#not nearly as much blood as I expected for such a loud fall

[aboxthecolourofheartache]

Today I learned that I can still hop a six foot chainlink fence if I need to, granted sufficient emergency.

[freedomfireflies]

Reckless*

Summary: The third part to Knockout*

The one where Harry secretly gets paid to fight, but you're the one paying the price.

Word Count: 9.2k (...no comment)

Content Warning: 18+, violence, mentions of an abusive ex, mentions of blood, smut

Harry’s fist instantly snaps closed around your hand, subtly but pointedly tugging you back. Seeming to want to put a bit of space between you and the man standing before you.

“Oh, do you…know each other?” you ask slowly, glancing between the two rather curiously.

Jesse offers nothing more than a raise of his eyebrow, redirecting his attention back to Harry as though encouraging him to respond.

Harry merely grits his teeth. “We used to. Long time ago.”

It’s hardly an answer, somehow just as frustratingly vague as you expected, yet you nod, nevertheless. “Ah. I see.”

Jesse’s smile somehow stretches a bit bigger. “Are you working today?”

“Uh, no. Just…came by for the keys,” you answer, shifting your weight from one foot to the other almost nervously. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Thought I’d…maybe stick around a bit? Catch up?”

Harry’s grip gets stronger.

“Besides, today’s pie is apple, yeah?” he asks. “You know it’s my favorite.”

You force a tight-lipped grin and a hum of acknowledgement before the three of you fall silent. Continuing to stand by the door to the diner as the rest of the room continues on with their lunch. Their soft murmurs and clinging cutlery like white noise in the background of the conversation. 

You clear your throat. “Okay, well…I’m gonna…I’m gonna tell him goodbye, and—”

“Oh, sure, no problem,” Jesse says, waving you away before returning to the counter. “Yeah, go ahead. I’ll be right here.”

The last word has hardly left his mouth when Harry suddenly spins on his heel and drags you back through the door. Pulling you into the parking lot without so much as a goodbye before leading you around the side of the building.

“Harry,” you murmur hesitantly, almost cautious of his rather silent reaction. In the little time you’ve known him, you’ve never known him to be this quiet when he’s upset. Or this well behaved. “What’s wrong, what is it?”

He continues his furious stride until he’s brought you both into the alley. Releasing you in order to run a hand through his hair with a strained, “Fuck.”

You slow to a stop and stare at his tensed back. “Harry?”

A long pause. Deafening and loud enough to lodge your heart in your throat.

Finally, “How do you know him?”

“What?”

“Fucking Jesse, how do you know him?” he repeats, somewhat viciously.

Your head tilts. “We…I mean we’re friends, but we…we used to date. For a while. Couple years ago. Why?”

He turns, and the pinching of his features together makes your stomach twist. “Was it him?”

“…Harry—”

“Was it…him?” His eyes flick to yours. “The one you fucking told me about. The one who treated you like shit, the one who fucking threw things at you. Was it him?”

You’re almost surprised he remembered. After all, the revelation of your last relationship had been quite a while ago. An off-handed comment made one stormy night as you sat together in his favorite booth, talking about the past and exchanging odd traumas.

But he does. He remembers. And he’s looking at you like your answer is going to break his heart. 

You suck in a quiet breath and hold it deep within your chest. “Yes.”

Your voice is small. Timid and weak, nearly carried away with the wind. But it reaches him, nevertheless, and his expression guts you.

He steps back. Trying to get away, either from you or your admission. The truth he can no longer stand to be so close to.

“Why?” he whispers, and your lashes flutter. “Why did you…why would you keep him in your fucking life after he…”

You offer him the same answer you’ve offered everyone else. “I don’t know.”

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip and takes another step. Glancing over your face as if searching for more than you have to give. “Cherry…”

“I know.” You can feel the tears already working their way to your waterline. “I know, but he’s…he’s trying to do better. He’s trying to change—”

“Oh, that’s fucking bullshit,” he scoffs, hands shoving into his pockets almost vengefully. “No, that’s bullshit. He’s not…guys like him don’t change. They just get better at hiding it.”

Maybe he’s right. But it stings to hear. “I…yeah. I know. But we’re just…we’re friends. We don’t talk a lot, just when he needs help.”

“So he uses you?”

“No, he…” You hesitate. “I don’t know. I don’t think he means to—”

His vile scoff cuts through the rest of your excuse, and perhaps it’s for the better.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, fingers itching to reach for him. You feel naked without his body against yours. “I should have…I should have warned you. Or told you, I just…I didn’t think—”

“Are you safe?”

You stop. “What?”

“Are you safe?” he repeats, a tad softer. “When he’s around you, do you feel safe? Do you know that you’re safe, and that he won’t…that you can leave? If you need to?”

 You consider this for only a moment before nodding once. “Yes. He’s never…it’s never been like that. He’s just…he gets very angry. And sad. And I think…a part of me wants to help, I guess.”

His expression drops ever-so-slightly, as if wounded. “I know, Cher.” He moves closer to you once again, and you feel like you can finally breathe. He places his palm against your cheek and brushes his thumb beneath your eye. Wiping away the first tear. “You always give your kindness to those who don’t deserve it.”

 You take hold of his wrist and bite back a sigh. “Everybody deserves kindness.”

“Maybe.” His voice is quiet. Labored and thick. “But maybe you deserve it more.”

There’s something…heavy in the way he speaks. In the way he feels. As though he’s carrying the entire weight of his world – and yours – on his shoulders. 

You know there’s more to the story. More to this anger that’s so prominent in his heart and more to his background with Jesse. You want to ask, want to understand.

But if he wanted you to know, he would have offered.

Maybe he thinks he’s sparing you. Maybe he thinks he’s protecting you in the only way he can, and you feel grateful for him. Grateful for this subtle, unspoken act of intimacy and protection that you’ve become so familiar with in the time you’ve known your handsome stranger.

You choose to have faith in him. In what brought you to him.

“I have to go,” he says now, dipping down to brush his forehead to yours. “Cause if I don’t, I’ll fucking kill him.”

You smile to yourself, but a part of you knows he means it. “Okay. Will I see you again?”

His other hand slips around the back of your neck, keeping you close before he exhales a shaky breath and brings his lips to yours. Kissing you hard and with a thousand unspoken promises. “Of course. M’never gonna leave you, sweet girl. Swear it.”

And it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

You kiss him until you can’t breathe, clinging to his hoodie as if begging with him to stay. To keep himself close to you.

And when he eventually pulls away, you nearly crumple to the ground.

“Okay,” he whispers, reaching back to slip his hood on. “Okay, I gotta go. Or I’ll never leave.”

You touch your fingers to your lips and nod once. “I know. Just come back, okay?”

He grins, and it’s wickedly delicious. “Always.”

With that, he turns around, and disappears down the alley. Rounding the corner of the building before disappearing from sight.

Leaving you exactly where he found you, only a few hours ago.

With a heavy heart and weary mind, you make your back into the diner and toward the man still waiting for you.

Jesse has never scared you. Annoyed you, but never scared you. He’s been in your life far longer than you care to admit, ever since you were just kids. And maybe that’s why you keep him around. Because a part of you believes you owe it to the people you used to be.

You loved him. You really did. He was cute, charming, witty. He made you smile, made you laugh. He listened when you talked, said all of the right things. Of course you wanted to believe him when he said he’d do anything to make it work.

His anger had taken him away from you. Had changed who he was. Or perhaps merely highlighted who he’d always been.

He was the one to end things. Claiming he could never offer you the life you deserved. That until he had his temper under control, he couldn’t be with you. You had agreed to remain friends and help him when he lost his way.

He seems to lose his way a lot these days.

And maybe that’s the part that scares you…just a little bit.

“Hey, sugarplum,” he calls once you enter, grinning brighter than he has in weeks. “You all right?”

You nod as you join him near the counter, hands disappearing into your pockets as if to hide. “Mhm. Are you?”

“Absolutely.” He leans over to nudge his elbow against yours. “Feel like it’s been forever.”

“Jess, I saw you last week,” you can’t help but laugh.

“I know, but that was last week,” he argues coyly. “Which is like a lifetime ago.”

And even if there’s a part of you that feels cautious of him, there’s also something so familiar about his company. The sound of his voice, the way he laughs. His effortless ability to remind you of the way things used to be.

Despite how it ended, you can’t help but feel calmed. Your muscles unwinding as you grow a bit more comfortable in his presence.

“Ha, very funny,” you tease, stepping closer as though drawn in by his charm. “Well, if you’re waiting for the apple pie, that’s not until tomorrow.”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to come back.”

The conversation lulls as the two of you smirk at each other, and for the first time in days, you don’t feel so on edge.

 “Fine,” you agree. “But you can’t come back to the kitchen with me. Not after last time.”

He pretends to pout, but it only makes you smile. “Oh, come on. Everything was going so well up until the flour incident.”

You reach out and shove his shoulder playfully, and he laughs. “All right, enough. Why are you really here?”

“I told you, I wanna catch up. Clearly I’ve missed a lot.”

The mention of Harry is like a sharp needle to your blissful bubble, popping you free of his spell until you come crashing back to earth. “Right. How, um…how again do you guys know each other?”

“Oh, we don’t. Not really,” Jesse explains, shrugging one shoulder up almost casually. “We used to go to the same gym. Spot each other now and then. But we never really knew each other, I guess.”

“Ah.” 

“Was kind of surprised to see him with you, though,” he adds. “But good surprised. I told him he should come check out the diner, and I’m glad to see he listened."

Harry’s previous mention of how he found you suddenly clicks, and you nod, eyes drifting toward the floor. “Yeah, he…he seems to like it here.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Good.” He seems oddly thrilled by this. “And I guess you two are…?”

The implication brings a rush of heat to your cheeks, and you quickly shake your head as you step back. Almost as though guarding yourself from his question. “Oh, no, we’re…we’re just friends. Or we’re…yeah. Friends.”

His brows furrow but he’s smiling. “Are you…sure about that?”

No. “Yeah. We don’t…we don’t really know each other that well, is all. We just…we like to talk.”

“I see.” He studies you for a moment, somewhat curious. “I’m glad he found something here he likes so well.”

The heat in your face begins to burn. “Yeah, he…he really likes the pies.”

Jesse hums, expression mischievous. “Yes. The pies.”

You force a laugh and nudge him again. “Okay, enough. I should…I should probably get back—”

“Wait,” he interrupts, slipping off the stool in order to get closer, “is there…any chance you’d fancy a drive? Thought we could go around the block a few times like we used to. Just…listen to the radio and people watch.”

Truth be told, the offer is compelling. Because you know if you go home, all you’ll do is worry. About Harry, about Jesse. About all the things you wish you could do for them but can’t. 

Maybe a distraction is what you need. One day where you aren’t expected to fix everybody else’s problems but your own.

So, you nod. Tentatively but with a small grin that makes Jesse’s entire expression light up. 

“Great,” he chuckles before nodding his chin at you. “So…do you want me to drive? Like old times?”

Your answer is to dig back into your pocket for the keys before tossing them over. “Think you already know the answer to that.”

He laughs again and spins the ring around his finger. “Then let’s hit it, sugarplum.”

It’s almost too easy to settle back into your old habits. To follow him to your car, hop inside the passenger seat, and allow him to take you away.

And it’s nice. Comfortable and…safe. Windows down, music loud. The two of you singing along with every bad song that comes on. It really does feel like it used to, and for just one evening, you forget about everything else. And you let yourself just…be.

The two of you drive around the city until the sun goes down. He tells you about his new job at this fancy law firm and you tell him about this new recipe you’re working on for the diner. You talk, and you laugh, and you sing until your stomach hurts. 

You forget. And you’re okay with that.

“Okay,” he finally declares not much later after a quick glance at the clock. “I know you have to get back, but I just have one last thing I want to show you.”

Your brow raises. “Oh? What?”

“A surprise.” He begins to grin, almost wickedly, and it makes you smirk. “It’ll just be a quick little detour, and then I’ll have you home. Promise.”

You consider this for only a moment before sighing. “Fine. But just for the record, I hate your surprises.”

He merely winks before taking a left and leading you both out of town.

The further you go, the darker it gets. This part of the city appears to be rather neglected, with very few lights along the street to guide you. The buildings are rundown and abandoned, there’s police tape over half the doors and boards across half the windows. 

Sketchy would be putting it mildly.

Yet Jesse appears undeterred, swinging into one of the large, unkempt parking lots where a collection of cars are already gathered.

“I don’t…understand,” you begin slowly, glancing around the dark space in search of answers. 

However, instead of answer, he merely puts the car in park, tosses you the keys, and hops out. “You’ll see. Come on.”

Despite your hesitancy, you choose to follow, trailing after him as he begins toward one of the shabby buildings just up ahead. 

There’s a strange sort of itch crawling its way up the back of your neck. Blossoming into your cheeks until you feel a twinge of apprehension.  

But Jesse walks ahead as though he hasn’t a care in the world. Nonchalant and relaxed, leading you to the door.

Then, he knocks twice, stops, and adds three more.

A beat passes before there’s a sharp, electric buzzing. Immediately followed by the sound of something rather heavy before the door suddenly swings open.

Your breath catches.

The inside of this disheveled building is divine. Luxury drips from floor to ceiling, a rather stark contrast to its exterior. There’s fresh paint on the walls, towers of champagne in each corner of the room, and a crowd of men and women dressed to the nines in their most elegant and expensive outfits.

But there’s something off. They’re yelling, and cursing, and cheering. Raising their glasses while shouting at something happening in the middle of the room. 

And that’s when you see him.

Even from this distance, you’d recognize him anywhere. The soft, sweaty curls matted to his forehead. The blood that drips from his mouth and jaw. The tattoos and marks that glisten from his chest – the same tattoos that you saw for the first time only hours ago.

Your stranger. Landing hit after hit to the man standing just opposite him inside the large ring. 

You don’t move. You don’t think you can breathe. You can’t think straight or understand…and then Jesse throws his arm around your shoulder.

“Let’s go have a look, yeah?” It’s posed like a question, but he’s already leading you toward the crowd before you can decide on your answer.

Your heart is in your toes as he slips through the collection of onlookers. Pulling you to the front until you have a near perfect view of the violence happening only a few feet away.

A perfect view of him.

You’re not sure how long he’s been at it. Clearly long enough, if the new cuts and fresh bruises are any indication. He doesn’t seem to notice you, instead throwing his arm toward his opponent before ducking down to miss the strike back. 

You hear yourself gasp as you recoil away from the forceful blow, nearly hiding yourself beneath Jesse’s arm while he laughs.

“What’s the matter, sugarplum?” he hums. “Thought you’d wanna see what your little boytoy gets up to when he’s not with you.”

You can hear it now. The vindictive sneer hidden beneath his charming chuckle. And that uncomfortable itch begins to burn as you pull yourself back in order to see him. “What?”

Jesse nods toward the boxing ring. “You see, when he’s not with you…he’s quite busy. Beautifully and spectacularly fucking me over.”

You feel the blood drain from your face. “What…what are you talking about?”

“Do you know what this is?” He raises a brow. “Do you know what he really does?”

“He…he fights. He gets paid to fight.”

“Right. And who do you think pays him?”

And that’s when it happens. That’s when the final puzzle piece clicks into place, and you understand. You see the whole picture laid out in front of you, and it wears his face.

“You.” It’s a strained, timid whisper that’s buried beneath the loud, vulgar hollering.

Jesse nods. “Exactly. I pay your boyfriend to beat the shit out of anyone dumb enough to get into that ring with him. And all he has to do…is fucking win.”

The cheering grows louder in your ear as he steps closer. Forcing your attention to split between the two men.

“But I have a problem,” he continues. “You see, Harry can win a fight in his goddamn sleep. He never loses. Ever. That’s why I pay him so much fucking money. That’s why I’m his sponsor.”

Your stomach twists.

“So, imagine my surprise when he suddenly started to lose. Night after night. Over and over. Constantly and consistently losing fights he should have been able to win with his fucking eyes closed.”

There’s something trapped in your throat. The room is spinning, and there’s a ringing in your ear that just won’t quit. 

“And then I find out…he’s fucking throwing them.” His hand finds your hip and he turns you toward the ring. “Every goddamn night, he throws the fight. Because, for some reason, he seems to think that these fights are up to him. He thinks that he gets to decide who wins and who loses.”

He leans down now, lips hovering near your ear while his voice settles into a rather malicious hiss. 

“But the only person that really loses…is me,” he sneers. “Because if he doesn’t win, then I lose a shit ton of money on him. And I don’t really think that’s fair…do you?”

You suck in a quiet breath right as Harry steps back to avoid a massive swing before landing his own blow just beneath the man’s jaw. 

“So, I wondered. Wondered why the switch. Why he’d suddenly be willing to lose so much money and allow his ass to get kicked into his throat…for nothing.”

He leans back now, and your lashes flutter.

“And then I found him…with you.” He tsks almost teasingly while his head cocks to the side. “Seems my best fighter has found himself distracted. Pussy-whipped by a pretty face that serves him fucking pie. And he thinks that if he throws the fights…he can save you.”

A set of knuckles connect with Harry’s left cheek, sending him stumbling back while you suck in a sharp inhale and turn away.

“So…I want you to watch,” Jesse tells you, snaking an arm around your waist in order to keep you in your spot. “I want you to fucking see what you’ve done to him.”

Your features twist into a fearful grimace as you drag your eyes back to the ring. Watching as Harry swipes the back of his hand across his mouth to clear the blood before surging forward. He swings and it’s a miss. Arm flying over the other man’s shoulder before he’s shoved toward the rope.

He’s losing. A few more strikes to the face and you’re almost sure he’ll pass out.

And you don’t understand. Can’t comprehend any of this. Why Jesse brought you here, why Harry does this to himself, and why you’re somehow a part of it.

They lied. They both did. Harry looked you in the eye and told you he didn’t know Jesse. Even when he knew about…all of this.

Jesse being involved in some sort of illegal fight club doesn’t surprise you. Perhaps it should, and yet, it might be the least surprising thing you’ve learned so far. 

But Jesse being Harry’s sponsor…being the one who pays him to do this to himself, who gambles on Harry’s very life…

Another strike is laid to his jaw, forcing Harry’s head to snap to the side.

And he sees you.

You watch the realization pass over his face in real time. The way his eyes widen and his lips part.

He stumbles back from the blow, catching himself on the ropes before Jesse tightens his hold on your hips…and Harry looks over.

The rage that settles into the lines and details of his features is evident. The way his teeth grit together, the way the veins in his neck strain against his skin, the way his fingers flex by his side.

He must understand why you’re here now and he channels this understanding and rage into his next hit.

He spins to the side, flings his arms around his opponent’s waist, and yanks him down.  Throwing him so hard to the floor, you’re almost surprised he doesn’t break his spine right down the middle.

Half of the crowd cheers while the other half yells in disappointment.

But Jesse merely smirks.

And you realize that this is what he wanted. To use you as a tool in his game. A pawn for his pleasure until Harry’s hand was forced.

Harry rears back only to raise his fist into the air. Over and over, he lands his knuckles to the man’s face. Hit after hit after hit until there’s blood everywhere. Dripping from his knuckles, the man’s nose, his mouth.

He doesn’t stop. Even long after he should, and the man has gone limp. He goes and goes and goes until the referee has to physically step into the ring and drag him back.

And the fight is declared over.

They grab Harry’s wrist and sling it into the air, raising his arm in victory while the room hollers their support. 

Your heart is racing inside your chest, going far too fast, and you feel a rush of blood to your head. Your knees are shaking, and your hands feel clammy, and you can’t breathe and why won’t that ringing in your ear stop?

“This is what he’s good at,” Jesse murmurs to you now, lips ghosting down the shell of your ear. “This is all he’s good for. And he fucking knows it.”

The room begins to disperse while Harry is led out of the ring and into the shadows on the far side of the building. 

Your eyes and your heart go with him.

“So, you’re gonna do what you do best,” Jesse continues. “You’re gonna remind him why he has to fucking win. Because if he throws one more goddamn fight…I’ll fucking kill him myself.”

With that, he releases you, and turns around. Disappearing into the crowd before you can stop him.

You stand there, in the middle of this extravagant room, and you stare at the ring. And the blood stains on the mat. And the shadows that dance across the floor from the chandelier on the ceiling. The collection of empty glasses and empty promises that are scattered about the vast space.

Then, your feet are pulling you toward the door Harry disappeared into. Taking you to him, despite everything else. Because even after all of this, you want to help him. To make sure that he’s okay, and…and fix him. Somehow. 

The door leads to a hallway that leads to what you can only assume is a locker room. It’s empty when you arrive, although you aren’t too surprised. The other fighter was taken to the opposite end of the building, and the people who led Harry away don’t seem to be around.

You hesitate for only a moment, attempting to decipher if you truly feel safe being alone with him after everything you’ve seen in the past 24 hours.

But the answer is obvious.

So, with a deep breath, you brave a step inside. 

The shower is running. Steam already beginning to dance through the air as you pass by the collection of lockers and benches. Looking for any sign of him. Your stranger who perhaps isn’t so strange anymore.

You see his clothes tossed toward the floor. See a trail of scarlet streaks leading you further into the room and toward the showers just around the corner.

And you don’t hesitate now as you step past the wall in order to see him.

He’s standing beneath the stream of water, one hand braced against the wall as he stares down at the floor. Watching the blood disappear down the drain.

And he’s…beautiful. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him – all of him – and you feel your breath hitch as you step closer. Allowing your eyes to travel along his tall, tensed frame. From his curls to his thighs and everything in between.

“Harry?”

Your voice snaps his head up, and he turns. Instantly pushing off the wall in order to fully face you. 

“Cherry, you can’t be here,” he breathes, and it’s almost lost beneath the heavy stream of water. “Can’t be in here, it’s not safe—”

But you’re already moving closer, toeing off your shoes and tossing your jacket aside before stepping inside the showers. 

His lashes flutter, the muscles in his stomaching quivering as he leans back. “Cher, I mean it. You can’t…I can’t let you see me like this.”

You step up to him. Ignoring his protests and the water pouring from the ceiling, you step up, you put your arms around his shoulders…and you hold him.

At first, he goes still. Deathly still, almost bracing himself from your touch. Afraid of what it means.  

Then, he settles. Understands that you only want to help, and slumps into your embrace while his face buries into your neck.

You reach up and run your palm down his head. Carding your fingers through the wet curls before squeezing the back of his neck. “You’re okay.”

He takes in a sharp inhale, arms snaking around your middle. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says again. And his voice breaks like the cracks of a sidewalk.

You merely hold him tighter. “But I am.”

And there’s so much to say. So much to understand and question, but right now, he just needs you to hold him. To let him know that it’s okay – that he’s okay.

That you’re not going anywhere.

You stand there for what feels like hours. Until your clothes become soaked, and your fingers begin to prune. But you keep your grip on him tight. Offering nothing more than soft murmurs of, “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

He’s angry. So very angry, and you can feel it in the way his muscles twitch beneath your hands. Can hear it in the shallow breaths he takes and the clenching of his jaw. 

He’s trying to keep himself together. For you. But he’s moments away from slipping, and you can only hope you’ll be able to bring him back.

“Harry?” you whisper, scratching your nails down his bare shoulder.

His head shakes. “No. I don’t wanna fucking talk about it.”

“Har—”

“No.” He leans back, lip curled up into a snarl. “No, I can’t…I fucking can’t—”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupt, taking hold of his wrists to keep him close. “Okay, I understand—”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says for the third time. “You aren’t supposed to be here, and I can’t fucking believe he brought you.”

“I know. I know, but I’m okay. It’s okay, I promise—”

“What did he say?” His eyes flick between yours. “What did he say to you?”

You feel your insides twist as you squeeze his hands. Taking a moment to find the right words. “He…he wanted me to see what you really do. And…to tell you that you have to win.”

His brows stitch together. “What else?”

“Nothing,” you lie. “Just…just that.”

And maybe he doesn’t believe you. Maybe he knows there was more to Jesse’s threat, but it doesn’t matter because he’s tugging himself out of your grasp and turning toward the wall before you can argue. Sending his knuckles straight into the tile until it cracks.

You gasp, quickly surging forward to pull on his arm in protest. “Harry—”

Surprisingly, he allows you to yank him away, but he doesn’t look at you. He keeps his venomous glare on the drain, chest heaving with uneven breaths.

But you aren’t deterred. Instead, you guide him back to you, and lift his hands. Studying the torn skin of his knuckles closely with a sigh. “Harry…”

The wounded waver in your voice makes his expression soften, and he allows his shoulders to roll back. Releasing a bit of his rage. “It’s okay. M’okay, Cher—”

“No,” you argue softly. “No, you’re…”

You can’t find the words. Can’t find the right thing to say that explains this anguish in your heart. That lives within your chest.

So, instead, you bring his ruined hands to your lips, and you hold them there. Kissing the stained, battered skin while he sucks in a quiet breath. 

And you don’t care. About any of it. About the fights, or the lies, or the threats. You don’t care what he really does or who he really is. 

You just want him to be happy. To be safe. No matter what that looks like. No matter what you have to do to make that a reality. 

You want to kiss away his scars, kiss away his pain. Take it and make it your own. Carry the weight he’s been trying to carry all by himself.

You don’t want him to be alone. You want to keep him, you want…

He watches you. Keeps his eyes glued to nearly every inch of your face as you do this. And something changes for him. You aren’t sure what.

But he sets his anger free before slipping his fingers from yours in order to take hold of your face.

And he kisses you. Pulls you to him almost desperately before pressing his lips to your own.

It’s soft, and sweet, and so deliciously him. Gentle despite everything else you’ve seen from him today.

He steps forward, subtly pushing you back. Again and again until your back meets the wet, tile wall.

He holds you there almost hesitantly before straightening up and deepening the kiss. Slipping his tongue in beside yours and savoring everything you have to offer. 

And you let him take whatever he’d like. Allow him to have all of you as his chest meets yours and he cages you there. Hungry kisses now moving for your neck.

His touch travels to your hips, nails curling into your shirt as though resisting the urge to grab hold. And you smile as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. Breath hitching at the way his thigh brushes against yours.

You drop one hand to his chest. Allow the tips of your fingers to dance along the swallows on his collarbone and toward the muscles in his abdomen. Careful to mind his stitching and new cuts.

And he seems to remember now that he’s completely bare to you, his mouth falling still against your wet skin as he steadies himself.

Quickly, you stop yourself from going any further, settling atop his stomach before nosing under his jaw. “You’re so beautiful, Harry.”

He says nothing, lips ghosting across your pulse point before pressing in deep. 

“All of you,” you whisper. “You’re beautiful.”

His lashes flutter shut while his arm loops around your back. Face burying in your shoulder as though to hide, and you wonder if he’s embarrassed or enthralled. 

Either way, you gingerly ask, “…may I touch you?”

There’s a quick pause before he nods. Only once, and then he returns to leaving an array of kisses to your throat. Nipping at the skin until you smile.

So, you continue your search, moving your hand toward his hips and down until you feel him.

And the moment your palm brushes against his cock, you both gasp. Straightening up almost attentively before settling back into the pleasure. 

Your thumb finds his slit and he curses. Hands tightening around the fabric of your shirt, keeping you against the tile as if he’s worried you’ll disappear.

“Shit,” he mumbles, palm moving to your cheek. “Baby, you know you don’t have—”

“Shh.” You wrap your fingers around the tip before smoothing down. “I want to. Please?”

When he says nothing, you stop, and it forces an instant groan. His body seeming to have made the decision for him.

“Yes,” he finally says, nodding again but quicker. “Shit, yes, Cherry. Can do whatever you want. M’yours.”

And it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

You chase after his pleasure as though your life depends on it. And perhaps it does, but you certainly don’t mind. Because his grunts and pants are deliciously addictive. And you could spend the rest of your life touching him if it meant you’d get to hear just one more.

And maybe now you understand why he’s also so determined to do the same for you.

You run your hand up and down his cock, squeezing the tip before moving lower. Palming at his balls before dragging your touch back to the top. 

He does his best not to rush you or overwhelm you. Resisting the urge to buck his hips closer in a desperate attempt for more.

Instead, he focuses his attention on you. A role he seems much more comfortable in.

He kisses you everywhere he can. Your lips, your cheeks, your jaw, your nose, your neck. Below your ear, along your collarbone, and down the dip in your shirt.

Then, his fingers slip down to your jeans. Absentmindedly fiddling with the button before he whispers, “Can I touch you, sweet girl? Wanna make you feel good, too.”

And who are you to deny him?

“Always,” you whisper back, releasing him for only a moment so he can wrangle the wet material down your legs. 

Once he has, he straightens up, and runs his palm along the inside of your thigh. Indulging in the feel of your skin while you take him back in your hold.

And it’s strangely beautiful, this dance you do. The synchronicity of teasing touches and playful strokes that leave you both breathless.

Anytime you gently tighten your fist around him, he curls his finger inside your walls. And anytime you brush at his slit, he brushes at your clit. 

You both share a smile when you realize, and Harry laughs before nuzzling his face back into your neck. Tugging your skin between his teeth to muffle his groan.

“You have no idea how badly I needed this,” he says. And it’s a faint thought, perhaps not meant for your ears. “Fucking need you, baby. Always.”

Your head drops back against the wall. Your body already growing sluggish under the weight of undeniable euphoria he inflicts.

“You always have me,” you tell him. “I’ll do whatever you want—”

“Shit.” He yanks your chest to his, mouth painting warm, wet kisses along your skin. “Don’t say that. Don’t, or I’ll never stop.”

You grin. “Maybe I don’t want you to stop.”

You go faster. Finding a pace he seems to enjoy and zeroing in. You want him to cum – need him to cum. To offer him that release and that promise of more. 

And it works. His tattoos rise and fall under the weight of his frantic gasps for air. He’s tipping over the edge, just needing a final push, and you want to get him there more than anything. Want to see what his face looks like when it’s overcome with pleasure. When he’s releasing into your hand, or your mouth, or your cunt. Want to feel him, know how his body moves when it’s spent.

“Please,” you murmur, almost anxiously as you work him closer. “Please, Har…let me feel you. Wanna feel you cum, please.”

He moves to squeeze the back of your neck before his hand disappears into your hair. Gently but pointedly tugging on your roots. “Baby—”

“It’s okay. It’s okay, you can cum. Can cum for me—”

“Fuck.” He jolts forward, fingers slipping from your cunt. “So good to me, sweet girl. So fucking good to me. Don’t deserve you. Never deserved you—”

“Yes,” you nearly whine. “Of course you do, Har, please—”

He cums with a soft groan that bleeds into your throat. Woven between his kisses and flicks of his tongue to your skin, and it’s everything. The warmth, the feel, the implication. It covers your hand, and wrist, and even parts of your thighs. 

And you watch it drip down toward the floor almost regretfully, but you’re mesmerized. Addicted to something you only just discovered, and desperate for more.

But he gives you no time to reminisce, instead moving his mouth to yours in order to show you exactly how much it meant to him.

  “Knew you’d be good,” he remarks playfully, nipping at your bottom lip before squeezing your waist. “Fucking knew, yeah?”

You release his cock as gently as you can before smoothing your palms up his chest and into his hair. Tugging on his curls in order to bring him closer. “Just for you.”

He smirks to himself before leaning back to study you. Glancing over your body as though in search of something. And the longer he looks, the angrier he appears to become.

Then, he mumbles, “He fucking touched you.”

Your heart wrenches. “…Har—”

“He touched you,” he says again, bitterly, and almost to himself. “He fucking put his hands on you and he made sure I saw. Wanted me to see, and now…now I can’t see anything else.”

You don’t think you’ve ever felt a panic like this. “Harry, please—”

He crouches down, large hands curling around your thighs and pulling them as far apart as they’ll go. Which, admittedly, isn’t very far because of the jeans still pooled around your ankles. But he doesn’t mind, instead staring at your legs rather thoughtfully.

Finally, he looks up.

“I need to wash him away,” he whispers, and your stomach leaps into your throat.

“What?”

“I need to wash him away,” he repeats softly, moving closer to ghost his lips along your hip. “Need to erase him. Need to clean him off you.”

Your fingers twitch by your side, and you aren’t even sure what to say. Because the look in his eye is unrelenting, and you can see how badly he wants this.

“Okay,” you exhale. “Okay, erase him. Make me yours again.”

And this is all he needs to hear, wasting no more time before smoothing his lips and his hands along your thighs and waist. Repainting every inch of you with his touch. Washing away the metaphorical marks Jesse left when he held you and replacing them with his own. 

Even if it’s not inherently sexual, it’s the most erotic and wonderful thing you’ve ever experienced. The way he feasts on your flesh like a man on a mission. Nipping and licking at you just to make you whimper. He’s nowhere near your clit and it doesn’t even matter because he’s so divine.

The heat of his mouth on your cool, wet skin. The way he gingerly kneads at your ass in an attempt to comfort you. Tenderly pulling you closer as though you’re somehow still too far away.

“I’m sorry, Cherry,” you hear him sigh, and it makes your insides tighten. “M’so fucking sorry for doing this to you. For bringing you into this.”

Your expression drops while your head shakes. “You didn’t. You didn’t, I asked. I asked to be a part of you, and I don’t regret that.”

But it’s like he can’t hear you over the sound of his shame. Instead kissing you softer as if to apologize. “It’s my fault. Should have told you the moment I saw him. Should have taken you with me. Shouldn’t have left you with him when I fucking knew—”

“Hey.” You reach down and take hold of his hair. Yanking his attention to you. “None of this could ever be your fault. Do you understand?”

He seems to ignore this as well, nudging his nose against your hip with a crestfallen expression that makes you want to scream.

So, you tug harder, forcing his head back and his eyes on yours. “This is who Jesse has always been. You didn’t change that, and you never will. And I know that. I know him. I know his heart and I know what he’d do to hurt me.”

His lips part, as if going to speak, but you merely tighten your grip in an unspoken order to remain silent.

“And I know you,” you continue. “I know that this is who you are. All of this. The fighting and the bets and the torture you put yourself through. And I know that you would never hurt me. That you have always done your best to protect me, even if I didn’t know what I was being protected from.”

His hands begin to drop down your legs and toward the floor, an act of complete submission. 

“This is not your fault,” you repeat earnestly. “You are not responsible for Jesse’s intentions, and you’re certainly not reasonable for mine. And I need you to know that. Okay? You have to know that. Because I have never felt safer than I do with you.”

His features remain unchanged, and you wonder if he heard anything that you said at all. If he understood and internalized your instance. If he’ll believe it.

And then—

“I love you.”

You feel your pulse skip inside your chest as you suck in a quiet breath. “What?”

“I love you, Cherry.” He says it again without pause, without a moment’s hesitation. Proving that it wasn’t a mistake or a trick of the mind. He really said it. And he meant to. “And m’so fucking sorry it took him for me to realize it.”

You aren’t sure what to do. What to say or…what to think, but he’s already shaking his head and offering you a small smile before you can decide.

“I don’t want you to say it,” he says quickly and quietly. Slipping your hand from his hair in order to press his lips into your palm. “I just want you to know. And I wish I could have done it differently, but…I do, I love you. And I will do everything I can to prove that to you.”

You want to tell him that he already has. Want to tell him a lot of things that maybe you shouldn’t, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

He merely kisses your hand before moving back to your thighs. Looking for your permission to continue. 

Breathlessly, you give it to him.

With a soft grin and great care, he extends his tongue and slowly drags it up your clit. He’s not rushing this time. He’s enjoying it. Allowing himself to indulge in your taste and your feel as you slump against the tile and let him.

He leaves a trail of apologies and promises along your pussy. Kissing, sucking, and flicking until you squirm. And he’s so focused, so dedicated to your orgasm. To making you understand how badly he needs you.

And you do understand. More than you’ve ever understood anything else.

“Love to see you, baby,” he murmurs after a moment, now running the tip of his finger between your folds and down. Taunting you with the intrusion yet not giving it to you. “Love to see this pretty pussy take me.”

You whine pitifully before he finally pushes in. Allowing your walls to beckon him closer until he hums.

“Can’t wait to see you take my cock,” he muses, thrusting the digit once or twice before bringing a second into play. “Gonna watch you stretch for me. Gonna just sit and watch this sweet, little hole take me in. Get me nice and warm. Till I’m soaking in you. Fucking drenched—”

“Harry,” you whine, overcome by a rather euphoric rush that makes him smirk. “Harry, please—”

“What, sweet girl? You like the sound of that?” He ignores your cries and flicks his tongue against your clit. “S’okay. I do, too. Think about it more than I should. Think about you and this tasty little cunt till I’m fucking my fist in the shower.”

The lewd image that’s painted in your head makes your toes curl, and you imagine you’d give anything to watch.

“But it’s not nearly as good as when you do it,” he says coyly. “Won’t ever be able to picture anything else but your sweet, little hand wrapped around my cock. Making me cum like a good girl.”

He adds a third finger, and your vision goes hazy.

“And this,” he breathes, fucking into you a bit faster. Until the sound of your arousal bounces between the walls. “Replay this in my head every goddamn day. The way you sound when you take my fingers, take my tongue. S’fucking beautiful, Cher. The best thing I’ve ever heard.”

You believe him.

“Wanna listen to you forever.” He laps at you like he’s dying of thirst. “Wanna taste you, wanna feel you. Wanna fucking hold you and never let you go. Never let anything hurt you. You’re the only good thing in my life, sweet girl. Need you to know.”

You aren’t sure if the tears in your eyes are from the pleasure or his admittance, but they fall from your cheeks almost mercilessly. And you can’t even wipe them away because, in some strange sort of way, you enjoy it. This pain and this angst that comes with the man on his knees before you.

“You’re mine, yeah?” he asks next. But the lustful undertone is gone. He’s pleading with you now. Begging you. “Not his, but mine. Always mine.”

Your agreeance comes before you can question it. “Yes…yes, I’m yours. Yours, I promise—”

 He groans into your cunt like he’s never been happier. And the reverberation down your thighs and across your clit nearly ruins you. “Say it again. Say it again, baby, please—”

“I’m yours. Just yours, Harry. Not his. Never…never his—”

“Fuck.” He pulls on your thigh in order to bury his mouth into your pussy. And you almost wonder if he’s actively trying to suffocate himself. “Again. Again, Cherry—”

“Yours.” The word drips from your tongue like honey from a honeycomb. “Just yours. Don’t wanna be anybody else’s.”

His entire face is nuzzled between your legs, and it almost kills you. Because he’s so beautiful. You’ve never seen or felt something so ethereal, and you can’t look away. Even when your eyes are desperate to fall shut, you force your attention on him. Watching as he mouths at your clit and drives in his fingers until it hits you.

You nearly collapse onto the floor, but he refuses to let you. Keeping you upright before you can go slipping down the wall and cementing you to his tongue in order to drag you through to the other side. 

“Mine,” you vaguely hear him hum, and your heart flutters. “Always mine.”

When he’s sure you’ve caught your breath, he straightens back up, and takes you in his arms. Kissing you and holding you and keeping you safe. Making sure you understand that he wants more than your orgasms. He wants you. Even without the explicit words, you know his true intentions. Know where his heart truly lies, and you settle there beside it.

Moments pass before either of you speak again. Instead listening to the sound of the running water hitting the floor. 

And you’re afraid to be the first to break this tranquility. Because you know once you do, you might not find it again. Jesse’s threat still lingers rather prominently in the forefront of your mind. And you’re terrified that every time you look at Harry…you’ll remember.

“Cherry?” he whispers minutes later, and your pulse jumps. 

You bury your face in his neck, bracing yourself from whatever he might say next. “Harry.”

He nuzzles his cheek against the crown of your head and sighs. And you can feel the heaviness of the breath leave his body. “I don’t know what to do.”

The vulnerability makes your throat run dry, and you subsequently tighten your arms around his middle. “Don’t have to do anything.”

“Cherry—”

“No, just…we’re okay,” you insist. “It’s okay. You just…you’ll win. You’ll keep fighting and you’ll win, and we’ll be okay. And I won’t have to lose you.”

A beat. “But what if I lose you?”

“You won’t. Never.”

“But he knows, Cher,” he murmurs. “He knows, and he’ll use you to hurt me. He’ll drag you into this as many times as he fucking wants, and he’ll use you. And I can’t let him – I won’t let him.”

“I don’t care. I don’t care what he does, he doesn’t scare me, Har—”

“But he fucking scares me.” His volume rises until it can carry over the shower walls. “All right? He terrifies me. Because now he has the one thing I can’t fucking…”

Your eyelids flutter before you take hold of his hand.

“And he wants to play this stupid fucking game, and I won’t let him,” Harry continues. “I won’t let him use you or threaten you, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper. “Okay, but you’re the one with all the cards. Right? He’s shown his hand. He’s shown how desperate he is. He can’t do anything to me if he really wants you to listen—”

“You don’t know him like this,” he nearly scoffs. “You don’t know what he’s willing to do—”

“Harry—”

“I can’t…I can’t,” he seethes. “I can’t get him out of my fucking head, and I can’t let him win. I won’t let him win.”

He’s unrelenting. Unwavering in this insistence and you feel as though your insides are being twisted around a knife.

All he has to do is win. All he has to do is let Jesse believe he’s still in charge. And he’ll be okay. You’ll both be okay.

“Harry,” you try again. Softer this time, hoping to reach him. “We’re gonna be fine. Okay? It’s you and me. We’ll be all right. We have to be.”

His expression instantly drops before he dips down and lays his forehead to yours. 

He says nothing else. Offers no more ideas or excuses. He simply exists in this belief and the serenity it provides.

Even if he knows it’s not strong enough to stand on.

“Okay,” he finally mumbles. “You and me.”

And it’s the best thing you’ve ever heard. Because for the first time all night, you see the way out. You see a future where he can be who he is, and you can be who you are, and it can still be all right. Where you can be together and be free of any threats and complications and just exist in this little world you’ve created.

A world outside of the diner and the backseat of his car. A world where he offers you more than his orgasms but his secrets, too. His life. And you need that. You need it more than you’ve ever needed anything in your life.

He leads you out of the shower not much later, digging through his things before offering you his hoodie and sweats to wear home. 

And there’s something so intimate about wearing his clothes. The way the tattered fabric feels against your skin. The way it smells like his cologne and the shampoo he must use. The way it fits your frame as if it was always meant to, keeping you warm despite the frigid air that greets you when you step outside.

You offer to drive him home, but he refuses. Insisting that it’s better if you don’t know where he lives, at least for right now. And you don’t have it in you to argue.

He makes you promise to lock your door the moment you get inside the car, and to lock your apartment door the moment it’s closed. You vow to do both before dragging him closer for a kiss.

And he gives it to you. He gives you five kisses, in fact. One on the forehead, one on each cheek, one on the nose, and finally…one on your lips.

 When he lets you go, you feel empty. Lost. As though a part of you is missing, and it aches the entire way home.

In fact, it aches for the next two days until you can finally see him again. And you busy about your shift, watching the clock like a hawk until midnight finally strikes, and you fly through the kitchen doors. Ready to see him and fill this gap in your chest.

But for the second time this week…booth 505 is empty. 

Instantly, the blood drains from your face. All the way down to your toes, and almost feel faint as your shaky legs carry you to his table.

However, the moment you’re close enough, you catch something just out of your peripheral, tucked just beneath the sugar dispenser. Something that most certainly wasn’t there a few minutes ago. 

A note.

With furrowed brows, you slip the folded napkin free and bring it closer. Straightening it out until you can make out the haphazard message scrawled across in black ink.

Meet me at the station after your shift.

Don’t tell Owen.

H.

Next Part:

~ Uppercut*

Previous Part:

~ Whiplash*

~ Full Knockout Masterlist

~ Main Masterlist

Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @iguessyourejustwhatineeded @dylanobandposts21 @lovebittenbyevans @caynonmoondreams @amberbambridge @percysaidnever @prettydelilah @ripesinner @fairytale07 @hannah9921 @mitochondrialeva-blog1 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @buckybarnessimpp @lomlhstyles @be-with-me-so-happily @daphnesutton @ribbonknives @stylesfever @slutforcoffein @rainycowbride @harringtonhundreds @kaybee87 @youcan-nolonger-run @tobesocoldasyou @cherryshouse @char112244 @harryscowgirl @hsbabygirl22-blog @mypolicemanharryyy @snwells @hermionelove @cherryluvhobi @becauseheartsgetbroken-hs

[intoxicated-chan]

Come Back to Me, It’s Almost Easy

��ฺ Paring ➳❥ Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader

✿ฺ Summary ➳❥ Memories from his past come back to haunt him. Reminding him of how much he’s failed.

✿ฺ (A/n) ➳❥ Inspired by “Almost Easy” by Avenged Sevenfold. I’m in the mood for some heavy angst. Requests are open!!

✿ฺ Word Count ➳❥ 870

✿ฺ Content Warnings ➳❥ Female reader, heavy angst, major character death, sleep deprivation, death, blood, light violence…

“You have a choice between saving one person or saving every world.”

Miguel knew it all too well. He’s gone through it just like every other Spider-Man, so it’s nothing new. He should’ve expected it coming which is why he never really reacted or mourned his losses.

He knows what’s coming, which means he shouldn’t have felt this awful about himself. It was almost easy for him to move on from everyone else, but the loss of the most important people broke him.

He can easily tell other Spider-Mans that it’s part of the job, so get up and continue doing what you’re doing. But when he’s asked to do it, he can’t help but cry out loud, the feeling of going crazy by asking him to forget everything. He can’t do that.

But the way he held you in his arms, the way your fingers weakly grazed his face… He won’t forget the way he begged you to stay with him, and how shameful he felt when he realized that no matter how different he chose to do things, it was always going to be the same.

“You’ve been awake for almost 48 hours, Miguel.” Peter B. told him, Mayday in his arms as he watched Miguel struggle to stay awake, “Maybe you should take a break?”

“M’fine.” Miguel nearly pulled at his hair, huffing heavily as he stared into the screen, “Everything is fine.”

“I asked if you were fine, not everyone else.”

“And I said that I am fine.” Miguel growled at Peter B. “And besides, don’t you have better things to do than bother me?”

“I’m just worried about you, Miguel.” Peter B. stepped closer but remained a good distance just in case, “Everyone else is worried, even Miles. We’re here for you.”

“And I said…” Miguel slammed his hands on his desk, “Leave me be!” Snapping at Peter B. without even looking at him, “I don’t need you breathing on my back.”

“Okay, okay.” Peter B. mumbled, hurrying off before Mayday could begin to cry.

But Miguel didn’t react, he remained hunched over at his desk. Watching as multiple screens popped up and then closed by Lyla. His eyes had started to burn, and he began to slump over his desk and maybe, fall asleep.

But the second he felt fingers running through his hair, it caused him to abruptly stand up. He scanned every inch of the room… But he was all alone.

“Miguel?” He flinched, “Are you sure you’re okay?” He then huffed after a minute, learning that it was Lyla who just spoke to him.

“Just perfect.” He heavily sighed, “Everything is perfect. Not like I’ve lost an entire family in an instant. So yeah, I think I’m doing good.”

He hears Lyla sigh, “Get some sleep.” She said but sounded like a demand, “I won’t say it again.”

He thought about the scenario over again, what mistakes he made and how easily the warning signs showed from the start. If he had never let his guard down, his family would still be alive.

Miguel sighed once more. He had to apologize to Peter B. and fast, it wasn’t his fault, he was just worried about him.

“Now do you believe me?” You softly spoke as you watched Miguel cradle his daughter in his arms, “See? You aren’t hurting her.”

“I guess I should believe you more often.” Miguel softly spoke as she began to sleep in his arms, “Thank you, (Y/n).”

“For what?”

“For giving me a chance.”

“Anything for you, Miguel. You deserve the world.”

He shouldn’t have. He never should have believed that it was all true. Pushing away his mindset and letting him fall into the beautiful feeling of love. If he didn’t, then you’d be continuing your life that didn’t involve him.

“Stay with me, (Y/n)!” Miguel cried, his tears streaming down his face, “The ambulance is almost here! Just hold on a bit longer!” But the ambulance isn’t in his sight. So, carefully, he began to stand, still holding onto you.

“Don’t.” You cough, “I need you to promise me, Miguel.” He feels your hand come up to his face, weakly trying to wipe away the tears, “Take care of her Miguel…”

He drops to his knees, “Don’t say that!” You laid on the ground, his hands coming up to cup your face.

“She’ll need her father.”

“I can’t do this without you!”

“Let her know that her mother will always love her…” You cough, then cough again, and then again until he sees blood spilling from your mouth, “No matter what happens.”

“Stop! Please!” He begs you.

“And know that forever, I’ll always love you…” Your voice gets weaker by the second, your vision begins to fade, “No matter how far you go. I’ll be here.”

He remembered the sounds of the sirens. How hard it took him to force himself to put his mask on as he watched the medical technicians try to help you.

And so, Miguel stopped wishing for a lot of things. But there was always one wish… If he could go back in time to fix things, could he be able to have the family he wished for?

© 2023 Intoxicated-Chan, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without permission.

[d0youc0py]

Hello! I was wondering if you could writing like a little one shot about this tiktok I saw it’s angsty and could be triggering so if you don’t feel comfortable with it it’s all good :) here is the link btw: https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT88wN5Fa/

You had a hard time falling asleep that night.

Maybe instinctually you knew. Knew it would be your last night with him. Knew that it would be your last night curled up in the ‘safety’ of his arms.

Your heart burned at the thought.

Did you know you were going to almost die that night?

If your thrashing and nails digging into his forearms hadn’t woken him up. If he had stayed wherever he was in his slumber for thirty-forty seconds you wouldn’t be here right now. You’d rather be dead. It would be easier than hot iron going through your chest every time you breathed.

His face. It hurt worse than the forming bruises around your neck. You could feel the air filling your lungs- your vision coming back only to see his face, twisted in agony, watching the one person he allowed himself to love come back to life after he had nearly killed them. He had thrown himself off the bed, his shaky form standing at the foot of it.

You wished you comforted him. Told him it wasn’t his fault, that it was an accident. You were scared though. So scared. Both of you knew he could’ve done so much worse. That’s why he didn’t stop you when you got up and began packing a bag, mumbling something about staying at a friends house. Neither of you knew what to do- other than run away. He stumbled on weak knees into the dinning room, not saying a word as you left.

You ended up staying at a hotel. Your sobbing was so loud you would be embarrassed showing up at a friends house in such a state.

He hadn’t moved an inch. His body rigid against the wooden chair. He was in shock. He didn’t even know what had happened, but waking up to you screaming and trying to claw his eyes out told him enough. His eyes scanned over his forearms. Deep, angry scratches cursing his skin. He ran a hand over them, the dried blood crumbling under the harsh action. That’s when it happened. The shock wore off- the adrenaline. He picked up his phone, clicking on your face.

You were too busy crying to notice the ringing.

He apologized. Nothing fancy.

“I’m sorry.” His voice cracked, a wave of pain washing over him. He hung up.

“You understand, don’t you?” Your tone was pleading. Like you wanted him to affirm you were making the right decision.

His throat burned. His jaw creaking as he continued to hold back a sob. He didn’t deserve to feel bad for himself. His red eyes trained on the wall behind you. He finally worked up the nerve to nod his head. He did agree with the decision. He obviously couldn’t control himself. You kept your arm hidden behind you. He could feel a request to see his damage about to pass from his lips. He bit it back.

“You aren’t going to say anything?” You croaked, tears continuously spilling from your eyes. His hand darted out without a second thought, the overwhelming desire to protect you wasn’t just something he could shut off. You flinched back, not expecting the sudden movement.

He stood up from his seat. He was going to break down and he couldn’t let you see it. It would change your mind. You would feel bad for him and compromise your own safety by staying with him.

“Sorry, Honey.” He managed to get out. He grabbed his bag by the door, locking it behind him.

He woke up with a gasp, his hands quickly fleeing to the damp sheets. He patted around his hand itching to grip onto some part of you. He felt nothing but icy sheets.

Suddenly he remembered.

His world collapsed for what seemed like the millionth time. Groaning to himself he sunk back down into the sheets, pulling the covers over his head. He buried his face in your scrunched up sweater.

He knew he wasn’t going to be able to fall asleep, his thoughts and actions haunting him. He hand darted out from under the covers, grabbing his phone off of the nightstand. Even though the brightness was blinding, he had found your contact with ease, his heart flipping in his chest as it rang.

You didn’t answer.

Your inbox was full.

That provided him with a bit of comfort. It meant you hadn’t deleted all the voicemails he had left you. He prayed that you listened to them, even the disgustingly sloppy ones. He meant every word of them, every apology, every plea for forgiveness. He tossed his phone not caring where it landed.

There was a knock at his door.

“We have training!” It was Gaz.

“Comin.” He yelled back. His voice cracked. He pulled himself out of bed grabbing a wrinkled shirt off of the floor, tugging it over his head.

His team eyed him, worry evident on their features.

“You try callin’ again?” Price questioned. Johnny nodded his head, filling up a large thermos with coffee.

“Inbox full.” He answered curtly.

“You know if you need to take a few days off to go home and fix it, I’ll write you up a pass.” Price offered, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

“S’alright. I think some space would do us some good.” He lied. He didn’t know what else to do. He needed time to think- come up with another course of action. He’s done everything he could think of. Call you repeatedly for forgiveness. He’s poured his heart out into letters and mailed them. He’s sent gifts to your home. He just can’t wrap his head around this being the end of you two. He was a man of action and none of his actions seemed to be fixing the problem.

He wouldn’t give up though.

“There you are. I was beginning to worry.” He gave you a nervous smile, leaning in to press a kiss against your temple.

“Sorry.” You breathed. You moved closer to him craving his warm skin against yours.

“How’s your side?” He asked softly, taking a step back.

“It’s fine Ky.” You murmured.

“I’m sorry, Baby.” He had been apologizing since that night. It actually would’ve been funny if he didn’t break one of your ribs. He had kicked you off the bed during a nightmare. He’d woken up to some terrible sights, but nothing would beat you crying on the cold, hard floor.

“I know, Ky.” You sighed. Your eyes glanced up at him and they instantly filled with tears. “I’m not mad at you. It wasn’t even your fault, Kyle. I just wish you wouldn’t treat me like I was made of glass.” Your tears boiled over and he quickly took your face in his hands shushing you. “You won’t even sleep in the same bed as me.” You whined, pawing at his shirt. His own eyes turned red, fighting against the wetness growing in them.

“I just can’t have that happen again, Lovie.” He stated firmly.

“Then why are we even together?” You growled. His face dropped, but it quickly curled again at the tightness in his chest. “If you are going to walk around like a sad puppy all day and never touch me then why are we together?” You emphasized. He took a deep breath, nodding his head in agreement. A sob left you, thinking he was about to put the last nail in your coffin. You just wanted to push him- give him a wake up call. Not actually break up.

“Fuck, Baby.” He cursed. He wrapped his arms around you careful to avoid the large bruise at your side. “You’re right I’m sorry. I’ve been acting like I’m the victim.” He peppered the top of your head in kisses- the little action making you melt against him.

“No one’s the victim, Ky. It was an accident.” You reminded. He hushed you with more kisses.

“There are spot for me in bed tonight?” He hummed and you quickly nodded your head against his chest.

I’m sorry but I can’t imagine a world where anyone would break up with freaking Kyle Garrick.

“Mein Herz, Please wait.” He pleaded, following you around your shared home. You were nearly hysterical- not that he was much better. His towering form shaking as he tripped over the tornado you were creating in the house as you grabbed your most precious belongings.

“Let me go, Konig.” You sputtered, wiping at your face.

“You need to think about this Schatz.” He warned from behind you. “It’s late, you shouldn’t be out roaming around right now. You can stay in the bedroom and I’ll stay in the guest room.” He was negotiating with you at this point.

“Why because it’s so much safer here?” You spat turning on your heels to face him. “I woke up to my husband choking me in his sleep. What if you didn’t wake up Konig?”

“I know, Mein Herz.” He choked. This was the most brutal experience of his life. He often wondered what he had done to deserve you. Now he’s beginning to realize he deserves to lose you. “We can talk about this in the morning. I know you’re scared, My Love, but you can’t just leave, especially at this time of night. Please.”

You stopped for a moment. Your heart pounding in your chest. You suddenly felt so weak. The adrenaline must be wearing off. Despite your words you knew you would be safer here than out at this ungodly hour. You kept your back to him, your words coming out harsh and cold.

“Fine. I’ll take the guest room. I want you to leave me alone though, understand?”

He swallowed hard, a few tears escaping the iron grip he had on them.

“Of course, Mein Herz.”

Thank you for reading! This probably isn’t the most accurate depiction of their personalities but I’m delusional🩷

[digital-domain]

slip

Feitan x Reader drabble // word count 1.5k

In which you dream about someone you shouldn’t, and talk in your sleep.

Tags/Warnings: yandere, kidnapped reader, mention of blood and gore (past and imagined), knives, implied noncon, implied threat of death (to reader), implied murder (not reader), reader is gonna be fucked up over this forever

A/N: first time writing this man, not sure how I feel about it but it’s either post or stare at it forever

As always - 18+, read the tags, if you don’t like the tags then don’t go below the cut. Thank you and enjoy.

There is a knife against your throat, and you barely know how it got there, much less why. You didn’t do anything. Didn’t run, didn’t try to shove your tormentor away, didn’t tell him that you wished he was dead, or worse. You wouldn’t have had the time to do these things, even if you wanted to. You hadn't been awake for a second before his hand stirred from where it had lain on your waist. And now - the blade twitches, slightly. It doesn’t press quite hard enough to make you bleed, but certainly enough to make you picture what would happen if it did. If it kept going, long past the point where red rivulets stained the threadbare sheets beneath you.

A small noise escapes your mouth. You get nothing in response. It takes time for Feitan to speak, when there’s something on his mind.

It’s taking too long, even for him.

Last night, you thought you were safe. He kissed you, after meticulously washing a stranger’s blood out from beneath his nails. He watched you fall asleep, kept a hand on you until exhaustion finally forced you to nod off in the early hours of the morning. The strange affection he gives you is worse than any cruelty you could imagine, but not nearly as bad as the thought that somehow, you’ve managed to lose it. There are no words in your mind, now, only scattered images of what might happen, what you might become, the barely-recognizable thing strewn out across the floor -

“What were you dreaming about?” Feitan’s voice is dull and quiet, as always. Like he’s asking you this over breakfast, and not on what could be your deathbed.

You don’t remember, and you don’t answer. There is no air left for you to speak. 

“What were you dreaming about?” he repeats. It’s almost the same voice, but there’s a hint of urgency, now. The barest hint - but you’ve grown used to interpreting the faint indications he gives you. “Talk.”

“I don’t”- You gasp, but seem to take in nothing. “-don’t remember”-

“You were talking when you were sleeping.” 

Statements like these are dangerous. He expects you to understand what he means, always. He does not like to elaborate.

“I…” You screw your eyes shut, try to forget where you are just enough to remember where you were. “It was night. In the dream. And I was…” Oh. No. You can’t say that part out loud. Never, ever, ever. When you open your eyes, your vision is blurry. They close once more, of their own accord. “I was sitting with someone. Talking.” Someone. Someone has no face, no name - you pray that he’ll let you leave it at that. That he won’t ask for more.

“You said…” His face is close to the back of your neck, and yet, you cannot feel his breath on your skin. “When you were sleeping, you said I love you.”

Your stomach threatens to infringe upon your throat. You curse your sleeping mind for giving you something beautiful to dream of, and for letting it slip out of your mouth. Beautiful things do not survive here, and your mouth is always better kept shut. 

“Who?” 

You’d think, in your present situation, that you wouldn’t have enough room in your head to feel terrified for anyone else. But you do. Terrified enough to try something stupid. 

You’re sure Feitan can feel the tension in your body, the instinctual way it readies itself for a fight (you would lose instantly) or an attempt at escape (you wouldn’t make it an inch). “It wasn’t about”- you choke on your own breath, try again. “It wasn’t about anyone real. Just a dream-person.”

“Bad liar,” he accuses. You do not protest. It was pointless to try. 

And yet, you try again. You know that your answer matters. Enough for you to force more lies across the blade that still presses against your skin. “Someone I used to date. A long time ago.” Really, it was only a few weeks before Feitan….found you that things ended. But time is subjective - it certainly feels like a long time has passed since then. 

“Oh.” If he suspects that you’re lying again, he doesn’t say it. But he does tend to leave a lot of things unsaid. 

“He”- You suck in a breath as the knife twitches again. The movement is not an accident. It’s never an accident - his hands are unnaturally steady, when he wants them to be. “He ended things. I don’t think he thinks about me anymore.” This needs to be true. He needs to believe that it’s true, or-

“But you still think about him.” 

Your stomach churns. “It was just a dream.” Technically not a lie, either. You’d have to say no for it to be a lie.

Feitan pauses for a moment. You’d have expected him to be furious, to take this out on you in some unimaginably awful way. Instead you hear a single sigh, feel it soft against your skin. “He let you go.” He sounds almost confused, his muted voice drawn out just enough to make his resentment clear. The knife turns slightly, and this time, you’re not sure if it was on purpose. “He must be stupid.”

You bite down on the inside of your lip, sharp and hard enough to tear a bit of the lining away. It’s awful when he says these things. Words that could be sweet, if you removed everything around them.

“I can’t control what I dream about,” you whisper, almost too quiet to be heard. “I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” He withdraws the blade, swings his feet off the bed - the floor, decrepit as it is, should creak when he stands, but it never does. “You don’t need to tell me anything else.”

You know better than to be relieved, so you turn over, to your other side, and fix your gaze on the floor. Watch him carefully, indirectly. You listen, your breath almost as silent as his, as he picks up his jacket from the end of your bed, puts it on. 

And he smiles. His face is covered, but you see it in his eyes. “I can figure out the rest.” 

The rest. 

Your heart hammers, but your blood stands still. Frozen in your veins. You know why he’s put on his jacket. Why he’s leaving. Where he’s going.

The knife still dangling from Feitan’s hand catches a shard of your reflection, a smudged picture of a terrified eye that disappears before you can look any closer.

The rest. Name, face, address - all too easy. There are clues in your confiscated possessions, in the place where you used to live. 

It’s as if the knife is still held to your throat. No. It’s as if your skin has already broken beneath it. You do not think in words. You think in gory pictures, infinitely clearer than the haze you see before forcing your eyes shut. Your blood, mixing with what you’re sure will be on that blade by day’s end. Skin-gushing-red-bones-out-something being buried, dirty hands returning to you, staining your face, your clothes, the things underneath, silent breath coming alive, painfully soft in your ear -

You open your eyes. You want to scream at him to stop, to stay. But your mouth stays shut.

“I won’t draw it out.” For a moment, he looks down, and you swear you see his face color. Like he’s said something overly sweet, and can barely stand it. “I promise.”

It’s enough to make it real. Enough to unseal your lips. “Don’t…” You should be yelling. But it’s all you can do, finding enough strength to make a near-silent, desperate appeal. “Please. You don’t have to. I’m not going to - to run. To him or anyone else. I’m not gonna do anything. I don’t - it was just a dream…”

“Stop.” His smile drops, eyes narrow. Voice even quieter than usual, deathly calm.

You go silent. Perfectly still.

“If you keep trying to save him, I’ll break my word. I already want to.” 

You forget how to breathe. 

This can’t be a choice you have to make. This can’t be in your hands. There are words in your head, finally, and you can’t say them. 

You have to say them.

“I’m sorry.” 

"Okay." He stares at you for far too long, unblinking. For seconds, or maybe hours, or maybe days - they’re all the same, to you, now. “It’s okay.”

No. He is unforgivably wrong. Nothing will ever be okay again. You’re in some other world, in your mind, and it’s going to take more than you have to yank you out of it. 

You can barely see him in front of you. His voice reverberates strangely in your head. But when he moves, it’s like your senses pull themselves together. You realize that your eyes are wet, that a tear is rolling down the bridge of your nose, that you can breathe after all, but only in ragged gasps…

“You look…nice…when you cry.” He drops his gaze once more, tugs up on the cloth that covers his face. His smile is back, creasing the corners of his eyes, and it is the ugliest thing you have ever seen. “Wonder if he thought that, too.”

[won4ver]

✈︎ pretty little braids

you would never have expected to find pink hair in your brush, especially not when you have black hair.

pairing : bf!riki x fem!reader

warnings + genre : fluff. slight angst. mentions of cheating through assumptions. profanity.

wc : 654

You could feel your heart stop as the image began painting itself. Your hold around the brush grew loose, the bristles seemingly looking illuminated, as if a light was shone brightly down between them. 

Long pink hair was entwined deep into the brush, the hue opposing your dark hair. A small scent of vanilla wafted up as you brought it closer to your eyes for inspection.

“Riki, what the fuck?” You didn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but you couldn’t care less at that moment.

“What happened?” Your boyfriend barely looked up from his laptop as he responded, his eyebrows turned down as he focused on defeating the other player.

“I’m not even kidding, I’m literally about to throw up” His head snapped up at your words, his eyes growing wide as he saw you holding a familiar brush up beside your head.

“Whose hair is this?” You watched through narrowed eyes as he clumsily made his way over towards you, his feet nearly catching the edge of the rug and his eyes never left your own.

“I swear it’s not what it looks like” He tried grabbing the brush from your hands but was unable to due to you pulling it away from his reach. “It’s not? I think it’s pretty clear right now” You plucked a piece of hair from the brush, a look of disgust on your face as you raised it between the two of you.

“Because my hair is definitely not pink” Your tone was nothing more than accusatory, eyes burning as you shot arrows at the strand tucked between two fingertips.

Riki’s chest burned as he watched your walls close in around yourself, the usual look of love adoring your irises replacing itself with disgust. 

“It’s my sister's hair, I promise” A loud scoff left your lips at his excuse, his sister's hair? The same sister that lived in Japan?

“Riki, she lives in Japan” You deadpanned, voice void of humour. Riki shook his head, his messy hair falling over his eyes. You physically had to hold yourself back from brushing back his bangs, fingers itching as they clenched.

“She’s in Korea right now, we wanted to surprise you” Riki knew of your relationship with his sister, having met you through her. 

“Well, why would her hair be in my brush?” With one hand you made quotations, your sarcasm leaking through as your annunciation grew firmer. 

Riki’s cheeks became inflamed, red spreading from his nose to the tips of his ears. One of his arms scratched the back of his neck as he avoided all contact. “Um, it’s kinda embarrassing”

Riki backtracked immediately from the look of your face, his mouth opening to spill the real reason. “I wanted to learn how those pretty little braids that she used to do for you”

He trailed off as he watched your mouth drop open in remembrance. “I thought I’d learn ever since you told me how much you missed them”

The look on your face completely changed, melting into love as your blood raced to your cheeks.

“Oh…” You didn't know what to say, embarrassment crawling up as you remembered your accusations. Riki sensed your feelings, your demeanour immediately giving you away.

He gently ran a hand down the back of your head, stopping as he reached the base of your neck. “I love you more than anything, I’m sorry I made you think otherwise”

You shook your head back and forth, a small smile on your lips as you wrapped your arms tight around his waist. “It’s okay, even if I just had a heart attack”

Within the next few hours, Riki spent the entirety of the time pampering you, small kisses dotting your cheeks from time to time. He continued the acts of love until his sister arrived at his dorm, her pink hair tied into the little braids that you missed so much.

[imagines--galore]

Since you're asking for prompts,I was envisioning Will confessing to the reader in the same way George confessed to Charlotte in Queen Charlotte (the "my heart calls your name" confession) and thought it would suit Will really well!! Like maybe reader puts herself in danger by trying to save Will or something idk

Pairing: Will Turner x Reader Rating || Genres || Warnings: T. Romance. None. A/N: I just ADORE Will Turner so much :3 and I love Charlotte the series as well so this was the PERFECT blend! Sorry for any mistakes folks! Also If you read this please please tell me what you think!!!

Your head was pounding. And not from drinking too much ale. You were sure of it.

Blinking your eyes, you were met with an unfamiliar ceiling. Normally you would wake in a hammock onboard the Black Pearl, with the gentle sway of the ship welcoming you to another day.

But everything was steady and there was no creaking or moaning of the ship as it sailed.

Your eyes blinked once more, to clear them from any remaining sleep. Slowly your brain began to recall the last thing you remembered.

Davy Jone's crew.

A fight on an island.

Fleeing to the Black Pearl.

The Kraken attacking the ship.

The entire crew fighting valiantly to save themselves and their ship.

Huge tentacles rising from the mysterious depths of the waters you had traveled for so long.

Ready to kill.

To drag someone to a watery grave.

To drag Will to his doom.

Will!

You sat up with a loud gasp, eyes frantically darting from one end of the unfamiliar room to the other before finally landing on a familiar figure that had only just stepped into the room.

Will Turner stood at the threshold, holding a bowl of what could only be food. The scent of it wafted through the air and your stomach grumbled in protest at being denied nourishment.

Yet you could not move. Could only stare at the man as he stood before you.

"I see I managed to save you then." You finally said, feeling a little uncomfortable under his gaze. He was looking at you as if you were the very moon that hung in the sky. Which was utterly ridiculous because that was how he saw Elizabeth.

"And that we managed to escape in one piece." You raised a hand to your head, only to be greeted by a bandage wrapped around the entirety of it. A slight twinge of pain against your left temple made you aware of where exactly your injury was. "So, what did I miss? After I passed out?"

Whatever emotional turmoil Will had been battling he pushed it aside in favor of walking forward and handing the bowl to you. As you began to spoon the watery broth to your mouth, he pulled up a chair to sit beside your bed.

"After you passed out, we all piled into the lifeboats. I managed to haul you in as well." He paused almost looking at you expectantly. You raised an eyebrow at him. "And you expect me to thank you for saving me?" You asked in a dry tone, to which he rolled his eyes before continuing.

"Elizabeth was the last of us to get on. But Jack.........Jack stayed. To act as diversion for the kraken."

Your eyes widened and you dropped your spoon into your nearly empty bowl. "He...what?" You whispered, sounding just as in disbelief as you felt. Sorrow passed over Will's feature as he nodded gravely. "Jack's dead, Y/n." He confirmed, to which you took a shuddering breath and closed your eyes, before slowly falling back against the wall behind you.

The both of you sat in silence, with Will reaching out to gently and almost hesitantly placing a hand on top of yours as a sign of comfort. "I'm sorry, y/n. I knew you were close." Tears pricked your eyes but you didn't let them fall. Though you did give a small nod. "As close as a person can be with someone who took them under their protection."

That had been the extent of your relationship with Jack. Your families were old friends, and even related by blood somewhere down the line. And when you had decided to travel the seas as a pirate, Jack had been the one who agreed to let you sail with him. Not many pirates were happy having a female presence onboard, but you had proved yourself enough times that it no longer bothered them.

You had been with Jack through thick and thin. Through fire and water. You had been the only one on his side, along with Gibbs, when Barbossa had mutinied against him.

If it weren't for Jack, you wouldn't have realized your dream of becoming a pirate. And if it hadn't been for Jack, you would never have met Will Turner.

When you had first met Will, him and Jack had just arrived at Tortuga to look for a ship to go after Will's beloved Elizabeth. You had been slightly mistrustful towards him at first, and also a little jealous since Jack seemed to be spending all his time with him. But given how easily Will had befriended the rest of the crew, despite his own mistrust of pirates, you had taken to forming an unlikely acquaintanceship.

You were the best swords woman of your age, and it showed when you would take to the deck and practice every single day.

                                          ————————–

Then one day, your sword clashed with Will's.

Your eyes met over the joined blades, gauging the silent question in his. A smirk was your response before you stepped to the side and raised your sword in response.

And so a battle of wits and skill began.

Your swords clashed, your feet danced, your gazes never wavered and neither did your determination.

The entire deck was your practice ground, and the rest of the crew had gotten well out of the way when they had seen the both of you begin to duel. The both of you used every prop to gain the upper hand. But never once did either of you try a dirty trick. And while there had been a sense of pride behind each fell of your swords, slowly they began to grow playful. As did your words.

Back and forth, back and forth. With your swords and with your teasing insults and quips. Smiled full of passion and energy playing about your lips as you both danced to a tune only you could here.

It finally stopped when Jack called out to you. Neither of you yielded, or allowed the other to gain the upper hand. So, with sweat lining your brows and barely able to get a word out with how you both panted for breath, you were only able to smile at one another and say.

"To be continued good sir?" You had said in a slightly mocking yet playful tone to which he had grinned and given you a little bow before speaking.

"As the lady wishes."

But you never did pick back up on the match.

Instead the both of you would simply find each other and talk. He spoke of his life growing up as an orphan, with no money and no family. You had spoken of your own struggles, and slowly, without you realizing, in the weeks that it took you to finally catch up to the Black Pearl, you were made aware of your true feelings for Will.

You would watch him as he interacted with the rest of the crew, and on more then one occasion Jack had caught you simply smiling at him. He had tried to discourage you, telling you of who Will really loved and how nothing could be done about it.

Especially not when he was in love with Elizabeth.

You knew of the consequences, but you simply enjoyed his company too much to just stop spending time with him. And while you knew you were setting yourself up for a lot of heartache, it didn't stop you from forming a companionship with Will.

Although that too came to an abrupt and almost cruel end.

To cut a long story short, Elizabeth was rescued and Barbossa was defeated. Jack had his ship and his crew.

And Will returned home to marry Elizabeth.

Whatever friendship had been blossoming between the both of you had fizzled out the moment Elizabeth had been rescued. And though you knew you were setting yourself up for heartbreak, you did not comprehend just how much it would hurt. How his lack of presence would effect you. He hadn't even offered a proper goodbye when he had left. You had thought that perhaps as a friend he would do you the courtesy, but it was not so.

He never looked back at you.

Not once.

                                          ————————–

And so you decided to put him out of your mind. But never your heart. You couldn't put him out of your heart and it only made you miss him more.

So when he returned, this time for the purpose of saving Elizabeth once more, you were cold towards him. Cold and distant, even when he had approached you to speak with you. Your heart had cursed you for not speaking with him, but you were still too hurt over his dismissal of you the last time that you had no desire to forgive him.

All that vanished though, when Davy Jones appeared and agreed to take Will aboard the Flying Dutchman. You knew it was Jack's doing, that he had a plan in place, but that didn't stop you from stepping forward and volunteering to go along with him.

Out of love? Out of desperation? Out of your compulsion to protect the people you cared about? You did not know.

Jack had tried to protest, but Davy Jones accepted.

And so you found yourself standing beside Will, watching as the Black Pearl sailed away, leaving you onboard a ship of dangerous pirates, and a man who did not know how much you loved him.

At every turn, you tried your best to help him. You had learned long ago when to keep your head down and simply follow orders. Will was not a pirate. He picked up every chance he could to fight back. And when he discovered his father was one of the crew members, you had comforted him. And when he had been punished for his mistake with lashings, you had been the one to tend to him, cleaning his wounds and wiping away the blood. You had held his hand as he twitched from the pain, had stroked his hair when he needed a comforting touch.

Your mind screamed at you, at how you were setting yourself for heartbreak once more. But your heart rejoiced. You knew he was doing whatever he was to help Elizabeth, to save her, but you couldn't help it. All those feelings you had buried came rushing back to the top.

Your escape from the Flying Dutchman as well as the Kraken was pure luck. However, by your second encounter with the Kraken, when it came after Jack, your luck had run out.

You had been trying your best to avoid the lashing tentacles, as they grabbed man after man and threw them into the sea. You had successfully avoided capture, but only barely. Your eyes had frantically searched the deck, looking for a way to avoid yet another tentacle when you had spotted Will.

With a tentacle gliding his way to swipe him off his feet and into the water below.

You had screamed his name, had felt yourself leap into action. You ran, throwing yourself forward to push him out of the way. And you succeeded. Only for the tentacle, meant for Will, to hit your body with a force that had your teeth rattling and for you to go flying.

A flash of pain was all you felt at the side of your head. A voice calling out your name in utter alarm and despair was all you remembered.

And then darkness.

                                          ————————–

Presently, you blinked away your tears as you set aside the bowl and looked around. It was the first time that you noticed you were in some sort of bed built into the wooden walls. The air smelled heavy and musty. Familiar even.

"Are we at Tia Delma's hideout?" You asked, to which you received a nod in response. "How many of us survived?" Will pursed his lips at her question, and you knew the answer could not be good. "Only a few. Gibbs made it. As did the both of us. And Elizabeth." Of course she did, you thought to yourself.

Wanting to change the subject you raised a hand to your head to press your fingers tenderly against your covered temple. "How long have I been asleep?" The thinning of Will's lips told you just how displeased he was with the answer he gave. "Three days. You were barely alive when we reached Tia Delma. She took one look at you and took you to this room. Working on you for hours before finally letting me in to see you." He admitted, sounding almost angry at the woman.

"Remind me to thank her later." You said with a small smile, as you leaned your head back against the wall and sighed. Your hand came up to fiddle with the skull and cross gold necklace that rested at your throat. "I can't believe he's gone." You whispered, feeling the loss of your friend deeply.

"Elizabeth is in pieces because of it."

You blinked. "Why would she be in pieces over Jack's death?" You asked. You had suspicions that the girl never really liked Jack. There was always some sort tension between the both of them.

"Because she loved him."

Will's words had you blinking in utter surprise.

"What?"

He frowned at the confusion on your face. "I thought you knew?" You rolled your eyes. "Oh yes Will, Elizabeth and I sit together for tea and gossip about our love lives." The statement did make him crack a little smile before he continued.

"Well now you know. Elizabeth loved Jack."

"But I thought you loved her. Weren't you going to marry her?" You asked, allowing your curiosity to show. With all that had happened, neither of you had been able to properly sit and speak. Not when your lives had been in constant danger by either cannibals, or mad pirates or mythical creatures or the Company.

So many people were out to kill all of you.

"I was. I thought I loved her. But I realized, when we got back home, that it was nothing but infatuation. She was the one who rescued me when I was found adrift. And we grew up together. So, I allowed my boyhood feelings to grow into something that was never meant to be." He paused for a moment. "Those feelings are all gone now. And I was glad she found someone to love. For a little while." He added sadly, glancing in the direction the door where Elizabeth was probably sitting beyond. You did too, almost expecting Jack to come swaggering in with his usual land-legs and a bottle of ale in his hand.

"I never expected Jack of all people to die. He seemed almost immortal." You admitted.

"Well he proved he was a mortal man and met his doom. And you would've followed him too, if Tia Delma hadn't been here." You glanced at him curiously, not understanding the tone of his voice. He was glaring at you, his eyes almost stormy. "How could you be so reckless? What you did was extremely dangerous, even for you Y/n."

"You mean saving your life?" A frown creased your brow. "I did what I did to save you Will. And if that is a crime then take me to the brig." You snapped with a roll of your eyes. "And aren't people usually grateful to those who save them?"

He glared at you. "Not at the expense of their own life. The Company is taking over the seas, we need every good pirate we can get."

Anger coursed through your veins. "Oh so thats why you were worried about me? Because you didn't want to loose a good pirate. Its all about strategy with you isn't it?" All your past hurt and heartache was beginning to simmer under the surface, and if you weren't careful you would probably say something you would regret. But you didn't care.

His nostrils flared. "How could you think its simply because of that? Do you truly believe I am that shallow?" He spoke angrily to which you gave a mocking nod. "Of course I do. I mean why else would you ignore me once you gained my friendship?"

"I never-"

But you cut him off. "I thought we were friends Will. But the moment you rescued Elizabeth you ignored me as if you never knew me. As if we didn't spend weeks in each other's company. And then you came back, and I was there with you on the Dutchman, but as soon as you saw Elizabeth, once more you pushed me aside. I am not something you can use whenever you desire before putting it aside to gather dust. And even when I save your life, when I rescue you, you say such things to me?" Your voice had slowly started to rise in octave with each passing word. It was a good thing no one was within earshot to hear you.

Will looked angry with every word that came out of your mouth. "You put yourself in grave danger, Y/n. You always have no regard for your own life or your own safety and it worries me."

"And why should that bother you? Or even worry you for that matter. What am I to you?"

"I only wish to help you Y/n. To protect you-" He reached out with his hand almost as if he were about to touch you but stopped.

You turned your head away. "I did not ask for your protection Will, I do not need it. Why would you wish to protect me?"

"Because-" But you didn't allow him to finish.

"Is it because you think of me as some damsel in distress?" He shook his head.

"No Y/n-" Once again he was interrupted from saying his piece.

"Or you do not believe me to be capable of doing anything."

His voice was almost pleading, imploring you to listen to him. "Y/n-"

But you barely heard him, allowing your hurt and pain to blind you as you spoke. "Why? Why do you wish to protect me so?"

"Because I love you!"

His deceleration came out in a shout. One that echoed in your ears and had your mouth parting in utter surprise, while you stared at him in utter disbelief.

For his part, Will had stood from his chair, hands buried in his hair as he began to pace the length of the small room, still speaking in an almost frenzied and desperate manner.

"From the mo-" His voice broke as he met your gaze. "From the moment I saw you." Suddenly he was sitting in front of you on the bed, clutching at your hand in an almost desperate manner as he continued. "I have loved you from the very second I saw you." His words washed over you like a warm ocean breeze.

"I love you desperately Y/n." His voice was trembling, every word sounding almost broken as he spoke. "My heart calls your name. And I cannot loose you. I cannot." With each word his hands raised to cup your face, only to bring you forward and press your lips to his in a desperate kiss.

And you returned it.

You felt your heart heal and break at the same time as he brushed a hand against your bandages. Pulling back from the kiss, he rested his forehead against your own. "I cannot do this without you, Y/n." He admitted to which you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and embraced him with all your strength, hoping to pour all of your love for him in that one simple gesture. "I suppose it is a good thing I love you as well then." You whispered against his neck, to which he let out a small slightly tearful laugh. "I am aware of that. Given how you whispered it to me when you were slipping in and out of consciousness."

You pulled back, staring at wide eyed at his grinning face. "What?!"

“Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.” He gently brushed his knuckles against your cheek, a gesture that made you blush. Your hand lifted to trace along the side of his face, enjoying how he closed his eyes, as if to savour your touch.

“I will never leave you Will. Just as long as you promise to never leave me.” You said, still stroking his face.

He nodded in response. “I promise.” His hand found the back of your head, urging you forward to close the remaining distance between the both of you.

This time the kiss lasted longer then just a few seconds.

[onehundredflamingos]

@jegulus-microfic

22 / convict / 1476 words / NSFW / explicit sexual content

“I’m not wearing this,” Regulus complained immediately. He was holding up a pair of thong underwear, white and grey horizontal stripes across it. There was a small patch sewn into the waistband — an inmate number.

“Do you want to be the cop instead?” James asked, holding up his outfit. His was a pair of deep navy booty shorts and a button down crop top. It came with a small hat with a gold star on the front, and a pair of plush black handcuffs.

“Absolutely not, James.”

“Fine.” James smiled, like he had just won the jackpot. “Then you have to be the convict.”

Regulus huffed. He didn’t know why James was so adamant about role playing anyway, but he supposed if James ended up naked in the end, what difference did it make?

“Fine.”

Regulus stormed off to the bathroom, following James instructions to put it on immediately, doing his best to only focus on the fact that he was about sixty seconds from seeing that man in booty shorts.

Suddenly there was a loud bang at the door, enough to startle Regulus into nearly falling over, second leg barely through his jeans he was sliding on over the costume.

“It’s the cops, open up!”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Is there a problem, off—,” Regulus started to ask, but was immediately cut off by the sight of James in that outfit. “Holy shit, James.”

“It’s Officer Potter, to you,” James said, blushing. “There have been some complaints recently, I’m going to have to take you in for questioning,” he demanded, hands on his hips.

Regulus sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, deciding this game wasn’t so bad after all. “Okay, Officer Potter.”

James led Regulus to the back of their house and into their bedroom, demanding he be stripped down. “All of our inmates are required to wear the same prison uniform,” he tacked on, puffing out his chest. James reached forward and grabbed at the bottom hem of Regulus’ t-shirt, pulling it up and over his head.

“Hands behind your head,” James said, and Regulus had to hold back a snicker. James was a lot of things, but assertive was not one of them.

Not with Regulus anyway.

Regulus obliged, putting his hands behind his head, palms flush against his dark curls. He watched as James opened each handcuff before disappearing behind him, snicking each cuff shut around each wrist.

“Pants off next,” James said, moving back to Regulus’ front, undoing the button of his jeans and sliding them down. “This is certainly more appropriate,” James said stoically, gesturing to Regulus’ thong.

“What were these complaints for, Officer?” Regulus asked, looking down at James. James looked incredible in the crop top he chose, a piece of clothing that Regulus never would have anticipated to turn him on so much.

“Noise complaints,” James said, shaking his head as if he was truly disappointed. “I’m going to have to punish you, and I expect you to stay quiet.”

“Where would you like me to take that punishment?” Regulus asked, small smirk playing on his lips.

James gestured with a small nod. “Get on the bed, facing up. I want your hands against the headboard.” Regulus obliged, settling his hands on either side of a single dowel lining their spindle headboard, fuzzy handcuffs still forcing them close together.

James climbed over Regulus, straddling his torso as he reached up to fix the handcuffs, wrapping the center chain around the post before clasping it around both wrists once more.

He slid down Regulus’ body and settled between his legs, pressing his lips to the fabric covering Regulus’ cock. He exhaled hot puffs of air along his length, pressed his wet tongue to the tip.

Regulus moaned softly at the sensation, at the blood rushing straight to his cock. He reached down to card his fingers through James’ hair, only to feel the yank of metal and fur against his wrist. He whimpered, wanting to touch James so badly, wanting to guide his head just a bit lower, to force more pressure against his growing cock even with the underwear still on.

After a few moments, James pulled Regulus’ cock out from its confines, immediately licking a strip up the underside, and Regulus unable to hold back the groan that was let loose from deep down in his chest. Regulus hadn’t been expecting him to dive in so quickly; James was usually so gentle and explorative to start.

Not that Regulus was complaining.

James pulled his mouth off of Regulus’ cock just as quickly as he had taken it into his mouth, looking up at Regulus and tutting. “Quiet, or I’ll have to punish you worse than this.”

Regulus liked this James. He nodded.

The first few minutes that James took Regulus in his mourh, he was quiet. So quiet he very well could’ve been not enjoying himself.

But he was — of course he was, but he wanted more.

He let out a moan, guttural and primal and loud.

James jerked his head off of Regulus’ cock, and Regulus nearly grinned at him — a wide smile to rival one of James’ — if he thought he would still get what he was after.

“I told you if you couldn’t keep quiet, I would have to punish you worse, Regulus Black.”

Regulus nodded sweetly. “Whatever you think you need to do, sir.”

James slid his shorts off and settled onto his haunches, pouring lube on his hands and his cock before getting to work stretching Regulus out. Regulus bit his lip, stifling the moans he felt trying to push their way out, quieting all of the James’ and the pleases, until James was finally pressing his cock inside of him.

“That’s a good boy, being so quiet for me now,” James encouraged, grabbing ahold of Regulus’ hips, fingertips digging into his flesh. “Did you learn your lesson? Not to be so fucking loud where everyone can hear you?”

It would be funny that James asked that question — so loud, as he fucked Regulus’ hard, headboard slamming into a shared wall over and over — if not for how good it felt, how empowered James looked in that obscene crop top.

“Y-yes, officer,” Regulus said in a whisper. James reached down and took Regulus’ cock in his fist, stroking him at just the right pace to match his own hips.

Regulus cried out, sound coming unbidden, and James immediately released his grip around Regulus’ cock, leaving it throbbing and leaking at the tip. “Looks like you don’t deserve that after all.” He quirked a brow. “Do you need me to cover your mouth to make sure you keep quiet?”

Regulus shook his head.

“Or maybe I should choke you a bit, steal your breath so you can’t cry out like that?”

James phrased it as a question, but Regulus couldn’t answer — not with James still thrusting into him, not with the promise of that.

He let out a little mewl of assent, the sound making James lips upturn, perfect smile flashing back at Regulus as he reached a hand forward and wrapped his fingers around Regulus’ throat. “Now I want you to stay silent as I make you come all over your chest, do you hear me?”

Regulus managed a small nod, even with James’ fingers curled around his neck, pinning him to the bed. He craned his neck back just a bit, giving James more access, and watched as James continued to move above him.

He was beautiful in his uniform, so confident and proud to have brought this to fruition, to have Regulus quite literally under his thumb.

James increased his pace, thrusting into Regulus hard, hand tightening until Regulus was certain he would have small bruises dotting the side of his neck — little fingerprints as evidence of his punishment for being too loud.

All at once, James was groaning, a small grimace on his face, contorting before settling into something beautiful as he came inside Regulus. James’ entire body slackened just a bit, and Regulus sucked in gulps of air as he followed James over the edge, biting his lip as hard as he could to keep from crying out.

James looked up at Regulus, panting softly, sweat dotting his brow. “Good boy, Reg,” James said, only half breaking character. “You were so quiet for me.”

James pressed a soft kiss to Regulus’ lips.

“James,” Regulus said in response. “Why do you look so fucking good in that stupid shirt?”

James laughed. “I don’t know, Reg, but I’m dying to see what it looks like on you.”

Regulus wasn’t entirely sold on the idea of him playing the cop role, but if he got to bend James over and punish him, he was sure it wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

[obriengf]

"do i know you?"

it was the worst thing that stiles could hear in this moment. his heart open, willing, full, and racing a million miles per second, only to be shut down in an instant by a handful of wrenching words.

his jaw fell - slack and in disbelief, words weighing heavy on the tip of his tongue as he lost the ability to speak, to answer you and your face of confusion. he forgot that he had a vice grip on your hands as his fingers were threading between yours; they were tangled, and sore from hours of never wanting to let you go, never wanting to lose you or let you slip through the cracks.

he couldn't stand to think of what his life would be without you, but he might just.

his arm tensed as muscles were thrown into fight or flight, your hand pulling away from his warm grip. he finally allowed his eyes to move as they peered down to his empty hold, brown irises blown out of proportion and dilating with fear. what did you say?

and then you said it again.

"do.. do i know you?"

your tone was getting desperate now despite its raspiness. he hadn't heard your voice in days, not since you were screaming his name in pain, yelling out for his help, his comfort. not since you were held nearly eight whole feet off the ground by your throat, a monster unwilling to let you go as snarls filled your ears and set your body alight with every single possible ounce of trepedation and torment.

the next thing stiles saw was a blur. a literal mess of sight, where you were one second and suddenly against the ground by the next. your head was perched against the trunk of an old californian oak - you looked peaceful, sleeping. if it wasn't for the red splotches of blood that dragged as you slid to to the ground, then stiles wouldn't be where he was now.

"stiles."

his tone was abrupt - out of nervousness. it was short and probably a little too loud. but he was worried. he was scared.

"what?" you were getting quieter now, brows furrowing and your body sinking back, pulling yourself away. the need for a cocoon to cover yourself in was in high demand, but the best you had was the corner of your hospital bed and a red button to call for help. "what are you talking about? who are you?!"

he could see the tears in your eyes now as they gathered, and he was surely not too far behind. people lose loved ones everyday, but this heartbreak was different. not knowing your love, nor having your love not know you, was an ache that would need much more to heal itself. if, it could heal.

"baby, please just.. let me.. i can help you-" he was growing more desperate as his body shook in complete panic, an attack only mere moments away if he didn't control himself.

he reached for you out of instinct. your touch always grounded stiles: having you in his arms aided any nightmare, a single kiss could jump-start his sad heart, a hug was warm enough to cure any chilly day. he showed his love through touch.. but didn't expect for you to pull so damn fast away from him.

"leave me alone, no! help, help!" you were screeching now as the tears fell, the unknowing clouding your mind. it was a thick fog that no light could pass through, and if someone even dared, they would be lost.

stiles was dragged back, familiar hands steadying his shoulders as he swayed in dizziness. this couldn't be happening.

melissa mccall tried to lead him out, but his feet had sunken into the faded blue linoleum. it was a pure scene of horror before him now - doctors holding you down as you screamed, shook, cried.

because of him.

he didn't remember exactly how he ended up in the waiting room, but questions and encouraging hope was falling on deaf ears.

stiles stilinski loved you with everything he had. but he had lost you. he loved you, had for years now, undoubtedly, unconditionally.

but what does one do, when the person who has your heart, doesn't even remember who you are?

[muffinsin]

How would the Dimitrescu sisters react to the reader kissing one of their flies? I just imagine them with a surprise-Pikachu face.

-Touch-Starved Anon

Hell yeah, this is adorable XD This was such a cute thought, I had to get started on it immediately🙌🫶 let’s get into it!

Masterlists

Bela

The first time it happens, it’s after sex, when she rests on your chests and gently plays with your fingertips

She doesn’t even notice the few flies that stray from her shoulder, really

She feels utterly relaxed around you, and with you

To feel your arms around her and bask in the scent both of you have left in the room is heaven to her

Unlike her, you do notice the curious little insect moving from her shoulder

It climbs past her and over her hair, until it settles on your fingertip

Its steps are light and almost ticklish, and you nearly giggle at it

Bela just hums as she hears your attempt of staying quiet, her eyes closed in utter relaxation

You’re sure, the exhausted woman could fall asleep any moment

And still, the curious little fly looks at you, almost curiously

Its wings beat lightly like the rest of the flies still settled to ensure Bela stays in her (appearance wise, at least-) human form

The many wings nearly create a purring sound, even, and this time you can’t help but smile brightly

She purrs loud, and only blushes a little when you point it out

And again, the curious little insect keeps walking, up your fingertip and to your knuckle

You can’t help the chuckle that passes your lips at the little fly’s next action:

A single bump of its head against your knuckles, then the back of your hand

Almost- affectionate

Still, judged by Bela’s calm breathing, her closed eyes and her fingertips entangled with yours, you doubt she’s all that aware of the actions and movements of her insect

You aren’t even sure if she can focus on only one of her flies

It seems, though, the little insect is rather fond of you, even if it is perhaps just a part of Bela’s mind

It makes you grin brightly

In a way, this means Bela loves you so much, even her swarm knows it perfectly well- even when she is not controlling it actively

It grips it tightly when you raise your hand a little, having had it entangled in Bela’s golden locks previously

As expected, the blonde whines at the loss of contact. And as expected, she is quickly shushed when a kiss is pressed to the top of her head instead

You must admit though, the small fly on top of you is cute

It’s larger than a normal fly, certainly, but still, it can be considered as quite cute

You examine it a little closer, noticing the small, red tail it has and the dark redness at its belly

The sight nearly makes you coo

For a moment, the thought of kissing the top of the fly comes to your mind

Perhaps surprisingly, you give in

Bela’s eyes snap open when your lips press feathery light against her fly, the insects within her beating their wings even harder and cresting an even louder purring noise

She bites her lip, hard, to keep from squeaking in surprise

Never has she felt what you just did

Somehow, it felt intense. More so than normal

You only grin when you look down and see Bela’s face has adapted a sweet, deep red colour. The poor thing is so flustered and confused, she can’t even meet your eye

Though, quietly, she asks you to do it again

Cassandra

The very first time you kiss one of her flies, you aren’t even aware that she notices. Aren’t even sure she would be aware of it

As it turns out, she is. Entirely aware

A single fly of hers is separated from her swarm, a part of her arm

It doesn’t even seem like she notices the insect, or at least doesn’t at all pay any mind to it

You, however, do

You watch it fly lazily through the room, landing at times to clean itself and feed off the blood sticking to the floor at spots

Usually, it doesn’t seem to stray far from Cassandra

The brunette is cleaning and sharpening her sickle, a concentrated look on her face and a sadistic grin forming already

You know, she’s thinking of using her favorite weapon again already, until it needs cleaning and sharpening again

And while it is such a dark and twisted thought, the implication of it itself already, you can’t help but smile

Merely because she is ridiculously adorable when she grins like that

Suddenly, the little insect strays from her, though, and you find it has landed on you

Having a book in your hand, you didn’t even notice it until it crawled up to your knuckle, then to your fingertip

You eye your girlfriend for a moment, her back turned to you. When you clear your throat and call her name, Cassandra turns to you

A wide grin that normally promises chaos spreads on your lips. Then, you raise your hand and sweetly press your lips to the little fly’s back

Cassandra gasps, her expression a hilarious-looking mix of shock, disgust, adoration, and most of all: confusion

Her expression matches the surprised pikatchu face the most

“What are you doing!”

It’s been quite a little time since the incident has passed, and Cassandra, as well as you, has mostly forgotten all about it already

That is, until you lie in bed with her on top of you

Her head is tucked closely to your neck from when she fell asleep to drinking from you and inhaling the apparently “sweet scent” of your blood, as she likes to put it

With one hand tangled in her beautiful, dark hair, and another resting on her bare back, you notice a few flies break off occasionally

While normally some only break off her arm or backside, they all return to her within seconds

You’re just about to doze off, lulled by her silent purrs and comforting weight on top of you, when you suddenly feel something move about against your hand again

A single, little fly

And judging by the small, black dot in her neck, it strayed from there

Tiredly, you think nothing of it when it sets on your hand and you raise it to your lips

The reaction you get, however, is by far more rewarding than her confused and flustered-angry reaction the last time

Her purring immediately picks up in volume and frequency, but that is not all

A single sigh escaping her lips comes before you suddenly feel her head bump against you

Then, you feel her slide down a little, and cover your mouth as to not wake her with your giggles when she begins to rub her cheek against your shoulder

Over and over again, purring wildly

You continue to scratch her scalp, and curiously press another kiss to the little insect

And again, she headbutts you, then rubs her cheek against you like a cat might do with catnip

You frown in confusion as you eye the little fly

Perhaps it’s because it’s from her neck this time?

A light kiss pressed to Cassandra’s neck confirms this, when she sighs almost dreamily even in her sleep

You grin triumphantly, and pull her close and flush against you

Now, it’s time for both of you to sleep

Daniela

She’s reading peacefully in the library, her hand gripping her book, the other at the top of your head

You lie in her lap, and all seems perfect

The temperature in the room is high, and the sun hits both of you just perfectly

Daniela’s voice is smooth and soothing, and you feel almost lulled to sleep already

Then, though, she suddenly jerks up and sits up in a tense, straight position

She seems to cringe for a moment, and you tilt your head to the side in confusion when you sit up as well

Then, with a little frown on her face, she tells you: one of her flies that strayed from her just flew into a spiderweb

You practically see the discomfort on her face, and gently cup her cheeks. Thankfully, this brings a watery smile to her lips

You promise, you’ll help her take care of it, and so she leads you up to the kitchens, until she comes to a sudden halt and points forwards

And sure enough, you spot a single of her flies, stuck in the sticky webbing and tugging with all its might

You nearly coo at the sight, yet surprise this. You wonder whether Daniela can view through an individual fly, and whether this is why she is so unnerved

With a protective arm around her hips, you grab the fire poker from the fireplace and gently begin to tear away at the thin webbing

You’re careful to not do as much as graze the little insect, until the webbing is torn away and the little thing manages to break free

It shakes off the webbing tangled around it, and you giggle when it quickly returns to Daniela’s side

Then, however, a gasp is pulled from you when something strange and unexpected happens:

Many little flies stray from her

From her back and arms, her shoulders, her neck, even her cheek!

And they all fly towards you, buzzing happily and satisfied

Daniela giggles at the curious and happy insects, her arms thrown around you and a small kiss pressed to your cheek

“My savior!”, she sighs dreamily, and you grin in satisfaction. She’s so adorable

You notice her flies rest on your shoulders and the folds of your shirt, their little limbs used to cling close to you

When one sits the side of Daniela’s head, right in front of you, you can’t help but move forwards

Your lips press against the adorable insect in a featherlight touch, and you giggle at the surprised gasp you pull from her

When she pulls back, her cheeks are flushed pink and she stares at you in disbelief

“W-Wha?”, she asks confused, her beautiful, golden eyes blinking in surprise

The sight looks so adorable, you can’t help but love forwards and peck her lips playfully

Again, she squeaks in surprise at the suddenness of it. Her arms tighten around you a little, and her fingertips press against you

You only shrug at her questioning, confused look

“What can I say? You’re adorable, Dani”

[thatlongspringnight]

A Moment of Jealousy

Pairing: Jung Hoseok/female reader

Rating: M for mature

Genre:  Historical au, Regency era

Warnings: Smut, rough sex, dirty talk, foul language, a ring goes in a place rings shouldn't go, outdoor sex, jealousy

Summary:

Seeing another woman even dare to touch him sets you ablaze, but luckily, Hoseok is always there to quench that fire.

Word Count: 1667

Tagging: @xjoonchildx @hobi-gif @miscelunaaa @vintageroses10 @wwilloww @vyduan @minisugakoobies @augustbutwinter @sahmfanficbts @hamsterclaw @starlostjimin

“You’re a lout!” It's almost shrill…actually, no, it is shrill - tearing from your lips as you walk down the hall, clutching tightly at the skirt of your riding habit as your feet carry you into the garden.

You’re making a scene, happily dragging the servants into this, even happier to drag your husband’s *noble* friends into it as well. “You’re a rake, I should have never let you have me!” and then he’s behind you, not even bothering to respond to you in kind - his cold fury only serving to make you boil, a teapot hissing in simmering rage. 

He must think he’s better than you - he does think it, you know it, and that’s why Hoseok has always driven you mad.

Mad with fury, mad with lust.

Now you’re just mad - 

 “Nothing but a rake.”It's more of a grumble, and only for your own ears this time, as the stableman - expecting the both of you for an afternoon ride, seems surprised to see only you.

Yes of course, no doubt Hoseok had stayed behind, more inclined to calm his surprised sycophants than come after you, even if that is all you want.

All you want is for him to choose you, for his eyes to find your own…and only your own. Is that so much to ask? That the man who married you covet you and you alone? 

“Ah - my lady where is - “ “My lord husband can surely ride his horse on his own time.” You snap. “Or perhaps his whores, I care not either way.” and then you are hoisting yourself up, cursing the side-saddle that would have been lovely on a leisurely stroll, gripping at the pommel with your thighs for some semblance of balance and control. 

The comment is cruel, and truly, likely false. Hoseok - even if his eyes had shined today - at that simpering little fool who had the audacity to bat her eyes at him, to giggle, to place her hand on his arm - 

“My lady, I really insist - “ “Truly, you can insist your way to the seventh hell, Taehyung.” And your horse, handsome gelding he is, is quick to respond to your cue to go, and then go faster at your insistence. 

God in heaven, how you loathe the feelings swirling in your chest, the feeling of inadequacy that builds in your chest at the idea he’d dare to glance at someone else. How his eyes could ever darken in a way you recognize from when they fall onto you. 

Fucker - Heartless bastard. The fast trot of your horse sets your fiery blood nearly to ash. How dare he - 

The more you ride, the angrier you get, your heart set on the one place that can give you peace, that damned grove where he had first asked you.

“Dammit!” and there is a call in the air, just loud enough you can hear it, and it drives you forward. “If you don’t - !” You can’t hear the rest but you can imagine it - Hoseok - on his horse…yelling into the wind.

Yelling for you - 

You stall your gelding, quick to murmur a soft stay as you toss his reins over a tree branch, letting your feet carry you.

Just because you want him to catch you doesn’t mean you have to make it easy. And…you do want him to catch you, of course, feeling giddy as you dash into the woods, uncaring of the way the tree branches catch you, or the way your too-fussy hairstyle begins to unravel.

All you care about is the heat under your skin, the burning excitement as you hear his curses, as he calls for you, the feeling of anger so akin to the feeling of longing you aren’t even sure what dominates you -

“Got you - !” and his arm shoots out, around your waist before you can even protest, and protest you do, a squeal on your lips as he all but shoves you into the trunk of a tree. “Don’t you dare even move.” And when you meet his eyes, they’re burning, as searing as his grip on your wrists, holding you more than still. 

“Surprised you even noticed I left.” You answer, feeling the heat of his breath, watching the way his chest rises and falls as he pants from exertion. “You seemed content enough just to be petted and praised -” “My God woman, your jealousy will end us both.” Hoseok grits through his teeth, shifting a hand to your neck, then gripping at your bun, more than eager to tear it down, sending your hair cascading. 

Well - as best it can with his grip on it, wound ‘round his palm, as he tugs roughly enough that you whine, head tilting up. “You made me look like a fool.” “You are a fool.” You answer, hoping to goad him into more, and you can see the way his eyes narrow, how his jaw tightens. Now, the anger has shifted, boiling turned to simmer, the heat warming you till you want to melt under his grip, sting turned to honey. “And a dandy.”

“And you are a parrot, all screech and no teeth.” He counters, and God does he paint a portrait - his grip so firm, his black riding coat cut to fit his form like a fine glove. 

Everything about him screams power, the sinews of his lean form as obvious as the way he’s looking at you. Fond and furious. “You made a scene, you shamed us both.” And his face is close now, so close your noses almost touch as he presses you harder against the tree trunk. “People talk.” “Let them talk about how mad I am, then perhaps they’ll stop sending their daughters to pine over you, Hoseok.” You’re prim enough that he laughs, a darkened chuckle. 

That laugh, so airy when in the company he liked to keep, is even better now, dripping from his lips like a threat. It's so rare that he shows himself as he truly is. Not the sun in the sky, but a raging forest fire - the type of brightness that could swallow you whole, incinerate your very being. 

“That is what you want?” And it's the drop of his head against your skin, the graze of his teeth against your jaw. “You want me to show you your place? At the head of the line of pining women, first to throw yourself at me?” “I am your wife - “ but it's cut off, his mouth hot against yours, silencing you, finally. 

“My wife, my ill behaved creature.” He hums. “My jealous, jealous girl.” and he is hiking up your skirts. “Where is your place? If not on my cock.” And that is enough, your hands meeting his as you snatch your skirts higher, legs already parting at his hand sliding up your thighs, meeting your cunt with those damned fingers of his.

HIs fingers slide into you like a sword to a sheath, and you gasp. There is a coldness, a fullness towards the end as you realize he is still wearing his signet ring. If you still your muddled thoughts, and your aching body, you imagine you can almost feel the outline of the crest emblazoned on it.

The ancient crane motif of his family, now your own. 

“I won’t have to do much work.” He is sly, his tone almost teasing in its dryness. “You’re more than ready.” “Then don’t put in the work - spear me already.” You answer, far too heated to even care for his fingers inside of you- delicious though they are .

“You’re no better than a courtesan.” He answers, but his breeches are undone before you can even fathom it.

His cock, glistening, the darkened skin drawing a shudder of ache around the fingers he still has buried inside of you.

“Fuck.” He curses, and now you’re empty, his hand slick with you as he pulls your leg up, as he sinks into you.

No more pretense. Finally. “Fuck, you feel -” And he grunts, tilting your body till your feet are struggling to maintain their footing, till he’s the only thing keeping you up, the bark digging into your back every time he thrusts into you.

“Y-You’re going to rip my dress.” You are clutching at him, your fingers digging into the fine material of his riding jacket. “You - I will have to walk back half naked.” “Good - that is what you deserve for the scene you made, walking back half naked.” He means it too, and there is a piece of you that wishes he’d make due on that promise, and tear your dress down the seam. 

Make it clear to everyone what he had done- how he had gladly taken you. How he’s fucking you, right now, each thrust of his strong hips making you whine and whimper. 

You love it when he fucks you like this, when he is rough, like the tree behind you, making you beg for him, and beg for more. “Don’t you think they can hear you back at the manor?” He asks. “Don’t you feel even an ounce of shame for how loud you are?”

“None.” and you truly ARE shameless in how you call out for him, his name echoing loud enough to frighten even the birds into calling. “You did not marry me for my shame, husband.” And that seems to break the solid sort of scolding he’s been giving you, a sly grin breaking through as his mouth finds yours, almost like he’s trying to stop you from noticing it at all. 

But you let him distract you, let him have you till you’re quaking, trembling in the aftermath of your want for him, till he’s filled you to bursting, a satisfied sound on his lips, satiated with you, with how you took him.

“Perhaps.” and it's said with no small measure of pleasure. “I should take you in the parlor next, in front of those women you despise so much, hm?” 

[rosewaterandivy]

hit the lot and skate

summary: so, noted. eddie and first impressions do not mix.

a/n: for your consideration, enforcer and all around brawler, eddie “the reaper” munson. he’s my disgusting lil meow meow and i love him! big up to @jo-harrington for entertaining this headcanon and letting me spiral. 🥹

Eddie is late, again, like always, and shuffled unceremoniously to the press room by Hop, the team manager. He’s got one hand splayed against Eddie’s back, all but frog marching him through the double doors, grumbling all the while.

“You’ll be late to your own damn funeral, kid.” He mutters, shoving Eddie toward the single chair at the table. “Just, play nice, okay? It’s pre-season and I’d rather not have to pay a fine. Think you can swing that?”

“Aye, aye, Chief,” Eddie says with a wink and sarcastic two finger salute.

He leans back in the chair, idly sipping from his gatorade bottle every so often while barely answering the reporters questions. It’s mostly just shrugs and raised eyebrows from The Reaper, as they’ve come to expect.

“Munson, why are you here if you’re not gonna answer any of our questions?”

“Wow, wonderful delivery as always, Ace!” He cracks his knuckles and rests his elbows against he table, leaning forward toward the assembled mics, “And it’s simple, really. I’m just here so I don’t get fined again.”

The gathered press sigh and throw up their hands in dismay— couldn’t even get him to bite by mentioning Carver and the brawl last season. What was the fucking use?

Eddie, pleased with himself, sits back in the chair and takes a long pull from the bottle. Most people just assume it’s water or Gatorade. Maybe, on occasion, a nip of whiskey.

But the reality is so much worse than that.

The press begin to pack up, and Hop feels a migraine coming on already. He’s pinching between his brows and completely misses someone approaching Eddie.

The Reaper watches in interest. A mystery woman with a murder-strut beelining right for him. Probably one of the newer reporters in the rotation. Thinking she can corner him and get a quote— amateur.

But instead, she ignores him completely and grabs his bottle and squirts a stream of liquid into her mouth. Eddie’s eyes nearly fall out of his skull. Hop, looking up, is too late to warn her of the mistake she’s just unknowingly made.

His water bottle concoction is an open secret among the team— a lotta Mountain Dew cut with a bit of milk. Mountain Dilk, if you will.

The press, now wise to the situation, has already pulled out their phones to record the interaction. Voices murmuring under their breath, not loud enough for Eddie to make out what’s being said.

People seem to recognize her, whoever she is.

And the woman in question, simply sets the bottle back on the table and pauses to gargle that shit before spitting it right back into Eddie’s face.

“That is fucking vile.”

All he can do is cock his head and blink, milky green droplets clumping on his eye lashes.

“Not a swallower, huh?” He asks, wiping his upper lip. “Gotta say, not a good look for a WAG, sweetheart.”

A slow smile creeps across her face. She huffs a soft laugh, and then: “Y’know Munson, sense has chased you your entire life, but you’re faster.”

She crosses her arms casually beneath her breasts, inadvertently pushing them up and sending Eddie’s blood due south. Her mouth twists as she eyes him up and down, assessing.

“Uh, thanks?”

A scoff and roll of her eyes, “Coach.”

“What?”

She steps toward him, slow and steady. Her head grazing just beneath his chin, Eddie has to glance down to maintain eye contact.

“That’s Coach to you, Munson.” She pokes him in the chest, a filed nail directly to his sternum, nods to Hop and turns to leave. “On the rink in five,” She tosses over her shoulder, “Lace your skates and grab a bucket.”

[jamesdeniscouldnever]

Yay! I'm absolutely enthralled by this series, so the inspiration just keeps flowing. Same as the rolan fic Zevlor's hurt/comfort won. I love him. These two made me realize I love teiflings. Gonna scream. This takes place if you failed to save him in act two but its a little AU in the sense that you save him before Orin can...ya know.

The Guardian's Guardian

Summary: Caught in Orin's sordid little web, Zevlor finds himself on the receiving end of some less than pleasant treatment. Hes sure he deserves it for being an oathbreaker and abandoning his fellow tieflings. So why, amongst the pain and torture he endures , does he find his mind seeking comfort that he doesn't deserve in the memory of a friend?

Zevlor couldn't begin to find the words to explain his terror. He was certain he'd simply be turned into an absolute cultist after Ketharic had taken him, nothing special and no one of note. But no. Instead, when Thorm had been killed and the injured Tav had been making their way out of the belly of the beast, they had missed him. At least, he liked to think they missed him. Surely they wouldn't have left him there if they'd known...would they?

He'd been at peace with the idea of dying there, but all that had shattered when a terrifying woman with pale skin that swirled in strange patterns had appeared. She'd smiled so cruelty when she saw him. She had said only one word.

"Perfect." And that was all it took. She'd opened the pod, grabbed him, and in a swirl of ash, they were someplace else. Someplace dark and damp and reeking of blood.

That was almost a week ago. How he'd survived so long he wasn't sure, he'd been on the receiving end of numerous beatings, tortures, and even a flaying since then. He winces to himself as the memory of his own raw nearly-skinned flesh on his left leg causes it to flare in pain once more. Certainly, some God must be keeping him alive for their amusment. Or for his own punishment.

If he'd just fought the absolute harder, he wouldn't be in this mess. His people would be safe. Tav may have had more help in slaying Ketharic.

Tav.

He closes his eyes, feeling the cold stone of the cell floor against his back, and allows himself to think of them. He doesn't deserve the comfort their memory brings. He doesn't deserve to fantasize about them bursting through the door and rescuing him. He doesn't deserve to be worried about them. Certainly they were okay. Far far away from this cultish temple to a filthy God. Far away from him.

That thought brings him more comfort than he was expecting. The idea that they were somewhere safe beyond Orin's reach makes him exhale a breath of quiet relief. A relief he had no right to feel. They weren't his.

He'd been in love with them, no doubt, since the Grove. Their kindness, their leadership, the diffusion of tension among the refugees, and their willingness to help. Help teiflings, no less. A notable trait since the fall of Elturel.

If anyone had been around, he'd have scolded himself for the small smile he allows to creep onto his lips as he thinks of them, their smile, their eyes. It's enough to make him ignore the pain the action brings by reopening the scab on his split lip.

He feels his eyes growing heavy, the tension of pain outweighed by his outright exhaustion. He's almost able to slip into a much needed sleep. Almost.

But the comfort is cut short by the sounds of shouting somewhere above him. It must be loud to traverse the stone of his prison. Perhaps someone had displeased Orin. Perhaps she was making another sacrifice to her awful parentage. Maybe Zevlor would be next.

He doesn't open his eyes. Let them come take him. Let his suffering be over. Let his punishment finally be complete.

But even as the screams and yells die down, they do not come. Even as the whole of the caverns fall silent, they do not come. No, what comes is a frantic voice and the sound of several pairs of boots scraping against the dirt and stones. He is certain now - he has, in fact, died. Died and, through some measure of mercy from the same gods who ignored him, been allowed to see them again.

"Zevlor, please! Where are you? Please, Gods, tell me we weren't too late!" The panic in their voice is enough to rouse him. There shouldn't be such pain after death, such a heartbreaking cry. Unless this is his personal Hell. No, this is not real. He won't play their games anymore. He doesn't respond.

"Zevlor! Gods dammit all! Please! Please answer me!" Tav's voice cries again, closer now. The sounds of clanging doors and cells being ripped open follows them. He sighs in content. Even with such pain laden in it, their voice is like a symphony to him now. A soothing balm to caress his soul. He only wishes it was singing one of the lullabies they'd taught the children or telling one of their stories. But this would do.

The world begins to fade around him, finally letting him go. From deep within his swimming hearing, he hears a cell being yanked open. A desperate cry that sounds as if someone is in pain. A word repeated over and over. He strains as much as he cans to listen-

"-vlor! Zevlor. Please, Zev, please!" A desperate cry. He feels hands on his chest, his neck, then moving to his face. He flinches despite himself, and he hears what sounds like a sob. He tries to open his eyes. Tries to tell the visage of his beloved Tav not to cry, that it will all be over soon, but he can't control his tongue nor his eyes. It's as if they're both turned to rock inside his skull.

The last thing he hears before darkness pulls him down is a fractured sentence.

"Karlah- arry him plea- ave to get out of here!"

After that is dark. He's not sure for how long. He's not sure if he was conscious during it all or not. All he's aware of now is warmth that the cells of the cult of Bhaal had been devoid of.

A crackling sound. A fire. He tries to move his hands, move any part of himself. He's able to feel the twitch of his tail and something soft pressing against his fingertips. A bedroll?

No. A bed. A real bed. The soft dip of mattress under him tells him this. Where in the 9 hells is he?

He struggles his eyes open, the light that meets them a little garish compared to the dark of his previous surroundings. However, they adjust after a moment, and he blinks several times. He's in a room, lavishly decorated, warm, large. He turns his hand and sees several beds, all just as large and soft as his own lining the walls. Curtains hang from the doorway, having been pulled down, presumably for his privacy. He hears voices speaking soft beyong them.

He tries to speak but finds his throat hoarse and painful. He tries to sit up instead but groans out loud in pain as he moves his left leg. Right. Basically skinned alive. But looking down, he notices it's been bandaged, the scent of yarrow and other medicinal herbs wafting from around him.

His yelp seems to have been heard as footsteps rapidly approach the curtains, and a pair of hands yank them apart, a face appearing between them. Tav.

Their eyes are wide, set in both fear and relief, their bottom lip quivers slightly before they swallow and quickly close the space between the curtains and his bed. They don't hesitate to drop to their knees beside him, taking one of his clawed hands in theirs.

"Zev! Oh gods, have mercy, you're awake! You're awake. You're safe. I'm here." Their voice seems to flit through the stages of grief, then relief, then gentle happiness. He doesn't reply, just stares at them with wide eyes of his own.

They simply hold his hand tight and keep repeating the same words to him. As if they're an incantation that will heal his battered body. "I'm here. I'm here. I'm here."

His eyes flit to the curtains, and he sees faces peaking through. Tav's companions. They watch with varying degrees of pity, joy, amusement, or disgust. His looks back to Tav and tries to speak, but only a croak replies. Tav's eyes widen, and they're reaching for the pitcher of water beside the bed before he can even grasp at their hand as it leaves his. They pour a glass and hold it to his lips for him, their other hand cradling the back of his neck as they urge him to drink. He does, and before he even realizes it, he's drained the glass. They pour him another, but he only sips at this one before he finally speaks.

"It's you. You came for me...why? Why would you do that? Why would you put yourself and your friends in danger for me? You could've been hurt! You could have been killed!" Its not until Tav places their hands on his cheeks and hums soothingly that he realizes his voice had been growing in volume. One hand remains on his cheek, and the other moves to stroke through his hair, passing across the bases of his horns. He can't keep himself from sighing and curling in on himself at their touch. Tears blur his vision, and he let's them fall. He's so relieved. Not for himself but for them.

"Zevlor, of course I came for you. I would never have left anyone to Orin's torture, but least of all you. I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you." They hushed. His tears continued, and wrecked sobs finally burst forth from his throat.

"But why!? I don't deserve your kindness, your sacrifice, and care! I-I gave in to the absolute! I left my people to die! I broke my oaths, I left innocent children helpess, and now I put you all in danger. I'm a murderer." Zevlor wails. He deserved to die there. He shouldn't be here, he should be a body laying in the pits of Avernus left to-

"Zevlor!" Their voice cuts through again. They're gently pulling his hands away from his arms, where scratches and traces blood are now forming. He'd been hurting himself and hadn't even realized it. "Stop. Zev, your people are safe. I got them out of moonrise, and I returned them to their families. There were a few losses but...I did what I could. Arabella's parents... but that doesn't matter. It isn't your fault. The absolutes hold on people is almost unbreakable, but you did it. You broke it. You aren't a murderer. You're a victim. Please don't hurt yourself over this, I can't bear to see it. I love you too much for it."

Their words are so earnest and spoken with such certainty that he almost misses the end part. His gaze whips up to meet theirs, and he almost cries anew at the look in their eyes. He buries his face in their chest and breakdown down once more. They hold him close and gently rock back and forth with the. They rub his back and stroke his hair and whisper words of encouragement and kindness to him. He takes a deep breath and pulls back from them. He pulls his head back and whimpers.

"I love you. I've loved you since that day in the Grove that you saved Arabella from Kagha. Since you showed Geux how to defend himself or kept Lia and her brothers together. I must have annoyed the others with how much I talked about you after we left there. But I couldn't help myself. You're perfect. You're goodness incarnate. I love you. I need you." His voice sounds foreign to himself. Desperate and teary and full of fear. But that's just the effect Tav has on him. He can be weak in front of them. He can be vulnerable.

Lips press against his before he can even look up again. He let's his eyes slip shut, and he sighs into it, allowing himself to melt into the safety of them. There's no heat behind it. No heavy breaths or searching hands. Just chaste, gentle and caring love. Safety.

They pull away before he's ready but place another kiss against his forehead. They sit on the bed beside him and pull his head against their chest. They whisper sweet nothings to him, promises of care and safety.

"I'm here, you're safe. All is well, everything is going to be okay. I'll protect you. I'll keep you safe." They hum into his hair.

He feels something stir within himself, and he makes a decision then and there. He may have broken his oaths, but he's making a new one to himself. Tav, the guardian of the world, the bringer of peace and safety. He's going to protect them with his life. He'll be there for any fight, any pain, any troubles. For the rest of their lives. He will be there. A gaurdian's gaurdian. And this oath, he will not break. No matter what.

[builtbykittie]

Thirst

J.T.K x f!reader

Summary: you lose your friends at a party, the unfamiliar setting sending you into a panic. Giving up your search, you meet someone very peculiar...

Warnings: 18+, VAMP JAKE, mentions of alcohol, blood, portrayal of fear, injury & pain, blood feeding, SMUT, public sex, oral (f & m rec), fingering, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, choking, anything else I forgot

Words: 5.8k

A/N: happy Halloween to all that celebrate! In honor of one of my favorite times of the year, I give you a spooky Jake smut. Enjoy!

.

A chill creeps its way up your spine as the crisp October weather nips at your skin. "Can't tell which one it is can you?" You jest, shutting the car door behind you and staring at the large house decorated with countless Halloween props, loud music booming inside.

Your friends had plans to go to a party just outside of your city for Halloween. You originally said no but they inevitably convinced you. Apparently one of them knew the host of the party, but of course, you were still suspicious regardless of who knew who.

Large animatronics greet you on your way to the front door, anxiety settling in as you get a glimpse of everybody through the window. Suck it up. It's just a party, what's the worst that could happen?

If you're being honest with yourself, a lot could happen. It is Halloween, after all.

Going against all of your ethics, you walk through the door. Just as you expected there is not a single face you recognize and your group splits up, all going their separate ways. You knew you shouldn't have come.

Instant regret takes over your head and a lump forms in your throat. You can't leave because you didn't even take your car and you don't know anyone that could drive almost an hour just to come get you and drop you back off at your house. You decide a drink could be the best therapy right now.

As you walk through the main room, you lock eyes with a man leaning back against the wall, alone and observing the party. You watch as his tired eyes light up and he stands straight before you look away.

To your misfortune, the kitchen is completely crowded, you're unable to even see the counters. "Excuse me," you try your best to get past the crowd of people in costumes. After no one hears you, you say it again, then again.. and after trying over and over to get past everyone you realize it's no use. Why is nobody listening?

You grow frantic, scanning for any familiar faces. None. You ask countless people if they've seen your friends, giving them the best description you could possibly give, but to no avail. Finally giving up, you spot the patio door and make a beeline straight to it.

The second the cold air hits your skin goosebumps cover your body, nobody else in sight. Odd... Falling into the chair behind you, your eyes flutter shut. By the time you sit down, it's nearly 11:30 p.m. and you're undeniably tired.

You're not positive how much time has passed since you sat down, but you know it's time to get up once you find yourself dozing off. Looking into the party, you dread going back in, so you don't. Is it kinda crazy to be hopping a fence in a vampire dress at eleven at night? Absolutely. Do you care? Not even a little.

Silently thanking the universe that you learned how to hop a fence at a young age, you take your shoes off and throw them over the fence, stepping on the wire and hopping over. As you're getting over the fence, the wire snags your dress and cuts into the meat of your thigh.

The sudden pain causes you to fall over, luckily you hold your arms out to break the fall, but not without tiny rocks and sticks penetrating your skin. "Shit!" You cry, and shakily brush the dirt from your body, hot tears burning at your waterline as you put your shoes back on. This night truly cannot get any worse.

The sound of leaves cracking underneath footsteps interrupts your moment of self-pity, your head darting up faster than the blink of an eye. Your mind races, tears beginning to stream down your hot cheeks as you prepare for the worst.

A relatively shorter figure turns the corner to find you, curled up on the ground with blood trickling down your thigh. "Woah are you okay?" The stranger's low raspy voice speaks from where he stands, slowly stepping forward. "Um.. yeah," you nearly whisper, but the way your voice shakes and cracks proves that you're the opposite of okay.

"Please, let me help," he insists, still taking languid steps to make sure he doesn't startle you. All you can do is nod, accepting your fate. You're never one to trust a stranger, let alone a guy, but you're desperate.

He slowly extends his right arm, patiently holding it out for you. You take his hand, surprisingly calloused fingers holding tightly onto your wrist. "I'm Jacob," he softly grunts as he swiftly pulls you up "Well, Jake."

As you rise to your feet, his face becomes clearer, the moon shining just enough light for you to be able to scan his features. The same man you saw in the house earlier. The first thing you notice is his perfectly plump lips, then his sharp cheekbones, his eyebrows slightly knitted together in worry. The longer you look, the more you fall for him. You absolutely do not believe in love at first sight, but he might just be an exception.

However, you do notice something else. He looks sick.

You brush it off as makeup and pat yourself down "Thank you, I'm Y/N." Jake sends you a tight-lipped grin as you both begin to take steps forward "If you don't mind me asking, what happened?"

"Oh, it's stupid. My friends took me here but left me and I know nobody so I snuck out the back," you swipe away the tears from your cheeks and jawline. His eyebrows furrow and he brings his fingers to his chin "So how'd you get all... messy?" You feel his eyes linger on the large cut down your thigh, blood still trickling out.

"Well... I decided I didn't wanna go back in there, so I tried to hop the fence." A hushed chuckle leaves his lips and you start to realize just how dumb you sound, blood quickly rushing to your cheeks. "I know it's dumb I should've just gone through the house..." you trail off, bringing your cold scraped hands up to your hot face.

"Oh darling, I understand," he grasps the metal fence, opening it for you and placing his hand on the small of your back as he follows you out of the front yard. Darling. Replaying the word in your head, your tummy fills with butterflies fluttering around in your tummy. Knock it off. He's a stranger.

"Can you drive?" His hand never leaves its place on your back. "Considering the fact I didn't drink... I'd say yeah," you kick a rock as you both walk away from the house "but I don't have my car." Suddenly it grows eerily silent, and you become aware of a forest ahead. "Good."

"What?" You stop dead in your tracks, turning to face him. "Can I show you something?" He reaches out to grab your wrist, but you dodge. Fear courses through veins, you frantically look around, searching for anyone to be your knight in shining armor.

"Uh.. my friends are probably looking for me," you smile, hesitantly stepping back. "You sure? Because last time I was in there nobody knew who you were..." Jake steps closer to you, his eyes dark and pupils dilated.

Your own eyes widen as you look around you, without much thought you remove your heels and dart off into the woods.

You run and run until you absolutely cannot push yourself any further. Collapsing against a tree, you drop your heels, letting the tree hold your weight as you sob into your hands. For a minute, you believe you've lost him, struggling to catch your breath as sobs leave your body.

You're proven wrong as you hear the crunch of leaves beneath his boots. A sick, gut wrenching fear manifests it's way into your stomach, twisting your insides. Your heart races and tears flow from your eyes like melting wax on a burning candle. At this point, you're ready to give up.

Jake takes slow steps toward you, as he approaches, he brings his hand up to your waist. He firmly squeezes the meat of your waistline, shooting a sharp pain into your side as he pulls you into him. "Look at me," he demands, his voice low and raspy.

You listen, not just out of fear for your life, but also curiosity. Your eyes flick up to his, wide and fearful as they dart across his face. His other hand grabs your hair in a ponytail "I know you're scared baby, I don't blame you."

Silent sobs leave your body in a mix of fear, confusion, anger, and something else you can't quite put your finger on. Jake violently pulls your head to the side, revealing your neck to him "I'm not gonna hurt you, I don't want to. I promise."

You try your best to keep your crying unknown, but it's no use. Your chest bounces and choked noises escape from your lips. Jake lets go of your hair, both of his hands coming up to cup your cheeks. "Oh please, don't cry," he begs, cleaning up your smudged mascara before coming down to lick the tears from your face. Your brows furrow at the act, but you'd be dead lying if you said you didn't half enjoy it.

His face lingers near yours, your eyes darting all over his face. By now, you are strictly breathing in each other's breaths "Do you want to kiss me?" Your breath hitches in your throat at the question, his face inching even closer than before. It's as if your body is betraying you, you're unable to say anything even if you tried.

If you didn't want to, you'd pull away.

Finally, you manage to nod. A small tight-lipped smile plays on his lips "I have something first..." Confusion and anticipation swirl through your head, you quirk an eyebrow as you wait for what's next.

He doesn't speak, instead, bearing his teeth and dragging two pointed teeth along your lower lip. Your eyes widen and your heartbeat speeds to an impossible pace. There's no way.

Slowly and painfully he begins to sink them into the flesh of your red lips just far enough to create two beads of blood. You suck in a quick gasp as he licks the wounds before pressing his lips against yours. A tingly feeling becomes evident in your stomach and you find yourself oddly aroused by the situation.

"Holy shit. Jake. You're-" he cuts you off, his lips crashing against yours.

You lift your arms, grasping onto the back of his head and pushing him into you. The sting of his lips pressing against the fresh cuts on yours is so deliciously painful. Nothing about this is right.

His hands come up to grope your ass, eliciting a desperate whine into his mouth. You pull him even closer, letting him walk you backward into a tree, never breaking contact. The throb between your legs becomes unbearable as you bury your fingers into his scalp and Jake tugs on your hair.

"Y/N, there's a reason I chose you tonight," his hands sneak around your body, smoothing over the swell of your breasts. Jake groans as he feels your stiffened nipples under his palms. "Why's that?" You mutter, your voice hushed and sultry as your hands begin to wander all over his body, your lips pressed to his jawline.

"Because you were the most beautiful thing to walk through that door," he breathes, slotting a knee between your thighs and grasping your waist. You can't help but let out a tiny moan and pull his face towards you, desperately missing the contact. He pulls back, keeping you still against the tree by your waist "The moment I saw you I knew I'd have you." Jake's strength is unbelievable. You cannot move at all, you're all but squirming as you try to touch him.

"Do you want to fuck me, Y/N?"

The question shocks you and before you can think you begin to nod, then shake your head no, then you nod again. As you're granted his mouth on yours, you slip your tongue between his lips, dragging it over his teeth and pricking it on his canine's. Jake hums against your tongue, pulling away and wrapping one hand around your neck "I gotta hear you say it, darling." You swallow thickly against his neck, discomfort creeping up your throat as he gently squeezes.

"Yes," you whine, your fingers massaging his scalp as you try your hardest to kiss him "Please." He licks up your jawline and peppers kisses to the area. You snake your arm down to his abdomen and untuck his shirt, the tips of your fingers creeping up under the fabric.

He drops his hand and a sharp sting burns on your neck, sucking in a loud gasp and clamping your eyes shut as you realize he's biting you. The pain only lasts a few moments before he withdrawals from you, lapping at the wounds.

Suddenly he slaps your hand away from his torso and sinks down, dragging his calloused fingers down your bare thighs. "Jake what are you-" you're shushed, shock coursing through your veins as his hot breath fans over the deep cut on your thigh.

You throw your head back and let out a cry through gritted teeth in agony as he points his tongue, cleaning the blood from your wound.

"Shit! Jake, fuck," You wail, the pain numbing your body and your vision going blurry. After the blood is cleaned, Jake leans back and places kisses to each wound, a sharp pain shooting up your leg at each peck. "You're delicious, love," he praises "and I haven't even gotten to the best part."

A rush of exhilaration surges through your veins, your insides feeling as if they've just burst into flames. "Please," is all you can muster as Jake starts to draw a line of kisses up your thigh and then down the other. "Patience, love."

You roll your eyes dramatically and sigh, your head spinning as you wait for his next move. Jake continues to draw slow lines of pecks all over your legs as his hands find their place under the skirt of your dress. Your heart nearly jumps out of your chest once his cold fingers reach your panties, his hands resting just on top of your hips.

"You're such a good girl. Being so still and quiet for me," Jake speaks through kisses to your legs that are moving higher and higher by the second. You fight the urge to say something, instead letting him lead the way. At this point you're so wound up that just a slight touch to your heat might drive you mad.

His hands slide down, snagging on your thong and tugging them down. "Shit," Jake groans "Lace?" You can't see his face, but you know he's looking up to you, and your cheeks burn up.

"I- it's just- they're the only clean ones I had..." You stammer, tucking your hair away from your face. "Don't lie to me, baby," Jake smooths his hands over your thighs before bringing one up with a slap against your ass. "I'm not. I- I promise," you lie, chewing on your nails.

Jake simply ignores you, pulling your panties down to your ankles and hiking your dress up past your core.

"Oh baby, you just wanted your pretty little pussy to get a little attention tonight, huh?" He taunts you, bringing his thumb up to your slit and collecting juices. A breathy moan slips out of your lips, your hands involuntarily flying to his hair. Just that interaction alone was enough to make you squirm.

"Mhm..." you can't seem to lie any longer, as if he's forcing you to tell the truth. Jake lays a kiss on the very top of your clit, a shock of electricity flowing through your body. "Yeah, how long has it been since someone fucked you right?"

Just as you go to speak, a moan rips through your chest. Jake drags his fingers through your folds, spreading your arousal all over. "I don't- don't know," you whimper as you melt into his touch, throwing your head back into the tree behind you.

Jake continues to tease you, pressing featherlight kisses to your slit. "M'gonna fuck you so good baby," he speaks through kisses down your inner thigh "make you forget anybody you've had before me."

His words only make you ache even more, your clit crying out to be touched. "Then do it, Jake," you whine "please." You hear a low snicker below you, Jake snakes his hands up your thighs and squeezes rather harshly "beg."

"Please Jake, please touch me. Make me forget everyone who came before you. Make me yours, please," you pet his hair as you speak, so incredibly aroused you can't think of anything but Jake's body. "Atta girl," he whispers lowly, a groan rumbling out from his chest as he breathes over your throbbing cunt.

Jake brings himself incredibly close to your heat, at this point, you're so aroused it's almost painful. Jake begins to kitten lick your incredibly hard clit, and you fight the incredible urge to push his face into you. "So fucking wet," Jake groans, your arousal glistening in the moonlight. "Jake, please... I- I can't," you cry, unable to wait any longer.

Without warning, Jake sucks your clit into his mouth. "Oh- oh fuck," you throw your head back, involuntarily bucking your hips. The velvety feeling of his tongue swirling around your clit as he hums against you is pure pleasure. Just as you get used to his mouth on you, his fingers come up to toy with your entrance, a loud desperate moan tumbling out of your lips.

You're so focused on the pleasure, that you nearly forget that you're in the middle of a forest "Somebody's gonna hear you, baby.." Your head begins to spin once again as you imagine someone hearing you, finding yourself suddenly enjoying yourself even more. "Fuck. You're filthy," Jake speaks lowly with a grin just before continuing his attack on your clit, still just teasing your entrance.

The feeling of his calloused fingers toying with your weeping cunt as his tongue circles around your swollen clit draws you closer and closer to the edge. Your head hangs down as your arms instinctively fly to his head, gently pushing him into you. Jake fights against your hands, a weak whimper flying out of your mouth as he shoves two fingers into you.

"Don't do that," he nips at your thigh "Be a good girl and put your hands behind your back for me." His fingers never stop, viciously ramming up into you as he speaks. You do just as he commanded, reluctantly holding your hands behind your back and struggling to stay inconspicuous.

Jake starts to kitten lick your swollen clit, choked moans fall from your lips as you feel your orgasm approach. Your knees buckle and you writhe against him, his fingers curling up and hitting every single spot just right.

"Oh fuck- right there.. right there," you whine, squirming above him. Just then, he pulls his fingers from you and brings them to his mouth. You let out a cry at the loss of your approaching climax, watching in disbelief as he licks your juices clean from his hand. A guttural groan bubbles up from deep within his chest at the taste, and for a fleeting moment you swear you saw his eyes glow a dark crimson red.

"What the fuck?" You whine, your brows furrowed as he rises to his feet. Jake brings his face to your ear and licks at your neck, his hot breath feeling as if it's burning into your skin "I wanna make you fall apart. Wanna make you so fucking wet for me. I know what I'm doing, just trust me, baby."

You have no choice but to trust him, afraid that if you say something you'll be robbed of the perfect orgasm again. You don't know what to do, your heart pounding in anticipation as his lips drag along your neck. "I want you to take me," he whispers between heavy breaths "Take me right here. Like the fucking slut I know you are."

Your heart skips a beat and you hear your heartbeat in your ears "You're so fucking good. Touch me, darling. Do whatever you please with me." Your stomach flutters, your arms moving before you can even think about what you're doing.

Your fingers find his pants, tracing the hem with your index finger before slightly dipping it in. With your other arm, you pull him into you and smash your lips against his. Impatiently unzipping his pants, you push them down as soon as you get the chance.

You don't even try to hold back or act calm, you're finally getting what you so desperately want. Anticipation courses through your veins as your fingers dance along the hem of his boxers, a deep groan tumbling from his lips and into your mouth once you dip two fingers in.

Your cold fingers nearly burn against his skin, your other arm still wrapped around him and buried deep in the tresses of his hair. Finally, you manage to wrap your hand around him, a deep moan escaping your mouth as you feel him pulsate against you.

You push his boxers down, meeting his pants at his feet. Another deep groan rumbles up from his chest as his cock springs free, his tip brushing against the fabric of your dress. Without a second thought, you drop to your knees, your hands instantly coming up to fondle his base.

Jake sucks in a sharp breath, obviously very pleasantly surprised. The ache between your legs grows even more as you hold him in both of your hands. He has the most perfect cock. He's the perfect length and girth, more than enough to fill you up completely.

Knocking yourself out of the trance his cock has you in, you spit on his length and start to stroke him at a painfully slow pace. You'd get him back for earlier, for robbing you of what you needed so badly.

Jake's hips begin to buck into your hand as you continue that same pace from earlier, desperate groans bubbling up from his chest. "Fuck- I'm not stupid," Jake murmurs, sending another involuntary thrust of his hips into your hand.

You ignore his statement, a devilish smile playing on your lips as you begin to tug on him, your thumb brushing over his slit. Breathy moans flow freely from his mouth in a mix of frustration and pleasure. You come down to draw a line of kisses down his length, lifting him slightly to lick a stripe up to his tip from underneath.

You don't break contact with him, continuing to tease his tip with kisses and kitten licks all while stroking him as slow as you possibly can. You nearly break him, slight noises spewing from his mouth as he continues to fuck himself into your hand harder and sloppier.

That is until he digs his fingers into your scalp, grabbing a bunch of hair and pulling you back. Tears prick at your waterline as he begins to pull you up by your hair, a loud yelp slipping past your swollen lips. "You fucking whore," Jake growls, letting go of your hair and pulling you into him by your waist with an iron-clad grasp.

"Please," you whimper, taking the opportunity to grind your body against his. Without another word, he's flipping you around with a grunt and throwing you into the tree. You throw your arms out and catch yourself on the tree, your palms throbbing as you scrape them even more.

A moan rips through your chest and for some sick reason, you find yourself even more turned on than before, if it's possible. "Fuck, baby. You like that? Do you like being hurt?" Jake's upper body is flush against your back, a chill sneaking up your body as he whispers in your ear.

You've never considered yourself a masochist, let alone someone who enjoys pain in general, but for Jake, you might be. Before you can fully process the question, you frantically nod your head. Jake presses his palm against your back, pushing you down and forcing you to bend over.

Your back arches slightly, allowing yourself to put on a show for him as you swivel your hips. The anticipation is too much, the feeling of his rough hands hiking up your dress and smoothing over your ass sending you into a frenzy. "You wanna be fucked so bad don't you pretty?" He slaps your ass, the other hand coming around your body and finding your heat.

"You're so fucking wet for me," Jake snarls, bending slightly to whisper in your ear. "M'gonna make you mine," his voice is low and gravely, a whine leaving your lips at the statement.

You hang your head as you wait, the throb between your legs becoming impossible to ignore. Jake's hand is still toying with your soaked pussy, his rough fingers running through your incredibly slick folds. "Jacob..."

"What is it?" He knows exactly what you want, simply just teasing to worsen your suffering. "Jake please," you whimper, trying your very best to keep calm "Make me yours." You hear a deep snicker from behind you, a shock of electricity flowing through your body as he begins to drag his tip through your cunt.

You push yourself back onto him, not at all expecting him to push into you. "Oh fuck," you cry, feeling every inch of him as he so deliciously stretches you out. "Shit- you feel so fucking good," he snarls, his hips faltering slightly as he begins to find the perfect rhythm.

Jake's hand comes in contact with your clit, sending your head flying back with a string of hushed curses at the feeling. He doesn't hold back, the skin of his thighs clashing with the backs of yours, the hand not toying with your sensitive clit slapping your ass before returning to its place on your hip.

The pattern Jake has set is so rough yet so sweet. His hips roll as they thrust into you relentlessly while his other hand babies your swollen bud. "Do you like this?" Jake grunts, punctuating each word with an intoxicating thrust.

"Like- fuck- like what?" You stutter, pushing yourself with your hands to fuck yourself back onto him even harder. "Being treated like a slut out here in the open," he growls "Anyone can walk in and see us. Anyone can hear you moan for me like a little whore."

His words mixed with the rhythm of his hips and the way his fingers dance along your clit elicit sick noises you didn't even know you could make. "Mhm..." You moan, clawing at the bark of the tree to keep yourself as quiet as possible.

"Tell me how much you love it, darling," he rasps, and you can tell it's getting harder for him to form sentences. The hand at your hip finds its way to your neck, squeezing ever so gently and pulling you up into him.

You fail to form a sentence, his hand squeezing harder than before "go on, say it." All that comes out as you open your mouth is a pathetic squeal, bringing one hand off the tree to grasp the wrist around your throat.

"I love it, Jake," a cry of pleasure falling past your lips as he delivers a particularly sharp thrust into you "It's so fucking hot." His cock lit the embers deep within you, a fire sparking in your core as he buries himself so far inside you.

His hand keeps its grip around your throat, the other still teasing your clit. "Oh, fuck!" You nearly shout, your thighs aching as you continue to fuck yourself onto him every chance you get. "You're a noisy little thing aren't you?" Jake grunts with every thrust, his hips beginning to falter.

You respond with an involuntary high-pitched moan, rolling your hips against his fingers. The fire inside you grows, flames dancing throughout your body and spreading to every limb. It's clear he loved to hear you, fucking harder into you with every peep from your mouth.

It felt almost as if he was made for you. As if he'd fucked you a thousand times before. You don't know if you could live without it after tonight.

Your eyes rolled back into your head, choked moans and squeals flowing freely from your lips. "You're so fucking hot," Jake rasps "so fucking warm and tight around my cock baby."

At this point you know you won't last much longer, the fire burning inside you beginning to violently dance around every inch of your body and the coil in your tummy tightening. "Jake I'm gonna-" you interrupt yourself with a near shriek, completely blocking out your surroundings and focusing on nothing but Jake.

"You gonna cum, pretty? You gonna make a mess all over my cock?" He struggles to get the sentence out, his cock ramming so far into you it's nearly touching your cervix. "Yes. I'm so close..." It's getting harder and harder for you to breathe, Jake's hand keeping still against your throat.

"Fuck- cum for me, baby. C'mon," Jake coos, his hand rubbing rough, merciless circles into your clit as his cock hits a sweet spot with each and every thrust.

He feels like pure heaven, the sinful way he fucks so hard into you driving you straight to the edge. Your eyes clamp shut as you feel your orgasm creep up "fuck! Oh my god, fuck me." Suddenly, like harsh waves crashing against a shore, your orgasm fully takes over.

"That's it, baby. Fuck. Cum for me, just like that," Jake groans, delivering one final sharp thrust before his hot release spurts into you, painting your walls in ivory slick.

Jake's got you reduced to nothing but a whimpering, panting mess, and you love it.

It takes you a moment to come back to earth, Jake's cock still buried deep inside you. "You're such a good girl," his hands leave their place, coming to rest on the swell of your ass. You try to respond, but nothing comes out.

Jake lifts a hand and forces it down against your ass, the pads of his fingers massaging the supple flesh. A loud yelp flies last your lips at the contact, your body jutting forward.

"M'gonna pull out, okay?" He smooths his hand over the red skin of the back of your thighs, soothing the sting. You manage to mumble out an 'okay', clamping your eyes shut and practically holding your breath.

Sucking in a hiss, he pulls out, juices immediately dripping down your thigh. His hands grasp your waist, spinning you around to face him. "Touch yourself. Clean yourself up for me."

Your eyes blow wide at the command, but you do as he says anyway. Your clit is still wildly overstimulated, a whimper leaving your mouth at the slightest touch. You collect juices with your fingers, painfully spreading them all around your core.

"Jake I- I can't," you whine, your knees buckling as you press your fingers against your clit, your other arm grasping at the back of his neck for support. "Yes, you can. C'mon, be a good little slut," he presses, coming down to lay open-mouth kisses against your neck.

A cry leaves your lips, that same fire sparking again as you shove two fingers inside your entrance. Jake grabs your arm, pulling your fingers from yourself and bringing it to his lips. Slowly, he takes them into his mouth, his saliva cleaning the juices completely off your fingers.

"So fucking good. Now get on your knees," Jake demands "lick it off."

Again, you do as he says, sinking to your knees and grasping the base of his cock. You drag your tongue along his length from base to tip, licking every inch and making sure you got every last drop. "Atta girl."

Jake slowly helps you up, pressing your back against the tree and smashing his lips against yours. "Does it taste good baby?" Jake growls between kisses, massaging his fingers into your scalp. "Mhm," you whine, your arms wrapping around his body before he pulls back completely.

The two of you simply just look into each other's faces, breathing in the sweet taste and smell of sex that lingers in the air. "Let me take you home."

You simply just nod, Jake pulling his clothes back on as you grab your heels and slide your damp panties off your body. "So.. how does this work?"

"What?" Jake looks to you as the two of you begin walking back to the party.

"The whole... Vampire.. thing..." You trail off, looking down at the leaves crunching beneath both of your feet. You hear him chuckle to himself, amused by your curiosity.

"Y'know it's crazy how much people get wrong," he takes your hand in his "it's not a big deal, really. But if I go too long without specific needs, it could hurt me."

The two of you reach the entrance of the forest, street lights flickering along the road. When you look at him, he looks a lot more alive, significantly less tired and sick than earlier. "So... what, you feed with blood? That's kinda.. basic."

"Something like that, yeah. That and sex, basically," Jake laughs through his words, inching closer and closer to the party. "Sex?" You giggle, looking at him. "Yeah.. is something wrong with that?"

The two of you reach his car "No... I just didn't expect it." Jake opens the door for you, letting you slip in before shutting it and rounding the car to get in the driver's side.

"It's basically like.. energy feeding? It's hard to explain."

---

"So you don't turn to dust in the sunlight?" You both laugh. "No. I don't even know where that came from.."

Jake's car slows to a stop "This it?" Apparently, you'd lost track of time because as you look out your window, you see your house. "Mhm," you get out of the car, walking up to the steps of your home and letting Jake meet you there.

He pulls you into a kiss "I hope you had fun tonight, darling." A large smile finds its way on your face "I did."

"Hey, uh... How can I see you again?"

"I was hoping you'd say that." Jake reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a piece of paper with his number already on it, and holding it out to you with a smile "Call me when you get lonely."

.

.

.

[fangswbenefits]

Inexperienced!Miguel? Oh goodness... my quack is quaking. (I have too many inappropriate duck jokes-)

Miguel knows he has a breeding kink, and hes reminded it of it everytime youre around Mayday, but hes just scared to say anything. He doesn't want to scare you off, and how could he, so inexperienced, demand you of such things?

It isnt until you have him whining and gasping, right on the brick or pleasure and tears when he starts pleading. Large hands holding your hips tentatively as you ride him, nails digging in just slightly from the amount of bliss you're nearly overstimulating him with. And he's so close, just right there,

"Please, please, let me breed you, please," He sobs, practically begging, tears running down his face, his thrust stuttering. You slow to a stop. Staring down at him, absolutely bewildered.

Immediately his cheeks flush with embarrassment as he realizes what he's just blurted out. Tears keep falling bc hes just so embarrassed, stuttering and spewing apologies and excuses. A gentle hand to his throat shuts him up real fast, and he shutters his eyes shut, preparing for some punishment. Expecting you to call him names for terrible such thinking.

"You wanna pump a baby in me, pretty boy?" You coo, and his eyes snap open. "C'mon, then, fill me up."

Miguel is sent seeing stars as you ride him with such intensity, your legs are burning. His head is thrown back, loud, almost lion like groans are falling from his lips. Your little 'thats it, baby,' and other encouragements are going straight to his dick. His feet are planted on the bed so he can thrust up into you harder and faster, crying out sayings you don't fully understand but can't wait to hear more of.

He cums in no time. You'll have to train him to hold it til you cum together, but you finish yourself off for now. After all, he's been such a good boy. And his little high pitched cries as you pulse around him, walls clenching as you reach your high are very worth it.

He won't leave your warmth, so aftercare is a bit awkward as you can't do much. He's just so clingy after spending everything he had in him, he doesn't want to let you go. Poor boy needs to bury himself in your heat and in your chest, arms tight around your waist as he keeps you impossibly close. His breathing hot and heavy as he gulps and swallows at each little flutter your cunt teases him with.

And though he's extremely exhausted, he really hasn't done this enough, but he slides a hand down to your tummy. His warm palm resting on your soft skin. He cannot wait to see you so round and full of him. It sends the blood right back down and suddenly you're pinned under one very flustered face Miguel.

His blush goes deep down his chest, eyes still in post-ogasmic haze, and he smiles lopsidedly.

" 'M gon' get you s'full," His words are slurred as he rests on his forearms. So he can be closer to you as he tries his very best to fuck into you from this position. Trying to remember how you taught hin the first time he had you pinned on the bed, your legs wrapped around his thin waist. "You're gon... be s'full." He pants, swallowing a whine as he keeps going, earning a low groan from you.

Miguel can't tell what's better; That you're letting him breed you, or that you seem to be craving him just as much as he craves you.

-🦆🦆

“"Please, please, let me breed you, please," He sobs, practically begging, tears running down his face, his thrust stuttering. You slow to a stop. Staring down at him, absolutely bewildered.”

[palaceofpassion]

Welcome back, my good mutual. I have an ask for you.

In the spirit of the coming month, can you give us a scenario in which it's the Remnant equivalent of St. Patrick's Day, and the only person not wearing green... is Jaune?

Sweat ran down his brow, his heart raced in his chest. Sapphire eyes dashed from left to right. He was in a hurry, and no one would stop him. He didn't know where or when they'd come for him next! He had to be vigilant, this was what all his training had left up to.

He wouldn't let Pyr down, not again! Then it happened, his ears twitched as he heard a sound around the corner.

"Oooh Jaune~" The voice was sickeningly sweet.

Weiss never used that tone of voice with him, unless she demanded blood. Blood that suddenly curdled in primal fear.

He turned around, nearly falling over as his boots slid across the slick floor. His heart felt as if it would pop any second.

He needed to get to the dorm!

He knew a secret path, or at least a place that no one else would find him.

He heard another voice. "He's over there!" Nora called from the distance, there could be no other with that much energy.

"On it." It was Ren. Why was Ren turning on him so easily?!

He couldn't believe it, his friends were all traitors!

"Arc. I believe this is the end." His fears grew worse, it was Ciel Soleil, from Penny's team. She had somehow gotten before him, her normal calm demeanor coated with something wicked.

He wasn't going to stop in time, there was no way to avoid her. She he didn't bother. He put all his aura before him, and shifted into a shoulder tackle.

She must not have expected this outcome, for she simply moved out of the way to avoid him.

He was grateful that she didn't know him as well as his other friends. Any one close to him would have simply taken him from the bottom and knocked him over.

Eventually he made it through, only to see a flash of sorrow in the corner of his eye. Emerald eyes, followed by brilliant red. His world turned black as he was suddenly pulled aside by an unseen force.

Only to be caught by what he could describe as two soft pillows.

THe sound of the door closed behind him, a loud THUD.

He was trapped.

His world was over, before suddenly feeling a burning sensation on both sides of his waist. "Agh!" He cried out in pain, this was the end for him.

"Really now Jaune, was that so bad?" Pyrrha's voice reached his ears, the tall spartanish girl shook her head at his over dramatics. "This is why I tried to tell you to wear green." One of her hands was currently on his right side.

"Ye...yes! It... you should have just... given up earlier." ON the other was May Zedong from BRNZ. Having teamed up with Pyrrha, the two had managed to capture, and lay him low. Her fingers pinched his other side.

Both girls simply sighed, then giggled as they put a green scarf around his neck.

"Boo! I thought I could last longer." He gave up, falling on his back with dramatic flare.

Today had been the day of green! And he hadn't worn any.

"Too bad you don't have any natural green."

The final voice, Jessica Cruz a new first year here at Beacon, knelt before him, looking down as he rolled his eyes. "But a brave warrior doesn't yield!"

There was a silence, before he started to giggle. Apparently his self challenge failed! He had wanted to see how well he'd gone into training since his first year here at Beacon. But it seemed he was still no match for the stars. That didn't bother him though, because life was good.

"Yes yes, now get up, we can finally go enjoy the buffet, before Nora eats it all." He smiled as Pyrrha extended her hand to lift him up. He really was happy with his life.