in his hand.

‘What’s that look for?”

“Nothin’.”

Stepping forward, you trapped him in your sights and attacked with all the vigor you could muster given just how flustered you felt, “I know you, that’s not a nothing face. What twisted fantasy is going through your mind right now?”

“You really wanna know?” Jake pushed himself away from the wall, crowding into your body. The heat from his skin poured through his thin t-shirt as he backed you into the counter. The weight of his presence sent unfamiliar shivers down your spine.

Your head tipped back to look him in the eyes, your voice breathy and quiet as you responded, “Yes.”

“I was thinking about how sexy you’d look… using this. Fuck. I’d love to see it.” Jake watched you swallow, your breath shallow and labored with the control it took to keep steady.

Catching yourself, you shook your mind back to reality and bit back. Each word was laced with sarcasm, “You’re fucking disgusting, you know that?

“But you love me.”

“I tolerate you because we work together. Don’t push it.” Shaking your head, you smiled back at Jake before breaking away. You grabbed the bag and slung it over your shoulder before heading toward the front door. Pausing, you called back to him, “Take care of it… right now.”

“Oh come on now,” Jake followed you with his eyes, lingering on the curves of your body. He knew he was pushing your buttons, but deep down he was terrified of what might happen if he stopped. If he let himself explore the way you made him feel.

“Whatever.” Stopping quickly, you whipped around to face him. Ignoring the look he was giving you let the words fly, “Oh and I've seen some crazy ass shit at your apartment and I’ve never said jack about it. Now go get my glasses.”

“Yes, ma’am” Jake threw a mocking salute and took off for the bedroom.

On autopilot, you tossed the bag in the back of Jake’s rusted pickup that had become a near-constant feature in your drive over the past few months. Waves of heat hung in shimmering lines as you tore open the passenger door. Pulling yourself into the seat, you avoided the burning metal on the buckle and picked at the peeling edges of the faux leather that practically crumbled beneath your touch. The quick fall of steps on concrete redirected your attention to the driver’s side where Jake was ripping open the door and flinging himself inside.

“One pair of sunglasses.” Handing them over, he connected his phone to music and backed out of the driveway in hasty succession.

The song that poured from the speaker could only be described as lewd, the kind of shit that frat boys listened to as they tried to get their dicks wet, “What the fuck kind of music is this?” Grabbing for his phone you typed in the code, “‘Doin’ it’…that’s the name of your playlist… this is your sex playlist. God, you’re gross. Let it go.”

“What? I figured it was only fair for me to share seeing as how I uncovered your dirty secret.” Without even looking he knew you were giving him a death stare, “Fine, fine. Passenger Princess now has control of the tunes. Be my guest.”

“I truly hate you.”

“And I truly know that's a lie” Pressing on the gas, Jake took off down the road. A wide grin lightened his features as he glanced over at you. Your eyes had fallen shut, but there was serene peace evident in the light smile that tugged at the corner of your lips. The sight of it tightened the knot at the center of his chest. Yet again, Jake found himself pushing down the rising emotions he wasn’t quite ready to sort out.

Sticking your hand out the window, you rested your feet on the dash basking in the summer sun that beat through the windshield. Just like that, the drive to the beach flew by, and the pair of you sat quiet as the whoosh of hot air swirled through the cab ruffling the baby hairs that framed your face. Eventually, Jake rounded the final corner to the Hard Deck. Rooster’s Bronco was already in the lot along with what appeared to be the rest of the team's vehicles. Somehow you’d managed to still be late even after getting up extra early.

Sand squished between your toes on the short walk to the beach. The briny scent of the ocean mixed with the tropical blast of overly applied sunscreen. It was intoxicating, to say the least. Simple days like this were hard to come by in your profession so you’d take whatever you could get. In the distance, you could see Bradley in his hideous jorts talking with Phoenix and Bob. They appeared to already be in discussion about groups for Dogfight Football. Scanning the rest of the familiar faces, it was obvious that Maverick wasn’t yet present. While you loved your captain, this was a blessing. With him absent, it meant you could bow out of playing the game you’d merely learned to tolerate. It wasn’t that you hated doing things with your team, but more so that beach time, in your eyes, was meant for drinking, tanning, and reading. Nothing more and nothing less.

Closing the rest of the distance to the group, you placed your bag down next to Halo and began setting up camp. Jake and Bradley chatted lightly with each other as you laid out your towel and grabbed for the sunscreen. Despite your love for the sun, you still wanted to avoid the nasty repercussions of exposure without SPF. Behind you, the bolstered noise of slightly inebriated aviators faded as they moved closer to the water for the game. You peeled off your oversized t-shirt and jeans shorts and dropped them into your bag. The bottle of sunscreen was cool to the touch, its weight light enough to indicate that it was nearly empty. Doing your best, you stretched into several awkward positions in a feeble attempt to get your back.

“You need some help there?” Jake asked as he grabbed for the bottle in your hand.

“Sure.” Handing it over, you braced yourself for the chill that accompanied the aerosol spray.

Methodically, Jake coated your back with sunscreen. Finished with the product, he tossed it onto your towel before working it into your skin. Starting with your arms, he moved in long, drawn-out lines until the sheen disappeared. Satisfied, he reveled in the feeling of your body. Brushing lightly along your lower back, he teased the expanse of your hips toying with the ties of your bathing suit bottoms. The rough drag of his calloused fingers sent a flush over your skin. Moving higher, he made his way over your shoulder blades and to your neck. Sweeping your braids to the side, he took his time, massaging the tense muscles along your spine. Finding a particularly sore spot at the top of your neck, you groaned lightly at the feeling. The sound of your pleasure was too much for Jake to handle. Every fiber of his being begged him to haul you close, to drag you away from this beach, but he knew better. He was in control, calm, cool, collected, and most importantly… not catching feelings.

“There ya go, you’re all set.” Stepping away from you, Jake cleared his throat before asking, “You gonna join?”

Collecting yourself, you snapped back into the banter that had defined your friendship with relative ease, “Absolutely not, I have no intention of getting sand in every crevice just so I can chafe for the rest of the day. I do, however, intend to lay here and bake in the sun. Now get the fuck out of here you're blocking the light. Have fun.”

“Suit yourself.” Taking off his shirt, he discarded it and took off at a jog down the beach to join the others. His skin practically glowed in the bright light. Ignoring the flip of your stomach, you plopped down on the towel and grabbed your Kindle. Starting on your front, you adjusted your sunglasses and opened your book. Time passed without your notice, it was only the sudden appearance of a looming shadow that forced you to abandon the story on your screen. Rolling over, you looked up to find Jake standing above you.

“You’re blocking the sun again asshole.”

“Don’t be such a baby, you’ve been cooking over here for two hours. Now, whatcha readin’?” Quick as lightning he bent down and grabbed your Kindle. His eyes roved over the page for a few seconds before a booming laugh erupted from him, “Holy shit. Smut. You’re reading filthy, filthy smut. On the beach…in public… with a straight face. Goddamn. You are an impressive woman.”

Flying to your feet, you attempted to grab your Kindle, but were unsuccessful, “Stop acting like you’re shocked, and give that back to me.”

Leaning in, his breath wafted over the shell of your ear as he spoke, “I’m not shocked, just intrigued. A vibrator and smut on the same day, keep it coming sweetheart.”

Your lungs clenched at the feeling of him so close. Closing your eyes, you steadied yourself quickly. Still breathless, you struggled to bite back, “If you’re going to make fun of me, at least be nice and get me another drink. And don’t you dare get me that piss water you call beer.”

“Whatever you want darlin’,” giving back your Kindle, he stooped to get his wallet, “You want the usual?”

“You’re actually gonna buy this time?”

“You wound me, but yes, I am.”

“Then yeah, I want our usual.”

Jake took off a lumbering jog toward the Hard Deck. A few minutes later he returned with a crisp cold beer, and food to share, “One drink, and of course, chicken strips with curly fries.”

Plopping down next to you, he placed the basket of food in your lap before stealing a few fries for himself. Carefully, he handed your drink over to let you take the first sip, “Thanks, Jake. You sure you don’t want me to pitch in?”

“Don’t worry about it. This one’s on me, I owe you after this morning.”

Flashing a smile, you couldn’t help but stare. The sheen of sweat that had collected on his skin emphasized the waves of muscles just below the surface. Twisting, he reached across to grab the beer from your hand, his strong hand closed around the frosted bottle before bringing it to his lips. He took several large swigs and handed it back to you, “Thanks, darlin’.”

“I mean you bought it, so…”

“True.”

A contented silence fell over the pair of you. Fighting for space on the small towel, your shoulders and legs brushed against each other. The rest of the crew were still fully engrossed in the game down by the water. Waves rolled in higher as the tide changed adding to the difficulty. Jake continued to steal fries and sips of your beer, but he left the crispiest of the fries for you. He was also smart enough to leave the chicken strips alone, mostly for fear of losing a finger if he tried to take one for himself. Sitting there next to Jake you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering to the day’s earlier conversations.

“Jake?”

“Hmm?” His eyes remained glued on the glistening surf in the distance. Needing him to reengage, you wrapped your palm around his bicep squeezing lightly before drifting down to thread your fingers together. You settled his hand on your lap, massaging the back with your thumb. The gentle motion refocused him, but it was the uncertain look in your eyes that had him struggling to breathe, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I just….” Patiently he waited for you to continue, “Earlier… why did you say that?”

“Hmm?”

“Back at home, why did you say what you said?”

Fresh panic pulled his brows together, “Oh…I… never should have… I’m-”

“Don’t apologize…just tell me, did you mean it? That you’d want to see it… see me…because-”

“I meant it, every word.”

The air around you grew thick with tension as you fought to control your lungs, “Good… ‘cause I want that too.”

“Don’t fuck with me like this, Y/N”

“I’m not. I want it… I want you.” Shyly you cradled his cheek with your free hand, brushing over the crest of his cheek.

Breathing hard, Jake carefully took the empty food basket and placed the bottle inside. With that out of the way, he gingerly tucked your wind-swept baby hairs behind your ears, “You make me crazy. I can’t fuckin’ wait to get you home.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, but failing, you and Jake collected your stuff in record time. Forgetting proper goodbyes, you hurried to the truck without anyone stopping you to talk. You knew that the others would notice your absence eventually, but you couldn’t be bothered to give a shit. Flying out of the parking lot, Jake powered down the road toward your place, his wide palm settled on your thigh. The feel of your warm skin beneath his fingers centered him in the moment, reminding him that you were real…that this was real.

Sliding his grip higher, Jake caressed the edge of your bathing suit bottoms. The spandex was buttery to the touch, the feel of it luxurious under his ministrations. With feather-light strokes, he teased pulling wanton gasps from you without fail. His eyes were fixed on the road knowing that if he dared to look he wouldn’t be able to make it the rest of the way home.

Barely slowing down for the litany of stop signs, Jake made the final approach. Parked and engined turned off the moment he came to a complete stop, he practically sprinted from the truck toward your side. A metallic screech sounded as he yanked it open, and hauled you out of your seat. Just for a moment, he paused, pushing you back into the side of the vehicle. His hands roamed your body while yours encircled his neck. Standing close, he finally got a good look at you since leaving the beach. The same lust-filled look remained, but there was something new in your eyes. It took him only seconds to recognize it for what it was, nerves… hesitation.

“Hey, we don’t have to do this. It’s okay if you change your mind. We can just sit and eat ice cream ‘til we’re sick, or-”

“I didn’t change my mind,” you interrupted his thought, “I want this… it’s just…I’ve never done this, and it’s been a long time since anyone has seen me when I… ya know.”

“It’s me, Y/N. You don’t have to worry.”

“You’re right, it is you… and that’s what makes me nervous.”

“I’m making you nervous?”

“Yeah.”

“Come here." He hauled you impossibly closer, “We can stop any time you want, no questions asked. No judgment. Let me see you, Y/N. All of you.”

His lips brushed along the column of your neck as his hand slipped down to palm your ass. Tipping your head back, it thumped lightly against the truck but gave him better access to the sensitive spot at the base of your throat. Goosebumps formed over your skin despite the oppressive heat that beat down upon you. Sensing your need, he shifted his grip lower, hauling up to his waist by the back of your thighs. Like this, holding you tightly as if it were the easiest and most natural thing in the world, he headed toward your home. He’d made it to the door before the moment finally broke, “I’m gonna have to put you down, Sugar. The door’s locked.”

Stunned, and still mesmerized by the feeling of his hands on your body, it took you a second to register what he’d said, “Right… yeah… the door.”

Reaching around you, he shoved the key into the lock and pushed you both inside. The rush of chilled air sent new shivers racing down your spine. Taking in your flushed cheeks, he tossed the key into the bowl by the door and found you again. Pressing you roughly against the wall, his lips brushed over the swell of your breasts as he spoke, “Now where were we?”

You’d have let him stay like this, enjoying the perfect feel of his lips, but you knew if he kept going the reason you’d ended up in this situation in the first place would never happen, and you just couldn’t allow for that, “I thought you wanted to watch.”

“I do.”

“That’s gonna be kind of hard with your mouth glued to my tits.” You gasped lightly at the sting of his teeth nipping at your sensitive flesh.

“What can I say, these are fucking perfect.” Laving over the tender spot with his tongue, he groaned at the tug of your fingers in his hair.

“Jesus, Jake what is wrong with you?” Your attempt at humor had much less bite to it, the sarcasm replaced by lust.

Suddenly, Jake stood up to his full height leaving behind his ministrations. He smirked like the devil at the sound of your whimper. Your eyes flashed open, pupils blown, your lips slightly parted as he stared down at you through heavy lids, “You don’t have enough time for that list.”

Lifting you again, his fingers dug into your ass and he held you close. The weight of him pressing you into the wall was all-encompassing. Fixing his grip he rolled his hips into yours, meeting the desperate cant of your own. Somehow Jake found the internal strength to pull you away and head down the hall. The walk to the bedroom was short, and before you knew it he was placing you gently on the bed. Capturing your lips in a burning kiss, he broke away sooner than you’d have liked. You let go of a pitiful whine and grabbed for his wrist in an attempt to keep him close.

Chuckling, he pried your hands away, “I’m supposed to be watching remember?” Your eyes followed his hand as he reached out to grab the toy he’d returned to its spot on the nightstand earlier. Removing it from the charger, he moved to the empty side of the bed. He filled the spot next to you, leaving little space between your body and his, “You ready to put on a show, darlin’?”

“Yeah.” The rush of nerves lapped in waves, and every inch of your skin crawled with the need for him to touch you.

“Good.” You reached for the toy, but he pulled back his hand to stop you. The incredulous look on your face brought more laughter from him, “Not yet.”

“But you just said-”

“I know what I said. But first things first… we’ve gotta get rid of this.” he messed with the knots that held together the side of your bikini bottom.

“Do you want me to do it or would you like the honor?” You asked him shakily, your voice trembling with need.

“You’re offering?”

“I mean I am putting on a show, might as well sweeten the deal, right?”

“You’re incredible.” Tossing the object in his hand to the side, he quickly found the knot on the hip closest to him. With the deft control of a pilot, he untied the fabric with quick and precise movements. Taking a second to brush over the now exposed skin, he watched as your chest hitched. Methodically, he moved to the other side, repeating the same actions as before. With both sides hanging loose, he slowly peeled it from your body and tossed the bottoms toward the corner of the room. Jake’s wide palm ghosted over your ankle, working its way higher and higher until he brushed over your now exposed skin. The feather-light touch had you pleading for more.

“Patience, sweetheart,” He whispered in your ear, “I’ve got you.”

His focus shifted to your top. Through the thin fabric, he could see the shape of your pert nipples begging for attention. Which he was more than happy to give. Swiftly, he untied the knot behind your neck and back. With it now discarded in the same manner as your bottoms, he dropped his head low. The soft weight of his lips around your nipple as he palmed this other forced your head back into the pillow. He stayed like this working you up for quite some time before settling back in his spot.

Reaching behind, he picked up the discarded toy and placed it gently in your palm. His hand stayed planted over yours while he dipped his head to capture your lips. Savoring the moment, he had to force himself to part from you. Jake adjusted himself on the bed so that he was leaning up against the pillows. His body still pressed firmly to yours, but from this angle, he could see every inch of you.

Through heavy lids, you gazed up at him as you blindly turned on the toy. The soft sound of its vibration was muffled by your hand. Keeping your eyes on him, you teased a trail down your body with it, relishing the feel of its soft texture on your sensitive skin. Jake's eyes were laser-focused on the path you forged, his hands roaming over your body as he watched. Descending the last few inches, you met your mark with a jolt. The new sensation was met with the graze of Jake’s calloused fingers along your stomach. The pair of you stayed here, locked in this moment, your jaw going slack with pleasure as his brows furrowed together in anticipation.

Everything seemed to slow for Jake the longer he watched. His body thrummed with every gasp and moan you pulled from yourself, but it wasn’t enough. Hearing you click to the next setting, he slid his touch lower on your body. Caressing the slick skin between your legs, he played with you, teasing and toying more and more with each roll of your hips. The delicious whine he pulled from you as he dipped his fingers between your folds sent blood rushing through his body.

“Jake, please…” you begged, but the rush of newfound desire clouded your ability to speak.

“Use your words, darlin’. Tell me what you want.” Swirling the pads of his fingers over your entrance, he smirked at the way your brows pulled together and your hips lifted to meet his touch.

“Your… your fingers…” you stuttered, “I want your…”

“That’s better.” Giving you what you wanted, Jake returned to his previous mission. Working you open, he studied every sound and movement you made, learning what brought you closer and closer to the edge. Your grip on the toy faltered as Jake found the perfect rhythm and pull.

“Fuck… I’m close,”

“Let go, sweetheart. I wanna feel you come.” Jake could feel the gentle flutters of your body around him as he kept his relentless pace.

With a final drag of his fingers, he brought you over the edge. A sharp gasp ripped from your lungs, and you struggled to keep the toy in place, your back arched off the bed. Your free hand reached to find Jake, needing to hold on to him as you rode through the pleasure that wracked your body. Unfettered, he kept at it until he saw your body fall limp on the mattress.

As tenderly as possible, he pulled out of you, dragging his fingertips over your stomach and thighs leaving behind a glistening trail of your spend, “You are a goddamn vision.”

Grabbing, the vibrator from your weak hand, he placed it on the nightstand before laying back and pulling you on top of him. Your leg hitched over his waist as his hands roved over the bare expanse of your back. You could feel him hard against you through the swimsuit he still wore.

Mumbling into his chest, he could feel the vibration of your words, “I think it’s your turn.”

“As tempting as that is, I can still feel you shaking. Let’s give it a bit, yeah?”

The heat of your cheek matched his flushed chest, “Yeah.”

Jake brushed down the length of your spine, memorizing how perfectly your body fit alongside his. The pair of you stayed like this until sleep dragged you under.

#jake seresin x reader #jake hangman smut #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fan fic #top gun maverick

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burnyouwithacigarettelighter · 1 year

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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

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

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lokis-army-77 · 2 years

Text

The Princess and her Bodyguard

Orc!Eddie Munson x Princess!female reader

Word Count: 2318

When the princess (reader) can't sleep, she calls on her orc bodyguard for some help.

Warning: 18+ unprotected sex, fingering, teasing, p in v, breeding kink, multiple orgasms,

Masterlist

The castle air was stuffy as I lay in the strange bed. Although it was a nice room it smelt of dust and general disuse. The bed was also not as luxurious as the one in my own palace, the lumps were starting to annoy me to no end. You would think that if you knew the royal princess was coming for a visit, you would air out her rooms and find a suitable, non-lumpy, mattress for her to sleep on, but alas, not even the highest of the nobles had the best of the best.

Sighing in annoyance, I threw the blankets from my form and padded my way to the two double doors which marked the entrance to the rooms. Slowly I opened the creaky door and poked my head out. A small smile adorned my lips when I saw my guard standing next to the door.

“Eddie,” I whispered, catching his attention more than I already had with he opening of the door.

His tall form loomed over me as he craned his head down to look at me. The light of the torches turned his normally dull green skin into a more yellow hue. Most people would be scared of him, a tall broad orc, charged with guarding the princess, but not I. I had never thought of him as anything but attractive, much to the befuddlement and disgust of my closest friends and two younger sisters too whom I had told of my attraction.

I looked around the door quickly before grasping his larger hand in mine and pulling him into my room. He came with no protest other than a short grunt in what I could tell was amusement even if his face stayed as stoic as ever.

“Princess, you should be sleeping. It’s nearly the witching hour.” He spoke out as I continued to pull him towards my bed.

“But I can’t sleep, I may need tiring out,” I smirked.

“Ah, but don’t you recall us saying we were going to stop that? You are to be married to one of these noblemen or their sons by the end of this tour.” He spoke, ever the voice of reason.

“Oh screw letting me choose who I am forced to marry, I’d rather be with you.” I trailed my fingers lightly over the leather brace tied around his forearm. I pulled on the ties and tossed the brace to the floor. “Come on, just one more time,” I pleased, knowing full well that would not be the last time I asked.

He groaned as he continued to follow me, his large hands holding onto my hips as he eventually tossed me onto the bed gently. “You are my weakness, you know that?” He mused while he began to untie the many leather articles of protection.

I just laid back in my silk nightgown waiting for him to pounce and ravage me as he had so many times before. His tongue darted out over his lips and the two long tusks protruding from his bottom jaw, the left one adorned with a metal ring around the circumference.

I couldn’t help the giggle which left me when his large hands smoothed over my legs, pushing up the light cloth of my gown to my hips, tickling my skin. He then grasped my hips and pulled me to the edge of the bed, my legs dangled there before he knelt down and placed them over his shoulders.

“And I thought I was the eager one.” I chuckled, only for my words to catch in my throat when he leaned his face between my legs. A long sigh passed my lips as I felt him kiss the soft flesh of my inner thigh. My hands quickly knot themselves in his long hair which had been braided back away from his face. “Please,” I whimpered.

“Please what?” He asked. My body shivered at the feeling of his tusks rooting at my leg, drawing him ever nearer to where I wanted him.

“Please touch me, wanna feel your mouth on my cunt.” I bucked my hips up without thought.

He grinned and placed a hand over my abdomen, holding me still. “You still need to learn patience, Princess.”

“You have tried before, I will never learn,” I smirked, fingers pulling on his hair just slightly, eliciting a low groan.

“We shall see.” He pulled his head away and my fingers slipped from his hair, coming to rest on the hand he had set across me. With his other, he began to massage the delicate skin of my thighs, and there they met at the apex between them but never once did his fingers slip past the slit of my cunt and into the wetness.

My head flings back as I whimper. He felt so good but not as good as it would feel if he were touching me where I wanted. My body was vibrating as need and want grew with each simple push of his fingers.

Minutes felt like hours as his fingers continued to tease me. I could feel the wetness growing and I was sure that soon it would be seeping down my ass and onto the bed. I was a mess of whimpers and short pleas of need, Eddie simply ignored them all in favor of placing his whole hand over my pussy mound and rubbing circles. I could feel the faintest pressure on my clit and tears of frustration began to well up in my eyes.

“Please, please, touch me. I need you to touch me.” I begin to beg, not being able to take any more teasing.

“I am touching you.” He states, voice mocking.

“Need more. Please, Eddie.” I try and buck my hips only to be pushed back down.

“I don’t know if such an impatient princess needs more. I don’t think you deserve it.” His fingers leave my body and he's now looking up at me, grinning.

“I do deserve it, please. I’ll be good, I’ll be patient.”

“Are you sure?”

I nod desperately and breathe a sigh when his large middle finger slips over my slit and then pushes past, collecting wetness and pushing it to my slit. A moan leaves me as well, my body elated to be touched.

His finger rubs into the swollen nub, back and forth, back and forth. He started slowly at first then the movement became faster and faster. I couldn’t help but clench around nothing as he toyed with me.

“More.” I pleaded with him, trying hard not to let my hips move.

“Oh, you want more? Are you not content with what I’m giving you?” He hums. “Sounds to me like you need to be taught a lesson on being greedy.”

I cried out to him, back arching off the bed, “No please, I’m not trying to be greedy.”

“You aren’t? It sounds like you are.” His finger keeps flicking past my clit.

“Please, I’m begging you, just a little bit more, that’s all I need.” My own fingers gripped his arm tightly as I shook in his hold, so close to coming but not quite there.”

He shook his head as he sighed, relenting to my pleas. Moving his finger from my clit, he began to circle my entrance. My breathing stuck in my chest when I felt the digit push inside. It was long and thick around, stretching my walls out. I cried into the humid air of the room.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” My cunt squeezed him tightly as I whimpered.

The sounds of him thrusting into my wet pussy were loud. It sounded as though there was someone sloshing around a bucket of water. Eddie’s other hand moved from pinning my hips down to having his thumb circling my clit.

A long deep mewl flew from my lips at the stimulation. I was coming to the edge and he knew it if his unrelenting movements were something to go by.

“Don’t- Ah! Don’t stop. Gonna cum!” I cried, tears running down my face no longer from frustration but pleasure.

He began to move his finger and thumb at an almost unrelenting pace. I could barely make out the praises he spoke over the sounds of my own moaning.

“That’s it, Princess. Let it all go.” He coaxed.

It took only a few more thrusts into me and I was coming. A rapture of intense feelings came over me as I writhed, back arching even more, hip bucking wildly.

“You always look so pretty when you cum.” He coos up to me as he takes his fingers away, pushing them into his mouth to taste them. “Taste good too.”

I have no time to catch my breath before he is atop me, large green hands pushing my thighs together and back so the tops of them touch my stomach. His own thighs press snugly to my ass. I moaned at the feeling of his long hard cock resting against my cunt.

“Gonna give you what you really wanted now.” He grins, taking one of his hands and giving his cock a few rough tugs.

He gives no warning when he pushes my thighs back more, causing my lower back to lift off the bed, and placing his cock at the entrance to my wanting cunt. The head pushes in, taking my breath away at how big it is, and stretches me out even more than his finger had. My hand flies to my mouth to keep my loud sobs from being heard outside of my room.

Eddie pushes in slowly only to pull back and then push in again. He begins to fuck only his thick head into my cunt. The position he has me in gives me no leeway to movies I am stuck lamenting over how I can feel every excruciating bump and ridge of the first inch of his cock being constantly thrust into the tight rim of my cunt.

With each advance of his cock, wet arousal seeped from our junction. I could feel it as it slowly flowed down my round ass, to my back, then finally onto the sheets below soaking them. I was at a loss for words as he fucked me, his cock, like always, had reduced me to a needy, horny mess.

Moments later he stopped only fucking the head inside and began to plunge into me all the way. I bit my lip to keep from screaming out into the open air. I could practically feel him hitting my cervix, bruising my insides as he moved like a beast built for battle.

I loved every painfully pleasurable minute of it. My body eventually went ridged beneath him, and my skin became clammy as a sweat broke out all over. I was on the verge of another orgasm.

“God, I’m gonna fill you so full of my cum, have you nice and bred.” He begins to grunt.

I nod my head frantically. “ Yes, yes, please. Want it so- ah- bad!” His words made a flash of heat erupt through my body. Never had he mentioned breading before but now that he had said it, it was all I could think about and it was bringing me so so close to the precipice.

“How would you explain that to your father, the King? Hum? How will you explain all the little half-orcs running around when you’re supposed to be marrying one of these Noble lords?” His thrusts become wild and without rhythm. “Such a fucking whore aren’t you? Letting an orc fuck you over and over.”

I grunt and groan at his words, nodding my head along with him. “Don’t want them,” I speak breathlessly. “Only want you.”

Then, like the snapping of a rope, I am cumming again. My muscles seize up, and My cunt contracts and spasms around Eddie’s cock as he also cums. Greedily I take everything he gives me.

We both ride out our respective highs together before he leaves me, hands uncurling my aching body, massaging my skin where the joints ache.

My eyes are half closed, overcome with exhaustion, and now ready to sleep. I can feel Eddie climbing up my body, placing soft kisses along my naked frame before he nestles me into his chest.

“I’m sorry. I should not have let myself release inside of you.” He mummers into my now frizzy hair.

I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it.”

He moves some of my hair from my face and leans down for a short kiss. “I do have to worry about it. I am supposed to protect you, nothing good will come of you being with child, especially from me.”

“Then maybe we can run away together. I never wanted to rule in my father's place anyway. I’m more of an adventurer at heart.” I joked, eyes now fully closed, head resting on his chest.

He shakes his head and lowers it to the bed, resting.

“If I am pregnant, we can work that out when it comes to it. We don’t know for certain, and even if I am, there will be a few months before anything will show.”

It’s quiet for a long time, I assume he has just fallen asleep like I am about to but then his voice rings out next to me.

“Would you really run away from all of this? A life of luxury and safety for one of near poverty where we would be looked down upon? No one likes the thought of an orc and human together.”

“Yes,” I confess. “But only if it were with you.”

“Then it is decided. If you being to show, we will leave and never return.”

I hum in response.

"It seems you are now tired out." Eddie laughed and it is the last thing I hear before I am finally falling asleep.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things smut #stranger things fic #female reader #orc!eddie #orc eddie munson

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aforestescape · 2 months

Text

kidnapper simon - gn!reader. no smut or romance

next.

i’ve come to a fun conclusion that i most enjoy cnc/dubcon when the reader/kidnapped party is just too touch starved and has low standards to the point where they don’t even care

like sure, you weren’t expecting to be kidnapped by some six foot something, bulky man in a skull faced mask. you scream and cry and try anything you can think of to get away as he drags you to the back of his van. nails digging into and leaving rising red scratches on any exposed flesh you can find. he just lets out a grunt, brown eyes roaming over you as you squirm with tears burning your cheeks after he’s tied you up. tenderly running rough fingers over your cheeks to wipe the wetness away. it’s the last thing you remember before your vision goes hazy and you’re out like a light

you even fight and cry when you first wake up. some dimly lit room, wallpapered and cozy furniture under your ached form. tears and sobs choked up in your throat when the man returns to you. your mind screaming at you and body tense as you try to prepare for whatever may come to you. he comes over again to wipe the tears from your cheeks. this time lifting the bottom of his mask enough to expose a scarred chin and cracked, cleft lips. a pink tongue dashing out to lick the salty taste off and you whimper in terror

he brings over a bowl that he placed down, forcing you to eat the food he’s made. you’re surprised it tastes edible, good even

there’s the time when he came in to give you your first bath. more tears than water in the tub as he swipes a towel covered in lavender suds down your back. cooing sounds escaping his lips like he’s attending to a wounded animal

but after a while your tears dry up. it doesn’t take long. you’d hazard a month of time but really you wouldn’t know past the rising and setting of sun through the window in the room that’s all yours. you stopped being scared whenever he’d drag you into his lap and pet your hair. holding up a book and having you read out loud for the both of you. if it weren’t for the fact you were dragged here against your will you’d think it was almost nice. sweet

something you’d imagine a home would feel like. warm, hearty soups and fresh bread. cuddling against a big, warm body as rain splattered outside onto the dirt, a fire roaring near you. he even lets you go outside sometimes. taking you on walks through the endless trees along the mountains face. breathtaking views of iced caps and you know you could never escape this place that you used to spend time imagining a home like

so you smile whenever you see him again after a day spent collecting firewood. you bug him until he gets you seeds to start a little flower garden, doodling in your journal everytime you spot a new growing bud on a stem

you seek out his warmth, scratching at the inside of your bedroom door on days when he leaves you locked inside. waiting until you hear that heavy press of footsteps on creaky boards and pouncing him once the doors open. burrowing your face into his chest and feeling the world quiet to the low hum of his voice

#aforestescape #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley #cod fanfic #kidnapper!ghost

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exceptional-z · 4 months

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zed necrodopolis x reader

this is an au where zombies were never allowed to go to human high school. so zed is aged up (though age is never mentioned so you can imagine whatever) but has never been on the other side of the barrier. i attempted not to use gendered language but i tend to write with fem!reader in mind.

also please ignore any inconsistent verb tenses. english is not my first language and verb tenses are literally the bane of my existence. + i wrote this in like an hour

your family didn’t have much money growing up, hence why you lived so close to the gate. real estate was cheap since no one wanted to live near the zombies. but it also meant you learnt how to save money in as many ways as you could.

seabrook was all about perfection. if a mattress was two years old, it was time to throw it out and buy a new one. if a bike had a single scratch, it was thrown into the dumpster. all of the old items deemed as ‘garbage’ were brought to a warehouse that was emptied around every two weeks. and this was your favourite place to be.

you sneak into the warehouse. it’s late at night and there’s never any security around. you’re immediately greeted with piles of furniture and clothing and trinkets that are too unique to fit into the seabrook aesthetic.

you start to rummage through with the plastic gloves you always wear just in case any bugs or mice decide that this is a perfect place to burrow. lost in thought, you don’t hear the creaky door open, but you do hear the sudden shout that erupted from behind you.

your heart nearly stops beating at the sudden noise and your head swivels around. the lighting isn’t great, and you can only make out the vague shape of the person blocking your only exit. he looks fairly lanky, and if you squint you could make out some of his features. he doesn’t look much older than you and he certainly doesn’t scream “imposing”. he’s taller than you, but maybe if you caught him off guard you could knock him out with one of the many heavy objects splayed around you.

“i was told no one ever came in here,” the boy says. fuck, his voice is attractive.

“they don’t. in the three years i’ve been doing this i’ve never run into anyone else.” you answer, obviously suspicious.

“i’m uh- i’m just looking for a gift for my little sister,” he explains, “it’s her birthday soon and she said she wanted a new bike but we can’t really afford it.”

you relax a little at his explanation, sharing that you’d gotten into the habit of coming here to rummage for things since your family also doesn’t have much money. “i could help you look if you’d like? and even if we can’t find a bike, there’s a ton of cool stuff you can find if you’re willing to dig.” you offer.

you can’t be sure, but you think he smiles as he answers. “i’ll take any help i can get. my friend eliza told me to try coming here to look, but honestly, i’m a bit overwhelmed.”

you talk and laugh together for what must be at least two hours. you don’t end up finding a bike, but you find an old cheerleader outfit that looks to be in perfect condition. you can’t imagine why anyone would throw it out unless it just didn’t fit anymore. the boy -who still doesn’t have a name- literally jumped up in joy when he saw you holding the skirt from the set, doing a little celebratory dance that should have been embarrassing but was somehow endearing. (that’s how you figured out his little sister was obsessed with cheer).

eventually you have to part ways; it’s getting into the early hours of the morning and you both need to be getting home. he’s halfway down the street when you realise you never shared names and you yell out, “wait!”

he stops and turns around, and you jog to catch up to him.

“what’s your name, stranger?” you ask, “just in case we run into each other again.”

he tells you his name is zed, and you tell him your name in return. for a few seconds the both of you just stand in the street, memorising each other’s faces until you look away, shaking off the thoughts of how attractive he is under the starlight.

(bonus: when zed gets home, all he can think about is you. he wonders if eliza would recognise your name, or if he would possibly run into you if he chose to go to school for once instead of always skipping. he wonders where you live in zombietown, since he doesn’t recognise you and is sure he would remember seeing someone as gorgeous are you. he spends the next few days wondering, and then is in for the shock of his life when he sees you through the fence that blocks off zombietown from seabrook and learns that you’re human.)

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vase-of-lilies · 1 year

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❀ Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Bunny Hybrid!Reader (F)

❀ Non-con, dubcon, use of a cage, captivity + using restraints, violence, mind manipulation/putting someone in a daze, guys - fun fact; ivory was chiseled and made into a dildo in the 1800’s. So, expect that lol, and more. Do not read if you are uncomfortable with very dark elements.

❀ I am usually good with warning everything that is in my stories, but this time due to limited space and a lot of warnings, I will be only doing the harsher warnings.

❀ Disclaimer and Authors Note: The pictures only represent aesthetic and themes. There is no certain skin color, body type, ethnicity, or description other than Y/n and “you”. Credit to who made the pictures in the banner as well.

❀ Sigh… I feel like all of these are the same, just a little different each time. I try to change it up, but a lot of these are similar in plot, description, and ending. I want these to turn out well, but I can’t help but feel that people don’t like them because they don’t comment on them or give feedback. All I want is a funny comment, a detailed comment about something someone loved about the story, or something that they were confused about or just thought was plain stupid of Y/n. All I want is feedback!

Hunting season. It was the worst time of year for the bunny hybrids, yet still, you were picking berries in a bright dress your mother made you. You knew it was dangerous. However, you knew that you were fast and agile like a real bunny. But even the fastest rabbit couldn’t beat the slowest tortoise because of the overconfidence each little rabbit held in their little head.

While you gathered the berries into your basket, you hummed to yourself, not a thought in your mind. Every now and then, your tail would twitch, something it does when you are doing something you love or when you are scared. But you loved gathering, and you were not currently scared.

Your humming immediately stops when you hear the straining of an arrow in a bow. It was a creaky sound that every bunny could recognize. Your ears shot straight up, your head turning in all directions to try and find the source of the hunter. One last turn and it was too late; the bounce of the bowstring snapping back into place came first, then the pain of the arrow piercing through your shoulder blade.

Falling to the ground, you frown as your berries scatter around you. You can hardly think while you scramble into the bush in front of you, holding your ears against your head so you don’t bring more attention to yourself. Your body trembles, rustling the brush you are hiding in, and you silently curse yourself at your shaking.

“Here, little bunny… come out, come out wherever you are!” A voice taunts from outside the bush. You see the boots of your pursuer from where you crouch inside the bush, whimpering as the arrow in your back snags on a branch.

The footsteps stop and turn towards the bush. You freeze, and your ears slip from your hands, rustling the bush even more. The hunter steps up to the bush, and she spots your gray ears. With a smirk, she reaches into the shrub and grasps them in her hands tightly, causing you to tumble from the bush and onto the ground.

Blood streamed down your back, and you tried to crawl away, only for the hunter to chuckle and reach in her pouch for something else. You look behind you, screaming as she stalks closer to you, a tranquilizer dart in her hand.

“Come on, little bunny. Don’t make this difficult,” She says, kneeling beside your pitiful form. As you beg her not to hurt you, she ignores you, pushing your head to the side and exposing your neck. “Stay still, and this won’t hurt!” She shouts at you, still struggling to get you to calm down. As the dart comes closer to your neck, you struggle even more, but she is powerful and quick.

The needle punctures your skin, and the tranquilizer enters your blood flow within seconds. It was initially slow, just a little dizzy, so you tried to get up. The pain in your back was the least of your worries, only getting away from the hunter on your mind. But the drug was working fast, and soon, you found yourself on the ground again, your eyes closing and your mind succumbing to darkness.

~~~~~~~

Wanda smirks as you finally fall unconscious in front of her, your fuzzy ears flopping onto the ground with a soft thump. Your fluffy little tail was twitching again, terrified of what would happen. Wanda kneels down by your sleeping body and moves the hair from in front of your face. “You’re gonna be my perfect little pet, aren’t you?” She gently brushes her fingers over the skin of your cheek and smiles at your breaths.

Laying a small blanket over your body, she picks you up and takes you home to assess your injuries. As she enters her home, she shuts the door and lays you on her bed. She frowns at the arrow that sticks from your back and gently tries to pull it out. You whimper, the drug unfortunately not numbing the pain.

Wanda sighs softly and grabs her knife, slowly cutting the skin surrounding the arrow. She dabs the wound with a small cloth as it starts to bleed again, and once the last line matching the shape of the arrow is carved, the arrow slides out of your back with ease. Reaching for the first aid kit, she unties your dress and slips it off your body, dressing your wound and healing some of it with her powers. She leaves you in the right amount of pain to become submissive to her, but enough that your death will not be on her hands.

Tying the last bandage around your chest and under your arms, she lays you on your back and grabs the chain connected to a metal collar from under the bed. She sets it on the bed next to you and goes to the closet to bring the cage out. She smirks at the bars, knowing you will never escape from her.

Lastly, she connects the chain to the cage's base and looks over at you on her bed. She sets the collar on top of the kennel and saunters over to your naked form. She ghosts her fingers down your belly and the mound between your legs. Shaking her head, she knows she wants to wait until you are awake to hold your wiggling ears while you struggle to escape her. She loves it when her prey struggles in her hands; it sparks something inside of her.

Picking you up again, she carries you to the cage in the corner of the room, opening the door and laying you down against the thin-blanketed bottom and laying your head against the straw pillow set at the top of the cage. Before locking you up for the night, she grabbed the collar and clasped it around your neck, matching the holes together at the back and looping a padlock around it. With the collar secured around your neck, the chain connected to the bars, and the moon rising, Wanda locked the cage and put a blanket over the top to cover the whole thing, leaving you in complete darkness.

~~~~~~~

When morning approached, your body started to wake up first. Your mind was still hazy, and you felt like you were in a dream. Your ears moved slightly, your tail wiggled just a little, and your eyes moved under their lids.

It was raining. You could hear the raindrops outside. Outside where? Where am I? Your curiosity turns to concern the moment your eyes finally open. A dark, furry blanket covers the bars surrounding you, dimming the light almost completely. You try sitting up, but the pressure you put on your arm makes you whimper in pain. The arrow wound on your back was the only thing revealing where you were.

The tranquilizer made you sleep, but it didn’t make you forget. You remembered where you were, and you remembered who you were with. That damned human. A simple hum or chuckle could force you into submission instantly, knowing what Wanda is capable of. She has the eye of a hawk when it comes to aiming her bow at the poor little creature she sets her sights on.

Your soft ears twitched at the sound of shuffling from outside of the covered cage, pulling your attention away from the pain in your shoulder blade. Wandas walking caused the blanket to flutter, and your instinct was to lay back down and pretend you were asleep still. You wrapped your arms around your exposed body the best you could, closed your eyes and waited.

In anticipation, your leg started shaking, as well as your tail. The little ball of fluff just above your bum was a radar for danger. If it wiggled, twitched, shifted, or moved an inch, you could sense danger was near. This was a time when your tail was not wrong. Not by one bit.

There was a soft knock on the bars above you, but you didn't move. Another one, this time a little forceful- still, you did not move to 'wake up.'

"Little bunny… I know you're awake. You're shaking this whole damn thing." Wanda laughed softly at the shivering cage before her, your anxious body practically causing an earthquake around you. Your hands went to the collar around your neck, and a tear fell from your eye onto the pillow below your cheek. I'm not getting out of here.

Wanda pulled the blanket from the top of the cage and looked down at you, curled into a little ball with your fluffy ears over your face. "Oh, come on, don't hide from me," She says, kneeling in front of your prison. Aggravated, she grabs the chain connected to your collar and pulls, forcing your face to come right to the bars.

A whimper escapes your throat, and your eyes stare up at Wanda with fear. She smiles sweetly at you, her pearly white teeth giving you a shite-eating grin. “I know you're scared,” she says, holding the chain tighter. In response to your desperate attempts at escaping the collar, Wanda laughs. She leans in, her breath brushing against your face. “But don't worry,” she whispers. “I'll take good care of you.”

Your face flushed with tears, and you began to speak in a trembling voice, "I wanna go home; my momma will be worried about me." You thought of your mother, who would be excited to see you and looking forward to the pie she made for you. You missed her embrace and the warmth of her love. You wished to return, see her smile, and feel her passion. You closed your eyes and thought about what it would be like to be home.

"Don't you dare close your eyes," growls Wanda, causing you to open them wide. She looked at you with dilated pupils, clearly craving something. Something only you could give her.

She finally releases the chain attached to your collar, causing you to fall back into the cage. You push yourself against the back of the cage, trying to distance yourself from Wanda as the pain in your back intensifies. With a chuckle, Wanda opens the door and reaches for the chain to pull you out. Yanking you out of the cage, you fall to your hands and knees, forced to crawl forward to her.

Once you get into an arm's length of her, she grabs your ears and pulls you to her. You yelp, trying to cover yourself, but keep yourself up too. You can't feel much pain from your ears, but as she pulls you closer to her, the fear builds up in your belly, and you pull back. Failing, she wraps her arms around you and holds you against her chest. The chain is long enough to reach her bed, so as she picks you up, the chain drags behind you. You kick your legs and try maneuvering your way out of her arms, your body only being hugged tighter.

As Wanda sits on the bed, she holds you in her lap. Her body is much larger than yours, as your hybrid genes make you smaller than humans. She only needed one hand over your belly to hold you still, your legs being pinned open by hers. Her other hand roams your naked chest, tweaking each nipple in her fingers. She buries her nose into your soft ears and hums as she feels your little cotton tail rub against her clothed cunt.

You whimper and throw your head back any chance, but Wanda is quick. The chain is already in her hand, pulling it up and choking you. You cough, your hands going to your neck, trying to find the chain to pull down. Your strength is nothing compared to Wanda's; her chuckles fill your ears again.

Your breaths are short and shallow, and the lack of oxygen getting to your brain becomes dangerous. Your vision starts to cloud, and Wanda notices, giving the chain some slack. "You aren't going out on me just yet," she whispers in your ear. On the bedside table, she grabs a ring of rope she had put there earlier. Grabbing your wrists, she wraps the rope around a couple of times and ties a firm knot after. She then pulls the excess cord to keep your hands next to your chest, exposing your pussy.

She smiles against your neck, and her teeth nip at your sensitive skin. "Mmm, my little bun bun, so soft and cute," She whispers again, "I am going to do nasty things to you, and you are going to like it..."

Pulling your hands above your head, she wraps the rope through your collar to keep them still.

With her hands now free, she cups both breasts, kneading the ample skin and pinching your nipples every second. You whimper as salty tears stream down your cheeks, only fueling Wanda to do more. Her hand moves down your belly to your wet petals, waiting to be played with. As her other hand follows, her fingers spread your folds to expose your quivering clit.

Even though Wanda could not see your pussy, she loved how it felt. "So fuckin' wet, and its all for me, isn't it?" You shake your head vigorously, not wanting to fall into whatever trap she had set. Her index finger slowly rubs your clit in small circles, the burning of your bundle of nerves causing you to whimper and jolt. She holds you tighter, smirking at the warmth of the skin around your bud.

Her lips press soft kisses to your head as she rubs your clit more, her other hand prodding at your hole. A breath is stolen from you as she enters two fingers into your pussy, pumping slowly. You cringe at the squelching you hear, and your legs instinctively try to close, but Wanda's legs hold them open. You reluctantly lay your head against her chest, your ears falling limp against your head.

Wanda quickly jumped on the opportunity to hold your head up by your ears, pulling them to hold your head up straight. Wanda's fist clenched your ears tightly, not letting go as you tried to tear yourself away from her.

As she rubbed your clit faster, your orgasm approached more quickly than expected. Your pulsing pussy squeezes her fingers as you cum, her finger on your clit not stopping. It burned, and it hurt, but in such a good way. She continues to rub, pulling a second orgasm out of you, smirking as your juices squirt from your hole.

The blanket before you shows a puddle of your own spend, and you whimper as she pulls your ears up again. "Good little bun bun, cumming for your master like a good girl," She lets go of your ears and moves her legs, uncaging yours in the process. Before you can scramble away, she pushes you to your stomach, turning you to the bed frame. Grabbing the rope from your collar, she pulls your hands up to the bars and ties another sturdy knot.

You struggle, pull, fight, kick, but nothing stops Wanda from getting what she wants. She finishes securing you to the bed, and her hand harshly spanks your ass. You squeal and try to curl against yourself, but she hits you again. "Legs straight little one, or I'll tie those too." You listened, not wanting any more rough rope on your body.

She was unpredictable. She spanked you a couple more times before smoothing her hand over the raw skin. Or she would pull your tail and ears and, shortly after, softly squeeze your fluffy tail at the base of your back. The tears had not stopped either, the pillow beneath your face soaked with the salty water from your eyes.

Wandas' abuse finally stops after a couple of minutes, her hands softly squeezing your ass in her hands. You hurt; your ass is raw, your pussy is red and puffy, and your ears are on fire. She enters the small kitchen, washes her hands, and gets a glass of water. Setting the cup on the table next to the bed, she unties your wrists and helps you sit up. You whimper as the soft yet rough blanket rubs against the skin of your ass.

The cup's rim hits your lips, and you look up at Wanda in confusion. Why is she taking care of you? You think to yourself.

Not wanting to seem ungrateful, you take a sip of the cool water, sighing as it goes down your sore throat. Your screams did a number on you. Finishing the glass of water, Wanda smiles down at you and gently pets your fluffy ears. They twitch in response to her hands and instinctively move closer to her warmth and gentleness.

"Good little bunny..." She says, reaching down to hold your hands. "Listen to me," She commands. "You are going to be good and sleep in your cage tonight. Then in the morning I can get you some clothes. How does that sound? Hm?" Letting go of your hands, they softly rub up and down your thighs. You don't answer her, only giving her a nasty look, resulting in a disappointing sigh from her.

"Come on, lets go." She says, helping you stand by picking you up by your armpits. Once you are on your feet, she gently leads you to the cage and pushes you down by your shoulders. Your hands and knees hit the ground, and her hand softly pats your bum, hinting for you to crawl inside. You comply, moving into the cage and lying against the pillow.

Sleep hits you like a wall, unaware the water was drugged. You see Wanda shut and lock the door, reaching through the bars to kiss your fingers.

"Run, my little rabbit, run and play in your dreams. And when you wake up, we can get to know each other a little better." She whispers, softly holding your fingers that fall limply by the edge. Pulling away, she moves back to her bed, cleaning up the blanket with a wave of a hand.

Stripping off her dress, she lays down and watches your sleeping body, fantasizing about everything she wants to do to you.

Thanks to the sun's early light, the room was bathed in a soft, golden glow, creating a calm environment. With a contented sigh, Wanda stretches her arms above her head, feeling relief as her spine cracks into place. She sits up, allowing her gaze to drift towards the cage in the corner of the room. A beautiful scene awaited her under a soft blanket—the outline of her little bunny sleeping peacefully behind the bars.

The whisper of a soft, melodious voice fills the air, promising adventure and connection. You follow the sound, your ears twitching with curiosity.

You dash through the meadow, encountering a figure, a large shadow surrounding it. It's an eerie, ghostly presence shrouded in an aura of ice and hatred. The figure emitted a terrifying, irresistible pull, hypnotizing you to come forward.

As Wanda took in her adorable pet, she couldn't help but smile, knowing that her bunny was safe and sound, nestled in its cozy cage, surrounded by a world of love and care. Of course, that is what Wanda wants to create for you. Your feelings were most definitely not mutual. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she approaches the door to your prison, unlocking the padlock and opening the door.

This bewitching being extends a skeletal hand, fingers adorned with grotesque, withered elegance, beckoning further from the meadow behind you. You approach carefully, drawn by an irresistible urge. The hand reaches down, petting your soft ears on your fluffy head.

Instantly, you are transformed into the hybrid you are now, the world around you turning into a dark abyss.

As you whimper in your dream, Wanda can't help but wonder what you're dreaming about. Is it a pleasant dream or a nightmare? She knows she shouldn't disturb you, but the temptation to playfully interact with your vision is too strong to resist.

Tendrils of black smoke shoot from the figure, twisting and writhing like malevolent serpents, suffocating the air with dread. Your heart drops to your stomach, your naked skin pebbling with goosebumps. The figure stands there, the wind around you starting to pick up. Smoke transforms into a massive tornado above you, picking you up effortlessly and spinning you around. It pulls you towards the figure, a featureless face other than a mouth meeting your eyes.

Your heart races with terror as the figure's mouth opens wide, revealing rows of sharp teeth. The smoke swirls around you, suffocating you, tightening their grip, making it impossible to break free. The closer you get to its mouth, the faster your heart beats and the quicker your breath becomes.

Carefully, she reaches out her hand and gently touches your shoulder, curious to see how you'll react in your fantasy world.

Screaming is useless now, as it will only be silenced by the dream realm. Even your punches and struggles are slowed down by an invisible force. The smokey tendrils bring you closer to the figure's mouth in slow motion, and you undoubtedly know the inevitable outcome. With a sudden, horrifying lunge, the figure's jaws close around you, yet no pain is felt. Your vision is surrounded by darkness-

You jolt awake at the feeling of Wands fingers against your skin, and your breaths come fast. You struggle to shake off the lingering fear from the dream, your eyes darting everywhere to find the source of touch. Once you see Wanda staring back at you, you instinctively shrink back, unsure of her intentions since the night before.

"Calm down, little rabbit, I'm not going to hurt you," She says, holding her hands up in a false surrender. "Come on out, bunny," Your ears twitch as her hand enters the cage, her fingers wrapping around your ankle. She pulls gently, trying to coax you from your spot in the corner of the enclosure. You don't budge.

Getting frustrated, she grabs the chain of your collar and pulls you out. Once you are out, she holds you by the ears and pulls you to her bed. "You listen to me!" She growls, crawling on top of your trembling form. In the blink of an eye, her demeanor changes completely. Her eyes no longer glaring at you, her mouth no longer degrading your behavior.

Her right hand softly caresses your tear-stained cheek, wiping away any stray tears that have fallen. Her fingers smooth over your [length, color, texture hair] hair and behind your bunny ears, which are relatively sensitive to feeling good.

As she scratches, she smiles at your foot kicking from below her. "Aw, what did I find?" Wanda asks, persisting in scratching behind your ears. Once she stops scratching, she gently pulls your ears together and holds them in her fist. "Gosh, look how cute you are..." she chuckles at the little wiggle of your nose and looks over your face.

She let go of your soft ears, a tender smile on her lips. Leaning down, Wandas' lips met yours in a gentle, lingering kiss. At first, you struggled, protesting to be this close to your captor. But once Wanda's fingers reached your neck, you surrendered. She gently squeezed your neck, not choking you but asserting her dominance above you.

She pulled away from your lips so quickly you had to suck in a breath, the kiss taking your breath away, her breath also fanning against your cheek. You hate to admit that the kiss felt genuine, as if she truly loved you. Your mind told you many different things, but "run" was not one of them right now.

In the dim morning light, her green eyes lock onto your [eye color]-ed ones, silently telling you to let her into your mind. With great reluctance, you allowed her. You opened the gates to your consciousness, your deepest and darkest secrets showing themselves to Wanda. There were the little things, like your favorite food and color. And how you like your coffee in the morning or if you prefer quilted blankets over fluffy ones. If you like to sleep in or wake up early and if you read before bed or journal.

As she takes in all of your mundane likes and preferences, she pushes herself into a deeper part of your mind that knowing loves what she does to you. Every pump of her fingers, every orgasm and moan she pulls from you, this part of your mind will show her everything. ‘Mmm, a little rope bunny, huh? You love being tied up… now thats cute.’ Wanda speaks in her head, and you subconsciously hear everything she says.

Wanda smiles down at your dazed and confused expression, knowing full well that you are under her spell. She takes this opportunity to undo the chain connected to your collar, letting it drop off the bed and to the floor. On the bedside table, is the rope that held your hands to the bed frame as she spanked you. She smiles as she gets to use it again.

She moves off of your frozen body, settling you at the top of the bed with your head on a pillow. Grabbing the rope, she wraps one piece to your right hand, pulling your limp arm to the corner of the bed. She does the same to the left arm, putting you in a spread-out position. Nowhere to go, nowhere to escape. She decides right now that this is how she likes you; all tied up and at her mercy.

But Wanda wanted more! So she reaches under her bed to grab another two lengths of rope. She spreads your legs and ties both ankles to the bottom corners of the bed frame, looking at her work with a smug smile on her lips.

Having you still and under her control was all she needed. But now she wants your full attention. With a snap of her fingers, you are back and aware of your surroundings. Your eyes immediately find Wanda at the end of the bed, tears beginning to form.

“Please, I- I can’t do this anymore,” You say, tears pooling in your eyes as you pull at the rope around your limbs. She sighs and moves back to the head of the bed, sitting down next to you and gently wiping a tear from your cheek.

“I want to make you feel good, little one. You know I can do that…” Wanda says, her hand moving from your cheek, down to your neck. Her fingers gently wrap around the delicate part of your body, and she chuckles as you try to pull away. “There’s no escaping me, bunny. You’re mine now.”

You whimper, tears falling down your temples as you look up at the ceiling. Wanda strokes your hair softly and moves back on top of you, strategically placing her knee right against your wet folds. She gives you no room to move away from her, the movement you do have only makes you rub your clit against her knee. She smirks at your failed attempt to move from your current predicament.

“Oh my little bunny, trying to escape,” She moves her knee up and down, your slick coating her skin. “You have no idea what you are getting into, do you little rabbit,” Her voice laced with malicious intent, her eyes unreadable. Dread fills your stomach as a puff of red energy surrounds Wanda's naked waist. A leather harness wraps the way around her, a pearly, white, penis-shaped toy hooked to the end of it. “This. This is what you are getting into. Im going to fuck you into oblivion, and you are going to love it. You are going to take every little thing I give you, do you understand?” You don’t respond at first, your eyes glued to the white toy in front of you.

Wanda's hand squeezes your neck and your gaze shoots up to her face. “I said, do you understand?” She repeats. You nod your head and a whimper is forced from your system as she moves her hand from your neck down your chest. She scoots down a little bit, settling between your spread legs. Her cock sits proudly at your entrance, your slick already gathering from the sight of it.

With a smile, moves both hands to your pussy, rubbing your folds and spreading them open. Her thumb rubs small circles on your exposed clit, the sensation overwhelming. A moan leaves your mouth, and you scold yourself internally. You were mortified at how open and unprotected you are, yet your pussy got wetter by the second.

Wanda's other fingers entered your soaking hole, stretching you out to fit her cock. She wanted to make sure you were more than ready. Dragging spectral moans from your throat for a few moments, she felt like your little hole was ready for her.

She pulled her fingers from your pussy and put them to your lips, forcing them past, and held them on your tongue. “Clean up the mess you made.” Her command made you shake, but you listened, not in a condition to disobey. You sucked on her fingers like your life depended on it, making sure that every drop of your juices were gone.

The humiliation of having your body betray you, the tears continued. Wanda enjoyed every bit of that, leaning down and licking the tears from your face after removing her fingers from your mouth.

“P-please, please stop, I- I don’t want this,” You sob, trying to move anywhere, but are unable, due to the master rope work keeping you still.

Wanda ignored you, spitting on her hand and rubbing it along her cock. The cold ivory poked at your entrance and she leaned over you, grabbing your fluffy ears in her fist. “God, I’ve been wanting to do this forever now…” She says, pushing into your tight cunt.

A pained moan rips from your throat, tears falling down your cheeks as her cock splits you in two. Your arms and legs pull at the rope around them, trying anything to get free but nothing works. The breaths entering and exiting your mouth are fast and dangerous, panicking at the sheer size of Wanda's cock.

“Hey, hey, look at me. Bunny, look at me.” Wanda says, letting go of your ears to cup your cheek. She stopped moving when the moan you emitted left your mouth, and her other hand immediately went to your clit to try and soothe the pain. It helped a little bit, but not enough. Your sobs were heartbreaking to her and she pushed in a little bit more.

“Breathe for me, my little rabbit, breathe for me. I know you can do it,” She whispers, leaning down to meet your lips in a soft and gentle kiss. As you kiss her back, you whimper as she bottoms out inside of you. “You’re doing so good for me, baby, so good.” Her words flutter the butterflies in your belly, and your tight walls squeeze her cock lightly.

“H-hurts,” Is all you can muster out, more tears rolling down your temples. Wanda shakes her head and makes you look into her eyes.

“Bunny, look at me… this feels good, right? It feels so good.” Her eyes start to glow a deep red, pushing your mind and body into a euphoric hallucination. She rubs your clit and continues to talk to you. “You are doing so good, my love. This feels so, so good, and you love the feeling of my cock inside of your little pussy, don’t you?” You nod, her words of hypnosis causing the pain to feel pleasurable. “Good, you’re doing amazing…” she says, starting to move her hips, slowly pushing in and out of your pussy.

The pain subsides, as does her power over your mind. The pleasure is becoming real, and quite enjoyable. You close your eyes, balling your hands into fists as she brushes her thumb over your cheek. “Hey, look at me, honey, can you do that?” You obey, looking up into her eyes. “Good little bunny, such a good girl,” She praises you, and your tail wiggles in response.

Your heart is racing in your chest as she starts to move faster, her other fingers rubbing circles over your clit. She pushes you closer to your release, the feeling similar to running up a hill, only to jump and see the large drop on the other side. Reaching a good speed, she slows her fingers, wanting to make you cum from that sensitive spot right inside of your pussy.

“I know your close, bun bun, I can feel it,” She whispers, moans falling from your mouth with every thrust of her hips. She is right, your orgasm is just within reach, and she wants to see you fall apart underneath her. “Cum for me, baby, you can do it,” the praises enter your ears and hit your soul, pushing you right to the top of that hill.

You cum hard on her cock, loud moans filling Wandas' ears like music. With your ears flopping with every thrust, she smiles and takes a mental picture of this moment, wanting it to last forever. Soon, your orgasm washes over you, leaving you in a panting, tired mess. “You did so good my little bunny, so good.” Your cheeks heat up, submission being the only thing you can think of right now.

“P-please,” you whisper as you pull at the restraints. You had never felt this much pleasure at one time, the need to be held and taken care of was the only thing on your mind. No escape, struggle, rage, fear, nothing was on your mind. Wanda could sense this, and without hesitation she gently pulled out of you, cleaning you up with the apron of her dress draped over the end of the bed.

With care, she unties your limbs, kissing each of them after they are free. Once the rest of the rope was pulled off of your skin, you curled in on yourself. Your ears fall back in meekness and your tail wiggles struggling to calm down. Wanda smiles, lying down behind you on the bed. She takes you in her arms kisses your neck and pets your ears to soothe you.

Her whispers are the last thing you hear before your eyes begin to droop in exhaustion. “Its alright, my little rabbit. You’re safe with me…”

“I- Im- Im safe…” Sleepily, you respond, knowing deep down that you are safer than you will ever be outside of these walls.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x female reader #wanda maximoff x bunny!reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda marvel #wanda x you #Scarlet Witch x reader #Hunter!Wanda x Bunny!Reader #Hybrid!reader #bunny!hybrid!Reader #Female reader #wanda maximoff smut

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sarahs-secrets2 · 1 year

Text

She (Phillip Graves x Reader) 18+࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ

MINORS DNI 18+

based on She by Harry Styles

fem!reader (no use of Y/N)

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: NSFW, smut, daddy vibes? , phillip is cheating on his wife with reader, pet names, reader is homewrecker (sorry)

��°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

Phillip sat in his big office staring out the panoramic windows. His head buzzed as he twisted the wedding ring around his finger. The office chair squeaked as he leaned back in it, images of you tangled up in his sheets clouded his train of thought. The red lacy lingerie was permanently ingrained into his memory. From the way it hugged your figure, to how it felt to tear it off. He fully slipped the gold band off, heavily examining it. The knock at the door pulled Phillip back down from his daydreams as he quickly slipped the wedding ring back onto his finger.

“Come in,” he coughed, adjusting in the creaky chair trying to look as normal as possible. His secretary stepped in cautiously as she clutched her notepad.

“You have a call on line 3 sir, they said it was important,”

Phillip leaned back in the chair as he rubbed his temple, he had a feeling of who it could be. “Yeah, I know who it is, thanks,” he pulled himself forward from the worn leather chair before stopping his secretary just as she was about to leave, “Mind grabbin’ me a coffee doll? ‘Preciate it,” he thanked her before even getting an answer and winked as she scurried off to get him his coffee.

A heavy exhale escaped Phillip’s lips as he picked up the phone.

“Phillip,” your voice flowed through the speaker held closely to Graves’ ear.

“Darlin’, whaddya doin’ callin’ me here? I thought we agreed on no calls at work?”

“I just couldn't help it,” you paused waiting to see what he would say but he was silent, “Don't be mad,”

Graves could almost feel your pouting through the phone. His thoughts trailed off as your voice became background noise. All he could think of was how pretty you probably looked right now, lying back on a bed while you talked to him. He hoped your hand was finding its way down between your thighs just to get off on his voice. He hoped you were in lingerie or even better the shirt he had “accidentally” left at your place last night. His dick was throbbing in his pants pushing against the seams at the idea.

“Are you there?”

You heard him clear his throat, “Why’d you call?”

“I missed your voice,”

“That so doll?”

“Mhm,” you hummed out, “When can I see you again?”

“Oh hell, I’m not sure,” It was silent as he thought, “I don’t want anyone gettin’ suspicious of me now, I’ll let you know when we can meet again, that sound alright?”

His voice was low as he spoke, sending a chill down your spine. You need him just as badly as he needed you. “That sounds perfect,” you spoke slowly, “I’ll see you soon sir,”

“Talk soon darlin’,” the phone clicked, ending the call.

Graves dropped the phone back on the receiver before dropping his head in his hands. The timing couldn't be more perfect as his secretary knocked before marching in with the coffee, “Here you go sir,” she quickly set the cup down before scurrying out of the office. He spit out a quick ‘thanks’ before refreshing his computer in an attempt to actually get work done today.

✩｡:*•.───── ❁ ❁ ─────.•*:｡✩

Graves hopped out of his car and unlocked the front door. As quietly as he tried to sneak in, his wife still was able to hear the faint sound of the door shutting.

“Phillip? Is that you?” she wiped her hands on her apron and peeked around the corner, “Dinner will be ready soon honey,” she smiled sweetly as she went back to the kitchen.

“Thanks, I’ll be right there,” he shouted down the hall as he trudged up the stairs with his briefcase. Once he reached his bedroom he tossed the bag on the floor and flopped down on the foot of the bed.

One hand loosened the tie around his neck while the other scrolled through his texts searching for your name. Fully removing his tie now, he typed out a message hoping you would answer before he had to go eat the meal his wife just cooked.

Need to see you tonight

He stroked his jaw as he waited for a response, finally a text bubble appeared.

Same spot as usual?

Phillip Graves liked your message

“Phillip come eat,” the voice from downstairs almost made him jump as he quickly deleted the text convo and slipped his phone back into his pocket.

“Comin’,”

✩｡:*•.───── ❁ ❁ ─────.•*:｡✩

“I’m comin’,” his breath hitched as he continued to rut into you, his pace quickened as he felt you clench around him. “Fuckkk,”

“Oh my god Phillip,” a wave of ecstasy flooded over you as Graves pushed through both of your highs. He pulled out rolling over next to you in a wave of exhaustion, both of you panting heavily trying to catch your breaths.

A couple of minutes passed before you finally spoke up, “I’m glad you texted me,” you shuffled in the bed as you turned to face him, propping yourself up with your elbow.

Graves was laying on his back staring at the ceiling, his hands tucked behind his head. “M’glad too,”

“You’re not scared of getting caught, are you?

He extended one of his arms, wrapping it around your shoulder and pulling you closer to lay on his bare chest. “I don't want to think about that right now doll,” his voice was hushed as he closed his eyes, he gave your shoulder a small squeeze as you could feel yourself drifting off laying on his chest.

Morning came fast. The sun broke through the hotel curtains, as you woke up you rolled over in bed looking for Phillip.

Gone.

Typical, especially considering your relationship. He never was there in the morning, he had a wife and kids at home. You reached over to the nightstand to grab your phone and began skimming through your texts.

Had to head out sorry, gift for you on the counter. Wear it next time I see you.

You swung your feet off the bed and walked over to the counter finding the Victoria's Secret bag. Tossing the tissue on the floor you pulled out a scarlet red lingerie set, he always liked you in red. You smiled to yourself as you sauntered into the bathroom to try it on, making sure to grab your phone… just in case.

✩｡:*•.───── ❁ ❁ ─────.•*:｡✩

“Have a good day guys,” Phillip shouted out the window as his kids ran into the school. Just as he was about to pull away his phone dinged.

Thanks for the gift x

Hope you’re able to see it in person soon: Attachment 1 img.

His head fell back as he stared at the photo on his phone. It was only 9 in the morning and he was itching to see you again. Graves tried to think of a way to respond but couldn't, he was too dizzy from the feeling of all the blood rushing to his dick.

Taking a big swig of coffee he headed to his office hoping that the work that awaited him would somehow be able to distract him from you. Little did he know that you now lived in his daydreams and it would only get stronger from here.

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

did you guys see how i made it loop hehe

#phillip graves #phillip graves x reader #philip graves x reader #philip graves #phillip graves smut #phillip graves cod #phillip graves imagine #phillip graves x you #cod graves #graves x reader #graves mw2 #graves cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod x reader #Spotify

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 9 months

Text

The Stranger 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Destroyer!Chris

Summary: A stranger buys the farmstead nearby and disturbs your sleepy village life.

Part of the Backwoods AU

Note: My first time writing this character!

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Your nails are crusted in dirt as you kneel in the garden. You grunt as you wrestle the roots of weed from the soil and toss it aside. You wipe your forehead with the back of your glove as you hear the screen door snap shut. Your grandmother stands on the stoop, her hand on her achy hip.

“Did you hear, dearie?” She calls in her creaky voice. “Someone’s moved into Clyde’s old house.”

“Huh?” You catch your breath as you gather up the broken weeds, “it’s half ash.”

“Suppose they’ll fix it up,” she mutters as she leans on the narrow iron rail along the side of the backsteps.

“Suppose,” you agree as you stuff the green and brown foliage into the paper bag for the compost. “Who told you that?”

“I was just talking to Lynette on the phone. She also said Molly’s having her fifth.”

Five kids? You hide your chagrin at the thought. You don’t mind kids but that’s a lot to handle, let alone the pregnancies. Molly balloon’s up so big she can hardly move. Her last shower, she sat the whole time. Not much different than you, you guess. You sat in the corner and watched the silly games

“That’s exciting,” you say as you stand and dust off your knees, crumpling the top of the bag in your other hand.

“Ah, I’m sure you woulda loved to have four sisters? Maybe brothers? It’s a pity your mother never gave me any more grandchildren.”

“Mmm,” you suppress a frown, “yeah, well…”

“Anyhow, enough talk of spoiled milk,” she waves off, “I got a pie in the oven. You can take it over the Clyde’s once it cools.”

“I… why would I do that?”

“Oh my, don’t be ridiculous. We have a new neighbour, we have to be polite and welcome them to the village. It’s probably a nice family, or maybe someone your age. A friend?” She suggests, “I’d do it myself but I don’t think I’d make the walk…” she looks down at her hip, theatrically rubbing it.

“Right,” you agree, the prospect of strangers making your tummy lurch. “Well, that pie will take some time.”

“Long enough for you to put on something clean,” she tuts as she looks down at your dirty jeans, “my lord, what would they think?”

“Yes, gramma, I’ll change, once I get this in the compost.”

“Good,” she smirks triumphantly and turns to swing open the screen door, the hinges whining shrilly.

You sniff and cross the yard. It’s not often there’s new faces in Hammer Ford. The village is a tourist trap at best and not a very lively one. Everyone calls each other by name and it’s second nature to stop and say hi. But that’s because you know each other; you have for years.

You lift the lid on the large bin and empty the bag into it. You could always lie and hide the pie in some bushes. Your deceit wouldn’t be hidden for long. Even in this sleepy place, word travels fast and someone always seems to be watching and waiting to pass it on.

🥧

You head out with the pie in a basket like some fairytale. You’re only short a red hood and a big bad wolf. You set off down the country roads, following the lazy curves towards the horizon. It’s after noon and the sun’s turning mild as it drifts across its pale canvas.

The old homestead is the second closest to your grandmother’s. The homes around Hammer Ford or sprawled out amid the plowed fields and green meadows. The cluster of old pines loom over you as you pass in there shadow and crest the hill that marks the edge of the property. Clyde’s tractor used to sit there, just by the broken down fence.

Ahead, down another stretch of road, this path unpaved, stands the decrepit house. The tragedy still singes the memories of the villagers. That night comes back to you in a blaze of orange and the smell of cinder. Poor old Clyde was buried behind Sacred Stave church.

You search the overgrown grass for a sign of life. There’s a black truck by the caved in garage but that’s about it. It might not be a family. It’s a lot of work to do with little ones around. If anything, it would only be the parents as they rebuild. Your mind wanders, wondering who would buy the old farm and why.

You come down the path, just along the ditch that dips behind a cluster of brambles. There’s a snap and a crack and you skid to a halt on the stones. You spin and look around, a heavy breath pluming into the air. Like the fire reawakened.

“Can I help you?” The deep timbre rolls through you and you step back on your heel as you face the man down in the ditch. He peers up at you above the scraggly top of the brambles.

“Uh,” you gulp and stare at him dumbly. He might think you’re lost. Or worse, trespassing.

His hair is short, only an inch on top and shaved even shorter around the sides. His beard is thick around his mouth, growing sparse across his cheeks, and two vibrant blue eyes beam back at you. The way he looks at you makes you want to shrink away. You can sense the city radiating off of him. He scares you.

“Hello? What’s up?” He waves as if trying to wake you up.

“Um, pie?” You say, cringing at your own speechlessness.

“Pie,” he repeats flatly.

You hold up the basket and blink. You never were very good at introductions. You were the only girl at school without friends. You were just sort of there.

“Pie,” you echo once more and hold out the basket.

He tilts his head, curiously, and huffs. He juts out his jaw and grunts as he pushes the brambles apart and climbs out of the ditchy. His denim jacket is streaked in dirty and pollen.

He takes the basket by the handle, his rough finger brushing yours. He peels back the cloth and to peek inside, “pie.” He utters the syllable a fourth time between you.

“Yeah,” your voice is wispy and small. “Bye.”

You let out a strained breath and spin, keeping yourself from breaking into a sprint. You stomp away frantically, smacking yourself internally for being so awkward. Well, maybe that’s a good thing. He’ll have no reason to talk to you ever again.

#chris #destroyer #dark!Chris #chris x reader #dark chris #drabble #backwoods au #au #series #the stranger

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cowboydisaster · 9 months

Note

For the Christmas countdown!

Dutch sends reader and Arthur to find the perfect Christmas tree for camp. Reader says she knows a place near Colter. But they get lost, and what’s that? One bed? Needing to share body warmth? What ever could go wrong 😈😈 as smutty as you find comfortable to write behe

* ˚ ✦ Ceasefire * ˚ ✦

pairing: arthur morgan x f!reader word count: 2.8k a/n: One bed trope is elite. love this prompt. Arthur is a little toxic in this one ngl. probably med. honor. I aint gonna lie gang, this is fucking FILTH. warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, dubcon

cowboydisaster's christmas countdown: FOUR days 'till christmas!

christmas countdown┊main masterlist┊rdr2 masterlist

Arthur kicks the old door in, nearly crumbling the rotten thing before sticking his lantern into the worn down cabin. No words are exchanged as he ushers you though the threshold, slamming the door behind you both.

The storm outside is brutal, battering the sides of the cabin, sounding like bullets pelting the walls. Hail and snow beat down on the roof, carried by whipping, whistling winds. Even in your wool coat, your limbs feel like ice, your fingers and toes numb.

The cabin you’re entering is old and creaky. The wind seems to whisper through the walls eerily, letting cold air soak through the cracks and wrap around you. You shiver, walking through the main room, pushing open a squealing door to reveal one small bedroom with one tiny bed. You nod, figuring as much. It’s the only door in the house, so you avert your attention back towards Arthur, knelt before the fireplace. He's digging through the wood by the mantle, grunting and sighing angrily to himself. A tense silence continues between you and Arthur– it hangs in the air like static electricity, and you’re just waiting for it to strike.

“Arthur, I'm sorry.” You whisper, arms pulling your coat tighter around yourself.

“Kinda late for apologizin’, considerin’ our circumstances, dont’cha think?” Arthur growls, finding a few pieces of dry wood and tossing them into the wood keeper in the fireplace.

“I knew where I was goin.” You argue coldly, anger rising up the back of your neck, making the hair stand. Arthur shakes his head, avoiding your eye contact as he lights a kindle.

“Oh, you did, did you? Then you mind tellin’ me why in the hell we’re stranded in the middle of god-knows-where, then? N’ on Christmas Eve? Dutch sent us to get a goddamn tree and thanks to you, we ain't even got one.” Arthur growls, voice finally rising, even though he’s been trying to keep his composure since you admitted you were lost.

“I– Well you got me all turned around when you took us to the trapper!” You yell, pointing your finger at him angrily, “I had us on the way and then you just had to take us off on some wild fuckin’ goose chase. What even was so important that we had to take an hour-long detour anyway?! How are you gonna blame me when you had to drag me across the state just to what?! Sell a fuckin’ pelt? Make some more money for old Dutch?”

“No!” Arthur roars, standing up from his position on the floor. His anger flares up at your ignorance, “I was savin’ up money to buy your christmas gift—to buy you that goddamn saddle you wanted!!” Arthur’s voice reaches a shockingly loud timbre, and your ears ring. You step back, shocked and mortified by your assumption. Words fail you, and you stutter over them, tears already forming in your eyes at what you’ve done.

“Arthur…” You say, tears forming in your eyes as he brushes past you, towards the door, “Arthur, you can’t go out in that storm.” You protest, but he’s already putting his gloves back on, placing his hat on his head.

“Arthur, I'm sorry. Please don’t go out in the storm.” You plead as he pushes the door open.

“I need some damn air.” He hisses, slamming the door back shut in your face.

Your hand covers your mouth, silencing sobs as you watch him leave from the window. You hear Sugar’s cries as Arthur leads Jasper out of the small stable, and you watch as the gray horse carries Arthur out the main drag, his coat blending in with the downpour of snow and ice.

— — —

You roll onto your side, shivering on the single cot. There’s no blankets, so you do your best to keep warm by curling in on yourself and blowing warm air into your hands, down your coat sleeves. Cold tears slip down your face, your worry growing tenfold with every minute that Arthur doesn’t return. If he’s not back within the hour, you’ll go out into the storm to find him.

You glance at the pocket watch that is clutched between your numb fingers, signaling that he’s been gone for an hour and a half. Your heart seizes in your chest. The wind causes the windows to shake and clamber, and every once in a while, you perk up– hoping it’s Arthur coming back to you. But it never is.

A miserable whimper leaves your lips, and you sit up, cross legged on the bed to steal another glance at your watch. The fireplace gives off just enough light to see, and you push yourself up from the bed to start pulling your boots on. You’ll be damned before you let something happen to Arthur out there, not when it's your fault he’s out there in the first place.

Before you can get your boot on, the door swings open loudly. Arthur steps in, shoving the door shut behind him, stripping his big blue coat off and abandoning it on the floor. You let out a breath of relief, tossing your boots aside to run to him.

“Baby- I’m so sorry for hollerin’ at you. I shouldn’t have left ya here.” Arthur rambles, feeling like a fucking fool. You care none, too relieved to see him here. He holds his arm open, catching you just as you run into them, tears of relief flooding your face.

“Oh, I was so worried, Arthur.” You exhale, crumbling against him.. Lucky for you, he’s always been good at piecing you back together.

“Christ, darlin’, you’re freezin’.” Arthur points out, readjusting and scooping you up into his arms. You lie your head against his chest, arms wrapped around his neck, clinging to him, as he carries you back into the bedroom.

“I’m sorry, Arthur. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I shouldn’t have blamed you.” Your voice cracks.

“Don’t matter, now. Now, I just gotta take care of you.” Arthur whispers, and you sigh with relief. He carries you into the bedroom, tenderly placing you down on the bed.

“Lets get your clothes off. They’re wet, gonna get you sick.” Arthur says, worry deep in his eyes as he begins to undress you. He tenderly peels away each layer of clothing, hanging them over the fireplace mantle to dry. Once you’re bared before him, shivering, he wraps his jacket around your shoulders. It’s warm and dry, and it smells like oak and his favorite brand of expensive cigarettes. You inhale the scent deeply.

“Be warmer if I take mine off, too.” He whispers matter of factly, pulling off his own layers, sliding next to you in the bed.

Arthur winces as you cling to him on the bed. Your limbs are like ice against his skin, and he pulls your back to his chest. His arm wraps around your middle, keeping you anchored to him tightly. Your body fits against Arthur’s so perfectly. Like two puzzle pieces fitting together.

A few moments pass by, with Arthur running his fingers over your hip, rubbing his hand down your thigh, waiting for the skin to warm up.

“Any better?” He asks eventually, voice hoarse, waiting for the answer he knows won’t come. You nod your head, but your teeth chatter. You're shaking like a leaf against him.

“Ya trust me?” Arthur asks. Of course, you nod your head. You trust him with your life, “I’ll warm you up.” He whispers.

You shiver, this time not from the temperature as Arthur slides the jacket down over your shoulder blade. He runs his lips across your shoulder, pressing kisses in a line. His lips distract you from his wandering hand, fingertips trailing down your stomach.

You breathe shakily in anticipation as his fingers reach your throbbing cunt. His skin is hot where yours is cold, adding an extra layer of sensitivity. You flinch when his thick finger bumps your sensitive clit.

“Too much?” Arthur whispers between kisses, his hand drawing away from your skin. You nod.

“We got all the time in the world. Jus’ gotta warm you up proper.” Arthur explains. He repositions himself between your legs, pushing your knees up by your ears, spreading you wide for himself.

“Can’t wait to taste you.” Arthur grumbles, pushing your thighs back even more. You grip the sheets in anticipation as he licks the length of your cunt, coating his tongue in your juices, flicking your sensitive bud with his tongue.

Your stomach seizes, and you whimper.

“Yeah, how’s that? Talk to me, darlin’.” Arthur instructs, his nose rubbing against your clit, his tongue sinking into your heat. Arthur’s beard is tickling your thighs, and his fingertips are teasing along your entrance.

“S’good, Arthur.” You exhale loudly. Your body is already warming up. Your skin is flush with want as he teases you. Arthur’s tongue circles back up to your clitoris, flicking over the bud in languid swipes. You taste so fucking good, he could keep you spread like this forever and never get enough. You would have no qualms with that, happily holding his head between your thighs for the rest of eternity.

He wants nothing more than to keep you spread open like this. To taste you, kiss you. To hear you whimpering and calling his name. He wants to pull orgasm after orgasm out of you, until you’re sleepy and content and sore. He wants to press his cock into you over and over again, to roll his hips into you, stretch you out, fill you up. He wants to watch his cum leak out of you, just to fuck it back inside.

Arthur’s cock twitches, and he groans, slipping two of his fingers into your aching entrance. Feeling how slick they become when he pulls them out, when he pushes them back in, curling them to hit that spot that makes you sing.

“Arthur–” You moan, back arching off the bed. He wraps his free hand over your stomach, pushing you back down to the mattress, “So good. I– Oh, so fuckin’ good, Arthur.”

He smirks, tongue still flicking over your pink, swollen clit. Sucking it between his lips, grazing it with his teeth. It’s more than you can take.

His fingers curl up, squelching as they rock your own juices back into you, brushing up against your fleshy g-spot, teasing it.

“I-” You gasp, “I’m close, Arthur. I- I can’t it’s too much! Too-” You moan, tears of pleasure slipping down your cheek.

And like the pull of a silk ribbon, he's pulling you undone. You're cumming on his fingers, squeezing them within your tight walls. Your clit is seizing against his tongue as you cry out his name, hands digging into his hair, pushing him further against you. You rock your hips against his face, thighs squeezing his ears. Juices gush around his fingers as he works you through your orgasm. Euphoria wracks your brain, picking you up and carrying you to another plane of existence.

When you come down from it, you’re putty in his arms. Limp.

“Easy, baby. Y’okay?” Arthur asks, hand easing up your waist, purposefully avoiding the spots where you’ll be the most sensitive right now. You nod, hands reaching up to his jaw, gripping him and pulling him down towards you.

“Wanna kiss you.” You manage to murmur, soft as silk before his lips are meeting yours.

You can taste yourself dripping from his tongue. Can feel the sticky wetness on his beard as you pull him impossibly closer. His tongue slips into your mouth, infiltrating your senses with the sweet taste of your arousal.

Goosebumps break out across your stomach as Arthur’s knuckles trail up your waist, his thumb tickling a small circle around your stiff, sensitive nipple. It sends pleasure in shockwaves down through you, and you arch your back, pushing your stomach up against his chest. The hair on his chest teases your flushed skin, adding to the pleasure of it all.

“So goddamn beautiful.” Arthur mumbles, pulling away just to get the words out before he’s against your lips again, devouring you.

“Think you can take me now, darlin?” Arthur whispers, lips moving to your jaw, pressing loud kisses along the sharp line. You hesitate. He’s so big. It takes a lot of preparation.

He senses your worry, and then he’s there, reassuring you, praising you, making you feel so good.

“You can take me.” A kiss to your neck, “You do so good, so perfect. You can take it. My good girl.” Arthur mumbles against your skin, hand slipping between your legs, pushing your thighs apart. His fingers slip back into your cunt, first two, then three. You whimper, hands digging into Arthur’s shoulders.

“See? Takin’ my fingers as ya are. My good girl, aint’cha?”

You nod your head, teeth sunk into your bottom lip, “Yes, yes.” You whisper, breathing shakily.

Arthur positions himself over you, slipping his fingers away, and you gasp at the feeling of his thick tip sliding up and down your lower lips. He traces his swollen, rosy tip across your overstimulated clitoris, and your nails dig into his shoulders, a pulse of pleasure rippling up your spine, sending waves down through your bones.

You pay no mind to the weather, to the temperature. It bothers you none now.

His thick, pulsing cock nudges against your entrance, and instinctually you tense, taking in a sharp breath.

“Shh, shh, easy, sweetheart. Relax. You can take it.” Arthur coos against your ear, pressing a kiss to your forehead. It's like being swaddled in a heap of comfort, of safety. You know he’d never lie to you, never hurt you.

“Thata girl.” Arthur hums, grunting deeply as he thrusts just the tip into you. You squeeze him tightly, your walls gripping him, pulling him into you. He could do this all day, stretch you open, stuff his cock into your pretty little cunt, press kisses to your lips and your neck and your nose.

“Fuck, sweetheart. That’s it.” He grunts, pushing himself into you even more. Your back arches, stomach filled with pressure and legs spread open wide, “That’s perfect, so good fr’me.” He moans.

“God, Arthur–” You cry out, a whimpering mess when he starts to rock. He’s splitting you in two, filling you so full, you can barely take him all. His length knocks against your g-spot, surpassing it even and stretching to your cervix.

“Feel-” Arthur groans, “Good?”

You tuck your nose against his chest, nodding, “Fuck, so good, Arthur. You’re so big.”

The boost in his ego ramps up his stamina, and he rocks into you harder, sending the headboard crashing against the wall loudly with every thrust. The rhythm is barely noticeable compared to the sound of the hail beating against the roof.

You’re suddenly glad to be stuck out here, if this is the repercussion. You crave his hands on you, his lips against yours. You want him to bend you over the table, take you against the wall, on the floor. You’re content to have him on every surface of this cabin, just to stay wrapped up in this bliss for a little while longer.

“Easy does it, good girl.” Arthur grunts, face covered in a sheen of sweat, dripping down from a strand of his hair, falling onto your breasts. He fills you with every thrust, his cock carving out the shape of your walls, stretching them to wrap around him perfectly. The signature, wet sound of sex fills the room, drowning out even the storm, yet pale compared to the sound of your mixed moans and breathing.

“M’ close-” Arthur grunts, pace growing quick, cock twitching against your walls. You’re getting close, and he’s there too, grunting and squeezing, gripping your soft flesh. He curses, thrusting hard and deep, hips slapping loudly against yours.

It pushes you over the cliff edge with no abandon, and again, you’re free falling, only kept here by the physical tether that is Arthur holding you. Your walls clench and squeeze, constricting around Arthur’s length. He groans beautifully, the sound cathartic to your ears, sending more blood rushing to your gluttonous core.

“Oh– Arthur!” You scream, gasping for air just to release it all back out in a slew of curses and moans. Your back arches high enough off the bed that your breasts slot against Arthur’s chest. Your body shakes, like a star on the verge of explosion, receiving no mercy as Arthur continues to thrust into you. He’s losing his control, caught off guard by the pulsing and fluttering of your second orgasm. You’re squeezing him so tight, and god– the moans you’re letting out are driving him wild—

And then, his warm, thick cum is flooding you, filling you up as he stutters and shakes above you, “F-Fucck, sweetheart. Takin’ me– so damn well.” Arthur groans, hips pumping into you twice more, arms shaking from strain. He pumps the last of his spend into you, groan dying down into a deep rumble in his chest.

He stills, taking deep breaths along with you, eyes slipping shut. His forehead falls against yours, and he presses a sweet, long kiss to your lips. It sends butterflies to your stomach, even after all this. He pulls back from the kiss, resting his forehead on yours once again.

“That was–” You begin, catching your breath, “damn.”

Arthur chuckles, “We’ll sleep the rest of the night n’ check out the weather in the mornin’. I don't reckon either of us will be cold.”

You huff a laugh, wincing slightly as Arthur pulls out of you. You grimace as his cum leaks back out.

In a few short moments, Arthur has you clean of him. He lies beside you, head resting on your lower stomach as you brush your fingers through his hair.

“Next time we fight, just skip the runnin’ off, and take me to bed, alright?” You whisper, breaking the calm silence. Arthur exhales sharply.

“Yeah, we’ll do that.” He chuckles, gripping your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles.

“You think Dutch will be pissed about the tree?” You ask, referencing the Christmas tree that you’d failed to bring back to camp.

“He surely will be.” Arthur says, “But, I say-” He presses a kiss to your hip, hand wrapping around the inside of your thigh, “to hell with his christmas traditions,” another kiss, “I like this one better.”

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow @holyratrimony @twola

#cowboydisaster's christmas countdown #bea's christmas countdown #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x female reader #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption two #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic

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snailmail444 · 10 months

Note

a passionate, heavy-feeling nsfw situationship with Elliott (doesn't have to be full on oneshot, can be just a drabble)

Elliot Situationship

NSFW 🌱 18+ 🌱 MDNI

Hiiii Beets :) this ended up between a drabble and a oneshot length! Elliot NSFW angst under the cut. Hope you enjoy it hehehe~

Sand slithers over the tops of your shoes and burdens every step towards the beach house. The shore is trying to root you down and hold you back, but the man inside is a beckoning siren. You’ve been okay so far, but every visit tests your luck, and you know what sirens do to those they call.

For a man of many words, Elliott doesn’t waste time speaking when you force the creaky old door inwards and the sand makes its last attempt to save you by sliding in past the threshold.

His hands fit to your jaw, and his mouth smothers yours, and you’re burning. Nothing can help me now, you think, sweeping your tongue desperately against his lips and carding your fingers into his hair. Your body forgets your biology for a moment, and you think you can only survive on air from Elliott’s lungs.

Then his lips detach from yours and rove down your jaw, and it’s a revelation that you’re able to breathe. “I’ve been aching for you,” he purrs against the shell of your ear, slipping your jacket off your shoulders with such efficiency you don’t think you could do it better yourself. A line like that would feel disingenuous from anyone but Elliott.

He’s ached for you in the same way you have for him.

It shows in the greedy, reverent sweeps of his hands over your body. Beneath your shirt and up your stomach, down your back, under your breasts. He’s everywhere. Smothering you in the best way possible, like the high you get when you’ve been deprived of oxygen for a moment too long.

“Delectable,” he says when he has you out of your clothes, not bothering to pretend he isn’t ogling you. A shiver traces your spine. Your nipples harden.

“Please,” your voice is raspy, parched. What are you begging for, really? His kiss, his touch?

Or are you begging him to get it over with and drown you already? It’s hard to know.

Elliott decides you’ve earned his touch, his kiss, his cock. The fill of him inside of you is bittersweet. It’s a sigh of relief, and it’s so utterly right you can’t stand the thought that it’ll be over again.

He calls you so many things. Gorgeous, darling, my sweet—you have all of his flowering pet names tattooed on your heart. The names that he only ever uses in bed, even though you’d give anything to hear them otherwise. Every time you break your own heart and stitch it back together, they warp further, and hearing them becomes that much more painful.

You’re coming and it’s heaven, and he’s coming and it’s even better. When he spends himself inside you it’s devastatingly intimate. It’s all praises and your name and thank you’s and never I love you. Never don’t leave me, never we have to stop doing this.

When you cry afterwards Elliott doesn’t ask you what’s wrong. But he does hold you tighter, and brush your hair, and use his thumbs to sweep the tears away. Now that it’s over, he doesn’t kiss you again.

He’s somber, too, and it dampens the room more than the humid sea-air. This thing between you is addicting, and it’s barbed, and it’s the light that gives you life, and it’s the fire that burns you.

Once your tears expire, you force yourself to rise. Elliott’s out of words again, and you never had any to start with, so the room is an orchestra of regret as you put your clothes back on. You’re leaving, because you don’t spend the night even though his bed is soft and familiar. And you’re wearing your own clothes, because you don’t steal his even though you want his scent pressed into your skin. Those are the rules, the ones you’ve made to protect what little of yourself is left.

You reach for the doorknob. You hesitate.

And you look back at Elliott because you don’t know if you can muster the words to say goodbye another time. If you speak, you’re afraid that you’ll tell him you’re in love with him. You’re afraid that you’ll tell him you can’t do this anymore.

Elliott opens his mouth. He hesitates.

It looks like you’re right—both of you have nothing you can say. You rip off the bandaid and open the door, and the sand guides you back to solid ground.

#stardew valley #writing #sdv #stardew valley fanfic #sdv fanfic #sdv headcanons #sdv elliott #stardew valley Elliott #elliott sdv #elliott stardew valley #stardew valley angst #asks #n.sfw //#MDNI

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moonlightspencie · 1 year

Note

6 with dean winchester, oh pls🥹

OUCH just thinking about it. he is so baby, this is a hurt-comfort fluff fest

send me a number and a character!

6. “be gentle, please.”

pairing: dean winchester x reader

warnings: non-descriptive owies on sam and dean

To say you were annoyed was an understatement.

Dean just had to push your buttons until you burst on him last night. Knowing that you had a thing for him. It was one thing to mess with you years ago, but now?

There was no way he didn’t know.

And he had the nerve to call you in on the hunt that you had wanted to opt out of. You stayed behind for a reason, but he just had to call. Now, you were stomping up the steps to some creaky old house, chasing after who-knows-what. Probably a demon. But since when couldn’t those two boys handle a demon by themselves?

You pushed open the front door, creeping through the house. Eventually you made it to some grand living room, scanning over the area. Then, you saw Dean.

Memories of a fight were the last thing to occupy your mind when you saw him crumpled in on himself against the wall.

“Dean,” you called out, entering the room.

He was still out cold when you reached him, a hand immediately going to the side of his face.

“Dean?” you said, this time your voice softer.

He groaned, slowly coming to. You watched carefully as he finally opened his eyes, letting out a sigh of relief when he saw that it was you in the room with him.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “Shouldn’t have gone in alone.”

“No, no, don’t apologize,” you said softly, still stroking his face.

Sam burst through a moment later, calling for Dean. You looked up as he finally got into the room.

“What happened?” you questioned.

Sam sighed. “I killed it.”

He helped you get Dean into the car, and eventually into the motel room they were staying at. Sam had one nasty cut, but he assured you he could take care of it himself no matter how much you offered a helping hand. He walked into the bathroom to fix himself up, leaving you with Dean.

You looked at him as he sat on the bed with his head in his hands. You moved around the room, getting him some water and your migraine meds, figuring that it would probably work better than expired ibuprofen. You sat next to him on the bed, handing the items over.

“This should help a little, but you’re definitely concussed,” you said, keeping your voice quiet. “Sam and I are gonna have to keep an eye on you until tomorrow.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I know. Thanks for coming.”

“Of course. Though, I didn’t really do much,” you replied with a light laugh.

“This is plenty,” he said, finally looking at you.

You winced, seeing the cut above his eyebrow. It was bruised, and at least needed to be cleaned. You instructed him to wait, grabbing some of your first aid supplies and meeting him back on the mattress.

“This’ll probably sting,” you said, wiping at the cut with a wipe.

He winced, trying to pull away.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said.

“I want to. I care about you, and you could use someone to do that right about now.”

He sighed. “I could do it myself.”

“You shouldn’t have to. Especially not with a concussion. Let me take care of you.”

He looked at you, eyes shining in the low light. You swallowed, stopping your motions for a moment.

“What?” you questioned.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to cause a fight yesterday.”

You sighed. “I know you didn’t. I just— It’s hard when you tease me like that. You know all the ways to get me… frustrated.”

He smirked. “I know. I’m sorry. I know I’m annoying sometimes, I just really—”

“You’re not annoying. You just… push my buttons”

“It’s hard not to when you’re always fake flirting with me,” he stated as you started cleaning him up again. “It’s hard on a guy.”

You laughed humorlessly. Fake. As if he didn’t know.

“We both know that’s not fake, Winchester.”

“Be gentle, please,” he said quietly, just above a whisper.

You pulled your hand away.

“Am I hurting you?” you asked, looking between him and the cut.

He took your wrist, moving your hand away as he shook his head.

“No. With me. Be gentle,” he said.

“I don’t understand.”

He sighed. “I have had a thing for you forever. Please don’t mess with me saying you’re actually flirting. That’s not fair.”

You softened immediately. “What?”

“I know we joke and get under each others skin, but I’m just asking that you don’t actually screw with my heart.”

“Dean, that’s not…” you trailed, furrowing your brow. “I’m not lying. I thought you knew?”

“Knew what?” he asked, looking at you in confusion.

“You don’t remember? Last year I told you I had a thing for you.”

“No, you didn’t,” he said cautiously.

“I did. We were at the bunker in the kitchen, throwing back shots, and I told you. You just kind of laughed and then Cas came in so we stopped talking,” you explained. “I thought we’d talk about it the next day, but you acted like it never happened.”

“Uh, yeah, probably because I was blacked out. I would’ve remembered that, I promise you.”

You sighed, dropping your head. “Shit.”

“You mean it?” he asked after a beat.

You nodded, not saying anything. He grabbed your hand, taking the wipe from it and tossing it onto the night stand before holding it in his own.

“Dude, I have practically been head-over-heels for you forever.”

You laughed, looking at him. “Dude?”

“I don’t know, I’m concussed, just—” he let out a breath, then smiled. “You’re one of my best friends. Have been for a while, and I wouldn’t mind changing that.”

You smiled again. “Only if you promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“We talk about it when you’re not concussed. I don’t want a repeat of last time.”

He smiled brightly. “Deal.”

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester drabble #dean winchester fluff #luna’s dean fics

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mysticraven20 · 11 days

Text

Based on @art-the-f-up BuzzFeed au

BuzzFeed Paranormal: Woodland Investigators.

Marinette stood in front of the old, creaky house as Adrien came beside her holding a high-tech camera and aiming it where she shone a flashlight. He turned it on her.

‘Adrien, are you ready for this? We’ve had reports of strange noises, inexplicable drafts, and even… shadows.’ She could barely hold in the smile as she spoke. Sometimes it was so hard to be serious when you were doing such a shit job.

Adrien, in his usual comical, over-serious voice, dramatically moved the camera from her to his own face. ‘Marinette, you know I was born ready. Tonight… we face the unknown.’

‘Right. Or maybe it’s just the wind.’

‘Don’t ruin the suspense! It could be anything.’ Adrien grinned. He shut off the camera and looked at her. ‘Do you ever think we could be doing more with our lives than this?’

She shrugged. Of course she did, but then she wouldn’t spend all her time with him, not that she would tell him that of course.

They entered the house, the floorboards creaking beneath them. The house was dimly lit, the only sounds were those of their footsteps and the occasional spooky creak.

Adrien turned the camera back on and turned it to his face. ‘We’ve just entered the house. The air is cold. The atmosphere? Heavy. The spirits? Unsettled.’

She snorted. ‘The only thing unsettled here is your hair from all that gel. Calm down, Agreste.’

They walked through the house, and as they headed up the stairs, a loud thud came from the ceiling above them. They froze, both of them slowly looking up at the ceiling

Playing to the camera, as he always did, Adrien gasped. “DID YOU HEAR THAT?”

she grinned, using a finger to turn the camera to her. ‘What, your heart skipping a beat? Or was that the creaky old ceiling?’

‘She mocks now… but soon, we will uncover the truth. The truth that haunts these walls,’ he whispered dramatically, pulling an unladylike snort from her.

They reached the attic door, the thumping now louder, accompanied by faint scurrying sounds. Marinette narrowed her eyes at the door.

‘This is it, Adrien. This is where the ‘ghost’ must be. You ready?’

‘As ready as I’ll ever be. If I get possessed by a ghost, just… make sure I still look good on camera.’

Marinette rolled her eyes and pushed open the attic door. Inside, she couldn’t see much but outlines of objects scattered around the attic. It was dark and cluttered. Dust floated in the air as they stepped cautiously. Suddenly, something moved in the corner.

‘SPIRIT,’ Adrien bellowed dramatically. ‘REVEAL THYSELF!’

As though answering the call. A rustling from the corner was joined by the faintest shadow stretching across the floorboards. Then the scratching started. Faster and faster, the tapping grew right until it was in front of them.

A raccoon scurried across the floor, followed by two squirrels that leap from the rafters, narrowly missing Adrien. He stumbled back, wide-eyed letting out an ear piercing scream. She couldn’t help the laughter escaping her mouth as she snorted, loud and hard.

‘Oh no! The spirits of… woodland creatures!’ she said, grasping her stomach to try and ease the pain.

“I— I can’t— Marinette! We’ve been haunted by… raccoons?!’ He had barely recovered From his scare, which only made Marinette laugh more.

Tears formed in her eyes, her thumbs pressing hard under her eyes to stop the mascara running and making her one with the raccoon. ‘The ghost of trash pandas past!’

Her laughter, unbelievably, intensified as Adrien started to laugh beside her, moving from slight chuckle to full guffaw in the matter of seconds and causing her to collapse into her knees.

‘How— how did we even get hired for this?! Who calls ghost hunters for animals?!”

Marinette took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself down. ‘I don’t know, but I think we’re going to need a different kind of expertise to deal with these “spirits.”’

The raccoons continued to scurry around as Adrien collapsed onto the floor beside her. As soon as she met his eyes she could hear his shriek play on repeat in her mind causing her to start laughing again, both unaware the camera was still rolling. She fell backwards, leaning against a dusty old trunk as they both dissolved into uncontrollable laughter.

Adrien crawled across the floor and picked up the camera, bringing Marinette’s attention to the red light still on. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we have uncovered the truth. The noises in the night… were just raccoons trying to open a snack bar.’

‘Next time, let’s make sure our haunted houses don’t come with actual tenants in the attic.’

Adrien snorted, standing up and holding out a hand for her. ‘I’ll call the exterminator… you can call the ghostbusters just in case.’

Adrien turned off the camera just as the raccoon chased the squirrels across the attic, sending them both into a spiral of laughter again. This week they had completely failed to maintain any sort of professional composure—again.

#adrinette #adrienette #ladynoir #marinettedupaincheng #adrienagreste #miraculous #ladybug #ladybugandcatnoir #fanfiction #miraculous fanfiction #I’ve jumped on another of arts aus #sorry not sorry #buzzfeed miraculous au #BuzzFeed au

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neevblanc · 5 months

Text

„curious” ♡

a/n —hey all! hope ur doin' well, drink water if you haven't! have this as a treat. it's 2k and some more but i cant be bothered to check for specifics. (p.s sorry if the tarot aspects of this are wonky! i did my best to research and i pulled reference from my sister's experience with tarot cards/reading.)

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Dazai Osamu x GN!reader

Tags— 22/ada dazai, flirting?, pre-slash, don't question why reader's given a key, reader works under ango but he's also they're dad figure, it's a whole thing, mentions of sskk though not explicitly platonic or romantic, take that as you wish, dazai's infuriating habit of burying feelings and then one day he'll die

CW/TW— dazai. (/j, none i can think of.)

note — reader's ability in this is based on one that my friend chose for our self-ship au. "Teacher of Truth by Saneatsu Mushanokoji: The user can employ tarot cards to gain insight into the past, current, and possible future situations. The user needs to know what each of the cards mean in order to properly interpret what they say." it's from a post on tumblr, but I couldn't find it for the life of me! i'll credit if i can. anyway, it's been tweaked a little so i'm here to explain. in this, reader can choose to use their ability during a reading or not, but the tarot cards are always personal to them. people they know will sometimes show in the cards if they're important to them.

The next time Dazai sees you, it’s well before the ADA opens for the day. He’d admittedly had a rough night—sleep evaded him like always, and he hadn’t had dinner because of his own laziness. His futon was impossibly comfy. How was he meant to part with its loving warmth?

The Door to the agency creaks open, the sound not unlike the groan of the cafe floorboards only steps away. One of Dazai’s favorite activities was purposely seeking out the creaky floorboards and dancing on them so loud Kunikida would have to berate him, of course. He was intimately familiar with the annoying sounds this old building could make.

The office is darker than during working hours, but he notices the meager amount of lights still switched on. Distantly, he knows Kunikida would’ve blown a gasket about the electric bill if he had found them still on. He takes a step into the room-

Something rustles. Downstairs, an old radio plays a song he does not recognize. Pigeons flutter and coo from outside the window.

Somebody was in the agency, and had it been any of his fellow detectives, he’d have known.

“Hmmm, what’s this,” he mutters absently, volume low enough to alert whoever it was had decided to trespass.

”Dazai-san?” a soft voice calls, and Dazai pauses for a moment. A short, hollow sound follows—cards shuffling. He bites the inside of his cheek. How curious.

”Last I checked, you don’t clock in with the rest of us measly agents. Surely Ango’s fuming by now?” He hums, stepping into view of you. you’re sat at Atsushi’s desk, bag perched on top of Atsushi’s empty report trays. Dazai almost smirks at the sight— silly Atsushi, always rushing to complete everything in a timely manner. One day, he’d get him to turn them in later, hopefully months later- like he did.

”Hm, no. I clocked in earlier, but Ango wanted me over here early. Something about a mission I have to hand over to Fukuzawa-dono. I got a key from him last time, so I just let myself in.” you explained. Dazai pulled his own chair out and collapsed into it, peering down at what your hands were busying themselves with.

He realizes they’re tarot cards. Thick and sturdy under your fingers, you set them up neatly in front of yourself. The backs are a matte purple, decorated with silver details that glint as the sunrise light hits them for just a fraction of a second. The illustrations seem to flicker with movement, almost like snapshots of time shifting through an old camera, frame after frame.

”What’s got you so busy?” he asks, exaggeratingly leaning over to look at the cards. You laugh and smile, expression wobbly. He notes the change. You briefly shake out the bracelet laying on your wrist, almost nervously. You lay the last card on the desk’s surface. Atsushi’s cute cat clock ticks from where it’s placed near his report trays.

“I do readings for the day early in the morning, just in case. Sometimes, I don’t even use my ability.” You explain, keeping your voice low so as not to break the morning peace. Dazai glances at the cat clock. Soon, the secretaries and Kunikida will clock in and begin their work day. He focuses back on you and grins, intrigued.

“Anxious, then? I guess the ability to see the future will do that to ‘ya.” Dazai sighed, crossing his legs and resting his chin on his hand. He was content to watch you finish setting the cards down in a formation he admittedly did not understand.

” What does that one mean?” he says, pointing to one of the cards. Its flickering surface shows a woman with mint-colored hair pulled up into a bun. Behind her, there’s a black mass, and she seems to be standing in a graveyard. There are two Xs at the top of the card. You redirect your attention to the card he’s hovering his finger over and smile.

”That’s Judgment—renewal, reflection, awakening, or reckoning. For a personal reading, it would mean going through a period of self-evaluation or maybe even trying to understand the people around you and your situation more.” You explain, seemingly done with the spread and setting down the other cards nearby. Dazai purses his lips.

”Sounds gloomy. Lame!” He huffs, upset by his choice. you gasp and narrow your eyes.

”Don’t call them lame! You’ll piss them off, Dazai.” You hiss, smacking him on the arm. Dazai grins and leans closer, smile growing coy.

”Really now? And how exactly does one do that?” Dazai prods. You stick your tongue out and cross your arms.

“Not telling. Now shut up and let me do my reading.” You grumble, eyes flicking over the cards. Dazai whines and throws himself forward, almost shoving you off of Atsushi’s chair.

”Dude!” You yelp, hands scrambling to grasp his coat as he rights himself. Dazai grabs you by the shoulders and shakes, intent on being the biggest possible nuisance.

”That’s boring! Do your reading laterrrr; it won’t matter, right? Ne- do a reading for me! I wanna know my future,” He begs, grinning. You blink and scowl, pushing him away.

”First off, it would matter. Doing a reading later would be a completely different outcome. Just wait. All I have to do is interpret these. I’ll do yours after.” You grumble, adjusting their sleeves and settling back into the chair. Dazai harrumphs but settles into his own chair to watch you silently read the cards.

You focus back on the cards, and Dazai settles himself by watching you idly. You’re dressed in what you always wear to work, but it’s casual enough to know doubt have been breaking the dress code had you not been working under Ango for so long. There’s a small scrunch to your nose as you focus on your task, and Dazai can spot how you run your tongue over your teeth in thought. Dazai looks away pointedly. Taking a few breaths, he forcibly clears his mind. How odd.

”Okay, done.” You hum, straightening and starting to pick up the cards. He shifts so his whole body is faced toward you. You take gentle care of the cards, putting them back into the deck.

”Why do they flicker like that? You aren’t using your ability,” he asks, curious about the shifting images on the cards. You shrug.

”Don’t know. It happens no matter what deck I use, though I prefer using this one. The images just shift into the same ones most of the time, though some have changed over time.” You explain, shuffling the cards. Dazai reaches out and hovers over your hand before poking the back of it gently. You let him despite knowing the outcome.

The images on the cards still lying on the table flicker, completely uninterrupted, even as Dazai feels the shiver of his ability eating away at yours. He hums and pulls away. He hadn’t been paying attention when he jostled you earlier, but you were right- they were unaffected.

”Strange, but not unheard of. Some ability effects aren’t considered active enough for my ability to erase.” Dazai says, allowing you to continue. you finish and present him with the deck, pulling away when he goes to take them.

”Don’t be mean to them. They’ll be mean to you. You can’t even think anything negative; they’ll know. You’re gonna cut the deck in 3, okay? We’ll do a simple reading.” you explain, and only once Dazai agrees (crosses his heart and hopes to die!) is he gently handed the cards.

”What do you want to read? We can focus on love, or money, or your career, things like that.” You say. Dazai ponders for a moment before sniffing, mouth settled into a pompous pout.

”I want to know if someone will finally be interested in a double suicide with me.” He huffs. You scoff.

”You’re insane. Okay, so love. Think about that while you cut them.” You nod, giving him the go-ahead. He runs his fingers over the well-loved edges and slots his thumbs through the deck where it feels right, setting the individual cuts down on the desk before them. He tries to take it as seriously as possible, though thinking about love has always made him squirm and itch beneath his skin.

You reach over once he’s done and clear your throat, carefully picking the top cards on each deck and laying them out in front of him. On the left, the first card flipped is a wheel, seemingly in the sky and surrounded by clouds. The clouds float by calmly, though Dazai can’t find anything particularly personal to you the way some of the other cards would show.

It’s made a little more difficult considering the card’s orientation- upside down.

You hum at it before moving on. The card in the middle is revealed, and this one piques his interest. He grins a little at the image. Two figures hold goblets in their hands, strings of power rising from the cups and meeting above their heads to form a Yin and Yang sign. The figures are startingly familiar- one dark-haired, the other light-haired. Accents in their hair match each other, silver and black clashing and melding nicely. This one’s facing right-side up. The image flickers to show the energy that swirls around, occasionally circling their respective holders.

The last one flicks onto the wooden desk with a hollow sound. The image is soft, not unlike the first one with the blue sky. A sun takes up the upper half, rays pronounced against the sky. Ttheire’s a little kid in the illustration, their beaming face scrunched up in happiness. There’s a flag clutched in one hand, with the other gripping onto the mane of the white horse they’re perched upon. Sunflowers frame them, peaking over the illustrated garden wall behind them.

It’s an endlessly endearing picture, and from the smile, he has a feeling he knows who it is. Like the last one, it’s right-side up.

You settle your chin against your palm, leaning on the table with a hum.

”That’s….a really nice reading, actually.” You move to point at the cards. Dazai sits patiently with his hands on his lap. Nothing more fascinating than seeing someone in their element, he supposed.

”That first one is The Wheel of Fortune. Upside down, it’s a little darker. It represents your past,” you pause, looking at him for a moment. “I think for you, it’s focused on the feeling of helplessness—lack of power or control…like you had love but couldn’t control how and when you lost it,” you say, your voice soft. Dazai fights to ignore the discomfort building in his throat.

”Well, what can I say? My dark past haunts me,” he bemoans, and you huff a soft laugh. You move on to the next card- the cups. You look a little embarrassed by this one.

”This one is the present. Two cups represent…well, partnership. More specifically, the realization of a new partnership. This one can be pretty romantic. I guess you’ve got something to look forward to soon,” you say, pointedly ignoring the images of his two kohais. He grins, sparing you of the teasing. He didn’t know how well you even knew Akutagawa- but it was amusing to see everyone could see what those two denied vehemently.

”The last one is the future. You got The Sun, which is actually really sweet.” Through your embarrassment, Dazai watches a sweet smile grow on your face. He matches it easily.

“It means joy and success, for you in particular. It means…whatever or whoever your two cups is for, you’ll be very happy together.” You say, and Dazai sighs wistfully.

”Maybe someone will finally want to commit suicide with me! This news might keep me alive a day longer just yet,” Dazai coos. You groan and take a deep breath, seemingly ignoring him as you duck your head down and then start to put the cards back.

”You better hope you didn’t piss this deck off, Dazai.” you huff, glaring. Dazai pouts, cradling his face in his hands.

“What?! I followed all your rules; I would never,” he whines. You flip him off and busily tuck the cards into a soft leather pouch. He lets his hands drop and watches for a moment.

”Thanks for the reading,” Dazai says, his voice back to normal. You glance at him and smile.

”Yeah, no problem. It’s nice to read without my ability once in a while,” you admit, expression soft. He grins. Something stirs in his chest.

”You can read me whenever you want, lovely.” He purrs jokingly. You startle, flushing. You glare and kick him with your foot.

”Don’t say shit like that,” you mutter. Dazai whines out a laugh, having settled on teasing you until he could see the smoke coming out your ears.

Before he could continue, the door creaks open, and the overhead lights flick on. Multiple people come shuffling in, and Dazai can hear Kunikida conversing lowly with Fukuzawa. The secretaries also file in, chattering contently amongst themselves. Fukuzawa and Kunkida pause only to greet them both. you wave politely, and Dazai salutes them both.

you blink your eyes to adjust to the light now flooding the room. Dazai huffs and stands with a groan.

”Alright, I’ve got five minutes to get out of here. You’ll be going in to see Shachou, right?” He asks, stretching. you stand and nod, giving him a look.

”Where are you going?” you ask, picking up your bag. He groans at the way his back pops as he rights himself from his stretching.

”Home. I only came here 'cause I was bored. But in the long run, it’ll be a lot funnier if Kunikida’s mad all morning when I don’t show up~” He snickers. you shake your head, a smile pulling at your mouth.

“You’re so lame. See you, then.” You sighed, heading down the hall Kunikida and Fukuzawa had disappeared down.

”And yet you love me. ‘Till we meet again,” he calls, pointedly ignoring the yell you let out.

”Whatever!” you yelped, and Dazai let the agency door click closed behind him.

He grins. Curious indeed.

note — can you tell i love brothers! atsushi and dazai? also, the woman in Judgement is Mizuki Tsujimura, who I headcanon is pretty good friends with reader in this one. :) please let me know if there are any pronoun inconsistencies! this was originally written with she/her pronouns, and i did my best to fix it to match the gender neutral style i like to use for tumblr stuffs.

#bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs #dazai x reader #gn!y/n #dazai osamu x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #dazai x you #gender neutral y/n #neev.doc

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