#don't like don't read

[weirdworldofwinnie]

A Safe Way Out

Jonathan Breech x Female Reader (NSFW 18+ only)

Summary: You're a very shy patient at the psychiatric hospital and the newest inpatient part of the therapy group has to be the cutest man you've ever seen, and he takes an interest in you, but he's not quite as innocent as he looks.

Word Count: ~3,384

Warnings: Smut (unprotected sex), loss of virginity/innocent reader, cum squirting, oral (fem receiving), mental illness, past trauma, talk of depression and suicide, some angst, language

Disclaimer: This just fantasy/fiction, I do not own anything from the 2001 Irish film On the Edge starring Cillian Murphy.

Breech, Jonathan.

He was surely the prettiest person you'd ever witnessed admitted to this institution that he could make both men and even women jealous, even though his pajamas were ill-fittingly too short and he had a cocky attitude that didn't go unnoticed by the staff and other patients, but he wasn't a total asshole... at least you hoped.

At the couple of group therapy sessions he attended he was rebellious, giving the always tired (but very patient) Dr. Figure grief through ample sarcasm that made you stifle smirks, but as usual you never spoke much, being selectively mute unless you were forced to answer a question from Dr. Figure. They didn't give any drugs to dope up; the doctor didn't think you nor the small group you were part of needed them, but sometimes you wished they would so you didn't have to participate in these stupid sessions that went in half-spun circles and could just conk out in your room or outside.

You had been submitted here by your estranged parents after a series of concerning events that you had tried to mentally block out, including attempting to take your own life because of bullying and abuse; you were not able to ever acclimate fully to society because of it, which led you to being stuck in this place, mentally spinning wheels while growing more and more wary of the outside world everyday. Jonathan was the opposite; he had a spark of defiance and a fire you didn't have enough oxygen for to nourish for yourself. He clearly didn't think he really belonged here and in a way, you sort of admired him even if he was a bit strange and potentially dangerous... He was certainly an exciting refresher in such a dull, day-to-day drudgery.

One day after walking out of yet another mildly frustrating therapy session, he stepped in front of you in the hall as you were making your way back to your room alone, a curious light in his stunningly blue excuses for eyeballs.

"Hey, you mind if I join ya in your room?" he asked suddenly and you froze, uncertain of how to react. You only ever minimally interacted one-on-one with people you trusted... Fellow patient Nick kept saying Jonathan wasn't to be trusted, but Nick was also kind of a paranoid weirdo that always was listening to his headphones, so what did he know?

Jonathan seemed to sense your hesitation and he grinned, trying to put you at ease or maybe he was just messing with you. Either way, you had to hide your intrigue in case he was pulling your leg.

"Don't look spooked out, I'm just so fucking bored at this place and you're pretty cute, but you never really talk... I just wanna get to know ya better," he explained sincerely, but you still felt wary.

"Can I see your room at least?" he asked innocently and you finally gave him a shy nod, causing him to smile in broad relief that reminded you of the last rays of sunlight splashing upon the cliffs.

He walked along beside you, swinging his arms back and forth a bit as if he was winding himself up, all the way to your room and past an orderly who gave him a suspicious glance, but you gave the man a thumbs up to let him know it was fine. Security here was surprisingly not as strict as one would imagine for a psychiatric hospital and the younger patients tended to sneak out once a week to the city with minimal repercussions. They always came back anyway.

You reached your designated room and opened the door slowly, and Jonathan strolled in after you, sighing loudly.

"Oh, would'ja look at that - they gave you the fanciest room they've got," he commented sarcastically as you sat down on the small bed, tucking your knees up to your chest and he stood, surveying you and scene for a second and then joining to sit, copying your posture. He fiddled with his slippers for a minute and then turned to you curiously.

"So lemme get this right: You only talk when or if you have ta?"

"Yeah," you mumbled and he nodded sagely.

"That's an interesting way to deal with people. Don't blame ya, lot of wanks out there not worth being spoken to. What's your name - I mean, I know it from the meeting, but can you say it?" he asked, however unlike any doctor, it wasn't clinical or judgmental. He truly seemed interested and so you whispered your first name aloud to the floor.

"It's a nice name. How old are you?" You could hear the smile in his deep voice.

"T-Twenty two," you responded with a slight stutter, too fluttery to be able to meet his gaze.

"Fuck, that's older than me... I'm nineteen, but you know already know that. You ever been anywhere outside of Dublin?"

You looked away, not answering. If you ever had, you'd been too small to remember.

"How long you've been here?" he asked curiously and you splayed your hand, palm up towards him.

"Five weeks or five years?"

"Years," you whispered and he was silent for a few minutes, picking at the hem of his baby blue pajama pants.

"So much for the road to recovery, eh?" he scoffed and you just shrugged.

He put his legs down, feet flat on the floor and crossing his arms tight to his chest, wearing that oversized silly orange patterned sweater of his. He sniffed and bit his lip, glancing up at the bare ceiling as if he would find the answers to existence there.

"Something happened to you, I know. Shit, something happened to us all here. It's okay if you don't wanna or can't talk 'bout it. But I can't figure out if you have the same thoughts me and the others have? You know, what the doc locks us up for... suicidal? Like there's no fucking point to this blip of existence? And they think we're nuts, but we just seein' the truth."

You slowly pulled up your sleeve, exposing the faint scars etched into your left wrist, remnants of cutting attempts to escape life before you had been dumped off in this place indefinitely. You had never tried it since and were now an adult and could seek the means to leave if you truly wanted to, but there was nothing out there in the world for you.

"See this pinky finger?" Jonathan asked suddenly, poking up his baby finger and you nodded, interested.

"I was just trying to get rid of what was left of me old Da and the damn car didn't do the job right. Could've broken neck but all I broke was me baby finger. Least you've got the scars there to prove survivin'." He sighed heavily, almost disappointed, and you spoke the first sentence you had in days, your voice hushed from disuse.

"Why do ya wanna die?"

He blinked, giving you a meaningful glance and his full lips stretched into a tight ironic smile.

"I don't want to die; I don't want to be alive. I'm just a fucking living ghost, we all are... Doesn't that realization scare the wits outta ya?"

He looked away at the wall, blinking as the drippy tears escaped and his mouth quivered in quiet anguish, his dewy face scrunching up. You reached over and touched his cheek, catching a tear rolling down his smooth pallid skin and wiping it off tenderly. He sniffled, embarrassed, and gently took your wrist and whispered emphatically.

"I like you, Y/N. You don't freak out or talk down to me or bitch about your own problems. You're unique, but I'm thinking ya too cute to be truly crazy."

"Cute?" you repeated and he grinned at hearing your high breathy voice.

"Don't be so afraid to talk, you got a pretty voice. Bet nobody be calling ya cute in a long time, right?"

You shrugged sheepishly and he tilted your chin up with his fingers, tracing the outline of your face fondly and you blushed, not used to being touched by anyone like that. It was... comforting, a feeling you had been very numb to for some time. His pinkish lips parted and he tilted his head slightly, mouth gaping in anticipation for a kiss but you froze, unsure and not wanting to take the lead.

"I want a kiss," he murmured and the way he said it made you draw closer, trusting the process. He closed his eyes and blindly groped your lips, sucking, and then his tongue dove in with a surprising force, swirling around your mouth and he gripped the sides of your head in a vice, cutting off any resistance... Not that you were repulsed in any way once the initial shock wore off.

He broke away after several seconds, gasping and licking his lips hungrily.

"Mm, didja like that?"

Your cheeks became pink and he glanced over your head at the windowpanes being pattered with a steady rain and it was growing dimmer outside, evening approaching with a cloaking storm, and it reflected in the dull colors of the room that was becoming muted of natural light.

"Can I show you something?" he asked huskily, shifting on the bed restlessly.

You ducked your chin in affirmative, heart fluttering in uncertainty as he reached to yank his sweater and pajama shirt over his head, leaving him with a bare chest. You stared, fascinated in his anatomy; it had been so long since you'd seen anyone without some clothing on. He grinned, pointing awkwardly to your own chest.

"So, uh, now this... this'll be the part where you remove your garment," he instructed and cautiously, you unbuttoned your pj's and you never wore a bra, so soon he was facing your naked breasts with your nipples hardening from the airy exposure.

"Really cute," he breathed, gently putting a finger to your right nipple and pressing lightly, stroking around the center and then drawing a line to the other breast, doing the same to that one and you shivered, feeling a strange pull in your stomach that was borderline butterflies. He leaned back, bouncing up slightly on the bed and kicking his slippers off to the floor.

"But hold on, there's more to see," he said with a verging mischievous excitement. You'd never seen him look so genuinely joyful and as he tugged down his pj bottoms, you blinked, faced with a protruding bugle in his white underwear.

After a beat, he removed his boxers, springing forth a stiff appendage that you'd never in the flesh on a man, well, in its erect state at least.

"Want to touch it? It doesn't bite," Jonathan joked with a lazy grin and you cautiously extended a hand and put your fingers on the glistening tip. It was definitely moist and firmly solid, and he shuddered through a breath of arousal.

"Wet," you observed and he laughed, scooting closer so his penis was resting in your hands.

"I like it when you touch me there, don't stop," he begged and you felt him up, amused at his reaction.

He twitched in your palms as you ran careful fingers up his fleshy length and to his balls, lightly petting the coarse dark hair nesting around them, and he shivered pleasurably, resisting the urge to already ejaculate.

"Feelin' good?" you asked fondly, seeing his mouth agape and eyes nearly rolling back.

"Too fuckin' good, need to stop before I cum too quick. Wanna enjoy this... Lemme have at that pussy of yours now instead of using me dick, m'kay?"

You could tell it wasn't a question, but you weren't sure what he meant entirely. You eased off his genitalia, cock dripping slightly, and sat back, waiting for him to elaborate.

"Here," Jonathan murmured and his hands went to your waist, teasing down the waistband of your pj's and pushing the pants down your legs, letting you wiggle out and kick them to the floor, along with your slippers. He stared for a full ten seconds at your womanhood, biting his lip and swirling his tongue around his mouth, before he bent down and spread your legs apart. You tried to ask him what was going to happen, but he dove in already, tongue flicking at your delicate folds with attempted precision. You gasped audibly at the new sensation and he clamped hands down on your thighs, clinging on as he maneuvered his thick tongue faster and you grabbed at a fistful of his hair, shaking from the unfamiliarity and equal anticipation as your body seemed to take control of natural instincts and budding arousal grew stronger.

He just wanted to warm you up though, and he withdrew his tongue soon, lips glistening with a tiny smear of discharge. Your bare chest rose and fell in rhythm as he surveyed the fresh terrain, just aching for more. You very well might be a complete virgin and that prospect tantalized him yet also privately frightened him of messing up. Of course he'd been with girls before, but they weren't this sheltered and sweet. He may corrupt you and alter the course of this extremely new friendship, which in his mind was always meant to become more of a relationship; the moment he saw you he knew he needed to get in your pants.

"Eh, give it a go," Jonathan told himself forcibly and his finger jerked onto your entrance, worming in needily and making you squeak in surprise. He shushed you, zipping his lips with his free hand, giving you a clear message that it wasn't wise to make unusual noises. Even though it wasn't like there was cameras in the rooms, one couldn't be too careful. If Dr. Figure found out his newest unstable patient, the same one that pledged not to kill himself before New Year's Eve, was somewhat taking advantage of a virgin he just met in her own room, the doc would be most displeased.

Nevertheless, whimpers escaped from your throat as he pressed further to your clit and moved another finger to join the first, uncomfortably stretching into your walls. Despite the stinging pain, you felt an decent amount of wetness pooling from your vagina, almost like peeing, and clenched reflexively, hitting his knuckles.

"Oh, I'm thinking it's ready," he whispered impatiently, wriggling his digits away with a squelch and wiping your light drizzle of cum on his cock.

Before you could react, he adjusted position and slid on top of you, pressing his body down onto your bare one and rubbing his full cock in-between your thighs.

You gasped when he began to shove in rather roughly, squirming into your tight unbroken hole and you looked up at his face, watching his hair askew slightly and you noticed a scar above his eyebrow you hadn't noticed before. You wrapped your arms around his neck, afraid to get pinned underneath him, and tried to buck and roll with the motion, but it was getting painful.

"Hurts," you whimpered into his ear as he thrusted further.

"Not gonna hurt in a minute, baby," he whispered, too in heat to stop and consider much else and he clapped a hand over your mouth to stifle any more alarming noises.

"C-Can't go-go all the way in," he panted, his skin slapping yours and rocking the whole small bed.

Sure enough, the pain became more bearable though the more he worked you and pleasure eventually overturned it altogether, the bursting bloom of an orgasm that was very likely the best feeling that had ever happened to you. You sank your mouth on his shoulder to stifle a cry, careful to not bite too deeply, and then mewled into his neck, panting heavily along with him and digging your fingers into his brown scrubby sideburns and floppy hair.

"Mm, fuc-fucking good, ya likin' it, eh?" Jonathan choked out in a whisper and you couldn't respond, too taken by this incredible euphoria and the way his cock flexed inside close at your cervix. You weren't sure how long he could stay in without it becoming too uncomfortable, but he lifted up slightly, grunting softly at his own arousal and effort.

He pulled out just in time, finishing outside by squirting hot ropes of milky cum all over your vagina, stomach, and legs. The bedsheets took a few splatters as well and he heaved in relief as you laid there, utterly stunned at his sexual performance. You had squirted a little bit too and it had intermixed with his juices that you couldn't tell which was from whom. It was so intimate and gross and a big part of you absolutely loved it, having never been in such a situation before... It was exciting and playful.

He swiped two fingers through the fluids and spread it on your thighs further, encouraging you to feel it as well and you giggled at him taking your own fingers and guiding them up to his face, dotting his chin with cum.

Jonathan then sat back on his haunches and admired you, catching his breath and listening to the steady patter of rain. You rolled over onto your side and your eyes widened at a couple spots of blood on the sheets and he looked down in causal observance.

"Ah, that'd be normal, don't worry," he assured with a chuckle.

"Though, uh, maybe we'd better try to hide it case they come collect the sheets tomorrow," he realized on second thought.

"I say I been bleeding, on my cycle," you offered as an explanation.

"Yeah, that'd be good cover," he agreed and climbed off, picking up his clothing and shimmying back into the pajamas and sweater.

"Look, I'll get us some towels or somethin' from the bathroom," he said, walking quietly to the door and opening it with a peering glance out, but the coast was clear. Most patients should be in their rooms by now anyhow.

You relaxed in a post-orgasmic trance while he was gone, listening to the dripping weather outside and wondering how you'd be able to be normal around him tomorrow.

The door squeaked open softly a couple minutes later and Jonathan came back inside with a bundle of torn sheets of toilet paper clutched in his hand.

"Couldn't get towels, so I took some shit paper that'll have ta do instead," he announced with dry amusement and he used it to wipe you clean of the wet mess and you thanked him quietly, grateful to be dry again for it had become rather cold and tingly on your skin. You automatically flinched a fraction when he wiped at your folds, as you were raw and sore, but he was fairly gentle. When he finished, Jonathan moved in very close as if for a kiss, but only whispered near to your ear, tickling your earlobe with his warm breath.

"Don't tell anyone about what we did... just a little secret, m'kay? Though I guess you wouldn't be blabbin' to anyone else anyway," he chuckled darkly, but it wasn't mean.

"Maybe we can see each other again?" he proposed as he balled up the soiled toilet paper and retreated back towards the door.

"Okay, Jonathan," you whispered in reply and he flushed at the sound of his name on your lips.

"I think you'll be my new therapy, better than anything that wanker of a Freud psychiatrist can offer." He paused, shuffling his feet and then glanced up daringly, determination in his blue orbs.

"We'll find a way out soon, a safe way out, me and you and Rachel and Toby... and I'll show you how to have a good time at the pub, eh? Like the sound of that?"

You only smiled as he turned to exit, but then abruptly paused and bit his lip as he looked back at you with a yearning, like what the two of you had just done still wasn't enough.

"Abair do phaidreacha agus codhladh sámh," he spoke in Gaelic and you translated back softly with a meaningful smile.

"Say your prayers and sleep well."

With a dip of his head and smug, yet almost childlike smile, Jonathan ducked out the door and was gone for the night.

#jonathan breech #on the edge #on the edge 2001 #jonathan breech x reader #cillian murphy #jonathan breech smut #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy x reader #cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x fem!reader #young cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfic #on the edge movie #irish film #fictional psychiatric hospital #don't like don't read #my writing #winnie's writing

[navybrat817]

First, nonnie, it's "You're".

Second, I'm more than aware that there are better writers on this site. I also know there are writers far more popular than I am. Why should I let that stop me?

Why can I not tell my stories, too?

Don't like my takes on Bucky? Don't read them.

That fucking simple.

Thanks for stopping by.

#navybrat answers #no hate here #don't like don't read #feel free to block #anon ask #don't be an askhole

[corazondebeskar-reads]

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

very dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 10k

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

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

dividers by @saradika-graphics

NOTE: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

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

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

Warnings under the cut:

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

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

Please read responsibly. 

I. in media res

     -the fracture

There’s one comfort Joel almost never denies you.

Well, never denies himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up,” he snarls.

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

“Get in,” he says.

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” you cry.

He shuts and locks the gate.

II. from the start

     -intact

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You did good back there,” he says.

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I doubt that. Try me,” he says.

“What?”

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

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

“And make ya take it?” he guesses.

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

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

“It’s not,” you mumble.

“Speak up, honey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh yeah, cowboy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please, please, Joel,” you beg.

“Please who now?”

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

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

You nod. “Yes, sir; thank you, sir.”

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

“Would like more,” you say.

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

“Anything, please, sir.”

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

“I do mean it.”

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

Tears spring to your eyes, but you nod frantically.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry, sir,” you whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry…?”

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

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

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

     -fissured

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

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

“Take ‘em off and hand ‘em to me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“N-no, I am sorry, I mean it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me what you did wrong today.”

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

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

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

“No, sir.”

“Why’d you argue?”

“I was afraid. I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

Your face burns. “I—”

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

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

“Hmm. Okay, I can work with that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You gonna trust me?”

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

Not that he would.

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

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

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

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

“So?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

     -avulsed

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re too good to me,” you mumble.

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

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

“I dunno. It’s nothin’,” he says.

“Please tell me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know, sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mind your business,” your dad tells him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you do.

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” you finally confess. “But—”

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” you say automatically.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re shaking, and he pulls out abruptly.

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

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

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

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

“Still disappointed?” he teases.

“N-no,” you pant. “Please hurt me.”

“Beg me properly, greedy little cunt.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     -broken

The day had started out fine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This time would have to be different, though.

It was time to finally break you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I—”

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

You start to cry. “I can’t say it.”

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

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

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

“Did you enjoy it?” he says.

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

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

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

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

“Why’d you do that, baby?”

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

“You what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’re you going to do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He can’t wait to take you to The Pit.

     -kintsugi

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, lip trembling.

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

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

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

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

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

[poopersdoopers]

Apple Pie

Summary: Sanji x Fem! Reader Angst and fluff. TW: jealousy, reader gets literally sick of all the flirting. 100% safe for work.

Im not editing this, good luck y'all. Love you tho!

Sanji had betrayed you for the last time.

You usually weren’t a possessive lover. You trusted the cook to remain loyal to you, but you couldn’t stand those fleeting eyes. 

Every day he would profess his undying love for you.

But every day he would lean into the curve of another woman’s neck to breathe in the scent.

And here you were, eyes fixed on a man who would leap into another’s embrace if given the okay by you.

Perhaps it was Nami or maybe Zoro’s knowing stares at you, that set you over the edge. The way the orange-hair woman shrugged off the cook’s advances, knowing your steeled eyes were always watching. Her eyes darting between the two of you.

Or the way, Zoro would sneer at Sanji’s flirtatious behavior every time the pervert sing-song praises at a woman a third of your size. Even their daily bickering becoming a bit too much for you.

Your Captain had been invited to dinner by a shop-keeper as a thank you for defeating a local gang. Free food was always a deal Luffy could not deny, just as much as Sanji could not deny the company of a beautiful woman or her 8 lovely, unmarried sisters. Great.

The black legged man served out a 6-course meal in the span of an hour and a half. Each sister sang praises, in return were given a sip from the finest flirt of the seas. They blushed at your boyfriend’s praise. Touching.

You could feel Nami and Zoro’s concern loom over the heat of your face. The navigator literally placed her hand atop your thigh and remarked, “I’m sorry, y/n.”

But who were you to deny your flouncy boyfriend’s nature?Whose eyes literally turned into hearts when he looked at you. Whose passion could be felt in each firefly step he took.

That’s when he sets your favorite dessert at the table with a kiss atop of your forehead.

 “For my favorite lady, a tiramisu”. 

One of the 8 beauties gasped in shock.You could hear someone mumble, “I never pictured you with someone like that.” Another sister giggled. You could feel the whole table staring, besides your Captain burying his whole face into a pile of meat. Whispers circulating across the room. Your heart beat increased. Seething anger and anxiety took over. 

Maybe you should stay quiet, let the bad feelings eat away at your soul, and let the blonde have his way with you, before settling into the form of another lover. Maybe then you would learn to let go and move on.

To your surprise, your boyfriend still hovered over you. His eyes burned two holes into your face. The dining room, once filled with laughter and warmth, was stifled with your darkness. 

Great, you always had to ruin things with your stormy moods.

Sanji grasped your shoulder tightly.

“What’s wrong my love -”, you stood up. Now your Captain was alert to your craziness.

“Stop. It’s nothing, go back to your girlfriends. Don’t follow me”, you rushed in search of the bathroom, still feeling the burn of eyes on your back.

In auto-pilot, your hands searched for a light-switch. You stumbled along to the sink, seeing your haggard reflection in the mirror –you had been crying without knowing it. Around your eyes were angry and red. Another embarrassment to yourself and others. 

Sanji had successfully gotten under your skin. I guess that’s what love is, no? 

You felt sick at the fucked up realization and rushed towards the toilet. Gagging up all the bullshit excuses you fed yourself throughout the night and the food you’d barely touched.

The sound of blood rushed through your ears, your body floating outside your body. 

You couldn’t keep doing this anymore. More lecherous women wanting a man who belonged to the world, not you.

The cold of the floor soothed your heated body, as you curled up into yourself. A knock at the door alerted you, that someone heard -they had heard your private sobs and misery. You couldn’t afford to unravel even more in front of someone, not when you had displayed a less than stellar performance as a lover, crewmate, and friend all night. 

Another knock,“Baby, let me in.”

You couldn’t. You couldn’t do more to destroy the first relationship you barely had. Your mind raced, your body heaved.

“I’m coming in”, you braced yourself for impact. They would have to repair the door later, nothing would stop your boyfriend’s fiery kicks when it came to his crew.

You heard his footsteps, saw the shine of his black loafers, and still denied his presence. 

His hands rubbed circles on your back. 

“Oh, Angel, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have forced that dessert on you if I knew you were feeling sick”, you gagged again.

The blonde helped prop you over the toilet. You shed embarrassed tears. 

“I’m so sorry, Sanji”, you tried to muster out between gags. He kissed behind your neck to the juncture of your back, “It’s nothing to be sorry for, we’ve already seen each other at our best and worst. Besides I cannot deny a lady in need”.

You wanted to punch him, “There’s a difference between helping a lady in need and flirting with every woman you see!”

The cook looked at you incredulously, through his bangs. “Is this what this is all about? Are you jealous?”

You gagged at his smug tone, quite sick of him already. -_- Nothing came up, it looked like you were done.

“I’m going to go grab you some water and then we can talk”. You wanted to run from this whole conversation, but your legs were too wobbly. Fuck. Instead you’d stay and wallow in your thoughts, the scent of bile clogging up your senses.

A few seconds later, your annoying boyfriend showed up, with a cup of water. 

“Looks like the whole house has moved to someplace else.”

Oh. Did you cause that as well? “I’m sorry,” your eyes shifted to inspect the number of tiles between you and the bath.

“What are you apologizing for?”, your eyes refused to meet your lover’s blue eyes in fear you’d give yourself away again.

 “Can you stand up?”, you shook your head and heard him sigh in response. Before crouching down beside your shorter frame. His hand wrapped around one of your ankle’s soothing your nerves. The two of you sat there in silence for a while.

Sanji was the first to speak, “Look at me”.  You refused still transfixed on the titles.

You felt him remove his hand from your ankle to grab at your chin. Now you got a better look at the prince in front of you. Dressed in his typical black suit, wrapped around his thin yet muscular body like a glove. His eyes shone with adoration. How could this man hurt you so much?

You wanted to look away but instead you fell into the light of his blue eyes, cast between the shadow of his bangs. 

“That’s my girl”, his lips curled into a smile. You were fucked.

“One of your girls,” you remarked bitterly. “I see the way you look at other women, how you treat them to your kindness for free, and in return they follow you like predators waiting to bite. I’m supposed to sit here and watch?” Your voice broke. 

“What am I supposed to do when the whole world wants you? What am I supposed to do when you invite others into your light? I know it’s selfish but I want you for me and me only.”

“Oh, y/n, you know you’re the only girl for me’, you smacked his hand away. Sanji’s eyes went back to burning circles into your skin. His hand twitched in mid air.  

You began again, angrier this time,“That’s simply not true! I see the way you look at other women’s bodies, the way you whisper secrets into their ears. There’s flirting to flirt — then there’s something else entirely.”

You curled your limp legs up into yourself, feeling the cold of the bathroom tile against your bottom.You were very afraid of the next words to come out of your mouth. But it had to be done, you needed to feel free of this weight again.

“If you want to be set free to be with the beautiful women of this world, I can do it easily. Don’t hold yourself back for me.”

“Easily?”, he murmured.

“You know exactly what I mean, Sanji”, you glared back at him. 

“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

You sighed, “I don’t want to tie you down, just so I can be happy.”

 A silence filled the air of the bathroom. Your legs tingle, slowly coming back to life, under the gaze you knew all too well. 

Worrying your lip against your teeth, you thought of a future without the man you love. Watching him fall in and out of bars, wrapping his arms around prettier women. Sanji would keep strange girls close to his side, standing close to the street to shield them from the nightlife and traffic. You would watch him curl into and out of hands softer and more secure than your own. And wound yourself each time until all that remained was a fraction of the people the two of you used to be. 

Then finally, he would find the true love of his life. Whom he would kiss across the all blue and never have his eyes linger onto another pair of thighs, slimmer than your own. Or a pair of eyes brighter than your own, ones that have never known hardship or seen the darkest depths of this world.

You were shaking, crying again. You’d yell if you could but your tongue felt too big for your mouth. And there was Sanji, eyes hiding behind the curtain of his bangs.

You felt an arm circle around your shoulders, and pull you into the expanse of the cook’s chest.

“I’m never letting you go”, his other arm wrapped against you, thumb smoothing circles into your shoulder. “I-”, you began.

“I’m never letting you go”, he repeated firmly. He began to pull you into his lap. Now you were even more fucked, you couldn’t escape his embrace easily nor look away from the handsome man. You tried to muster up some wits about you, to win against the warmth that exploded in your chest, but the man was too powerful.

“I’m never letting you go. You are the only one for me”, his lips left kisses across your forehead, unfurrowing your tightly knit brow.

The blonde, cupped your face into his hands. He fervently kissed your closed eyes, before drawing back. 

“I’m sorry for behaving like an idiot. Let me make it up to you for the rest of your life, as long as you will let me?”

You nodded, crying harder now. 

“I hope those are happy tears, my love.” He lifted you up and before you could protest about being too heavy, the man carried you bridal style out of the bathroom and back to the ship. You could feel the reassurance of his heartbeat humming in your ears. And you knew it. You were loved.

When you returned to the ship, luckily enough, everyone was asleep –aside from Robin no doubt reading anthologies about ancient texts again.

The two of you got ready for bed, like you did every night. A quick shower, brushing of teeth, pajamas and a big sleep shirt thrown on, but this time Sanji couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. You felt like the prey locked in the sight of a panther, but instead of running away you stayed gladly trapped in the haze of fate. 

He took your hand in his and led you back down towards the kitchen. You sat down and waited for him to make some tea.

To your surprise it was another one of your favorite desserts, apple pie paired with soothing green tea for your stomach.

Your lips tugged into a smile, as soon as the first bite hit your mouth. Brown sugar, soft tart apples, and lots of cinnamon to sweeten up your soul. You went in for the second spoonful, but Sanji had other plans, placing you back into his lap. You blushed. 

“Pervert”, you muttered. He took the spoon out of your hands.

“So are you”, he remarked. You pouted.

“Just because you’re right…doesn’t mean you have to say it.”

He laughed hartley. You laughed with him, snuggling into his chest.

You sat there and let the blonde man feed you small pieces of pie, between small kisses and intimate jokes. Finally finished, you wrapped his hands around his slim chest and looked up at the cook cheekily. His thighs steeled, you could feel his muscles underneath the thin pajama bottoms. 

His legs were strong and capable just like the man you’d come to love after all these years. 

You kissed him on his nose, then his cheeks, before finally kissing him on his mouth. He licked his lips, “Now I want a slice of that damn pie.”

ps Idk if I wanna be that damn mouse or that girl or AAAAAAA

#vinsmoke sanji x reader #blackleg sanji x reader #sanji x reader #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece imagines #poopersdoopers writes a fic #I am a sanji truther and believer #don't like don't read #simple as

[hurtcomforted]

"I purposefully went looking for this thing and now I'm gonna be mad about what I found" okay but why are you making your issues my problem

#proship #don't like don't read #proshippers please interact #proshipper safe #proshippers are valid #anti antiship #fandom #fanfiction #you being a masochist is no one else's problem

[devouringdevoutly]

The Hound of Heaven

Summary: Whoever said that you can't fuck God clearly hasn't met Bada yet.

Note: There is no actual god in this fic, it's just straight up a world ran by the Devil. This is also biblically inaccurate as well so please don't stone me to death. Again, this is a work of fiction and does not reflect real life situations and relationships. Originally posted on ao3. CW: Smut, Church Sex, Confessional Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Fingerfucking, Cunnilingus, Demon Sex, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Religious Guilt, Catholic Guilt, Catholicism, Cheating, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Lemon. Pairing: Bada/Reader Language: English Words: 1,897

Whoever said that you can't fuck God clearly hasn't met Bada yet.  

That was the first coherent thought that had formed in my brain as her long fingers slid in and out of me, my warm and wet cavern welcoming her with so much exuberance you'd think I won the lottery jackpot. It sure did feel like that as I was cornered by her towering height and the wooden walls that the booth was made out of, all the while her snake-like tongue making sure she'd had enough of mine. I should feel disgusted by the way our mouths met. The way our tongues glided so ferociously that it made an obscene amount of wet noises that were clearly bouncing off the walls off the confessional booth. The way that my sap trickled down along my legs as Bada mercilessly continued on fingering me. The booth that was once used to repent one's sins was now used to make one after the other.

I should probably feel burdened by the weight of the situation I was in but who cares? My mind and body was stuck in a limbo named Bada. 

Her hands then roamed to my now bare breasts as she had managed  to rip off my brassiere and the white sundress that I wore earlier, was now practically holding onto its dear life as it was solely held by Bada sandwiching me between her and the wall. She then squeezed and fondled my left bosom, my nipples were already hardening by the cold air hitting it. I let out an elicit whine that even I didn't know I could make and my back arched against the wall like a frightened cat. 

Bada's mouth had now reached my right nipple, her tongue flickered back and forth as I moaned like a bitch in heat and I could feel her physically smirk through it. Both of her hands were more than preoccupied, her left hand was groping my left tit and her thumb was playing with my bud, all the while her right hand was still pumping deep inside of me; making sure that she curls her fingers every once in a while but purposely never hitting the spot so as to deny me of reaching my high anytime soon. 

She finally pulled back from tantalizing my sore nipples and she eventually stopped pumping my equally sorely soaked cunt. I whined at the loss of contact as Bada's tall figure leaned onto me. 

"I wonder if your wimpy god-fearing boyfriend knows how much of a whore his girlfriend truly is…" She says with a shit eating grin, I swallowed the lump in my throat as I didn't feel any sort of guilt for betraying him… I knew that even Judas did feel a tremendous amount of guilt as he had sold the blood of Christ for a mere thirty silver coins. I knew that the moment I had planted my lips against Bada's, that the Devil had penetrated into every part of my being as he did so with Judas Iscariot.

Nevertheless Jesus had already forgiven him before he even committed his sin, perhaps that idiotically pious of a Christian man will forgive me too if there is anything to be forgiven in the first place. If that is the case then I'll gladly break bread and be consumed by her as his disciples did in the last supper, every intrusion that she had made inside my walls was a carving of our covenant.

I already had my bite of the forbidden fruit and there was no turning back to the Garden of Eden.

"Stop talking about that twat and just fuck me already will you?" I groaned out as my hole clenched and unclenched around her fingers. I knew that my words were as insolent as our actions were. Father, will you forgive me for this rotten curiosity of mine? or will you banish me as you had with Lilith and Eve? 

"Demanding much? I'm sure you already know that you're the one at my mercy here, angel." Her cocky tone had only gotten me wetter and my cunt pulsed as fast as my heartbeat did. Bada's smile turned wider, almost menacingly as she had clearly noticed my reaction to her degrading words. My mind was in a haywire, my vision was turning hazy as I could see the face of God in the Devil's body. Why did God make the devil's advocate painstakingly handsomely gorgeous if he didn't want me to dive into the river Styx? 

"You like that hmmm?" Her thumb pressed meanly against my clit. She knew exactly what she was doing, the pet name? Angel of all things after calling me a whore? I let out another whine as my cunt's lips fluttered.

"Fuck… if you only knew how much I wanna fuck you on the altar… Fuck you in front of those foolish devotees singing words of praise to their equally foolish god. Make you cum with my mouth as they sing lamb of god or whatever the fuck they cry out in these futile masses." She crooned out as she rested her head against my neck and continuously drove three of her fingers inside my plump sopping cunt. Her staggering breath tickled my neck with every word that she had sermonized. I knew she would've done it if I just didn't have a reputation to keep, as if fornicating in a confessional booth was a last act of mercy on her part.

I knew that I was reaching my peak with every thrust Bada had propelled and she knew it too. The ascend to my peak was immediately put to a stop as Bada had other plans in mind. She quickly pulled her fingers out of me, leaving me with a pathetic gaping hole. My resolve had been long gone and my knees were absolutely weak, threatening to give up on me at any moment. 

In a swift movement I was easily lifted by Bada and was placed on the velvet cushion of the enclosed box's seat like some ragdoll. 

She seized hold of my feet and placed a chaste kiss on it before kissing the entirety of my legs, from my sole to my thighs. It was an intimate moment as if she was almost offering a prayer of thanks before she started to devour every bit and piece of me.

She stretched out her hands and deftly parted my legs like the red sea, I could see her devious grin as she had finally a closer and more intimate view of my aching fleshy cunt. I knew that I was embarrassingly wet and that I was absolutely sore but I didn't dare look down as I was afraid to meet her eyes and see what she had done to me. 

"Look at me." Bada said in a benign but firm manner, quite the contrast as she had grabbed my face forcefully and for a moment I was confused. Why the sudden tenderness? Bada's firm hand let go of my jaw before she dove into my ocean of wetness, her forked tongue slithered inside of me like a snake. I couldn't hold myself back anymore as I moaned loudly within the confines of the wooden booth, both sides of her tongue were able to move on their own accord and it just gave her a better aim at her insistent prodding. Bada didn't dare to cover up the noises I made anymore as the ongoing mass was clearly about to end, the people in their assigned seats were standing to give praise to the Lord.

Her tongue kept on ambushing both my lips and cavern, my tears of pleasure had now mixed with the sweat that I've accumulated with how steamy the enclosed space had gotten. I could smell the scent of sex and oak mixing together creating a musk. Somehow my senses were heightened once Bada had started eating me out, I was now conscious of the noise from the outside almost taunting me that we weren't safe from being walked in on by a random passerby. 

Bada's gaze met mine, as if her foxy calculating eyes pierced through every part of my being. My eyes were hazy from my tears and I could definitely feel myself getting there. 

And with one last skillful flick, I pressed her further into my cunt by grabbing onto her hair. I came hard on her tongue, filling her mouth with so much cum that it dropped down to her chin. I lustily moaned as the churchgoers outside had finally reached the chorus of the song, their harmonious high pitched singing had covered up mine. Bada had finally lifted her head and I looked at her just with a stupefied yet content daze. 

She finally sat up from her kneeling position before grabbing my face and roughly pressing our lips together. She kept much of my cum inside of her mouth before forcefully transferring it into mine, making me swallow and taste myself whole. My eyes widened before accepting my fate as I swallowed all of it without any defiance.

Bada kept our tongues in a languid movement until she could feel that I was running out of breath. Our mouths have finally parted ways and I could feel some sense of shame brewing inside of me but it was quickly interrupted by the clap of unison from the crowd, indicating that the mass has finally ended. I took multiple breaths before gathering the strength to pick up my discarded underwear and fix my dress up as Bada did the same for herself. I stood by the door, hesitating, leaving my hand and heart too heavy to open to unlock the doorknob and end this affair with the Devil herself. 

I took a final deep breath before opening it but Bada suddenly grabbed my wrist.

"Where do you think you're going my sweet cherub?" Her voice had a hint of malice and possessiveness in between lines, she raised an eyebrow and looked at me suspiciously. I looked at her a bit dumbfounded.

"H-home?" My voice trembled as I whispered my answer, I was unsure of myself where I was heading to either. I felt absolutely lost as my mind was now clear of any trace of lust and desperation, the realization dawning on me that I had just sold myself to the Devil for a mere exchange of ineffable pleasure that I was only to experience just once in my life. 

Bada grinned mischievously as she pulled me to her chest before she pressed her mouth against my ear. 

"You're coming with me." She whispered as her voice had dropped and shifted into something a lot more sinister sounding. 

I stood frozen in shock, I could feel my breathing pattern falter with each and every second passing by. I had come face to face with the Devil and willingly danced with her. 

I was finally faced with the cold hard truth that I had left the Garden of Eden long ago. I had laid with her under the thorny olive branches of Gethsemane. I had fed the evil with every bit of my purity in its wake. I had now buried every living being in me, I was now bound to her for eternity, unable to suffer the fruit of Eve's mortality. 

#bada lee #bada lee smut #bada lee x reader #bada lee x y/n #bada x reader #swf2 #swf2 x reader #fanfic #street woman fighter 2 #street woman fighter x reader #sapphic #kinktober #wlw #wlw ns/fw #queer ns/fw #ns/fw #don't like don't read #don't like don't interact #lemon #kpop #Spotify

[sideblog-hazbin-hotel-fics]

The Announcement of Hell's Spare

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Ship: Lucifer/Alastor Warning: Mpreg prompt, someone wanted Charlie to have a baby sibling via Luce getting knocked up Alastor.

****

"You've been away, Your Majesty," Alastor greeted in an accusatory manner when he finally saw Lucifer enter the hotel. Though no one dared to ask him, Alastor has obsessively kept track of how long it's been since the last time Lucifer's been at the hotel. 

"I haven't been feeling well..." 

"...you're an angel. King of Hell. You can't be ill."

"Not normally, no."

"Were you hurt? Has Heaven been bothering you?" Alastor demanded. Even if he wasn't proud of how his battle went, didn't mean he wasn't invested in the fight still. Now more than ever since his thing with Lucifer has become what it has. Thinking about Lucifer getting into some sort of trouble on his own away from everyone made his blood boil. Lucifer wasn't as permanent of a fixture at the hotel as the rest of them now were. Lucifer had responsibilities and a palace that was deeply rooted in enchanted power that was drool-worthy. For as many Sinners who would fall to Lucifer's feet, there were also those stupid or bold or angry enough to try and harm him at a chance of bettering their situation. 

"No, not like that. If anything, if I'm ill it's your fault!" 

"My fault? However is that it my fault?" 

"Because when I said I'm ill, I meant I'm pregnant!" Lucifer hissed. 

"...what now?" 

Lucifer sighed, far too exhausted to deal with Alastor's shock. He wasn't sure how the demon would react to it, but he was prepared to be a single father. He's had enough practice of it already with Charlie after his and Lilith's split. So he told Alastor the facts, "I felt strange. It's been a good two hundred years since it happened, so it's been a while, but then it became familiar. I did a few tests and...it's positive. I'm expecting." 

"A child?"

"Yes."

"Our child?" 

Lucifer sort of expected a form of this question. Though he expected Alastor to call it just his, or ask if Lucifer was sure it was Alastor's at all. Yet, the deer demon was calling it their child. "Yes." 

"...are there royal protocols in place? Will it be a royal? Or will it just be known as a bastard?" 

"My child will not be a bastard!" 

"...did you just ask me to marry you?" 

"..." Lucifer felt his face heat up at that. Regaining his composure, he cleared his throat and said, "I meant to say...this child will have the same title and perks as Charlie did. They will be a Morningstar. Prince or Princess of Hell." 

"And me?" 

"...I won't force you to do anything you don't want. I'm damned for giving Free Will and will maintain it as a vital part of who I am. You're free to do as you wish." 

"Then expect me to move into the palace."

"What?" 

"Unless you're planning on moving more permanently into the hotel. We can work things around and have our rooms connected. Expand to make room for the child. At first, they won't need much, but they will need their space." 

"You're...not freaking out?" 

"I'm surprised. But you're not a liar, my dear. If this was just another attempt at bantering with me, this is not a topic you'd play with. There's no reason for you to say you are with child unless it's true. I'm also very aware of how and when this might have happened."

"Right. So. I'm pregnant. It's yours. And we're keeping it."

"And raising it. Together." 

"Right."

"...do you want me to be the one to tell darling Charlie she's going to be an older sister?"

"Please."

****

"Holy fuck, don't do that!" Lucifer cried out when he woke up and found Alastor hovering over him. 

"You didn't notice me come in. Nor feel I've been here for the last fifteen minutes."

"You were watching me sleep like some voyeuristic creep?" Lucifer deadpanned as he sat up properly and stretched a bit. 

Alastor took the chance to sit next to him. He was gripping his staff firmly if only to help resist the urge to reach out and either wrap his arm around Lucifer or maybe even place his hand over the belly. Their relationship was a lot more about heated moments and fun arguments escalating to situations neither of them really expected. 

"You're the king of Hell and are now with child. You should have more protection."

"I'm in my daughter's hotel. The only people in here are the people she trusts. And you," Lucifer stifled a yawn but also gave him a soft teasing smile. 

Alastor frowned," I'm serious. I could have killed you." 

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that, dearheart." 

"Lucifer." 

It was part of their game to call each other names. Insults that have become almost terms of endearment. Actual names...showed seriousness. 

Lucifer sighed and turned to face Alastor properly, "A royal baby that's part angel, part...begrudgingly powerful overlord...takes a lot of energy. I get tired more easily. It's why I'm here. And not at the palace. When we rebuilt the hotel, I added extra layers of protection. It's not as safe as my palace, but it's safe enough for Charlie. And it's safe enough for this little one too."

"That still leaves you being...not to your usual strength," Alastor said quietly. There was a long pause before he dared to finally reach out and hold Lucifer's hand in his. "How dangerous is this for you?" 

"I...don't know. Hellborns aren't exactly rare. But this isn't the typical case. But let's not forget who I am, okay? I'll be fine." 

"Of course you will. Because let's not forget who I am. I'm going to take care of you. And you're going to let me." 

"Hey! I am still king! You can't tell me what to do!" 

"No, but I can tell Charlie you're not taking care of yourself and her puppy eyes will have you yielding in seconds." 

"Cheater."

"Hmm," Alastor only smiled. If that was cheating, it wasn't beneath him if it guaranteed making this easier for Lucifer.

****

"I need your help, if you have a moment."

Charlie literally dropped all the papers she had in her hands and rushed up to her dad, "Of course! What do you need? Is everything okay? Is it the baby?" 

Alastor telling her about the pregnancy had been...a thing. She went through a whole roller coaster of emotions that ranged from disbelief to panic to excitement to...plenty more. Once she processed that her father and Alastor had been more involved than she could ever imagine, she did go into a weird mourning stage in realizing that her old family she dreamed would one day magically heal and be what she dreamed was probably not going to happen, she began to accept the new reality. 

The responsibility she took upon herself in the attempt to help her people helped her have more insight. The people in her hotel were more than just a project. They were her friends, if not already family in her eyes and heart. 

And now she was going to be a big sister! 

It was still a secret, though Vaggie learned about it because she just needed someone to talk to! She understood why it wasn't something to talk openly about that went beyond how annoying gossip could be. 

Alastor also warned her about her dad being weakened by providing a lot of his strength to the baby. She saw it more since she was looking for it, but she wasn't the only one. Some were concerned something deadlier was going on that Lucifer was dealing with that they weren't privy to. 

"Whoa, there. Breathe, sweetie. Everything's fine. I'm fine, baby's fine, you're fine! We're all fine."

"We're all fine!" Charlie repeated. 

"Right. Now, look. We can't keep this a secret forever. I'm dreading the initial reactions but I'm preparing for it as best as I can. If anything, I can just go back to the palace until the birth." 

"Alastor's already kind of preparing for that anyway."

"He is?" 

"We've been talking," She informed him. 

"Huh. Okay. We'll talk more about that later. Before we go off on any more tangents, let me get to the point. This is Hell. Wedlock bullshit doesn't matter with us because why would it? Your sibling will be a prince or princess as much as you are. Title, perks, respect. All of it."

Charlie smiled, "Good."

"We are the royal family. When these things happen there are usually announcements and such. I don't know yet if Alastor will want all of Hell to know just yet his involvement, but you're my daughter, my heir, and their older sister. There may be an announcement I'll make once I start showing if I don't plan to keep inside, but once the baby is born, I want you to stand next to me as I present Hell to its second in line. Will you?"

"Of course!" 

"Good. And sweetheart?"

"Yes?"

"You can go ahead and tell anyone else in the hotel if you really want to."

"Oh thank you! Thank you, thank you, I have been trying so hard!"

"I know. And I appreciate it. But I can also see how hard it's been for you, so if it comes up...you can." 

Charlie hugged him in response. 

The next time he walked through the lobby, which was about an hour later, he felt everyone's eyes on him. 

He stared at all of them with an unimpressed expression, "Alastor will take the questions, not me." Then he turned around and made it back to his suite. 

****

"You want me to go back to the palace don't you?" Lucifer asked while he rested in Alastor's arms as they lay in his bed. 

"It's safer for you there."

"I hate being away from Charlie..."

"It won't be like last time. She'll visit more. We'll visit too when possible."

"We?" 

"You're not getting rid of me." 

Lucifer chuckled and smiled. Lifting his finger to one of his sharp teeth, he bit down hard enough to draw blood and then offered it to Alastor. The deer demon held Lucifer's hand before gently, and rather sensually, licking the dripping blood that ran down the digit before taking the tip of his finger into his mouth and suckling until the wound healed. Alastor pressed a kiss to the tip of the finger, and then the inner palm, and then kissed Lucifer's knuckles. "I'll miss how delicious you taste, darling..."

"Why would you miss it? Aren't you basically latching on and becoming my shadow?" 

"I'm not taking the literal life essence from you or our child," Alastor deadpanned. 

"Pft. Boo." 

"You want me to bite into you?" 

"...yeah. I like it. You do it well."

 Alastor cupped Lucifer's cheek and they stared into each other's eyes. The heat that's usually there was present, but also something new. Maybe something that has been there for a while but they're now willing to see. Alastor leaned in and kissed Lucifer. Gently at first, but it slowly turned into a make-out session that slowly became more hungry and passionate. 

When they pulled apart, they continued to steal kisses between shared pants of breath. 

"My, my your Majesty, we might be recreating our child's conception all over again." 

"Oh, there's no might about it dearheart."

****

"You asked about royal protocols. We usually present the latest heir together as a family. Charlie said she'd be with me...will you be there too? Or will you remain in the shadows?" He liked to bask in the post-glow bliss, but this was something that had been on his mind for a while. So though he felt fully sated and more than content, he turned his full focus and attention to Alastor. 

Alastor simply pulled Lucifer closer still until Lucifer was on top of him again. His possessiveness over the King of Hell has only grown and it was becoming harder to remain subtle about it. "No nightmare of Hell nor army of Heaven could keep me away, darling." 

#long post #mpreg fic #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #radio apple #lucifer/alastor #don't like don't read

[aithusarosekiller]

This is on my tiktok but I wanted to post it here too bc it's really been bugging me

The caption essentially said that if I see a characterisation I don't like (I used the example of big buff alpha remus) I just scroll because clearly the content was made for someone else and I'm not the target audience

#let people have different interpretations #let out of character fics exist #there's no one right way to write and view a character #if someone wants to throw out canon and write their own interpretation that is AMAZING #if someone wants to explore what one change (such as the black cousins being in an abusive household) could have on the story LET THEM #stop crushing the creativity of young teens because you can't have fun #marauders era #marauders #mwpp #feel kind of bad tagging this with all the fandom tags I'm sorry :/ I just wanted to get it out there #to show people who do write 'ooc' interpretations thay that is FINE #and most people are SO PROUD that you're able to explore and share that creativity with us #dldr #DON'T LIKE DON'T READ #remember that? #there's nothing wrong with liking canon characterisation but you don't have to be a dick about it #you don't have to force it onto everyone around you #they're allowed to make their own versions up #dead gay wizards #id feel so bad putting ship or character tags #bc that's not the content ppl on the tags wanna see so I won't

[weirdworldofwinnie]

Heat of the Moment - One Night Passion

Cillian Murphy as J. Robert Oppenheimer x Female Reader NSFW 18+ only, One shot

Summary: You, a young psychology student and friend of Jean Tatlock, drink a little too much at a Communist gathering and find yourself falling for the esteemed Dr. Oppenheimer himself.

Word Count: 3,830

Warnings: Age gap, Cheating, Drunkenness, Loss of virginity, Unprotected sex, Smut with little plot

Disclaimer: this is ONLY intended to be based on Cillian Murphy's portrayal of Oppenheimer in the film and takes place before he marries Kitty, moves to Los Alamos, and the development of the Trinity Test bomb. NOT historically or scientifically accurate and not supposed to be in support of the real man's life actions at all. DNI if you are uncomfortable or take issue with this. It is purely for entertainment purposes, and it is fantasy/fiction!

The party was brimming with people, many being prominent due-payers of the Communist party and you met your friend Jean's eye across the room through the warm glow and haze of cigarettes. She was standing with a few men and one woman as you approached, noticing one well dressed man in particular who had his back to you and you felt your heart involuntarily stutter when he turned, his wide strikingly blue eyes on you intensely. You swallowed and then Jean introduced you and he simply nodded with an amicable smile before turning back to the others in their discussion huddle. You were at bit surprised at his dismissiveness, but didn't take it too personally as you drifted over to get a drink from the bar area. Holding a full cocktail glass, you casually observed the room, noticing at once how Dr. Oppenheimer had one of those magnetic personalities, as long as you were an intellectual (although he was a good enough speaker that he could capture the attention of the common man and likely even someone who knew absolutely nothing about physics), yet at the same time he tended to eclipse everyone else around him. They all seemed to orbit around him in a fashion and the longer the night drew on, you too found yourself drawn to his quiet charisma and you now were seeing what Jean saw in him. After an hour of drinking and mingling around in various conversations, you mustered up the nerve to approach his ring again and stood next to your friend with only a couple other people you didn't know chatting to him about his teaching at Berkeley. He glanced at you, his eyes lighting with more interest than the initial impression.

"Hello again, Miss Y/N. Excuse me," he told the others and moved, breaking their circle to focus on you alone.

"Would you like a drink?" he asked politely but without waiting for an answer, he went to personally make a martini himself and then pour it into a crystal glass, topping it with a slice of lime. You were empty handed at the moment, but neglected to tell him you'd already had two glasses of alcohol already. He gave the filled glass to you, his fingers brushing your wrist as he did and you thanked him as he leaned against the counter with his own drink that almost mirrored yours.

"It's my preferential recipe. Do you like it?" he asked curiously as you drank and decided it tasted a bit bitter and tangy, so you just raised your eyebrows and smiled assuredly with what you thought was a convincing nod, however, he must have seen otherwise.

"Too bitter, isn't it? I'm working on it; it would probably be better off with a dash of honey." He raised his glass and suddenly swapped it with yours, taking a sip and giving a satisfied expression.

"Hmm, right. I'll remedy it and I do apologize, I was actually just testing you there for your opinion. I'll have this one, you enjoy mine instead."

Unsure of whether you should be flattered or not, you drank his original and it was more appeasing of your sweet tooth, and then he proceeded to ask you about what you were currently studying and how long you knew Jean.

You gave him simple answers at first, feeling a bit shy and guarded compared to the spotlight he projected. He was far from being a loud, obnoxious man but he wasn't timid in the slightest when it came knowledge and he gave off an air of aloofness and professionalism that slowly broke the more you opened up about psychology and politics while making it clear to him you considered yourself a somewhat free spirit trying to make your way in a predominantly male run world. It was refreshing to you that he actually sincerely listened and wasn't too condescending like other men you had encountered in the field.

"Interesting. Have you considered applying that to a career for the future, I assume you are aiming for a psychology degree? Or is it a base point to advance you into becoming a psychiatrist? I'm sure you would be able use medicine in addition to your Freudian theories to mitigate such deep mental issues."

"Well, to tell you the truth, I'm only my second year in for psychology and I doubt my father will pay for addition schooling on top of that, but theoretically yes, I would love to. It's my passion and I have a prudent desire to assist others, not just study them under a detached microscopic lens, so to speak. I want to help people understand who they are and I myself want to understand why their brains work the way that they do. And if some disorders could be cured with certain drugs when all else fails, I would consider that a great accomplishment for humanitarian progress."

"That certainly is a valuable asset, to understand one's self, and especially in this rapidly complicated changing world and the more we have a stronger grasp of the human mind, the better off we will be I suppose. But remember, to know is to do. Theory will only take you so far."

You nodded, soaking that in and taking an ample sip from the drink, which was spurring you on in confidence, so you began to ramble on about the damaging psychological impacts of war before jumping to the effects of practical versus ideological Communism on modern society... at least until a young man interrupted, joining the two of you for a while and you let Oppenheimer divert his attention to him instead as they delved into more physics, which you honestly only had a basic understanding of. You drained down the rest of the martini, refilling it with a simple gin instead to sip more than you should and you definitely were feeling tipsy as the evening wore on to a close, hovering by Oppenheimer's side constantly and perhaps even unconsciously flirting while ignoring Jean's stares from several feet away. He wasn't paying attention at the moment, so you turned to set down your empty glass, but stumbled into a stool on the way. You spun around, feeling Dr. Oppenheimer place a hand on your shoulder, steadying you.

"Perhaps you should retire for the night," he advised softly, close to your ear.

"No… I'm fine," you insisted, the heat rising to your cheeks as he took your shaky hand and you caught Jean giving you one last glare before she disappeared into a murky corner of the room. You looked back to him staring at you concernedly and you blinked as he spoke quietly.

"There, now where are you staying? Surely it can't be far, I'll take you home."

"N-No, my apartment's the next town over and you don't have to, I-I think I'll be okay..." you stammered absurdly and wavered on your feet, not the least bit sober. He changed direction, pivoting to catch you under your arms, and propping you up straighter.

"I believe there is a spare bedroom upstairs, I'll take you to it." Without another word, he led you out of the room and tottering up creaky stairs that led to an upper floor. A few doors down, he took you into an empty small stuffy room with a single queen bed. As you collapsed onto it, sighing deeply after a hiccup, he brushed aside the beige curtains and opened the window, letting the cool night air flicker through.

"Stay here, I'll be right back with some water," he said and exited for a few minutes, coming back shortly with two glasses of water in his hands, one for himself that he took a careful gulp from and you found yourself wondering if his mouth was dry or if he could be nervous. You accepted your cold glass and drank, washing down the strong mix of cocktails and gin taste from your tongue.

"A bit better?" he asked kindly, getting a nod in return as he took the glass from you and set it down on the bedside table next to his own. You watched as he stepped over and stood in front of the window, rustling the curtains. He stayed still there for a while in a pondering pose, smoking and staring out at the street below, presumably lost in thought as he often was. You made a sort of groaning noise and he turned, hand on his hip with a raise of his eyebrows.

"Are you going to be sick? Should I call for someone?"

"No!" you gasped, sitting up with a swirl of the room as he strode over to the door. You did not need your parents to find out about this, especially your father.

"Wait - Please don't leave," you begged and he hesitantly came over, abandoning his cigarette in the ash tray on the nightstand next to the glasses of water and sitting down, getting a good look at your bloodshot eyes and tousled hair, a few strands obscuring your vision. He gently took his hand and wiped the hairs off to the side of your face, his touch on your flushed cheek sending shivers up your spine. He leaned back, putting his hands on his knees and you let out a shaky breath, trying to reorient.

"Have you ever drank before?" he inquired knowingly and you laughed weakly.

"Of course I have."

"I'm afraid that you overdid it this time or otherwise you must have a low tolerance. I only offered you one drink after all." He held up his right hand, splaying his fingers apart.

"How many do you see?" he asked seriously and you only giggled, pushing his hand down.

"Five, maybe six? I feel finnee."

He shook his head, maybe amused, and you had the impulse to climb onto his lap, so you began to slide over, swinging your legs and scooting halfway onto his lap, making him blink in surprise and gasp slightly.

"What are you…?"

You shushed him and wrapped your arms seductively around his neck, resting your head on his shoulder with your ruby lips inches from his neck. He put his hand on your back uneasily and you whispered in his ear.

"Could you carry me to the bathroom?"

"I can't - What? Why?"

"I might be sick."

He pushed away, letting you slip off his slender body and sitting back onto the sheets with a light laugh.

"I think you should lie down again," he said firmly and you flumped your head onto the pillows, your face burning as he stood up, moving around to tug your feet out of your heels and then his hand caught, wrapping his fingers around your ankle and sending a sensation up your legs. You tilted forward, reading his oddly grim expression.

"What is it?"

"I should leave," he murmured, tossing the shoes to the floor and removing his hand reluctantly.

"You don't have to," you told him earnestly, struggling to grasp for him as he stayed at the end of the bed.

"You aren't in a normal state of mind, I'm afraid."

"Are you?"

"Not as much as I should be," he admitted with a sigh, knowing it would be inappropriate to sleep with Jean's friend that he had just met and it was unknown if you had a boyfriend or not.

"Well, I doon't caaare…" you slurred out and he went to sit on the bed next to you as you shifted, sitting up with your elbows. Dr. Oppenheimer gazed fondly and then you both began to instinctively lean into each other, his nose meeting yours and he tilted his head, giving you the incentive to lock lips and slide your tongue into his mouth, letting him reciprocate slowly until both parties pulled away, you panting excitedly.

This seemed to cause a chain reaction that had him scooting over closely so he was fully on the bed, loping his arms around at your back and you tugged at his black tie, wrestling with undoing it as he let go of you to shrug off his suit jacket and discard it, his breathing quickening. He slipped off his shoes and socks, dropping them over the bed with a clump before his fingers found the zipper on the back of your dress and he fumbled, forcing it down and letting it pool off your body to the sheets, running a hand over your bare skin. Pausing slightly with his hands nearing to unfastening your bra, he murmured urgently.

"Don't tell Jean about this."

"But she's my friend," you protested loudly and he put a finger to your lips with a 'shh' that made your heart palpitate.

"I don't want her to find out the hard way."

"She… She'll figure it out, right?"

"She may, but I don't want it to come from you. This is all my doing, I'll take the responsibility for my own actions, do you understand?"

"Oh yes, I do Mister J. Robert 'Oppie' Oppenheimer… What's the J stand for anyway?"

"Nothing important," he replied shortly and you reached to feel his bottom lip, smiling in curiosity.

"C'mon, tell me. Is it John, James, Joe...?"

He shook his head, closing his eyes and you laughed, tracing his defined cheekbones with your fingers.

"It's Julius," he admitted almost sheepishly and you cocked your head, cupping his chin.

"As in Julius Caesar?"

He wet his lips, the corners of his mouth twitching in annoyed amusement.

"Et tu, Miss Y/N?" He paused for a fraction of a second with a light sigh.

"Just call me Robert," he then told you and leaned in to kiss you again, caressing the sides of your face as he did so and you eagerly wound your tongue with his, passionately pressing into his face. He smelled heady; smoky and of aftershave mixed with some brand of cologne, not overpowering but enough to be noticed and mildly sting your nostrils when you went to mouth his neck.

He moved to hover over you, hands grazing your nearly naked body. You let him take the bra and he flung it over his shoulder to the floor and all that was left was your panties. You unbuttoned his light blue dress shirt and opened it up, stroking the light hairs on his chest as he fingered your panties, the last barrier to whatever was going to come into effect. Robert ran a single finger up along your abdomen and past to one of your breasts, circling the nipple and it hardened substantially at the stimulation, which he transferred over to the other one, teasingly fingering back and forth before he sank his face into your chest, his tongue trailing where his fingers had been and you whined, letting the budding arousal take you higher. Then he retracted his mouth, moving back and going to himself, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants, popping them open to reveal boxers concealing his burgeoning, bulging cock with tightening testicles. He wriggled out of his pants, kicking them away to hang off the side of the bed and he leaned over, coming to hover on top of you and you felt the pressing of the underwear fabric hiding his growing penis, and you felt inclined to slide your hands down to grope it, fingers yanking at the band around his waist.

"Go ahead, take it," he encouraged and you pulled the boxers down, seeing he was already dripping with precum and your breath came in pants, anxious to feel him, but the rational part of your alcohol tainted brain was reminding you that you'd never taken it this far with a man before. He shifted, supporting himself by pressing his palms to the cream colored plump pillow behind your head and immediately settling over to align. You felt him trying to enter, your clitoris throbbing with anticipation, but he wasn't successful at first of getting in.

"God, you are too tight," he muttered and you froze, staring up at him as Robert now realized the exact nature of you.

"First time ever?" he asked with trepidation and you nodded somewhat shamefully, embarrassed. It wasn't like you hadn't been with men before, but this was the first for it to get this far with full-on penetration. He closed his eyes for a second, controlling his patience for he wanted so desperately to come inside of you, but he had to ask.

"How old are you?"

"I - Is that important?"

"Just please tell me you're at least 21 and don't lie about it."

"Yes, I'm over 21."

"Alright. Well, there's a first time for everything. I'll go slower."

He shimmied down your naked body until his head was at your vagina and he put his hands up on your stomach, massaging vigorously into your skin, eliciting a tiny happy moan. You never felt this aroused around anyone before and just his hands on any part of your body was pleasurable, so you hoisted your hips up to meet his touch. But then he stopped abruptly, displaying two fingers and you squinted, body aching for more.

"How many I am holding up now?" he asked and a delirious giggle erupted from you.

"T-Two."

"Correct," he praised and promptly slid them up into your moist entry, causing you to cringe painfully and make a noise that made you clamp your own hand over your mouth, afraid the people downstairs might hear.

"How is that? Okay?" he asked in a hushed voice, anxious to go further and you just nodded, taking deep breaths.

You were now getting so wet and he started pumping his fingers in and out, eventually gaining traction with three in and you were whimpering and moaning, so close to orgasming when he pulled them all out and sat back on his haunches, his tongue flicking across his lips in a kind of hunger.

"Don't stop," you pleaded and Robert's eyes were dilated with desire as he came down, burrowing his head in-between your thighs, gripping your legs and kissing your pussy before lifting his head and looking at you squarely.

"Oh, I won't."

Without further ado, he repositioned himself over you and slowly pushed in, his cock breaking at your walls. You moaned, the pleasure outweighing the sharp pain and you clenched around his shaft, letting him penetrate as far as he could go into your core. Within moments, you let the orgasm ripple through you as he kept at it, coming to his own climax that wasn't going to be outside of you.

"Fuck, this feels good..." you breathed, rubbing your palms on Robert's short cut dark hair and he couldn't hold back any longer... exploding with his own euphoria, emitting a primal grunt that became a loud gasp. He pulled out wetly a few moments later, shuddering from the exertion and you reeled in what had just happened. You just had intercourse with this brilliant man… Oh God. And you didn't want it to stop; you weren't done yet.

You rolled over so you were on top of his body now and you carefully settled down so you were sitting on his upright swollen cock and the rubbing of it against your clit was making you close to orgasming for the second time.

"Stop," he gasped suddenly, trying to push you away.

"W-Why?"

"That's how she does it." He frowned, licking his lips and you didn't have to ask to know who he was talking about.

"Do you… like it?"

"Yes, of course, but-"

"Then I'm doing it, it feels good for me too," you told him with no arguments allowed and both of you began to rock back and forth, his still hardened dick pushing up against your vagina. He thrusted in again and you groaned, quivering.

"Oh, good girl," he whispered and you almost lost it at the tone of his slightly husky voice. You certainly never got that from the few men you'd courted briefly that had turned out to be too immature or pigheaded. This man actually felt like a real decent, more experienced man.

"Robert...!" you squealed, letting the boom of climaxing implode inside of you. You leaned back, letting him slide out and you gripped his slick dick mixed with fluids from both you and him, your nails very gently stroking it as he smiled, throwing his head back against the pillow in relaxation and pure joy.

You orgasmed a couple more times after that, each nearly as strong as the last which was new to you. What the hell was it about Robert that made your libido go off the charts?

Finally the two of you collapsed back together, staring up at the ceiling above in ecstasy. His chest was rising and falling in rhythm with yours and gradually your body cooled down, though your face still felt hot and a dull headache was coming on, but the night breeze from the window was making goosebumps pepper up on your skin.

"Cold?" Robert asked softly, noticing.

"Mm-hmm."

He sat up and grabbed his wrinkled boxers before deftly swinging a leg out of bed, getting up to the floor and yanking them back on. He also hastily snatched up his pants and slid back into them, not bothering to zip or buckle as he went over to the window and peered out once more at the street, then firmly shut it, closing the curtains securely and heading back over to the bed, lifting a corner of the sheets up and crawling in next to your bare body.

You scooted under the sheets and cuddled into his slim side, playfully fiddling with a button on his open shirt and letting him wrap an arm around you as you dozed off, listening to the faint ticking of his wristwatch, feeling utterly fucked out and exhausted. He fought his own fatigue, considering getting up and leaving you in case someone found the two of you up here, lest it be Jean, but you felt so cozy and close, he couldn't bear to disconnect and leave you alone for the night.

He wasn't entirely sure what would become of this drunken rendezvous encounter that you may not remember entirely, knowing very well it was likely he may never find himself loving you like this again. He loved Jean, he very much did, but he wondered if you would accept his flowers as easily as you had accepted his sex? Jean was most definitely a complicated, intelligent woman and he wasn't sure if you were in the same vein as her, but it wouldn't surprise him if you were. Was he drawn to any other type, really? Women were fascinating to explore, a close second to the hidden world of quantum physics.

Robert studied your pretty sleeping features in the dim lighting and then closed his eyes, letting the orange aura of the room drift the both of you away far off into nothingness…

(Thanks for reading and if you really liked this, please let me know! I'm rather new to Cillian Murphy and not well versed at all in writing one of his characters with smut, but there was just something I found so attractively compelling about him as Oppenheimer especially, so maybe this is a bit self-indulgent, but he's such a great actor that is also very sexy of course.❤️)

#j robert oppenheimer x reader #oppenheimer x reader #cillian murphy #cillian x fem!reader #oppenheimer fanfiction #oppenheimer 2023 #oppenheimer film #oppie #oppenheimer smut #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy x reader #oneshot #j robert oppenheimer x you #oppenheimer x y/n #oppenheimer au #jean tatlock #don't like don't read #don't like don't interact #my writing #winnie's writing

[navybrat817]

Not a kink/trope/AU you like? Don't read.

Not your favorite character or ship? Don't read.

Not a genre for you? Don't read.

Don't like? Don't read.

Don't hate on writers for sharing their creativity.

#navybrat rambles #text #text post #writer text #writer post #writing text #writing post #writer psa #psa #don't like don't read #don't like don't follow #head the warnings #scroll on by #don't send hate #don't be an askhole #courtesy of threeminutesoflife

[bi-ship]

it really hasn't gone unnoticed by me that for a show that's all about themes of expanding the definition of "(found) family" to be as openly broad as possible, and having its main characters be bisexuals without shame, the owl house fandom is both very biphobic and limiting in their understanding of family to be "considers themselves related and therefore other types of relationships are incest" ─ i see you and it's embarrassing tbh

#toh #the owl house #toh fandom #owl house fandom #luz noceda #hunter toh #toh hunter #lunter #huntceda #goldenlight #goldenluz #huntluz #shipcourse #shipping discourse #dldr #don't like don't read #antis dni #biphobia

[theseshipsshallsail]

So, I wrote a little thing for Fall in Love with Charmie.

Dedicated to @tandaforever for organising this little fest, and @valgal78 for making me aware of it.

Prompts are CMBYN promo era - hurt/comfort - the sweater of love. (Though lets be honest, this all stemmed from one particular line like usual) 🧿❤️

No sweaters were harmed in the making of this fic, and all🦎go unmentioned and irrelevant as they should be.

UNDER AND OVER (AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN)

There’s a low, droning vibration stemming from the walnut coffee table; his mobile, he assumes, long-since ignored within the pocket of his discarded jeans. A lone sock dangles accusingly from the overhead light fitting: a fate reminiscent of the boxers draped over the dresser mirror. Some might be shocked, he’ll admit, at his lack of designer deference, but Armie’s tracksuit is likewise abandoned on the hotel carpet, and Tim…

…well.

Tim couldn’t care less for wrinkled McQueens when the other man’s clutching his naked waist like his life depends on it.

When the telltale creaks of the king size mattress are all but smothered by the hiccupped moans spilling from his desert-dry lips.

When the searing heat gathered at the base of his spine is a fail-safe indicator he’s about to come untouched: the relentless drag of Armie’s cock against his screaming prostate making his balls draw tight in preparation.

And perhaps he says some of that out loud, because Armie surges upright with a shaky nod, a mottled flush extending from his hairline to his beautifully bare chest as he crushes their mouths together. Tongue delving rough and possessive: claiming him twice over.

It’s been weeks since the promo ended. Since they were on the same continent, let alone the same bed. Tim needs him like he needs his next breath - crazy as the thought may be - and starved of such contact by dint of their hectic schedules, a limited diet of filthy text messages and late night video calls only served to fan the flames. 

The connection they forged that dreamlike summer refuses to fade. They’d both fallen irrevocably. Hard and heedless: regardless of the pain. But here and now there’s nothing to stand between them. Nothing else beyond the suite’s four walls. Tim’s entire world hinges on the salty tang of Armie’s collarbone - the scratchy stubble tickling his temple - the dizzying rush of blood hurtling through his quicksilver veins, and for all that he finds himself drowning in the intimacy, it doesn’t stop him from craving more.

It never does.

Never will.

That said, an actor’s life is one of flexibility: adapting to the changing tides. Inspiration strikes in a blink, and flashing a salacious grin he reaches behind him, snagging the soft grey sweater he’d stripped from Armie’s body not twenty minutes earlier; sighing in bone-deep contentment when the lingering scent of herbal shampoo and expensive cologne envelopes his arms and torso in a familiar, woollen embrace.

Saccharine, maybe, but when Armie burst in on a routine piano lesson - drawing him into a love unforeseen - the quirks and insecurities he’d spent years repressing soon became free. 

Accepted. 

Wanted and explored. 

Half the pleasure is knowing what this does to you. Knowing you like seeing what it does to me, Armie told him once, drunk on the build moreso than the wine, so it’s no surprise when his partner simply smirks in return, brows knit in fond amusement as he nuzzles the droopy collar.

“Don’t think I’m complaining,” he murmurs, the raw urgency of before notably absent. “But what happened to pants off, Hammer: no clothes ‘till Thursday?” 

He has a point. A damned good one, at that. Yet -

“I want to feel you surround me, even when you’re inside me,” Tim replies, leaning forward to kiss him for all the times he couldn’t. “I want to smell you on my skin, even when we’re apart...”

“Fuck…”

“You’re mine,” Tim says, wrapping the sweater’s cuff around his sensitive glans. “And I’m yours,” he declares, smearing it with the sticky pearls. 

Armie’s eyes grow glassy as he realises his intent, and keeping him pinned by cock and stare alike, Tim proceeds to pick up the pace; leaving him in no doubt that sooner or later, the rest of the world will know it too.

#Fall in love with charmie #timothée chalamet #armie hammer #charmie fic #don't like don't read

[authormars]

Trauma

This is a Lucifer trauma post. Trigger warnings include: SA, Abuse of Authority, Abuse in general, Manipulation, Grooming, and if I'm missing any, please tell me

I'm a firm believer in don't like, don't read/ignore

I'm making one big post about this, because it's much easier. I'm focusing on the two I mention a lot in my fics or possibly posts here.

I do want to prefice this with that I do not condone or defend any of this behavior. These are real experiences some people may go through, and if you have, please seek help from a trusted friend, adult, or medical professional.

I will put trigger warning per section. None of this is canon, it all pertains to my headcanon/my au

Michael

Trigger warnings for this portion include: Grooming, Abuse of Authority, Abuse, SA(?)

Michael is an archangel. He was part of an experiment created by the father to see what DNA made the perfect angel. Three were created from this. Gabriel, with half human, half angel DNA, Uriel, with full angel DNA, and Michael, with half demon, half angel DNA. Michael proved to be an interesting case, with strength above any other angel. However, the demon in his blood came with some not so good tendencies to enjoy others pain.

When Lucifer was created as the "perfect angel," Michael began to train him in swordfighting. Michael took an interest in him and became his only mentor.

As Lucifer grew older, Michael began to be more harsh on him. Anytime he failed to defeat him in a match, Lucifer would receive a punishment such as being whipped. It slowly drove him to become better (though, the other archangels didn't approve of his methods)

Lucifer had a habit of sticking his whole self-esteem on Michael's opinion. This meant he was constantly asking Michael how he did or whether he looked good or anything to get praise. If Michael didn't respond with "Perfect" then Lucifer was sent down a spiral (something that stuck with him when he fell)

At a celebration for another angel, Lucifer and Michael we're about to leave and Lucifer happened to ask "Do I still look good?" Because he was desperate for his idol's approval. In response, Michael kissed him and said "Absolutely perfect"

Afterward, Michael insisted Lucifer didn't tell a soul what had happened. They were friends, weren't they? Friends can keep secrets, right? Manipulations such as that. Eventually, these exchanges got more common and Lucifer became more paranoid they would be found out. He thought the world of Michael and would never sell him out, but he was always worried someone else knew.

But then, the war began and Michael refused to side with Lucifer.

"But you said we were friends."

"Friends don't rebell against the Father, Lucifer"

"She's my sister!"

"She made her choice. You must make yours"

"Then I suppose we'll meet again on the battle field"

Michael's section is finished here!

Diavolo

Trigger warnings include: Abuse of Authority, implied/mentioned SA, Abuse

If anyone recognizes me off my AO3, then you'll probably know of my Kiss Me, Son of God series. This is a series in which Diavolo abuses his authority and Lucifer's pact with him to sleep with him.

That's the first incident in which Diavolo isn't the greatest person.

Diavolo has rampages, just like the brothers. However, unlike the brothers, his don't stick to a particular sin. Diavolo is a royal demon, meaning he is representative of all sins. This means that he can have rampages for all sins.

The most common would be Lust or Wrath. During these rampages, he has a tendency to hurt Lucifer. In Lust, because he subconsciously sees Lucifer as his future queen (tagged as Dialuci for a reason) and in Wrath because he sees Lucifer as an angel, therefore a threat in his realm.

However, unlike Michael, Diavolo almost never remembers doing these things to Lucifer. When he realizes his best friend is slowly becoming afraid of him, he makes the move to improve. As time moves forward, Diavolo becomes more caring and cautious around Lucifer, leading to the relationship we see in game.

Final thoughts

I give a lot of trauma to Lucifer, mainly as a coping mechanism. I am an angst writer, so the things I headcanon/have in my au are going to be heavy topics. I recognize that this behavior is not okay and I don't defend it at all.

These things happen to real people, and I feel like these topics aren't discussed enough in fandom culture. That's the reason I write it and incorporate it. If we remain ignorant, we won't recognize the signs of it happening in our own lives or in the lives of the people we love.

If you've read to the end, thank you! I know this is mainly just me dumping stuff, but thanks for reading it

#obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me diavolo #obey me michael #psychoanalysis #don't like don't interact #don't like don't read #This is Dialuci

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

*looks at my Eclipse obsession*

No.

#snoweytrashposts #snoweytalks #snoweyrambles #snoweyrants #fnaf eclipse #not even dignifying the anon by answering the ask #😘 kiss my ass ✌️ #sorrows prayers #i write what i want buddy #don't like don't read #kisses anon kisses #because this gave be a good chuckle

[unmakerunmaker]

Let people ship in peace.

I should not be getting death threats because one of the people in the pairing I like is canonically aroace. News flash guys, I also ship people that are dead in the source material, doesn't make me a necrophiliac.

I don't want my ship to be canon, I am aware it's never going to happen. But the dynamic is hitting the points I like in a ship and I'm not trying to force it on anyone else. Don't like don't read is a pillar of this community, please respect it.

#ao3 #proship #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #don't like don't read #canon vs fanon

[midethefangirl]

out of control

tags: bireena, the closest you will get to a love confession, jealousy, one-sided tomas/sareena, jealousy, bi han being a dickhead, actually bi han as a warning tag himself, internal conflict (on sareena's part), spy!sareena, lin kuei!sareena, bi han not knowing how to properly express his emotions, fem!cyrax (her name is bontle in this fic), morning after (more like weeks after), sexual tension (kinda)

summary: (inspired by @ladybug023's spy!sareena headcanons) bi han finds himself strung out after that night at the shack and seeks closure. sareena, on the other hand, has to deal with her feelings for a certain cryomancer and the internal conflict she faces.

part ii of "i'm weak so what is wrong with that". part i can be found here.

word count => 2.5k words

also cross posted on AO3.

Not that he was not always in a bad mood but leaving Zhāofēi’s study room had him in a particular state of mind where he might actually murder anyone who was unfortunate to cross his path. 

That was unusual as while most of his morning discussions with his father were marked by their constant disagreement on him taking on the role of grandmaster, this particular one was intense, to say the least. 

Ever since coming back from the Tengu, he had noticed how sour his temperament got and he could only pin it on one person and one person only. 

How can one woman affect you so greatly?  

A huff of annoyance escaped him as he walked down the thankfully empty hallway. It was as if the elder gods had chosen to keep any unsuspecting Lin Kuei initiate out of his way today. 

A small unnoticeable smile fell on his face until it dropped once his ears picked up a voice from one of the rooms. 

He was so quick to turn his head, in recognition of Tomas’ voice squealing at something like he was a teenage girl. That was soon accompanied by that lilt he had come to missed. 

What was she doing with him? Of all people . 

He had no time for questions as he followed in the direction. It seemed to be coming from Bontle’s room. 

What are they doing in Cyrax’s room? Was the next question that dominated the cryomancer’s mind as that now-familiar emotion reared its ugly head. 

Soon, he was close to the room, opting to stay hidden and away from where any of them could see him. He hated how pathetic he looked right now, eavesdropping on a conversation that probably had nothing to do with him. 

“-woah, it’s cool, isn’t it?” That was Tomas, his voice tinged with child-like wonder. At that point, Bi Han decided he was going to also observe and there she was. 

Sareena . 

She had that look he had never seen before - like she was just discovering something she had never seen before. 

“What magic is this?” She asked, her fingers going through the holographic image. 

“Oh, this?” Bi Han’s head snapped towards the other direction and that was when he noticed Bontle, her elbows on the workbench as she watched the other two admire her new invention. 

“Sektor and I have spent years building this prototype,” she continued. “It is not magic by the way.” 

A heady chuckle escaped Sareena as she toyed with the control, causing the hologram to rotate. 

“This looks like those things I see in those American movies of yours, Tomas.”

What the-? A frown was now etched on the cryomancer’s face. She watches those stupid movies with this fool?!

It was then his treacherous mind took him to a certain dark path. Was she also sleeping with him? Was that why she acted like that night at the shack did not exist? 

“Those ones are CGI effects,” Bontle chipped in. “This one here is the real deal. Sektor and I are still working on this, it is just a beta for now.”

“Would Sareena and I be treated to seeing more of your inventions again?” Tomas asked, and it was at this point that Bi Han decided he was making his presence known as he stepped into the room. 

It took a few seconds before the three would realize that they had an extra presence in the room with them. Bontle immediately stood up straight, a wide smile plastered on her face as she acknowledged him. 

“Bi Han!” The dark-skinned assassin greeted. “We did not expect to have you here. We were just-.”

He seemed to be distracted as his eyes fell on Sareena who carefully placed the holographic projector on the workbench. It was as if she was doing everything within her power to avoid making eye contact with him but it was all a matter of minutes when her eyes finally met his. 

His eyes did not miss the way Tomas’ hand was at her back and Bi Han could only clench his fists when his jealousy came slithering in again. He was starting to not appreciate the way the typhokinetic was getting handsy with Sareena. Or the fact that she goes into his room to participate in such foolish drivel . 

“Is anything the matter, Bi Han?” The gray ninja just had to open his mouth and worsen his already sour mood. 

But, for some reason, his gaze did not waver from Sareena’s, holding eyes contact for as long as possible. Their communication required no words as his eyes said all it needed to send across to her. 

“The training grounds at 7.”

He watched as her eyes widened, it started with shock before finally taking the form of latent rage. 

“Today was supposed to be my day-off!”

If she was any other Lin Kuei initiate, he would have put her in her place but her defiance sparked something dark within him and he would entertain that for as long as possible if he had to. 

“You would defy my commands?” He questioned, his gravelly voice carrying a threatening undertone with it and his eyes watched as she seemed to battle whether to stand her ground or comply. They might have spent a night of passion together but she would not dare do that, right? 

In his peripheral vision, Bontle and Tomas exchanged cautious looks between each other. Everything about their exchanged glances screamed worry for his protégée as they observed their interaction silently. 

Time seemed to slowly move before Sareena finally made her decision, her shoulders now relaxed but that hardened stare did not leave her face. 

“No, Shifu, I would not. I will be there.”

“Is there anything going on between you and Bi Han?” Tomas had asked once he was sure the cryomancer was out of earshot. 

“I was about to ask the same,” Bontle had asked. “I could have cut through that tension with a knife.”

If only they knew…

She was not the one to kiss and tell, not in the Netherrealm and especially not here. She preferred to keep her escapades to herself, they were personal, after all. 

However, she had not expected Bi Han to be the one who would want to talk about it. Why else had he asked her to be at their usual training room at a time where everyone was supposed to wind down at the common area? 

Here she was, with Tomas by her side as they walked down the stony pavement to where the training grounds stood at. The 6’5 tall Czech had her arm linked to his, holding her and Sareena could not help but wonder how things would have gone if she reciprocated his feelings instead. 

He was a genuine gentleman and had been among the first to welcome her into the Lin Kuei, even going as far as inviting her to sit with him and the rest of the group during her first week. 

Even after telling him that she did not feel the same way about him, he remained her friend. And right now, she appreciated his presence - it kept her grounded for the time being as the thought of being alone with Bi Han had her feeling jittery. 

It just had to be cliche that she found herself pining after the cryomancer. Like those classic American movies, the good girl pining after the bad boy . 

Who was she kidding? Maybe she and Bi Han shared more similarities than she gave herself credit for. She was no good girl, considering the reason why she was in this clan in the first place. 

How would they feel when the truth comes out? When they finally find out that I am a spy and a demon? That I lied to them?

Ever since that night at the shack, those thoughts grew more frequent. She had fallen in too deep and now she was scrambling her way to get out of this mess. She had to find a way to extend this lie for as long as possible, even if it meant groveling before Quan Chi-.

“Sareena.”

She felt herself snap out of her reverie, her eyes meeting the dark brown hardwood door. Tomas stood by her side, a reassuring smile on his face. 

“I guess this is where I leave, right?” His hand reached to scratch lightly at the back of his neck. His eyes seemed to read that he was reluctant to leave her with Bi Han all alone and for good reasons.

Every interaction between the two assassins felt like walking around eggshells, one single misstep and things would go down to the Netherrealm. 

“Yeah, thank you, Tomas,” she said softly, prompting him to leave, yet, he lingered. “I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Letting out a sigh, she nodded in the affirmative.

“I will see you tomorrow at breakfast then,” he replied, his body turning in the opposite direction and she watched as his figure grew smaller in the distance. 

Now facing the door, Sareena’s heart rate accelerated as her hand reached forward for the knob. She hesitated midway, eying the knob when the door opened suddenly and a hand reached out, pulling her into the room.

She yelped and winced the moment her back met the wall. She was definitely leaving this place with a terrible bruise on her back and she had only one person to blame for that. 

This asshole-.

“Took you long enough.”

A low growl erupted from the back of her throat as she pushed against him, “What the fuck, Bi Han?!”

He did not budge, his body holding her against the wall and it had her wondering for a moment: how long had he been within these four walls waiting patiently for Tomas to leave her alone so that he could manhandle her? 

The way he has been doing these past two-going-on-three years? 

She hated his stealth and all that came with it and she could already sense a lecture from him on how she should always be on alert. 

“Why was he here with you?”

The hell-?!

“I owe you no explanation, Bi Han,” she replied, her eyes blazing with fury. He had quite the audacity bringing her out here and tossing her like she was a little rag doll. This was one of the many times she cursed the limitations of her human disguise. 

If she was in her demonic form, she would not be the only one leaving this room with a bruising back. 

She could already see the moment the cryomancer’s features morphed into that familiar emotion which manifested each time he had his authority challenged. 

His eyes darkened and his grip on her tightened, an obvious sign that he was doing everything in his power to restrain himself. 

Yet, it was not enough to stop his next words which came spilling. 

“Are you fucking him too?” His accusation revealing his jealousy. “Is that why you act as if that night never existed? You’re fucking Tomas?”

Her eyes widened in realization, it became more obvious why he called her here. He wanted closure. 

The urge to laugh at the ridicule of this situation was almost overpowering. If only he knew…

But, watching the cryomancer lose control was the entertainment in itself and what were demons known for? Mischief and she could only indulge in her nature for the time being.

Her eyes held that mirth and she could see how it affected him, his brows furrowed as his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched.

“Jealous, are we, Sub Zero?” her voice held a playful tone mixed with a tinge of the need to push as many buttons of his as possible. 

He might be the future grandmaster of the Lin Kuei but she held all the control in her hands. 

“What the fuck are you playing at, Sareena?” His voice was now a dangerous whisper and her heart raced at the way he said her name.

She was definitely playing with fire.

“I don’t know, Bi Han. You are the one who is almost losing it, so you tell me,” she shot back at him, holding his gaze. “We slept together for one night and you act like we’re suddenly exclusive.”

“What if I do not want that night to be a one-time thing? What if I want us to be exclusive?”

His admission had her heart skipping a beat, it had her momentarily stunned as her lips parted slightly, her mouth now dry.

It was his turn to look away, a faint blush adorning his cheeks, his eyes avoiding hers as he let go of her, stepping away, a frown now etched on his face.

Her fingers came to touch her arms where he had gripped her earlier, her eyes observing the man standing a few feet away from her.

Was that his way of telling her that he liked her?

“Bi Han-,” her voice was now soft but he turned away from her. 

A groan of frustration escaped him, “I cannot stop thinking about that night, Sareena. I have done everything to forget about it and yet-.”

His confession was left hanging in the air and her heart was racing in her chest. The tension in the room had shifted to something else, the air was electric and her breathing became labored.

What was this?

Bi Han snorted again as he paced before turning back to her. His cold hands cupped her cheeks and Sareena felt herself shiver slightly. 

“What enchantment have you used on me?” His voice was a rough whisper and she could only shake her head.

How could she answer that question when she had no idea?

The next thing she felt were his lips on hers, gentle and tentative. It took a moment before he pulled away, his forehead now against hers.

“I- I do not know why I feel this way yet I would give everything up if it meant being with you.”

At that, Sareena’s eyes flew open to gaze at Bi Han and it was no joke at all. Knowing the kind of man he was, this was probably the closest to a love confession he would make and it unsettled her. 

She was going to break his heart once he found out the truth. Quan Chi might not have shown up yet but she knew it was a matter of time. 

She shook her head, pulling away from his embrace. 

“Don’t- don’t do that because of me, Bi Han. I- I am not worth all that,” she tried to tell him, her eyes avoiding his.

"That is not going to change my mind,” he said with an air of finality. 

Sareena could only let out a humorless laugh, she was not going to change his mind at this rate. She nodded. 

Maybe she could keep up with this for as long as she could. She could try to buy more time and confess the truth to Bi Han. In this moment, she could not let him know the truth. No matter how badly she wanted him to. Maybe another time.

I am not really satisfied with how the ending came to be but I hope it is good to your liking. also, Bi Han may be a bit ooc but hear me out, he would not be the type to outrightly express his feelings and shit like that. and yeah, I added a one-sided Tomas/Sareena bit cause why not? that being said, constructive criticism is always welcome.

tagging: @livingdeadgirly

#sareena #bi han #bireena #bi han x sareena #don't like don't read #that tag was specifically for antis who would happen to stumble across this #anyway here is the promised second part