#I suck at draw blood..sob..

[ditznuts17]

AYO WHO GIVE THIS SILLY INNOCENT PIE A CHAINSAW?! 😨

Guys i think he just murder someone!

[swytdoll]

request 𐙚 ony x actress!reader and ony gets jealous and possessive that readers co-star has to do a make out scene w her. nsfw, ony’s kinda mean thank you for the request sweetface!

“you’re cute when you’re jealous ony-bear.”

those were the words that set him off, the words that now had you twisted in the nastiest position. white manicured feet dangling over broad shoulders, a tattooed hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing just enough to make you gasp. he knows it’s your career, acting. he knows you sometimes have to do make-out scenes, but god, does it make his blood boil knowing so. the jealousy and frustration simmer beneath the surface, and as his mind drifts, his thrusts becoming exponentially harder, toe-curling. you can feel the tension in his muscles, every movement filled with a mix of anger and desire. “ohhh my fuckinggg-shit ony!”

"what was that cute shit you were talkin’ bout?” the dark-skinned man's voice carries a tone of jealousy. a part of you finds it endearing, while another part is annoyed by his behavior. you don't even know where to begin with him, and when he slams into a bundle of nerves, your eyes flutter shut pathetically. "that’s what i thought.” it’s got his head rolling back as your pretty pink pussy sucks him, the soft gush of you making him twitch. he’s so deep, so thick, you swear you could feel every ridge of him. a loud sob escapes you, arms tightening around his neck, nails digging into his shoulder blade, drawing blood. ony’s pace is nothing short of unforgiving, and all you can do is take him as he feeds you inch by inch.

it’s almost painful as you orgasm again, and as much as you try to hide the way your body convulses and shivers, ony catches it. the sight silently spurring him on, aiding him in his own climax. in an instant, he’s pulling out with a whimper. a relentless chant of your name as he pumps his shaft, spurts of warm cum decorating your tummy. it’s quiet for a moment, tension palpable as your eyes watch ony clean you. “m’sorry," he whispers breaking the dreadful quietness, his voice suddenly tender. face now in the curve of your neck, his breath sending warmth across your skin. "i know," you reply softly, running your fingers through his locs, feeling the tension gradually fade away.

"no, really. i'm sorry. i'm an asshole."

a giggle erupts from your lips, "you are." you say, but the playfulness is still evident in your voice.

"let me make it up to you."

"and how do you plan on doing that?"

he doesn’t reply, only beginning to place sloppy wet kisses down your chest, then your pudgy stomach. all the way down until he’s face to face with your slick cunt. "m’gna apologize to her.”

[yanderedrabbles]

This is a thought I’ve had ever since i read your yandere outlaws story: what if you (try to) run away with one of the outlaws…could you even do that…. Would the poor guy even survive if you two get caught

Which of the yandere outlaws would run away with you?

CW: noncon, violence, knife play

You can't exactly ask the boss to run away with you. He's got responsibilities, authority. His men rely on him. If he wasn't the boss though? Yeah, in that case his loyalty would stretch very far at all.

The gunslingers absolutely would. But is it really a good idea? Without the boss around, there's no one keeping them in check. How much tighter will their grip be, with no one to scold them for the bruises?

They're the type to make you earn their help, and then force you to keep paying off that favour for the rest of your life.

"Mighty dangerous thing you're askin' pretty."

"How you gonna compensate us for our trouble?"

The wrangler absolutely wouldn't. Which is a real pity, since he's probably the only one with the skills to evade tracking. But he's also loyal to a fault.

"I wish I could beauty, but there are some debts that can never be repaid."

The kid, hmm. Yes. Maybe. It depends on how much time they give him. The outlaws know he's still soft, so I don't think they'll leave him alone with you for too long. He's young and guilty. You can definitely manipulate him.

"I'll...I'll do it. Just don't tell anyone, 'kay?"

The second in command, the man who claims to love you. You'd think all it would take is batting your pretty eyes and asking him to take you away from all this. And you'd be partly right. If it was any other gang, he'd be gone with you by morning.

But despite all their flaws, these outlaws are his brothers. He owes the boss his loyalty.

He's also a practical man. He knows it will be considered a betrayal. And the boss isn't one to let that slide. Even if he did make it out with you, he'd spend his whole life looking over his shoulder. And what kind of life is that?

"No. You belong here. Nowhere else."

But let's ignore all of that and assume you do manage to run away. How will the outlaws react to you and the traitor?

The boss will shoot them. It doesn't matter who. And then he'll bend you over the nearest thing and fuck some sense into you. Rough this time. Not holding back. You've proven kindness is wasted on you. Anal probably, dry and unprepped.

You realise for the first time exactly how thin his patience is. How cold and terrifying his anger. He'll be clipped and curt the entire time. "Move it." "C'mere." "Suck it." No sweet pet names this time, no treating you like his little girl. You want that softness? You're going to have to earn it back.

The gunslingers will make a game of it. Say whoever finds you gets to have you all week. They'll kill the traitor slow. Maybe leave him out for the ants and coyotes. And then they'll tell the boss you need to be punished.

They're the kind of bastards who'll slap a knife against your pussy just to see you shiver, scrape the tip against your inner thighs. Never drawing blood but always getting oh so close. 

Double penetration too, until you're too cock drunk and hurt to even think about running.

The wrangler is the one who can track you down the fastest and also the first one to figure out if you're plotting something. He won't tell the others. He'll just follow you and come out of the dark like a ghost. Shotgun levelled right at your heart. He won't kill the traitor, but the cold glint in his eyes shows you exactly how close he is to doing it.

When he gets you home, he'll make you sleep in his bed. So if anyone mentions your absence, he can say you were with him.

He won't be angry with you. Instead, he'll just hold you. His chin on the crown of your head as you sob into his chest.

"I'm sorry beauty. But there really is no way out. Wherever you run, I will always find you."

If it's the boy who finds you, it's a toss up. He might let you go, might remember how much you cried that first day. He might still be a good person at heart.

Or, he might see this as his opportunity to finally earn the rest of your body. That's what the gunslingers said, remember? If he wants to fuck you, he needs to earn it. And what better way than to bring you home?

The second in command almost never gets angry, but this time? He doesn't even bother with a gun. He kills the traitor with a knife. Rips his throat out and leaves him to bleed out on the desert sand.

He's explosive. Grabs you by the jaw and throws you against the wall. Kisses you before you can fall, ripping your clothes off with one hand. He's the worst of them all when it comes down to it. His anger making him twice as cruel and thrice as callous.

He fucks you with the other man's blood still splattered across his face.

"You wanna be like that? Don't like it when I'm nice? Fine."

He'll fuck you dry, his hand around your throat the entire time. His lips just the tiniest bit away from yours, just watching the fear and the tears. Revelling in them. When you're done, he shoves you down on the bed.

"Open your fucking mouth."

He'll make you suck the blood and come off his cock, pulling your hair so hard it gives you a migraine.

He'll grab your jaw so hard the bones ache, and yank you up to his lips.

"I'll fucking kill you next time."

You believe him. 

[maybejj]

The Beginning of Us Part 3

babydaddy!Rafe x sweetheart!reader

masterlist

warnings: mentions of child abuse, mentions of bruises/blood, slight flirting, slight possessive rafe ?

summary: You and Rafe were high school sweethearts that continued into college however Rafe went down the wrong path and you found out you were pregnant. 4 years later finds you and Rafe trying to navigate co-parenting your 3 year old son while overcoming life’s obstacles and past experiences.

word count: 2.2k

“Listen, I’m not going to make it. Rafe’s out of town and I don’t have anyone to watch Asher. I’m sorry, truly.” You apologized to Madeline over the phone while you continued to make dinner. Asher was at the kitchen table drawing in his coloring book, tongue sticking out to the side while he tried to color in the lines.

It was shaping up to be a quiet night when Madeline, one of your girlfriends, had called asking if you wanted to tag along to see the new romcom that was in theaters. You would normally jump at the opportunity to hangout with your friends but with Rafe out of town, you couldn’t leave Asher.

You heard your friend whine playfully on the other side of the phone, “Maybe you could get Sarah or Wheezie to watch him for a couple hours. You know they adore him.”

You squeezed your eyes closed tightly. You knew in your soul they would never hurt Asher. They weren’t capable of it and they did adore your son, worshipped the ground he walked on. They always showered him in love and gifts and hugs whenever they saw him but there was that voice in the back of your head that said it would happen again if you left Asher alone with anyone other than Rafe.

It had only been three months since it happened and you were still reaping the fallout from all the chaos. Asher was getting better, he could finally sleep in his own bed though it was you who held off on making him sleep alone because you wanted him close, wanted to protect him. Rafe was the one who gently coaxed you into letting Asher back in his room after sleeping in your bed for two months. You had sat outside your son’s bedroom door, hand over your mouth, quietly sobbing that whole night.

You sighed deeply as you turned to watch your son. He was so young and already he had been exposed to how cruel the world could be. You wouldn’t let that happen again.

You shook your head even though Madeline couldn’t see you, “They’re probably busy. I’ll have to rain check on this one but you guys have fun.”

There was silence on the phone for a moment before Madeline’s voice traveled through the speaker, her tone of voice held a hint of frustration and annoyance, “I know it’s been hard but you’re going to have to let people help you, Rafe won’t always be here. This is a prime example.”

You were stunned by her words, completely catching you off guard. You knew she could be blunt and up front but this was a sensitive topic.

“Until you have a son of your own, you don’t get to tell me what to do. Especially after someone beat him like a punching bag,” You said as you hung up abruptly. You set the phone down roughly on the kitchen counter while your hands came to rest on the top, your back turned to Asher. You closed your eyes once you started to feel the sting of tears. You dropped your head to your chest and counted to ten. You could feel yourself shaking as you tried to block out the images of seeing him in the hospital, the bruises, the blood. You could still hear Rafe’s frantic voice over the phone telling you to meet him at the hospital. It was the worst day of your life.

“Mommy?”

You sucked in a deep breath and quickly wiped your eyes before turning around. Asher was staring at you with wide eyes from the kitchen table, his drawing abandoned, “Yes, baby?”

He squinted his big green eyes at you, like he knew something was off but couldn’t explain it, “You seem sad. Like when I can’t find my favorite tractor.”

A laugh you couldn’t stop escaped from you, your hand coming up to cover your mouth as you started smiling, “Mommy’s okay. I promise. I was just counting to ten.”

You could see his little mind was going a mile a minute trying to make sure you weren’t lying to him. You always told him lying was frowned upon and that you should always tell the truth. He was a very intelligent toddler for only being three years old. He was very observant too, something he inherited from his father.

“Like you and daddy showed me when I get sad?” Asher quietly asked you. Your heart squeezed in your chest as he recalled what you and Rafe had taught him.

“Yes, baby. That’s exactly right,” you smiled sadly at him. It was something you and Rafe had taught him when he would get upset and didn’t know how to control his emotions. You had taught him to close his eyes and then slowly count to ten, with the hope that it would help clear his mind. After he had calmed down, you and Rafe would sit down with him while he tried to explain what he was feeling so you both could help him through it. Most of the time it worked.

“But that means you were sad mommy,” He furrowed his eyebrows at you while sliding off the chair, making his way towards you. Once he reached you, he wrapped both arms around your waist and hugged you tightly.

You gently put your hand on the top of his head, stroking his hair out of his face while you smiled down at him. You had so much love for this little boy. You were suppose to be there for him, protecting him and here he was doing it for you.

You squat down to your knees so you’re face to face and hug him closer. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss his temple, “You are the sweetest little boy, Asher Cameron.”

You heard him giggle against your neck, “Daddy said I had to take care of you while he was gone since I’m the man of the house now.”

“Did he?” You say as you pull away from the hug, your eyebrows raising as you grin at him.

He nods excitedly. Just as you were about to respond, your computer starts to ring from the living room coffee table.

Asher instantly grabs your hand and drags you into the living room, dinner abandoned on the counter tops. You both plop down on the couch as Asher opens your laptop to an incoming FaceTime call from Rafe.

“It’s daddy!” Asher squealed while you laughed and pushed the green accept call button. Rafes face instantly popped up on screen. You could tell he was sitting against the headboard of his bed in the hotel room. He was currently in New York closing on a deal with a big corporation. As soon as you and Asher came into view, Rafe had a soft smile on his face.

“Hey big man, you taking care of mommy?”

Asher nodded his head and scooted closer to the screen to get closer to his father, “I am! I’m the man of the house now daddy, that’s what you said.”

You smiled at your son, shaking your head. Seeing Rafe and Asher interact never failed to give you butterflies. He was such a good dad to Asher. He always made time for him, no matter where he was. It made your heart squeeze in your chest in the best way possible.

You could hear Rafe’s laugh through the computer as he responded, “I did. It’s a big job I can only trust you with.”

“You can trust me daddy!” Your son said seriously, hand saluting to the computer. Rafe saluted back with a big smile on his face. Before Rafe could say anything more, Asher started talking about his tractor drawing he was working on before dinner. You gently sat back against the couch, tucking your knees underneath you as you watched the father and son talk back and forth. Asher was speaking fast and talking with his hands as he got excited about his drawing he couldn’t wait to show Rafe. It warmed your heart, this was exactly what you needed after the phone call with Madeline.

“And then mommy had to count to ten so I gave her a hug like you do when I get sad.”

Your eyes went wide as Asher recalled what happened in the kitchen just moments ago. Rafe’s attention shifted to you in the corner of the screen as he furrowed his eyebrows, talking a bit slower now, “You did good buddy. Just like we taught you. Why don’t you go finish your drawing so it’ll be done when I get home tomorrow, yeah?”

Asher immediately jumped up from the couch, briefly saying goodbye to his dad on the laptop before zooming to the kitchen table to do as his dad said. Once he was seated, you turned your attention back to Rafe who was already watching you. You leaned forward slightly to turn the volume down. You knew this conversation wasn’t for little ears.

“Anything you want to talk about?” Rafe quietly asked. He didn’t want to push you but he wanted to be there for you. It was a fine line he had been walking since Asher was born. You weren’t in a relationship but you still trusted him more than anyone else.

You glance back to make sure Asher was occupied before speaking softly, “Madeline called earlier. She just said some things that she shouldn’t have. Made me think about what happened.”

Even through the laptop screen, you could see Rafe’s jaw clench. His eyes slightly narrowing as he tried to think about what Madeline had said to you. He had never been fond of Madeline. He thought she was self centered and blunt. Not the kind of good blunt where people needed to hear the truth, it was the kind of blunt where she hurt people’s feelings on purpose to get what she wanted. She was what he classified as a mean girl. He didn’t understand why you were still friends with her but every time he brought it up you demanded he drop it.

Before Rafe could say anything you started talking again, “I already know what you’re thinking and after what was said I don’t think we’ll be hanging out anytime soon.”

“Good. Never liked the bitch anyways,” Rafe was smug when he responded. You rolled your eyes and checked on Asher to make sure he didn’t hear the swear word despite the volume being low.

Rafe hesitated before he spoke next, “Are you okay though?”

“Yeah, I’ll be okay,” You paused briefly before continuing, “I don’t know if you’ve heard but I’ve got a man of the house looking after me now,” You grinned as you brought your elbows to lay on your knees, hands resting under your chin.

Rafe let out a big, booming laugh. His hand came into the screen as he ran it across his chin, a huge grin sliding across his face, “The only man I’ll allow to take my place until I get back.”

You paused as you studied his face and his comment. Despite you two not being together, you did flirt back and forth with each other. It was just natural, you couldn’t stop it if you tried. Just because you weren’t together didn’t mean you no longer found him attractive and as he got older, he only got hotter. The buzz cut he got about a year ago was still your favorite look and made your mouth water.

“The only man you’ll allow, huh?” You countered back, a smirk tugging at your lips.

“Thats right, sweetheart. Don’t act like you got someone else. Besides, Asher would’ve spilled already,” He winked at you. You quietly laughed because you knew it was true. Asher and Rafe were two peas in a pod.

“Yeah I’m aware. My own son would sell me out,” You shook your head as you glanced down at your feet, smiling.

“As long as you have us, you don’t need another man,” Rafe said confidently, shrugging his shoulders.

“Like I want another man. You two are handfuls already,” You couldn’t even imagine starting a new relationship. Having to introduce them to Asher and Rafe. That just sounds like an experience you’d rather not go through. While Rafe was respectful of your boundaries, he still could get very jealous whether you two were dating or not. The good thing was you had no desire to start dating again. Your main focus was your son.

“And don’t you forget it,” He chuckled as he glanced at his watch, yawning. He started stretching his arms above his head as he said, “I should get some sleep. Early flight tomorrow.”

You nodded your head, tucking the hair behind your ear as it started to fall, “Get some rest. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Rafe said his goodbyes and ended the phone call. You closed the laptop as you got up from the couch, ready to finish dinner. As you walked to the stove, you noticed Asher was almost done with his drawing. As you got closer, you could see he had drawn three stick figures in the corner of the page. One of the taller stick figures had long hair, which you assumed was you while the other stick figure stood taller than the rest. The last of the stick figures was small with green eyes, just like your son.

“Is that mommy and daddy holding your hands, baby?”

Asher nodded without glancing at you, too determined to finish his artwork, “You think daddy will like it?”

You leaned down to press a kiss to the top of his head, the love you have for your three year old bursting out of your chest, “Daddy will love it.”

Part 4

[bluessmutifyplaylist]

Pls pls pls pls pls Lilia with consentual sex with reader!!! He just wants babies (baby fever)

Warnings: AFAB!Reader, Breeding with the intention of impregnation, Reader is ovulating, Reader’s species is not specified (human or fae), missionary position

Lilia Vanrouge

Your wedding day. A day that you and Lilia were excited for. A day that the entire village was excited for. After all, a high-ranking general like Lilia getting married was a big deal.

However, what you both were actually excited for was the wedding night, where he carried you over the threshold of the door and into the cottage to begin your honeymoon. An entire month, as per tradition. Of course, there would be no consumption of honey mead, but an entire month of fucking.

He set you on the ground of your bedroom before getting started on removing your wedding dress and helping you take your makeup off and hair out. Then, he removed his armor, as he got married with it on, and laid you on the bed.

His lips met the sensitive skin of your neck, his fangs gently prodding it to elicit small gasps from your lips. Then, when he got to a particular area of your neck, he sank his fangs in far enough to draw blood before licking it all up.

Lilia slowly trailed his kisses down your neck… your collarbone… your chest… your stomach… before he reached your underwear. A lacy pair… but he didn’t have the patience to admire it as he ripped it off.

All of a sudden, he was hit by the alluring scent of your pussy. Fuck… you were fertile. All Lilia could see right then and there was an image: you round and pregnant with his baby. Babies. He wanted twins.

His tongue delved into your folds, and he put your legs on his shoulders so he could make sure you wouldn’t squirm as he indulged in your taste. Your thighs wrapped around his head, and he swore to all the Seven that he could die happy right then and there.

He feasted like a man starved, drawing moans, gasps, and choked sobs from you. 

“H-Honey… fuck!” You squeal as his tongue flicked against your clit, making your entire body tremble as you came all over his face.

When he pulled away from your cunt, he smiled and your juices glistened on his skin. “The first of many, my dear wife… Now, I want twins…” The look in his eyes made you realize that you would have a lot of trouble walking tomorrow morning… but that was irrelevant at the moment.

He shifted his body so that he was on top of you, grabbing his member to line it up. Despite his smaller stature compared to his soldiers, he had seven inches of pure pleasure. You would know: this wasn’t your first time with the fae general.

Once he started sliding the tip into your soaked pussy, your legs wrapped around his hips. You felt yourself seeing stars, and your nails dug into his back as he started pulling his member out before thrusting it right back in… where it belongs.

“My pretty wife… s-so full of my cock…” He whispered, your walls clenching down on him in the best way possible.

You felt so full with him… and you always felt so warm and loved despite him basically having to bully his cock into you each time he thrusted his hips forward.

“Lilia… fuck!... baby, please…” You couldn’t even make a coherent thought aside from ‘more’. You wanted him to get you pregnant. You wanted to swell and get round with his children. You wanted to be the mother to his kids… You wanted it all. But mostly, you wanted him.

Soon, he felt his cock throbbing inside of you, and as you clenched tightly around him, he thrusted more ravenously into you until you came again. Then, he spilled his load inside you, letting out a groan as he felt your walls greedily suck him in like a magnet.

For a few seconds, you both just sat there, him still inside you to make sure that nothing spilled out. He pressed kiss after kiss to your face and your neck, trying to bring you back down to Earth.

“You’re gonna look absolutely wonderful when you’re with child, darling,” He smiled softly down at you, pressing one final kiss to your lips. Then, he stood up to grab a warm towel and clean you up, making sure you weren’t all sweaty before going to bed. “Good night, my bride…”

[the-xolotl]

Take It Right.

Alastor x fem!reader

ᯓღ Warm-up snip — gift idea for my wife @denki-69

ᯓღ a/n: you got me; i love writing for Denki. at this point this is my entire life’s purpose. it’s to write filth with or for Denki.

SUMMARY: Alastor helps you take his knot when it’s still too big for you to take.

ᯓღ cw: knotting, womb fucking, cervix stretching, slight cumflation, slight mention of blood.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED ON SIGHT. Thank you~♡

“You can take it sweetheart, I know you can,” he laughed lowly, radio filter tickling in your ear. Your eyes roll back feeling him put more pressure on your hips and feeling his fat cock sink in deeper. The knot at the base of his length had swollen impossibly large and it’s teasing at your entrance the further down he forces you. Admittedly, you’re a bit terrified at the sheer size of the stretch his cock already spread you, but the added circumference of the knot had you trembling from more than just pleasure.

“A-Al please… I can’t—” you know begging and pleading for mercy is useless. He’s made up his mind, and deep down you wanted it. It was the surface fear that currently wouldn’t let you simply let go. Even as you tried to relax feeling every inch go into your soaked pussy made you clench.

“Here,” he purred, guiding your hand between your legs, “Follow my rhythm, let go, focus on my voice,” his voice sent a delicious shiver down your spine. He pressed your fingers against your throbbing clit, rubbing in tight circles to help ease the aching pain that’s his knot pressing against your hole.

He’s so close to having his entire length inside you and it’s taking him all of his composure to not shove you down; you know, make you bleed now and apologize for it later. But he didn’t want to do that to you. Instead he’s taking his time; the amount of foreplay and eating out had you wet enough to make a stain on the bed and he had stretched you out a decent amount. And as much as he loved your snug cunt, the only draw back would have to be this.

Even still, it’s maddening how good and warm you feel sucking his cock in, the way you cried and moaned his name. He reveled in your trembling figure sitting on his lap basically fucked dumb when all he’s done is ease you down half his dick. And even with the attention to your puffy bud it’s already making you clench, you’re going to cum again. With your body tensing and back arching he feels your orgasm and juices dripping down him. You nearly right down scream already feeling overstimulated and overwhelmed.

He took the opportunity to thrust up into your waiting heat, the tip of his cock pressing and pushing a past your cervix made your entire body spasm. His tendrils shot out to grab you, pressing you harder against Alastor’s chest, keeping your legs spread open over his lap and a gag to keep in your high-pitch cries.

The searing warmth and tightness of your sex made him moan out your name. Truly the prettiest sounds you have ever heard now that he’s successfully nuzzled his knot inside you and is spilling deep into your waiting womb.

You feel his hot cum fill you up to the brim but the knot stopped it from spilling out. You’re fighting hard against your restrains; it’s painful as much as it’s arousing and pleasurable that the radio demon has forced his way inside you. Big, warm tears begin to fall even wetting his cheek as you seek to hide your face into the side of his neck for comfort.

Being a little dazed himself he’s barely babbling praises and coos, “That’s a good girl, that’s my girl. See? You fit perfectly. Made just for me.” They aren’t even coherent full thoughts but you sob and keen at his words.

When you feel a pressure in your belly the hand that had been rubbing at your clit goes to press on your belly. Swollen, full of cum. Full of his fawn. You’re clenching and cumming again. Alastor sucks in a breath, he needs to also take a minute from the overwhelming ecstasy, the hold on your hips only gets tighter, his claws begin to break skin and warm red liquid slowly drips down your thigh.

© 2024 the-xolotl — all rights reserved. do NOT alter, translate, or repost my works on any platform without my consent, do not claim my content as yours.

[laseracronym]

They Made You Cry (MHA/Fem!Reader)

(Laser: I'm sad today, so I curse you with angst.)

Summary: MHA characters reacting to making their girlfriend cry. (Angst, arguments, and some unhealthy relationship dynamics.)

Characters: Bakugou, Dabi, Aizawa, Shigaraki, Midoriya

MHA-MHA-MHA

Bakugou

Katsuki's heart sinks when he sees the unmistakable wetness that mists over your eyes. What's worse, what really makes him feel like the worst kind of bastard, is the way you shy away from his gaze with a sense of bitter defeat. Like he's getting what he wanted. Like his victory, his intention, was pushing you to tears.

As if he could ever consider this a victory.

"H-Hey..." he reaches out to you, awkward and unsure. He's so bad at dealing with tears, especially yours. It's so much easier to take on whatever piece of shit that's made you cry, but in this case, it's him. He's the piece of shit.

You sniffle, hurriedly brushing past him, equal parts angry and hurt.

"Whatever, Katsuki."

Dabi

The thing about you is that you're so damn unpredictable. Sweet one second, drawing blood the next.

Dabi kind of loves it. It keeps things from becoming boring, getting stale. And you're so hot when your eyes are ablaze with whatever emotion is overcoming you.

Just like right now, in the middle of some pointless, bullshit argument, when something he says makes you snap. You tackle him to the ground, your hands fisting into his jacket as you yell in his face. All he can do is grin up at you dangerously, just as angry, but equally as enticed by just how vibrant you look in this moment.

Then something even sweeter happens.

Big, fat tears begin to drip from your wild eyes, and Dabi sucks in a breath. You sob, frustrated and overwhelmed, and his cold, little heart warms at the sight.

"Oh, pretty girl..."

His arms wrap around you as you cry into his chest, cursing his name all the while. He strokes your hair, twisted affection squirming in his chest like a nest of spiders.

Always so unpredictable and entertaining.

Aizawa

"(Name), I-" Shouta falters, all the anger and frustration from your argument washed away by cold, all-consuming guilt at the sight of the tears slipping down your face.

You hurriedly wipe them away, stepping back, away from him, and the guilt deepens.

He knows you hate crying in front of him, even when it isn't his fault. It makes you feel weak, and he knows you worry he'll think less of you, that he'll find your more emotional way of being "irrational."

You turn, hiding your face as you try to walk away, but he stops you, gently catching you by the arm.

"Wait," he pleads, his voice gentle, "I'm sorry." Because no argument is worth making you cry.

"I don't want you to see me like this," you mutter, your head down. But at least you're not pulling away from him. He takes that as a good sign.

"Don't hide from me," he urges. He takes you by the chin and tilts your head up so he can look at you properly. He brushes your tears away, regretful that they're there in the first place. "Let's talk about this, okay?"

He's always so stubborn, set in his ways. But he'll try to meet you in the middle, to understand your perspective. You're worth it.

Shigaraki

Tomura feels no guilt at the sight of your tears, only vindictive satisfaction. Good. He'd been aiming to hurt you when he said those words to you. He really can't stand the way you make him feel sometimes, so he's happy to return the favor.

"You're seriously crying?" he taunts with a cruel smirk, poking at your cheek with a mocking finger.

You smack his hand away, "fuck you, Tomura, you fucking prick," you hiss, trying not to cry even more in front of him. You turn and storm away from him before things get even worse.

"You're so pathetic!" he calls after you, making sure you can hear him before you slam the door behind you.

He huffs, standing there and scratching at his neck. You're so damn overdramatic, a pain in his ass. You deserve to cry a little for the shit you put him through.

The image of your tear-filled face flashes through his mind. He ignores the way it makes his stomach twist with discomfort.

Midoriya

Izuku feels his own eyes fill with tears, watching you hug yourself and cry in front of him.

"(N-Name)... please don't cry..." he begs, his hands brushing up and own your arms, trying to console you.

"I thought I was never going to see you again," you cry, your words making his heart ache. You scrub a shaking hand over your eyes, "I was so s-scared for you!"

"I'm sorry, (Name)," he pulls you into a hug, his own tears running free. He really scared you this time. It was a close call. "It's okay, I'm okay. I'm here."

He shushes you gently, guilt spreading through his chest at the distress he's caused you. His job is always going to cause you to worry, the only thing he can do is try his best to come home to you at the end of the day.

(Requests)

[s-4pphics]

the art of chasing. (e.w.) part I.

synopsis: how to: lose a lover.

word count: 9.5K

warnings: bratbaby!ellie who’s a math prodigy :), baby!oc who’s not but craves approval, SARAH IS ALIVE, mentions of: ANGST, time jump, joel is everyone’s dad — adoption, dead parents, narc parenting, internalized homophobia, outward homophobia, enemies to ?, idiots to ?, alcoholism, ellie’s a hopeless romantic, so is oc but she doesn’t know it, rebellious teenagers, FLUFF :)

a/n: heyyy. this idea came to me very randomly in january and i’ve been drafting it since then. it’s a two parter with a possible intermission but idk we’ll see. also, i hit 4k followers? thanks THE FAWK?

BYEEE

Since age ten, you’ve hated Ellie Williams.

You were naive like most children; too bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to manage, running amuck and causing any wreckage you could with your pudgy little hands. You lived to explore, much to your father’s dismay. He’s a stickler with too much sense, exactly like your irritating, speckle-faced classmate. Stubborn with an ego large enough to topple mountains. 

The first time you met her, you’d been sobbing at the sight of blood on your skin. 

You weren’t the fastest runner on the playground, but your classmates knew to never play hide and seek with you. You’d squeeze into the smallest crevices of your school's hallways and sit until recess was over and you were crowned the winner by your classmates when the bell rang. Your victory streak felt everlasting, three months of invisibility, it seemed until one day, a boy approached you — Jesse, a few inches taller and annoying, made it a challenge to discover your hiding spot. Younger you accepted any competition with grace, even moreso when Jesse’s friends bet that he’d pay you if he failed to complete the challenge… Your dad was very confused when you returned home with twenty bucks and a bag of Warheads that Friday. You don’t gamble, but what’s a little reward for upholding your legacy as the Best Hider? Your tactic was masterful, and while your classmates failed to find you, your piggy bank grew in size. 

For the first term of fifth grade, recess was yours. Students of all grade levels were on a manhunt for you after lunch. The excessive searches got so bad that they limited your 10 second head start to 5, then 3, and even then, you were never caught. 

Until Ellie. 

You decided to switch it up one day: instead of going to your go-to hiding spot — in between the two giant pillars that separated the first and second grade classrooms — you decided to rush back towards the cafeteria and wait by the lunch tables. Call it hiding in plain sight. No one ever returned there after they finished eating; They were too busy pushing each other down the slide or searching for you on the field. 

Your fall could’ve been caused by anything: an untied shoelace, your mind moving too fast for your feet, a crack in the blacktop. All you recall was laughing maniacally one second then sobbing harshly with a bloody knee the next. It barely hurt from your adrenaline, but blood had always freaked you out. You searched for anyone — a supervisor, a teacher, another classmate — but your cries weren’t loud enough to draw attention. 

No one was a witness except the freakishly smart nerd that sat at the back of the classroom. 

Ellie had been alone at the lunch tables, dirty sneakers kicked up with a sticker book in hand while she watched you cry completely stoic.

When you finally noticed her sitting there, you hoped your teary eyes would push her to get you some help, but when she squatted beside you with a taunting glance and pitying hand on your shoulder, you knew she sucked. Sucked really badly.

“That’s what you get for cheating. Everyone knows the lunch area’s off limits during recess.” 

And then she hollered over Jesse and all his loser friends, exclaiming that she found you and everyone owed her whatever rewards they planned to give you. From that point on, you hated her. Whenever she spoke in class, won a tetherball match with her man hands, laughed too loud, you returned home with a chip on your shoulder and the urge to swing on her. Not only did Ellie take your money and treats, she dimmed your glory. The crown on your head was placed onto hers in a heartbeat, title going from Best Hider to Best Seeker, and all it took was one accident. Ellie swiftly became your obsession after that. How could such a loser loner be that snarky? Losers are often desperate for any form of human contact, so why wasn’t she? Everyone thought she was the coolest person ever yet she didn’t care. Her routine stayed the same: silently sit in class and obnoxiously be the smartest person in the room then walk exactly 20 feet in front of you when the day is over. 

You’ll never forget the disgusted churns in your gut when you discovered she lives right across the street from you, and apparently had since you both were in kindergarten. If anyone at school found out that you religiously watched Ellie ride and fall(once) off her skateboard for a month straight, they’d probably group you too together for being the wackiest bitches in the neighborhood. 

It’s been five years since that day by the lunch area, and still, Ellie’s mission of making you feel like gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe rages on. Every test, every presentation, every spelling bee, every race, she shows you up without breaking a sweat while you drag behind her using every bit of willpower you have left, and still, it’s never enough. She surpasses you in ways that almost seem impossible, your brain can barely grasp it. 

She’s still mechanically organized, even as a teenager. On honor roll and a dickface. Isn’t high school the time to find yourself and not be a loser? Talk to boys and get a job and start driving— 

“You look psycho. She’s not thinking about you. Give it a rest.” 

Your best friend’s right as always, but your glare doesn’t get any softer. In fact, it hardens when Riley scoots directly in front of your vision so your eyes are on her and not Ellie. 

“If I killed someone, would you help me hide the body?” You say, exasperated. 

“No, bitch I wouldn’t,” she rolls her eyes, “You’re risking life in prison because she ruined the curve for our biology test?” 

“She gotta 98. I dunno how campus isn’t up in flames right now. All these bitches are weak,” you shove a carrot in your mouth, “my dad’s gonna kill me.” 

“I’ll come to the funeral.”

“That’s not funny. You know how he is! He’s gonna blow a fuse when my grade gets posted.” 

Riley’s eyes shadow with sympathy. “Maybe you can ask for a retake? Mr. Johnson’s not as fucked up as—“

“Ms. Robinson.” You and Riley both shudder in disgust. Your first bio teacher had it out for you so bad, it seemed. Last semester was stupid rough because of her pop quizzes and accusations of cheating. If she hadn’t fell down the stairs and broken her hip, you’d be on academic probation by now. 

“I’m not reliving that, Jesus… Are you comin’ later? Everyone’s asking where you’ve been.” 

Every reminder that you're locked in your room while your friends cause ruckus throughout the town is like a knife to the chest. “Tell 'em I'll seem them inna month,” you smile sarcastically, “I can’t go anywhere until I get my D up in math… and English—“

“Bitch how do you have a D in English when we speak it everyday—“

“I know, okay, I hate essays! My brain can’t… I can’t sit there and write for too long. I feel like I’ll start going crazy looking at those little ass words! I needa stress reliever bad.” 

Riley pouts and reaches for your hand, “I'll find you one and send it to your place, promise.” 

“Maybe you shouldn’t. My dad might set it on fire to taunt me.” You snort, but Riley doesn’t. She never does when you talk about your dad. The sad look she always gives makes you uncomfortable. Your gaze falls onto your tray when she squeezes your hand. 

“If you need to stay with me, you can. You know that, right?” 

“… Yeah. Thanks.” 

Riley’s a wishful thinker. Her family’s the sweetest: always inviting you over for holidays, her birthdays, sometimes your birthday when your dad deems you undeserving of celebration. They embrace you openly, and you’re forever grateful for their warmth, but the peace you experience in her household always ends in tears when your dad picks you. He’ll scream at you until his voice goes hoarse for running away even though you always ask for permission before going anywhere. The grudge he held onto after you snuck out one time in junior high weighs both of you down. 

Your father doesn’t trust you, and sometimes when it’s late and you hear delirious mumbling in the hallways, you question whether or not to trust him. 

The bell pulls you from your thoughts, and for once, you’re grateful that lunch is over. Riley’s gentle aura has a way of disarming you. You’re always unprepared whenever you trek the stairs to your porch; exposed and vulnerable. 

Riley allows you to wallow in silence all the way back to class. Your academic reputation was never stellar, but you always believed you were smart enough to make it into college and find your purpose, but every year that passes, your attention span suffers, and no one understands how draining it is except you. You were naive to think you’d be able to confide in your dad about something like that. 

Riley gives your hand one last squeeze before sliding through the door next to yours. Annoyance stabs in your spine when you catch Ellie already sat at the front of the room with her stupid fucking glasses and notebooks and sharpened pencils laid neatly on her desk. It’s like she lives her life to taunt you, force you to remember that you’ll never be as clever as she is. You’re sick just looking at her. 

You fall onto your designated seat in the last row, the last bits of students clabbering in just as the second bell rings. Mr. Thomas is already scribbling a bunch of Xs and Ys on the board and attendance hasn’t even been taken. It’s one of those days, one of frantic note taking while you attempt to catch all the information he throws at you while Ellie glides through the lesson like knives through butter. 

“Just like we reviewed last week, everyone! A point is a solution to a system of equations—“

You’re betting you won’t have a wrist by the end of class. What use are your notes if they end up looking like chicken scratch? You should know all of this, you’ve read these lessons so many times, so why’re you blanking when the question comes back to you?

“If we plug (3, 6) into our equations, will we have a solution?” Mr. Thomas points directly at you. It’s a simple yes or no question, and in retrospect, the equations aren’t that fucking hard but you can’t do it. Why can’t you solve this? 

Y and X and equal signs mock you all across the white board. Just guess! There’s a 50% chance you’ll get it right. A betted yes is still a yes, anyway! 

Exactly how a betted no is still a no. You’re fucked. 

“Um…”

Say anything! Who gives a fuck if it’s wrong or right or whatever! So what if you can’t do algebra! When you leave here, you'll be so extraordinarily incredible at your job that you won’t need any of it! Most of the things you learn in school all go to waste anyway! 

“… No?” You answer meekly, and your teacher’s eyes brighten. 

“Correct!—“

Thank God, I thought I was gonna die— 

“—Can you explain how?”

Oh, fuck my life

“Um… well… Uh…”

Your face burns from the stares of your classmates and your teacher and God himself. You stumble over your answer, saying a bunch of shit that you can hardly understand, all while the light in Mr. Thomas’ eyes slowly distinguish. 

“I’m… not sure, Mr. Thomas.” 

You swallow the lump in your throat when he gives you a pitying glance before asking, “That's alright! Does anyone wanna help our friend out?” 

And of course, Ellie’s hand flies up just to spite you, and your efforts crash and burn. 

“Yes, Ellie?” 

“If 6 is Y, then the equation has to equal 6. 2 times 3 is 6 but adding 1 makes it 7. So no…” 

“We don’t have a solution.” Her tone is so secure it strains in your ears. You might as well stand at the front of the class and let everyone shoot you with spitballs. That’d be less humiliating. 

“Great job, Ellie! So that means—“

Frankly, you don’t give a shit what it means, you just want to leave. Be anywhere but here. Being home would actually feel more safe, despite the small voice in your mind claiming that’s a fallacy. 

Class drags on and so does your writing. Whatever burst of energy you had at the start of class has been wrung to hell, finishing with a whopping one and a half pages of notes. Better than yesterday. Small victories. 

After what feels like ages, the bell rings, and students disperse to wherever they're supposed to be. You throw your backpack over your shoulder, your feet carrying you even faster towards the door when the Devil speaks. 

“—Thanks, Mr. Thomas. See you!”

“Bye, Ellie! See you tomorrow.” 

She makes it to the door before you, already vanishing into the crowded hallways before a calm timbre yanks you back. You spin with the brightest smile. “Yes, Mr. Thomas?” 

He stares disapprovingly, and you groan, “Can I go, please? I’m gonna be late—“

“I’ll write you a slip. I need to talk to you.” 

Your lax demeanor masks the pounding in your chest well enough. Mr. Thomas crosses his arms over his chest before sighing, “what’s going on with you? You’re not usually this…”

“What, stupid?” You tort humorlessly. 

“No! Not at all… Distracted, I suppose, but never stupid. Don’t say that again.” 

“C’mon, Thomas, everyone knows it, it’s not a big deal. Some people are smart and some are dumb. It’s just how life goes.” 

“There’s no such thing as a dumb student. Everyone learns at their own pace. That’s how life goes.” He scolds, “Do you need some extra tutoring—“

“No, actually, I don’t, thanks.” 

He sends you a look that’s very father-like and you almost vomit, “I want to see you succeed, that’s why I’m here. There’s so many resources available that could be of use, yet you never take them. Why is that?” 

You shrug in agitation, “I don’t know, Mr. Thomas. I’m trying, okay? I can handle whatever distractions I have on my own.” 

“You know some of your friends can tutor you, right? It doesn’t have to be some strict meeting with a teacher. Some students in here are tutors. Ellie’s on a roll with—“

“Can we not discuss how much smarter my classmates are than me? I'd really appreciate it.” 

He sighs disapprovingly, “That’s not my intention and you know it. There’s no shame in asking for help from people around you.” 

“Is this a therapy session?” 

“No, but the semester’s almost over. If you don’t pass your midterm and your final, you’ll fail the class, and you’ll be stuck with me for another year.” 

You scoff at the insinuation of your demise, “Wow, thanks so much, Mr. Thomas,” His gaze turns sorrowful — pitying. Your feet already carry you towards the door. “Don’t worry about that slip by the way!” 

You ignore the calls of your name before getting shoved into the ocean of students. There’s only one more class you have to sit through and you’re fucking free. Ellie’s not the only one you should look out for. Even teachers are becoming biased pests.

Just when you thought the walk home from school would be peaceful, mainly due to the fact that Ellie was nowhere to be found — not twenty feet ahead or behind you. You hoped her dad’s car got stuck in the open trench by the gas station. 

But no, she’s already made it home — to your home, squatted beside her stupid blue bike with a flat tire, tirelessly reviving her ride with a pump that looks awfully familiar. She’s practically blocking the entire walkway. Your day cannot get any fucking worse. 

You stand in front of her in annoyance, “Can you move?” She doesn’t reply, barely acknowledges you. 

“Hellooo, Earth to dickhead, I’m trying to get home.” 

“Go around.” She nods towards the street.

“What, so I can get hit by a car?” 

“Hopefully.” 

“Go away! You live over there!” Your finger jabs to her dungeon. “You could’ve pumped your own goddamn tire away from my domain!” 

“I don’t wanna walk all the way back.” 

“Back where?”

“To your house. Your dad let me use your guys’ pump.” 

Red alarms sound in your head. Your dad allowed the enemy into your dominion? Rage explodes within you when playful green eyes pan over your entire form. 

“That bothers you?” 

“You bother me. I hate your guts and I always will. You know what you did to me.” You stomp around her worksite. Before you can kick your front door in, she hollers at you. 

“I don’t actually, but alright. Make sure to let Thomas know.”

Your head whips in her direction, gaze searing trails of fire onto the sidewalk. 

“What does Thomas have to do with anything?” 

Ellie shrugs nonchalantly, “He emailed me earlier. Asked me to tutor you. Said you could use some extra guidance.”

She uses your shock to her advantage, pins you where you stand before rising to her full height. Her dirty fucking shoes pan through the dead grass of your yard. 

“If you wanna flunk, keep doing what you’re doing. Stay up all night and read until your eyes bleed only to forget everything the second you get to class because you’re scared of being wrong,” her teeth shine underneath the afternoon sun, “nobody’s rooting for you, not even yourself. I’m your last shot at making a comeback. I’ll get you that C if you want it. All you have to do is say please.” 

Flames of humiliation engulf you from head to toe. Never in your life have you had a stranger degrade you this strongly. Insults from family are always painful but after a certain point, you grow used to hearing what they don’t like about you. Ellie doesn’t know anything about you yet she’s reading you like that stupid scientology novel she always has in her backpack. 

You don’t even have the wind to tell her to go fuck herself before yanking the front door open and flinging yourself inside. It slams when you fall back against it and you swear you hear scoffing from outside. 

“Hey.”

Does he not notice your distress or is he simply uncaring? “… Hi, dad.”

“How was school?” 

“Fun.”

“Sounds like it. I made pizza.” Little does he know, food is the last bit of your worries. 

“Thanks.” 

“Mhm.”

“Dad?” 

“Yeah, hun.”

Am I a disappoint? Do you regret having me? Do you like me… I know you love me, but do you like me?

“… Did you buy some more hot honey?” 

“Course, baby. On the counter.”

“Thanks.”

He nods at you before refocusing on the match. That’s as much conversation you’ll get from him until tomorrow. You reheat your pizza silently, mind focused on the fucking aggravating genius right outside your doorstep. You don’t want to be in range when she gives the bike pump back. The both of them might team up to demean you together. 

Days like today remind Ellie why she misses her skateboard. Twelve-year-old her must’ve been in denial or incredibly lost when she begged Joel for a bicycle. 

She hardly ever rides it anymore, it just sits in the corner of the garage collecting dust and cobwebs, but nostalgia hit her harder than usual today. Could be due to the change in weather, the cold always takes her back to those family getaways in the mountains. Not a day goes past where she doesn’t think about that deer she found laying in the snow when she was eight. 

There aren’t many moments where Ellie gets to decompress: she’s always busy, drowned to the knee with novels and notebooks and annotation assignments or helping a classmate proofread their final papers. She doesn’t remember the last time she got home and simply wasted away doing nothing. There are parts of her that envy students who have that privilege, but every time her schedule slows for any reason, she grows antsy and her fingers twitch with eagerness to solve something. 

That’s why she pulled this stupid bike out of the garage. She assumed taking a lap or two around the block would pass time, but she hardly made it down the driveway before her front tire started stuttering. 

Why the hell did she think asking your dad for that pump was a good idea? Not that Ellie cares if you do or not, but it definitely wasn’t her smartest moment. She’ll get you one of these days. Catch you when you least expect it and press about your fucking issue with her because, frankly, she’s been confused for half a decade. 

Not that you’d ever care, but you’re not Ellie’s cup of tea either. You’ve been the same since you were five: loud and reckless with unpredictable mood swings. You just… do shit, and Ellie despises nothing more than people that just do shit; Your brain runs on impulse. You never see the world past your little bubble, and there’s a reason why people are so prone to pop it for you. Every move you make feels spiteful, especially if Ellie catches you in the act. You’re always there, staring at her, watching her with conviction. She’s provoked every time. 

It's gotten easy to ignore your bombarding personality. You’re ignorable, but you got her out of character today. She hates stooping down to your level but you took her there once again, and she’ll resent you for that like always. 

She feels hollow knocking on your front door. Her brain won’t stop replaying what you said and what she said and this is why she loathes interacting with you. 

The door opens and she realizes she was holding her breath. 

“Hey, Ellie! Your bike alright?” 

“Yeah, I uhh… yeah, sorry,” she extends the pump and your dad accepts it graciously, “Thanks.” 

“Anytime… Hey, you have class with my daughter, right?” 

A few every year. It sucks. She nods. 

“How’s she doin’? She looked real down today.” 

Yeah. Because she sucks. “I’m not sure. I don’t really pay that much attention to be honest.” 

“Of course, ‘cause you actually do what you’re supposed to in class! I wish she was more like you!” He’s laughing but Ellie’s not, hiding her discomfort with a stiff smile. 

“Thanks again,” she points towards the bike pump before shifting away from the door, “have a good night.” 

“You, too!” He grins, “if you see anything outta the ordinary, don’t hesitate to let me know!” Ellie nods with a stiff wave. Her feet couldn’t carry her off your porch fast enough. 

The door shuts, and Ellie releases the second breath she’s held since speaking to you. There’s an icky feeling in her stomach, distaste in her mouth, but she can’t pin where from. Her bike wheels whine the entire walk back to her house. 40 feet suddenly feels like 10 miles. 

She uncaringly drops her bike beside her dad’s truck before entering the house. 

“Is the alien invasion upon us?” 

Ellie’s replies dryly, “Could be.” 

“I’ll be damned! Come in here for a second, Ellie. I need your help with somethin’.”

She sighs before reluctantly entering the kitchen where Joel leans, practically bent over the counter with a rubber-gloved hand shoved down the drain. 

“Compromising position.” 

“Shut up, c’mere… I may or may not’ve dropped a fork in here ‘n I can’t reach it…”

“Dude, again?” Ellie grabs the lone rubber glove that rests on the counter. 

“Don’t give me that! I’ve had enough shit-talkin’ from Sarah.”

Ellie’s eyes go sparkly, “She here?”

“Not yet, kiddo. She just called earlier, she misses you.”

“She didn’t call me.” Ellie pouts. It’s weird, to go from living across the hall from somebody for so many years then only seeing them twice a year if that. When Sarah left for college, Ellie was devastated, excited, anxious, sad all over again. She’s everything Ellie desires to be: intelligent, talented, tall, pretty. In some ways, Sarah’s filled the vacancy that was reserved for Ellie’s mother. Joel’s a great parent and she loves him to death, but he’s not a girl, and there will always be something that he simply doesn’t understand no matter how hard he tries. Sarah will always be Ellie’s greatest blessing. Home is home — home is comfort, but without Sarah… there’s an emptiness in these four walls that fit the shape of her perfectly. Joel feels her absence, too. Ellie notices his longing whenever she catches him searching Sarah’s old room when they’re folding laundry.

“Compromising position.” Joel mocks when Ellie’s smaller hand shoves inside the garbage disposal in search for the missing fork. She throws him a middle finger and he laughs, deep and hearty. 

“You’re quiet today.” He says suddenly, and Ellie stiffens a bit, eyes glued onto clean stainless steel. 

“Always quiet, old man.” 

“Well, yeah… something’s bothering you. What happened?” 

“Just school stuff, nothing crazy.” She definitely won’t, and she partially blames herself for her own damning. You seemed so upset before you slammed the door in her face. It didn’t matter if you were on your last legs, ever since middle school, you’ve always gotten the last word, and Ellie’s always caught scrabbling for a rebuttal. 

Joel hums. Ellie nearly chokes on air when he inquiries, 

“What, you gotta girlfriend?” 

“What the hell, no, of course not, are you serious—“

“Damn… I was kiddin’ but I think you actually might, you’re all cherry-faced! What’s her name! Is she coming over for Christmas!—“ 

Ellie pulls the butchered fork free from the disposal with all her strength before tossing it and the glove on the counter. Joel’s hysteria weighs his shoulders down,  wiping the joyful tears from his eyes. 

“I’m going to bed.” Ellie states stoically. 

“AWW, C’MON! IT’S NOT EVEN 6 YET!” She rolls her eyes when his wheezing starts back up. 

Ellie leaves trails of fire all the way up the stairs, Joel’s giggly apologies and begs for her to come back silencing when her door shuts. Her palms find the caves of her eyes. Her body betrays her, brain pleading to climb underneath her mattress and sleep away the stress of today while her fingers itch to craft or sketch or repair anything. 

… She should’ve been nicer to you. Fuck. 

Her thoughts leap from point A to B: go apologize, help you pass math, go your separate ways for the rest of forever. But you could’ve been nicer to her, also. Why won’t you just be nice? 

Ellie goes against her better judgement and nearly sprints to her window. When she yanks her blinds down just enough to peep through, she locates the glass that guards your room. 

She swears she’s not some fucking weird pervert. She’s just checking to see if you’re alive and ripping up your favorite posters like you always do when you’re mad about something. But there’s no movement from your end and it’s dark where you stay. Are you sleeping? Are you on your phone? Are you… 

Did she make you sad? 

Anger is different — that comes about as naturally as being happy for you, but she hasn’t seen you cry since elementary school. Why does her heart start thrashing when she envisions your red eyes and tear-soaked pillow? Ellie doesn’t like you but she doesn’t want that. Maybe she desired to see you crack when you were little but that was because… 

Ellie doesn’t fucking know what she felt at the time. Agitated that everyone liked you so much, annoyed at how loud you laughed in class. Envious of your light. You were so bright — annoyingly so, shining your blasphemous rays everywhere, blinding everyone in your vicinity. There’s no way you’d give anyone the power to dim your shine.

That aggravating feeling blooms in her chest when she thinks about the amount of times she’s tried to do just that, and something tickles in her throat. It’s too thick to swallow down and she takes that as a sign. Enough sight-seeing for today. 

She plummets face first into her mattress, groaning in annoyance when her cheeks catch flame. You drive her insane. You and your adorable fucking nose. 

Just when she thinks she’s calmed down, knocks echo from outside her door. 

“Kid… Can I come in?” 

Ellie’s tempted to say not right now, but she forces herself up to open the door for him. Sorrow flashes in Joel’s vision. “M’sorry, kiddo, ‘bout earlier. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” 

“You didn’t, today just sucked.” 

“Talk t’me.” He implores gently. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I just…” Ellie shrugs lamely. Why is it so easy to talk to him about everything but you? “I don’t wanna talk about it right now. I will, but not now.”

He sighs, and she knows he’s concerned, but he doesn’t pry. “Okay, baby—”

“Can I have a hug?” Ellie coughs to mask the crack in her timbre, and Joel embraces her without hesitation. His hold is strong and it brings her solace. For the time being her mind silences, and shoulders aren’t as tense. 

Hold onto this until tomorrow. 

Until she sees you again. 

School has always been predictable. 

You come in, you sit for hours and run for one, and you leave with nothing, everything, and the little specks in between. You knew math would be a little awkward after your conversation with Mr. Thomas — you expected him to call on you more often to answer questions or say your name obnoxiously loud during attendance, but the patronizing never came. You took it as him sparing you until the following day until you received an email from him during your last period asking to speak with you. Much to your mistake, you accepted. 

Never during your entire high school career did you think that you’d be stuck getting scolded by your favorite teacher with Ellie Williams sitting right next to you. What a turn of fucking events. 

“You’re not spending another year with me. You’re going to do better,” Mr. Thomas’ tone is gentle with a sharp edge, but it’s not degrading, “my friend here is willing to help you get to where you want to be. I feel this will be beneficial for both of you.” 

Your teacher gestures to Ellie who’s annoyingly fidgety: messing with the loose strings from the slits in her jeans. You’re doing a stellar job at keeping your distaste in check. No need for another scolding. 

“Tell you what. If you pass the midterm, I’ll throw a pizza party.” 

“I hate tomatoes.”

“… Then we’ll have a to-be-determined party.” 

“Hooray.” You grab your stuff and stand, slinging your bag over your shoulder, “anything else, Thomas?” 

“Yes. Be nice to each other. We’re all friends here.” For once, his statement is for both of you. It’s a little comforting. At least you’re not the only one being corrected for adjustment. 

“Let’s go.” You say to Ellie who follows in your lead. You’re already out the door before she can finish saying her goodbyes. 

You only slow when rushing feet pitter from behind. When Ellie catches up, neither of you speak. You guess you don’t have to. She’s only scheduled to study with you for an hour anyway, there’s no need to waste it on pointless conversation. 

You only set one boundary. 

“Can we study at your place?”

Ellie pauses before nodding. The silence upholds the entire walk to Ellie’s house. She takes a deep breath before unlocking her front door. “My dad’s working, so… yeah. It’ll actually be quiet when we’re studying.” 

You say nothing. You set your backpack on the kitchen table to grab your math book and pencils. Ellie takes a seat beside you with her own notebook, opening it to the lesson from today. 

“Midterms are usually easier than finals, there's not as much to remember, so… um, what area are you struggling in?” 

An insecure itch squiggles in your nose and you scratch it. You shrug and play with your eraser. 

“We can do,” she flips through her pages, “x,y solutions if you wanna, just to start. They were from Thomas’ review the other day.” 

Your cheeks heat at the memory. Suddenly there’s thirty pairs of eyes on you all over again. “Sure, Ellie.” 

“Okay.” She turns to a fresh page before scribbling and her handwriting is perfect. The equation is familiar and easy. You were half expecting her to give you some crazy shit to kick off. She slides her notebook beside you and you don’t hesitate to input the values. You allow her to examine your work with a dry mouth. 

“That’s right.” 

Goosebumps rise on your skin and your cheeks go warm and you don't know why.

“Uh, good job, I’ll give you something harder.” 

She adds another equation onto the page for you to complete but you’re not paying attention. Ellie’s hands are very large. She’s always had freakish man hands but the definition in her veins is much more prominent than in sixth grade. What the fuck? Her pencil looks like a needle in between her fingers. They look so out of place on her dainty wrist, not that you care. 

“Uhh… hello.”

“What.”

“You can do it now. Solve it.”

“… Okay.” 

The question in front of you is the same format as the first one, but the numbers are bigger and there’s even more letters and addition signs and your chest plummets onto the hardwood. Your eyes anxiously find Ellie’s who stares back in confusion. 

“What’s the matter? Need help?”

You swallow and almost choke from the dryness. You just did this problem. The structure is the same, the process of solving is the same, but you're too focused on how Ellie’s going to react to you messing up. She’ll probably brag about how it’s not that hard and berate you about how you’re not that stupid. Perfectionists like her — like your dad are ruthless. Their superiority complex makes them yell and scream insults at you because you’ll never be where they are. You'll never be a match for their genius and in turn, they choose to resent you. 

So you wait for the low blows, the hollering, the threats of punishment. You wait and wait but she doesn’t say anything until she does. 

“Hey… you okay?” 

“What do you think, Ellie?” 

Tension pulls at her brows, “what do you mean?” 

In hindsight, she’s done nothing wrong up until this point, she's staring a little too hard for your liking. She’s the only one here, you have no choice but to give her the spotlight she loves so badly. Anything to get it off you.

“This is probably fun for you, watching me fuck up in real time. Is that why you agreed to do this for me? For an ego boost?” 

Why does she say your name like you’re hurting her? She’s never sounded so wounded; always prepared to strike back whenever you give her unfiltered attitude, retaliating until she’s blue in the face and you’re storming off in the opposing direction. 

“I don’t care if you mess up. I’m here to help you, why don’t you get that?”

“Because when have you ever given a shit if I do well or not? I’ve been a delinquent since we met, why are you so interested now?”

She scoffs and tosses her pencil in annoyance. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“Apparently I’m the only one that missed the memo of hating your guts. News fucking flash, I don’t and I never did. Whatever shit you made up about me in your head isn’t my problem to fix,” she closes her notebook with more force than necessary, “if you don’t want my help then tell Thomas so he can get off my back about it. Find somebody else to teach you or don’t or whatever, I don’t care anymore.” 

...

… Oh.

It could be the way she’s staring at you: eyes stern, self-assured and her voice heavy, a bit deeper than expected when she’s aggravated, and the spots on her face compliment the red hot that burns in her cheeks, but you have very little — actually nothing to say, and it’s not for the reason you expected. You’re stunned into silence, and that confuses her: she half-expected you to take that pencil you hold and stab her through the neck, but you don’t. You don’t storm off, you don’t talk shit, you just sit and examine her face with a faraway look she’s never seen from you before. 

“What?” She implores when you stare too long for comfort, and there’s a lengthy, tender tug in your chest. 

You’re positive the end of the world is coming in the next ten seconds. None of the Earthly shit you’ve experienced will matter in the afterlife and the world you know will cease to exist and you’re thankful for that. You don’t think you’d be able to live any longer with the knowledge that you viewed Ellie in an incredibly different manner during her winded, angered dialogue. There’s a weird fluttering sensation in your stomach and your heart sits at the base of your throat. It waves over your body with an unfamiliar intensity and all you can do is gawk at the girl who took your breath.

“I— I’m…”

“You’re what? What’s wrong with you?” 

“I’m… I think I should go.” You’re already shoveling your things into your backpack, and Ellie’s insanely puzzled. 

“Wh—“

“Sorry. I just got lightheaded all of a sudden,” you sling your back over your shoulder before neatly pushing the dining chair in. You’ve never pushed in a chair in your life. 

“Are you… are you good? Do you need me to walk you back?” 

Her concern makes your tummy burst into flutters, “I'll be fine. Same time tomorrow?” You force down the dreaminess in your voice as Ellie follows close behind. 

“Um… okay? I guess, I thought you—“

“I think we should start over.”

It’s almost comedic how far Ellie’s eyes bulge from her skull. Why do you feel so featherlight all of a sudden? “Let’s forget today ever happened and start fresh tomorrow? Is that cool?” Never once in your life have you cared if Ellie was cool with any of your plans. Who are you right now? 

“I — well, yeah… cool, I guess. Are you sure you’re okay? You’re acting really fucking weird right no—“ 

You squeeze the lone book closer to your chest. “I’m fine, trust me. Goodnight.” 

When you open the door, Ellie’s dad is on the other side struggling to find his keys in his work bag. He smiles down at you in surprise. 

“Hey, kid! It’s been a while, how’ve you been! How’s dad?” Only Ellie notices the wavering looks he shares between you and her. You smile, “been good, dad’s fine. I was just heading out. Thanks again, Ellie.” You say one last time before politely brushing past Mr. Miller, leaving Ellie to simmer and question what the fuck you took before you got here. 

When you're finally out of sight, Joel gives Ellie a knowing look, and she almost throws up from giddy nerves. Or full fleshed anxiety. Whichever ones worse. 

Is it possible to lose your mind before its fully developed?

You knew something was off when you set an alarm for five-thirty in the morning to get ready for school despite getting two hours of sleep in, yet still, you felt rejuvenated. You freshened up with your favorite body wash, plucked your brows, did a facemask, wore something that wasn’t the prior evening's pajamas. For the first time in your life since elementary school, you were excited to start the day and be productive. You don’t know why. 

Purposefully ignoring your change in attitude due to your neighbor is your favorite pass-time. 

You’re not sure what the hell happened to you at Ellie’s house, but it definitely solidified that you’re clinically insane. Delusional enough that whenever she meets your eyes in class your breathing pattern goes wonky. She nodded at you in greeting during English class and you nearly fainted. What the fuck has happened to you? 

Ellie was everything you detested less than 48 hours ago and now she’s leaving you with unrest that isn’t entirely displeasent. It makes you warm and tingly like a cup of warm tea on a cold morning. That’s not what you expected forgiveness to feel like, but it’s nice. Comforting. 

You didn’t see Ellie during lunch, and much to Riley’s confusion, you were disappointed. You and Ellie are nowhere near friends, but you’re trying, and she seems to be receptive to your efforts. In her own little geeky, awkward way. Might as well show your appreciation. She’s helping you out after all. 

After years of depending on Riley for emotional stability, you could use someone new.

So you wait perched up against the front of the school for your tutor. The anticipation makes you jittery, pacing across the small grass plain, kicking lone rocks, telling yourself to calm the fuck down because you’ve walked home with her since you were nine only this time around you’re not seperate but together—

“Sup.” 

You whip around at the call of your name, “hi.” You’re cheesing, can’t help it. Forgiveness is a great feeling. Ellie barely smiles back but it’s a start. 

“Um, we’re still at your house, right?” 

“Mhm, why, wanna go to yours?” 

“No!” 

Ellie flinches, and you scramble to recover. “I mean… I’d rather not, sorry. I’d just… rather not.” 

She eyes you skeptically before relenting. “… Okay.” 

“Shall we?” You gesture to the path to your neighborhood, but before you can lead the way, a hand clamps around your bicep, firm and stilling with something softer. You can’t move, and you don’t want to, the only proof of life being the constant palpitations in your ribcage. 

“Are you listening?” 

Nope. “Sorry, what?” 

“I asked if we’re, like… I don't know, good? Are we okay? I don’t know what’s happening, you’ve been so…” Her sentence trails, unsure of how to describe the arc you’re on. The arc of forgiveness. 

“Ellie… I forgive you for what happened in fifth grade. And everything after.” 

She squints. “What?” 

“I forgive you… I’m just hoping you forgive me, too?” 

“Uh… yeah… I forgive you, sure.” And she wears it so well. Her dirty shoes don’t bother you as much anymore. Joy thrums from the deep workings of your heart. “Friends?” 

“… Sure?” 

“C’mon then, friend. We got some math to do.” You squeal and throw your arms around her. She tenses but doesn’t push you off. 

You hold her the entire walk, and some time during, she relaxed into you. 

Ellie never thought she’d fall victim to an alien abduction and end up trapped in another dimension with a nice you, but she’s here, and surprisingly, she’s enjoying it. The one secret she’ll never tell. 

She’s not sure where this switch up came from, and honestly, she’s scared to find out, but she can’t help but be drawn to the shyer, timid side of you. Whenever she encourages or applauds your efforts on paper, your eyes go wide and glossy, and her heart squeezes in delight. 

There are times when she’s speaking, like now— light introductions about graphing parabolas, where she catches you mindlessly glancing over her features. She didn’t mind it initially — merely assumed that staring was your studying tic, but the longer she teaches, the deeper your gaze becomes, and the more uncomfortable she grows, even more than her disappointment whenever you look away. 

“Does that make sense?” She finally croaks when she finishes her graph, and you nod like you have no idea what she just said but simply can’t be bothered. She can’t help the upturn of her lips. 

“Can I test you?” She asks, and her heart thumps when your lashes flutter. She doesn’t wait for your response before creating a function table on the spot — albeit more complicated, but she needs to see if you’re progressing. 

When you take the pencil out of her hand and start scribbling, she can’t help but stare now. She watches you work silently, eyes cascading over your focused vision, each twitch of your nose, how you bite your bottom lip in thought. You erase and correct whatever mistake you’ve written and Ellie can’t the tiny smile that rises in her cheeks. Recognizing that something could be wrong is a telling sign of improvement. The kitchen is suddenly awfully warm. 

You exhale before setting the pencil flat on the table and sliding Ellie the graphing paper. 

“Don’t be nervous.” She comments when you start fidgeting with your eraser. 

You scoff, “can’t help it.” 

Ellie rolls her eyes before scanning your work. When she notices the messy erasing on your graph lines, she snickers — she’s not grading you on how perfect the lines are but that didn’t stop you from fixing them at least seven times. 

“What, I failed?”

“Nhm… it’s correct actually. Impressive.” 

“Impressive. What are you, 50?” You mock playfully. 

“Shut up, people see graphs and start pissing themselves, you did good.” 

“I was one of those people.” 

“And now you’re not, just needed a little elbow grease.”

“Elbow grease! You are 50, good God almighty.” 

Ellie scoffs. “Elbow grease isn’t an old saying! It’s used in every hard-working context.” 

“Oh, brotherr—“

“Shut up!” You and Ellie’s laughter blend together. The rest of your lesson resumes with such and Ellie couldn’t be more grateful. 

Time passes with delight, and before either of you know it, Joel is unlocking the front door while Ellie helps you organize your books. Neither of you notice his observing, and he’s thankful; Ellie would probably throw a fit if she caught him lurking, but he can’t help the glee he feels whenever Ellie laughs, and she's in hysterics with every joke you crack. Out of all the students that have visited the house, you’re the only one that’s garnered such a reaction out of his daughter. She's usually serious in a school-related setting, but you encourage her benevolence. 

“Hey Mr. Miller!” You wave and Ellie sighs. 

“Hey, kid… how’s the lesson going?” 

“Fine. We just finished.” Ellie says with the hopes that he’ll relocate so she can walk you out without hassle. 

“I think I’m getting smarter, Miller!” 

“You were already smart.” He charms, and you blow a playful raspberry. Your bag strap rests on your shoulder and Ellie leads you to her front door. 

“We should do something fun, Ellie.” Her and Joel’s ear perk at the same time at your invitation. The two of you cautiously eye the older man who scurries into the living room. 

“… Like what?” She’s suddenly nervous, eyes flitting wherever yours aren’t. 

“I don’t know, but I’ve been grounded and I’m bored. If I show my dad some of the work we’ve been doing he’ll probably let me off! Do you like arcades?” 

A noise reminiscent of a heart monitor flatlining blares in Ellie’s head at your inquiry. You’re asking her to spend time with you outside of school? She fucking loves arcades but she can’t say that because her jaw’s on the floor. 

“… Ellie?” You say, and she nods stupidly, but that doesn’t soothe the small flash of dejection in your eyes. “You don’t have to go. I was just asking.” 

“NO!” 

You flinch away from her and Joel hollers for Ellie from the living room to check in. 

“I’M FINE!” She screams before looking at you, “Not no, I mean yes… I mean I’d love to! I’d love to go to an arcade,” her lips snap shut before she allows a with you to escape, “They, uh… there’s one not too far from school. We can just walk there after.” 

When you smile, her heart throbs. Every time you smile at her, the organ cracks open in her chest to leave a spot just for you. She’s already plotting her own academic bribery so your dad can release you from confinement. 

“Cool. I’ll ask Riley if she wants to come.” 

Ellie’s mind whirs at the mention of a third. Riley’s nice; you all share English together, and though she and Riley don’t speak often, she never fails to give Ellie kutos on her writing skills whenever they peer edit. Riley is nice. She shouldn’t feel so disappointed that you’re bringing a friend on your…

She’s too ahead of herself. She was stupid enough to think that you’d wanna go on a date with her after a decade of bickering bullshit. That’s a result of swallowing down your crush for years out of fear of being rejected. She doesn’t even know if you like girls. She doesn’t know if you like anyone. If you do, you never disclose it. 

“… You good?” 

Ellie blinks rapidly, “Yeah, m’good, sorry. That sounds fun.” 

With your phone already in hand, you say, “gimme your number.” You don’t comment on the shakiness in Ellie’s voice when she recites her digits. When her phone dings on the table, you mumble, “Text me, okay?”

“Yeah… promise.” 

Is this flirting? Ellie doesn’t know — granted, she couldn’t tell the difference between right and left with a compass at the moment, but the fuzziness in her head is enough to convince her that your smile is more than friendly. Or she’s fucking delusional, could be one or the other. Both or neither. Regardless, she really doesn’t want you to go—

Wait, what. 

“Night,” you say so softly she almost misses it, and she replies just the same. When the door clicks shut, Ellie’s forced to sit with the irreversible concave you’ve left in her chest. Her head rests against the door to gather herself, long enough to garner the attention of her dad. 

“Somethin’ you wanna tell me?” 

“I don’t think want is the right word.” 

Who wants to come clean about their repressed infatuation with their sorta friend? Certainly no one sane, but Ellie hasn’t felt normal since the beginning of the month. 

When she finally picks herself up, she finds Joel propped against the wall with his arms folded, an inquisitive look in his eye. You’ve piqued his interest. Fuck. 

“We’ve never really talked about those lessons.” 

“Nothing to talk about.” 

“… Alright.” He sighs in mock defeat, “you know I won’t push you, but Christmas is ‘round the corner and I think it’d be best to plan somethin’ for your new frie—“

“I think I like her.” 

It’s said with such anguish; a fear of unrequited affection that slammed into her out of the blue, but it’s unrepairable now. Her next breath wobbles and Joel’s by her in an instant, large hands cradling her scorching cheeks. Her eyes water in embarrassment so she keeps them glued downward. 

“C’mon now, darling, look here.” Joel encourages softly, and Ellie reluctantly matches his gaze, a lone tear sliding down her cheek. He doesn’t hesitate to catch it with his thumb. 

“Whatever you’re feeling is a hundred percent normal. I’ve never seen you like this about somebody, it’s meant to be.” 

“… What if she doesn’t like me?”

“I don’t think that's the problem, baby. She goes all doe-eyed when you’re explaining… quantum theory or whatever the hell—“

Ellie can’t hold her laugh, and her shine cracks Joel’s smile even wider. 

“Wanna call Sarah?” He suggests gently, and Ellie nods.

“C’mon, we got some story to tell.”

Two weeks until your incoming doom. Or midterms if simplified. Fuck.

The closer the day gets, the more anxiety-riddled your lessons with Ellie become. Your new friend is incredibly reassuring, especially after you nearly toppled her to the ground in celebration of your D turning into a D+ after your last 3 assignment postings. Not only did you complete your math homework by yourself, but your answers were correct without cheating. 

Your dad told you ‘good job’ during breakfast this morning and you cried on the way to school. Happy tears. Accomplished tears. He finally thinks your efforts are worth something. 

… Maybe even worth a trip to the arcade? 

You don’t discuss your tutoring sessions with him that often, but he’s aware that Ellie’s aiding you to success. You know he respects her — sometimes you think more than you, but whatever — so maybe, just maybe, he won’t be against pausing your punishment for one night. 

You use your text threads with Ellie as an emotion stabilizer on the walk home. Fried memes and screen recordings of her Roblox fights are doing wonders for your thrashing heart. You can see your home and your dad’s truck in the driveway. 

Each step up the porch stairs is torture. 

You’re not shocked to find your dad on the couch eating popcorn. It’s routine at this point, and somehow, that makes your nerves worse. 

“Hey, hon. Hungry? I made mac and cheese.” 

Your stomach growls as if commanded. 

“Um… can we eat together?” 

His eyes unglued from the television and fell onto you, widened with shock at your proposal. Neither of you remember the last time you ate at the same table. 

He pauses before mumbling.

“Of course we can.” 

Something kick starts within your dad; he’s up and setting the table with a nice cloth and decorative plates, the fancy golden forks and spoons that are reserved for guests that never show, thick napkins, all with the dish of crusted mac and cheese set in the middle. 

You both have washed up and changed, in fresh pjs and clean hands. Your dad eagerly fixes your plate first. 

“How was school, honey?” 

A pang hits deeps in your chest at the empty memory. It’d been your mother’s birthday and you and your dad had planned a celebratory dinner for her. The same exact meal; mac and cheese, broccoli, and chicken, then pie for dessert because she hated cake. Served the exact same way every year until it was no longer necessary. 

“Great.” Because for once, school is great. School is cordial. 

“I checked your grades.” 

Your chest plummets but you reach for your fork to mask it. You’re aware of where your grades lie due to your obsessive reviewing. 

“My grades aren’t accurate, not yet at least,” you begin rambling in efforts to appease, “there’s still assignments that haven’t been graded yet—“

“You’re making a comeback. Good job.” 

… Shit. 

Two praises in one day? The only time you’ve felt this accomplished was when you’d ridden your scooter for the first time without eating dirt. He bought you ice cream after. 

You were seven. It couldn’t have been that long without some form of encouragement. 

Could it?

“I actually wanted to talk to you about that.” 

“M’kay.” 

“You know Ellie’s been tutoring me, and uh, she’s really good at it. Obviously...” 

He’s nodding but his eyes are piercing. 

“I… I thought I’d thank her. I’m on a really good track because of what she’s been doing and… yeah.” 

“How are you going to thank her?” 

You swallow down any hesitance. 

“The arcade after school. Her… her ‘n me. And Riley.” 

“And Riley.” He repeats detachedly. 

The fire in your cheeks is enough warning that this was a mistake. 

“When were you planning on going?” 

“Um… Friday night.” 

“What time.” 

“After school.” 

“And when would you be back?” 

“Um… it closes at 8… so 8:30?” 

His gaze drops down to his untouched plate, then yours. He relishes in the silence while you decay right in front of him. 

“Seven.” 

“Huh?” 

“Be home by seven.” 

Your chest flurries with excitement and appreciation and everything you haven’t felt for your father in so long. 

“Thank yo—“

“I need you to understand something.” His sternness crushes your smile. 

“This isn’t some pass for you to go behind my back and do bullshit. The second you get home, the routine is back. You go and study with her and come back here. No funny shit, do you understand me?” 

“Yes.” 

Your meekness doesn’t satisfy him. “Do you understand me?” 

“I understand, dad.” 

He nods once before grabbing his fork. 

“Eat your food.” 

[yelhsaa-a]

More than i can hold

Minors do not interact. This is an 18+ work with heavy themes and explicit content.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, rough sex, unprotected sex, overstimulation, loss of control, crying during sex, breeding kink (light implication), degradation (light, affectionate), desperate fucking, emotional vulnerability, dom!Caleb, fem!reader

Caleb loses control the second he’s inside you.

He slams in deep on the first thrust, your body giving way so sweetly he nearly sobs against your throat. There’s no rhythm, no patience—only the raw, brutal need that’s been burning under his skin for too long.

You cry out, your nails raking down his back, but it only makes him rougher. Caleb groans, filthy and broken, and grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand while the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise.

“Too good,” he grits, voice wrecked, thrusting into you like he’s trying to ruin you for anyone else. “Fuck—you’re too good—how the hell am I supposed to stop?”

Your body jolts with every brutal snap of his hips, the bedframe slamming against the wall with a steady, punishing rhythm. You’re crying already—overwhelmed, overstimulated—but Caleb doesn’t stop. Can’t stop.

“Look at you,” he growls, biting down hard on your neck, sucking a dark bruise into your skin. “Taking it like a good girl—crying for me—fuck, you’re perfect—”

He thrusts harder, deeper, grinding against your cervix with every savage push. The pain blurs into pleasure until you’re sobbing, writhing under him, begging without words for something—more, less, you don’t even know anymore.

Caleb releases your wrists just long enough to grab your thigh and yank it higher around his waist, opening you up wider so he can drive in deeper, rougher. His cock drags against your walls so hard it knocks the breath from your lungs.

"You can take it," he snarls, voice low and dark in your ear. "You’re mine—you were made for this."

Tears spill down your cheeks, and Caleb licks them away—messy, possessive, growling your name between kisses that bruise. His hand snakes between your bodies, fingers rubbing your clit in brutal circles, sending sharp shocks of pleasure through your overstimulated nerves.

You sob, clenching around him, and Caleb hisses, slamming into you harder, chasing his own ruin.

“Fuck—baby—I’m gonna fill you up,” he pants, forehead pressed hard to yours. "Gonna fuck it so deep inside you you’ll still feel me tomorrow—"

You break apart under him—clenching so tight around his cock that Caleb curses, hips jerking wildly as he fucks you through it. Your orgasm shatters you—white-hot and overwhelming—and you scream his name, nails drawing blood along his back.

He snaps, rutting into you with brutal, punishing thrusts until he spills deep inside you with a raw, broken groan.

“Mine—mine—mine,” Caleb chants against your mouth, hips jerking with every pulse of cum flooding your insides.

He doesn't pull out.

He stays buried to the hilt, grinding into you slow and deep even after he finishes, like he can’t bear to stop—like he's trying to brand himself into your very soul.

You’re sobbing softly beneath him, body wrecked and trembling, but Caleb doesn't let up. He kisses you hard, messy and desperate, his cock twitching inside you, already growing hard again.

"Not done," he breathes, voice shaking with need. "Not fucking done yet—"

And he starts moving again.

Because Caleb never learned how to stop needing you.

And right now, he’s too far gone to even want to try.

[misserabella]

atta girl

sub! ellie williams x fem! reader

prompt; okay but imagine what if ellie was the submissive one? (yes, i will die in this hill)

cw; sex in a public space, strap on sex, dom! reader, sub! ellie, spanking, clit slapping, hair pulling, ellie being a brat, punishment, edging, rough treatment, rough sex, oral sex (?, ellie sucks the strap), squirting, name calling (whore, good girl…), …

like, everybody knows who ellie williams is. how could they not? being the best player on the soccer team, along with the most desired girl in campus… if you listened well enough you will hear even the ‘straight’ girls fawning over her.

she fucked around, a lot. only giving one night stands. until she met you.

you were everything she wasn’t; sweet, kind, soft, focused on your studies…

it’s surely a surprise when you two start dating. but you know what they say… opposites attract, right?

well, they truly didn’t know you.

ellie had been a fucking brat today. and you were done with it.

“please, i’m sorry!” she sobbed, gasps and moans being cut off by every thrust of your hips, the clenching soppy walls of her pussy trying to milk dry the silicone cock that now rammed inside her over and over and over again, mercilessly. she didn’t deserve softness, she didn’t deserve praise. your hand came down on her ass in a harsh spank. this was what she deserved.

you didn’t fucking care her whimpers could be heard, or that if anyone decided it would be a good time to come back to the lockers room would end up seeing you, the sweet angelic little girl of uni, absolutely destroying the auburn haired.

“you’re sorry?” you scoffed. “you didn’t seem sorry while acting like a goddamn fucking brat all day…”

“please… p-please! i-i can’t take it anymore…” she whines, you had been edging her for almost an hour now, fucking her pussy raw ‘till she’d be almost there just before stopping, and start all over again.

“you can. and you will.” you growl, your fingers finding her throbbing and puffy little clit to draw tight circles around it, making her shriek and scream your name.

her thighs were shaking, wobbly legs about to give up. thank god you had her pinned against the cold metal of the lockers or else he had already fallen towards the floor.

“tsk. so fucking loud. you want them to hear you, huh? want everyone to find you getting dicked down by your cute little girlfriend? want them to know how much of a whore you are?” you pulled at her hair, the hand rolling her clit coming down on a sharp slap against it. she screamed in ecstasy, mossy eyes rolling back, hips stuttering do drive your cock deeper, kissing her cervix. “oh you like that, don’t you? like it when i’m mean to you, when i show you your fucking place, huh?”

she nodded, her bottom lip almost bleeding by how much she had been biting on it. you slapped her clit once more, winning another loud moan.

“please… please… fuck. can i come? i wanna cum, i need to cum, pleasepleaseplease…”

you consider it. she was full of hickeys, nipples sensitive due to your pinching, pussy squelching in need, clit puffy and stinging due to your punishment, and there were bruises forming on her ass due to your spanking. a quick look to the clock let you know that you had been going at it for almost an hour. not long enough for how bad she had acted today, but you were feeling merciful. just this once.

you hummed. your hand moved around her neck, squeezing, making the blood flowing towards her brain slow down.

“go ahead, show me how much you like this cock. come all around it. be a good girl.”

you didn’t have to tell her twice. at your go ahead, flood gates were opening. you groaned at the sight of ellie squirting. fucking squirting. clear droplets of pure pleasure dripping all over the floor below you as you only fucked her harder and harder, draining her. she couldn’t stop moaning, whimpering, groaning… a symphony of beautiful sounds that pleased you.

“thaaaat’s it. atta girl.” once you deemed it enough, you pulled out of her with a pop, watching her fall on her knees onto the floor, shivering. you gripped at her hair, making her look at you, and you whistled. pupils blown, cheeks flushed, hazy lids… yeah. you had fucked her dumb. with your free hand you took your cock, tapping it on her cheek. she happily and obediently opened her mouth for you, letting you slide it in, her senses being hit by the tangy flavor of her creamy cum.

you hummed. “now lick it clean.”

-

a/n; i’m sorry, i’ve been gone for such a long time 😭 hope y’all can forgive me and enjoyed this little blurb! luv ya!💋

[l1tw1ck]

My Liege

bottom!ftm!knight Xiao x top!masc!king reader

☆ Word Count: 1,128 ☆

AFAB Language Used | Don't expect a part two this was in the vault for months 😭

CW: Non-Con, Dacryphilia, Fingering, Virginity Loss, Belly Bulge, Riding, Squirting

Reader Discretion is Advised

As the king of Liyue, it's expected for you to have personal bodyguards. Between you and your husband, Zhongli, you have 4 knights.

Ganyu, Keqing, Shenhe, and Xiao. You typically take Xiao and Keqing due to their rationality and level heads. On trips to smaller and safer places you only bring Xiao.

These particular trips allow you to spend some time with your secret lover. You still think back on the first time you started your new relationship.

"May I ask where we're going, your highness?" Xiao asks, following you to an unknown location.

"Just somewhere to get away from the crowd. It was a little too much to handle today." You reply, leading him to a secluded and worn down building. "Do a perimeter check." You enter the place and look around, happy to find a chair that's still intact.

"Yes sir." Xiao looks around the area and defeats any hilichurls and slimes that were lingering around. After double checking, he stands in front of the entrance. You grab Xiao and force him to sit down with you, pushing his back against your chest.

"Sir?" Xiao whispers worriedly, assuming there's a person somewhere.

You lean your head down to talk in his ear. "Shh." Your arm is wrapped around his stomach so he doesn't move, your other hand tugging his tank top upwards.

Whenever you tell him to be quiet, he listens and doesn't say a word until you allow him to. So even as you push his top all the way up and grope his chest, he stays silent. Even if he isn't comfortable with it.

"Sorry but I have to use you, Xiao." You kiss his neck. "Zhongli doesn't have time for this kind of thing anymore..." Your hand moves to pull his pants down.

Xiao closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, hating the way you're touching him and how your bulge is pressing against his ass.

"Your body is so pretty, Xiao." You play around with his clit. "Do you know how pretty you are?" Your fingers move down to touch his increasingly wet cunt.

Xiao tries his best not to cry, he hasn't felt this weak in years. He hadn't cried and was convinced he became unable to since his friends died. He couldn't even remember what it was like to cry.

"Pull my pants down for me."

He shakily unzips your slacks and pulls them down. You grab his hips and force him to rub against your bulge. "Come on, do it yourself."

Xiao grimaces and starts rolling his hips. You go back to playing with his clit, making his movements inconsistent and shaky.

"Good boy." You groan and turn his head to look at you.

Xiao comes with a whimper, tightening around nothing. You bring him into a heated kiss, leaving him even more out of breath than he already was.

You turn Xiao to face you completely and bring his hand to the waistband of your boxers. "Do you want it, sweetheart? Tell me you want my cock inside you."

"I...I want your- your co...cock inside me." Xiao frowns and pulls your underwear off, your hard length is making Xiao nervous. "My liege...I'm- I've never done this before...it will hurt, and I need to have the strength to protect you.."

"You can take it, Xiao. I know you can." You grab his sides and hover his body over your cock.

"Y- yes, my liege. I apologize." Xiao's voice shakes. He sucks in a breath before you lower him down, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood as your tip pushes through his entrance. He tries his hardest to relax as you shove your full length into him, stretching out his virgin cunt.

Your cock twitches in excitement. "Shit, you feel better than Zhongli."

Xiao struggles to adjust to the foreign feeling, breaking out into uncontrolled sobs. He looks gorgeous with his tummy bulging, he's so small..

“Look at how deep I am inside you, sweetheart.” You make Xiao look at his stomach. He frowns, crying harder. You gently grab his cheeks with one hand and lift his face up. "You're even cuter when you cry." You say before bringing him into a kiss. You rub circles around his clit to make him more comfortable. Xiao whimpers and moans into your mouth, subconsciously moving his hips as you bring him pleasure. He's extremely inexperienced but he tries his best to kiss you back. He hates this but he wants to make you happy. You pull away and look at Xiao's embarrassed expression.

"Was it bad..?" He asks in between sniffles. He’s worried he disappointed you with his bad kissing skills.

"Of course not.." You kiss his wet cheek. "Do you want to make me feel good?"

Xiao nods and tries wiping his tears in an attempt to stop crying but they just keep flowing. You take his hands and place them on your shoulders. “Hold onto me and lift yourself up.”

He squeezes your shoulders and raises himself up while shaking.

“Now bring yourself down.”

Xiao sinks down onto your length, a soft whine leaving his trembling lips.

“Good boy, keep doing that.”

He buries his head in your shoulder, sobbing heavily as he attempts to ride you. You don't do anything to comfort him and let him cry his heart out.

“It hu- hurts-” He whimpers. “It hurts so much-” His strong facade crumbles to pieces.

“You’re doing so well, baby…doing so well for me.” You reassure him.

“Please…please help..” His body aches from crying so hard. He feels humiliated, he’s supposed to be strong and able to withstand pain but he can't handle it. He can't handle you.

“Aw, you’re too cute.” You place your hands on his small waist and take over, raising his body before slamming him down. His eyes roll back as you use his body like a fleshlight. He can just barely stay conscious.

Xiao sobs as you fuck him, overwhelmed by an intense mix of feelings. Humiliation, pain, and…pleasure. It feels…good? Xiao’s eyes widen. No, it feels amazing. He arches his back and comes, squirting like a fountain.

You pull him off you despite the very strong urge to keep fucking him. You don't want to overstimulate him, it’d be hard to explain why you had to carry your own guard home. Xiao looks at you with a dazed expression.

“You did so well, my knight.” You have him sit on your lap. You caress his cheek and he leans into your touch.

You give him time to recover before helping him get dressed. Your boner eventually went down and you never got to come but Xiao’ll make up for it next time.

[bi-writes]

I LOVED how you wrote ghost and badass!reader omg 🫶 If you’re comfortable, would you be open to writing protective boyfriend ghost at the pub? Some oblivious guy is creepy when ghost goes to get drinks. He has no idea what he’s gotten himself into when ghost returns.

ill take any opportunity to write about my favorite lieutenant spilling blood for love (18+)

he has been gone for too long. your glass is empty, and the crowd is filling the room, and it's loud. you lose him, even the size of him is swallowed by how many people are moving around, and you sigh as you lean your head into your hands and wait for him.

you know he must hate this. the people. the noise. it's hot, too, and you know he'll complain a little about the stickiness of his mask when you get home.

you gasp when there's a splash of something against your back. you cry out in anger, and when you turn, there's two men cackling as they come into your space.

"ohhhh!" the lankier one giggles drunkenly, and his eyes make you uneasy. his hair is curling from the sweat along his brow, and the dark pieces of it fall in front of his face, drawing low shadows over him. he's the one holding the drink that just spilled down your back. "s-sorry, luv--" he hiccups, and you glare.

"fuck off," you snap, and it's then that you realize you've made a mistake. something ugly flashes across his face, and his friend notices, a bleach-blonde with an uneven haircut, and he whistles a little.

"oh, fuck, mate--she wants a fight."

you scoff, shaking your head. "if you aren't gonna apologize for spilling that shit on me, the least you can do is get the fuck out of here."

"oi, you got a fuckin' mouth on ya, lovie," the dark-haired one growls. you sit up a little straighter, brushing off some liquid that's spilled onto the table. they're cornering you, you realize, when the blonde one takes a seat across from you and the other traps you in the booth by sitting next to you.

"i'm not going to ask you again," you say firmly. "get your ass off this seat and move along."

"you're one of those, aren't you?" the one next to you gets uncomfortably close. "one of those feminists? that thinks men are useless, and that you're meant for something more than the fuckin' kitchen?"

you frown, your mouth opening slightly, and you shake your head, "excuse me?"

"you lot," he comes closer. "think you're hot shit. but y'r all fuckin' slags. only thing you're good for is opening y'r fuckin' legs."

you jump visibly when he grabs your thigh roughly, and you're about to react when a gloved hand finds the back of his head and slams it down against the wood of the desk.

you squeak when he cries out in pain, his nose pointing at unnatural angles, and blood splatters the table and the denim of your jeans. you lean back, but then those gloved hands grab the back of his shirt and yank him out of the booth, tossing him onto the floor. he skids across it, wet with spilled drinks, and he doubles over, coughing, cradling his face as he sobs.

you swallow hard when ghost finally turns his head back to the table. his chest is heaving, and he squeezes his hands in and out of fists when his eyes land on the helpless blonde that still somehow sits across from you.

"no--" he holds his hands up. "n-no, w-we were just--"

"just what?" ghost snarls, tilting his head to the side as he looks at him. you suck in a shaky breath, frozen in your seat, and you almost feel bad for the poor thing. but then you replay the words, the way they looked at you, how one of them put a hand on you. you relax a little, blinking, and you realize it must be acceptance.

you take a dog with you when you go out. it's not your fault people don't realize their bite hurts.

ghost takes a step towards him, boots heavy, and he runs. he bolts, running away, out the back door, and he leaves his friend to cradle his bloody face against his shaking hands all by himself. the crowd was quiet for a moment, but the mood softens when ghost turns away, letting out a low breath. people realize the show is over, and they shuffle back in place.

there is blood on the back of your hand. before you can touch it, a gloved hand reaches out and smooths his own over you, wiping it away. you sniffle, looking down, and he comes closer to crowd your space. you feel only warmth with him there, and your lip trembles a little.

"s-sorry, i--"

"wot are you apologizing for?" simon mutters. "apologizin' for those fuckin' twats, luv? don't want t'hear it."

he grunts, shaking his head, and he tugs on your arms, bringing you closer.

"c'mere," he tilts your head up, putting a few fingers on your chin and staring down at you. he narrows his dark eyes, and you smile, just a little, sadly. "was almost too late." he looks behind him, and you see a few feet away, there's two drinks spilled on the floor, glass shattered where he dropped them. "saw him put his fuckin' hands on you, 'n--"

you put a hand on his forearm, digging your nails in there gently. you shake your head.

"it's okay. doesn't matter." you laugh a little. "kinda hot."

you notice him raise a brow, and he tilts his head to the side, and he hums.

"oh, that right, luv?" he leans in, closer, and when he touches your hands, blood comes off on your hands. you smooth your hands against his own, gripping them firmly, and you look up at him as you smile knowingly.

simon would do unspeakable things for you. and that idiot was lucky to go home with his hands still attached. it should scare you that you know this, that you know this is a fact. it's dark, it's cruel, but it's yours, and you like the way it tastes in your mouth.

you like the way revenge feels against your tongue, the sound that love feels between your teeth. this love is fucked and raw, and it will tear you apart, but you can't wait for it, to feel it, the thin line between pain and pleasure. simon pushes the boundary between good and bad, and for once, the blood feels warm, and he paints you with it, and it's fucking poetic the way you look at him now.

pretty eyes, big eyes, eyes that tell him she's going to fuck you when she takes you home.

"yeah, big man," you murmur, and you feel something hot go through you when his eyes drop to your lips for just a second. just enough time for you to know he's losing his resolve. one thought about getting his hands on you, and he falls, and it's pathetic, but he's so fucking hard, he doesn't care. "it's hot."

and when he forces you to look in the mirror later, when it's dark and it's just the two of you, you realize there is blood on your face, and his hands are dirty with filth.

but when he goes to take the gloves off, you don't let him.

[megistusdiary]

69'ing with Boss Form Arle with a size/height difference. You're small compared to her, and she isn't able to put her face in between your legs without dragging you up her body, but since her tongue is so damn long now, it can easily reach and stuff you while you eat her out/deepthroat her yourself.

dom!boss form arlecchino x sub!fem reader

warnings: smut (mdni), wlw content, 69ing with arlecchino so [cunnilingus + deepthroating (strap)], kinda monsterfucking [claws + long tongue], size difference

you might wonder how it's possible that she could manage to have a strap-on custom-designed for her boss form.

you may question how much money it cost, or, rather, who in the world would actually complete that commission?

well, maybe it's not in your best interest to reject a harbinger's direct, personal request.

though, none of those thoughts seem to survive in your mind once you feel her tongue prodding at your clothed clit.

usually, it's awkward for you two with your height difference. she'd often have you suck her strap, yet soon enough, she'd be yanking you right up and off towards her face. she'd just be too transfixed on sliding her tongue into you that she can't help it. that would leave poor little you to lay on her thigh, trying to get back to her strap while you moan into her skin.

her clawed hands delicately slide your lace panties to the side, baring your pretty pussy for her, prompting her to gently kiss your clit.

"what's the problem?" she suddenly asks, words vibrating into you.

"huh?" your voice sounds dazed, and her hips thrust up slightly, the tip of her impressive strap touching your lips.

"suck." she orders. "i'll handle the rest."

she lets you ease down onto the strap, whining in discomfort at the larger-than-usual size. she already enjoyed stretching you out more than you could take, but this was practically impossible!

you're even smaller compared to her now, leaving you to wonder how she'll manage to-

oh.

you feel it; her tongue. it slides over your pussy with ease despite the distance away from her mouth you are. before you can even move to take a look, her hand shoves you back down, like she expected your curiosity.

her hands spread your lips apart for her to wrap her tongue around your clit, coaxing desperate moans from you, muffled by the strap deep in your throat.

her hips shallowly thrust into your mouth, enjoying your little garbled whines and choking noises while she teasingly slides her tongue into your cunt.

it feels different than normal, hotter than usual, causing sweat to build up on your forehead and under the edges of your cute lingerie top. it fills you up even better than her fingers sometimes would normally, worming its way to your g-spot.

your head bobs up and down, blunt nails digging into her thighs while you struggle to ground yourself from the overwhelming sensations.

you can feel her claws pricking your skin, surely leaving marks, perhaps even drawing blood to bead up beneath them. none of that matters now; not with the way she bounces your hips on her tongue.

your head moves up for air, instead exerting yourself with more desperate moans as she fucks you with only her mouth. "please- please, feels so good!" you wail for her, head falling onto her abdomen as she grunts into you.

her tongue retracts and she brings her palm up to spank your cunt, ensuring it makes perfect contact with your clit as you sob for her. she repeats the action, mumbling about you being a little slut for her, relishing in how you eagerly confirm that for her.

"yours! yours- your slut- yes-" comes your excited reply, head nodding rapidly against her thigh.

"unless you want to be punished, i suggest you get back to sucking, doll." she snaps, almost shocked at how quickly you slide your mouth back on her, trying to take more of her.

it's painfully obvious how desperately you want her praise. it's rather cute, actually, how much of an eager little slut you are for her. she loves it. she loves you.

she slides her tongue impossibly deeper into you while your eyes roll back into your head. she bounces your hips faster and faster until you're practically sobbing on the faux cock, moans substituting your usual begging for release.

she allows it, this time, fucking you right through your orgasm, feeling you tighten up so perfectly around her tongue. she can feel how you flutter around her, your choked moaning on her cock, how your own hips bounce sporadically on her mouth.

when you finally relax on her body, nice and limp, she moves your hips again, ignoring your confused whines. "we're not done. if you're planning to take my cock, then you'll need to be thoroughly prepared, pet."

[holybibly]

Heyy Mistress, I hope you're doing well and you're taking good care of yourself because I don't want you to be burnt out.

If Unholy Hours are open again, can you do a fic where San is your step brother and you have the most sexual tension with him etc (I am gross and disgusting for this, I'm so sorry.😖😖😖)

Oh, bunny, your Mistress has a great idea for your request. San looks like real candy, do you want to lick it?

This is something that should never happen. Never ever. You and San were family, relatively speaking, of course, and all that bound you together was your parents' promise to love each other to the end, and your lips were now sliding over his hard, thick cock, smearing a blood red shade of lipstick over his sensitive, velvety flesh.

It was only meant to be a quick kiss when you were both as drunk as you were. You bite down on his plump lower lip, turn away, and whisper softly, "Forget it.". 

The preposition was that it would never happen again, as you aggressively lick each other's lips and tongues, rolling a strawberry-flavored candy between them. San thinks it's the most delicious thing he's ever tasted, and he sincerely regrets not having tried it sooner. Panting, strands of saliva, and sticky lip gloss are pulled between your lips as the kiss ends and you separate. San sticks out his tongue with a triumphant look on his face and shows you the now tiny piece of candy he has stolen from your mouth.

It was supposed to be a disposable item when your legs are spread over his broad shoulders as you sit on the kitchen table and he sucks hard on your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. He runs his tongue over your pussy, tasting and opening you, making you whimper and writhe in response as he looks up at you from below with his feline dark eyes. 

This should never be part of the plan.

You and San are in his bedroom now, your parents having a lovely evening meal completely unaware of what is going on behind closed doors between the two of you; he's biting the hem of his T-shirt, holding back loud moans and gasps, his jeans and underwear lying in a useless heap on the floor as you kneel between his spread legs. In the darkness of the room, your ruby red lipstick glistens ominously. You look far too seductive, far too sinful for him to deny himself the pleasure of this. Your hands run down San's strong, muscular thighs and you lean down to kiss the flushed, wet head of his cock, your eyes flickering as you see San's gorgeous, sculpted abs tense and his cock twitch with excitement.

San throws his head back, clutching his t-shirt tighter with his teeth as he feels the vibration of your soft laughter on his cock. Your small hand circles the length of it, squeezing and stroking gently a few times before your lips touch the head of his cock again, this time tracing it with your tongue. San rolls his eyes and clutches the sheets with his fingers. He's always been sensitive, and just because you're so good with his body doesn't make it any easier. Sure, he's going to return the favor later on by fucking you in the shower or licking that sweet, plump cunt of yours and making you sob and whimper with pleasure, but right now you're just going to drive him crazy. 

San is trying to stay as calm as possible. Your parents are still at home and could come into his room at any moment, and he hates this. Why the fuck should he be your brother when all he can think about is your moaning and begging, your lovely bouncing tits, and your arse screaming to be beaten and fucked? As you slowly suck him into your hot and deliciously wet mouth, his eyes are fixed on your glistening ruby-red lips. 

Maybe it was the lipstick, or maybe it was just you, but the way you tipped your head and relaxed your jaw, allowing San's thick cock to slide deeper into your throat, drawing its length along the trembling walls of your throat, made his balls tense up, and he crumpled the sheet in his hands with such force that his knuckles turned white. He swallows hard, his Adam's apple jiggling to get your attention, and you unconsciously repeat the movement, swallowing as you let his cock slide deeper and deeper, taking it almost to the base of his dick. 

San whimpers into the fabric of your t-shirt and watches as you slowly pull away, sliding your lips around the thick girth of it, leaving a trail of wet red lipstick on the velvety skin. As you release the head of his cock from your mouth with a slight 'pop', strands of saliva and pre-ejaculate dangle from your bottom lip, and you raise your wide-eyed 'innocent' gaze to him as you slowly run your tongue over your lips. 

"Like that, Sannie? This lipstick shade is called 'Orgasm'." Your hand wraps around his cock again, wet and slippery with saliva, pre-cum, and lipstick. Sun begins to thrust his hips, hoping to achieve that coveted orgasm. "Come on, baby. Fuck my mouth..." San moans in a guttural, the fabric of his t-shirt uncomfortably wet, but it muffles his loud moans, and he is grateful for it when your lips are back on the wet head of his dick and you take it into your mouth. 

He's about to come as you pull your cheeks together and run your tongue tip along his slit, your hand still stroking, squeezing, and rubbing the thick throbbing vein. You are milking his cock so well.

You open your mouth and stick out your tongue, tapping the swollen, red head of cock against the flat surface. With a soft humming sound, you pull yourself away from him and quickly run your hand over San's cock, flashing an enraptured smile at him. A beautiful shade of red lipstick is smeared all over your face. 

"I would have done it a long time ago if I had known this would turn you on so much, baby." You say this before taking the whole cock back into your mouth. Sliding it down gently and easily, the thick, wiry girth slides right down in your throat. You hold it there for longer than you should be able to, your throat muscles quivering as San begins to tremble, gasping as his quadriceps clench, and he squeezes the sheets with his fingers once more until you can hear them crack.

You pull away from the thick cock again, just enough to let out a soft moan before you move down again, not so deep this time, take San's cock in your mouth. Your hand slides over the part not in your mouth; the sound of your heavy breathing, your smoothly sliding hand over wet flesh, and San's soft, muffled whimper fill the room.

San comes within seconds, whimpering and jerking his hips, his thick cum filling your mouth, and you swallow every drop greedily, only pulling away when San's teeth loosen the fabric of his t-shirt and he leans back onto the soft mattress of the bed. 

Red stains of lipstick are smeared across your cheeks and down your chin, and your neck is wet with your own saliva and San's cum. You continue to jerk him off slowly, lazily squeezing every last drop of cum out of him and making his orgasm last longer.

"Damn, that felt so good." San says this and stands up sharply to wrap his palm around your wet neck, pulling you against him. He finally feels the ruby-red color of your lipstick on his lips with his own tongue, savoring the musky, thick taste of his own cum as he kisses you greedily and passionately.

Your teeth clash, lipstick smearing across your skin, and you stand up, still not breaking the kiss, only to push San back onto the bed and crawl on top of him. His grip on your neck tightens, his teeth biting painfully into your lower lip, and you pull away to let yourself breathe. 

"Now I can finally fuck you, can't I?" San asks, and you swallow as you hear the low, sultry tone in his voice.

"You're going to have to work hard to keep me quiet, babe."

San grins and gives you a sweet peck on the lips.

"Oh, baby, believe me, I know so many ways to shut you up."

[sorapricots]

My Yellow

Summary: Break up sucks. You thought you lost your yellow person when you broke up with your ex. Not until Logan pulled you to a hug and showed you your truly yellow person.

Pair: Logan Howlett x Mutant!AFAB!Reader 

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, fluff 

Warning: Curse words, Reader’s power inspired by Scarlett Witch or Wanda Maximoff, a messy break up, mental issues mentioned, blood mentioned, Suicide mentioned! Read it at your own risk, mention of smoking, reader have panic attack, non-sexual intimacy, a suggestive ending.

A/N: Very self indulgent because I just broke up with my partner a couple weeks ago and it kinda disturbs my daily routine. This fic is a bit inspired by my own yellow person. I hope you guys enjoy this. Also do you think I should add a mood board on each fic?

W.C: 3,8k 

You gasped as your eyes shot open. With a groan you quickly sit up as you try to calm yourself. Your mental states have been slowly deteriorating as the day you decided to break up with your ex keeps haunting you in your dreams. Your breath is uneven as things around your room start to shake. 

An angry grunt rumbling from your chest as you share at your palms that is covered by a subtle red glow. You blinked as tears and sweats gathered in your trembling palms. Stuff around your room starts to violently shake before someone swings your bedroom door open.

Logan was holding the door knob tightly. He let out a sigh of relief as he rushed to you. You watched in silence as he sat beside you and gently cupped your cheeks. His thumbs gently wiped your tears away as you dazedly blinked your eyes.

“You are okay, doll. Breathe with me.” your fingers circled around Logan’s wrists as your breath matches Logan’s calm breath. The red glow around the stuff in your room and your hands start to die down before fully disappearing. Logan let out a hum as he carefully helped you to lay down on your bed again.

“Don’t worry, bub. You know where to find me if you need me.” Logan gently caressed your cheek before he left your bedroom.

You blankly stared at the already closed door. Part of you wants to ask for Logan to stay but there’s an invincible line that the both of you are scared to overstep. Your friendship with Logan is always a hit or miss kind of friendship. There’s times like this, where you comfort each other like lovers do, but there’s time where you buttheads like mortal enemies. Your friendship is blanketed with this tension of wanting to be with each other but also don’t want to cross the boundary you both have as friends.

Especially you, your mind wandered to the time when you randomly asked Logan about his type of woman. To which he immediately answered with no second thought that his ideal woman is Jean. You close your eyes as you try to bite back your sobs. An imaginary cracking voice playing in your head when you feel your heart shattered to pieces as you push your body to sit up.

You lift your hand as the drawer from your desk opens. A lighter and a pack of cigarettes flew to your hand. Followed up by a black box. You quietly walk out from your room with a pack of cigarettes, a lighter and the black box in your hands.

Your feet bring you to the empty, cold and quiet yard. You exhale softly as you sit down on the grass, your lips carefully clamped the cigarette stub before you burn the other end of your cigarette. Gently you close your eyes as you draw a deep puff from the cigarette, letting the smoke gather in your lungs before you let out a gentle huff.

You eyed down the black box before carefully opening it. Inside the box there are multi-colored multi-shaped beads, thin metal rods, various sizes of chains and pliers. You let out a soft smile as your hands skillfully start to pick out a bunch of beads and arrange it. A soft sad tune flows softly from your mouth as your fingers work on the bracelet. A puff of cigarette smoke escapes from your lips every once in a while.

“How long have you been sitting here?” you jumped out and almost dropped the cigarette stub from your lips before you quickly caught it with your power. Logan sighed before he took a seat beside you. His eyes trained on the half done blue and yellow beads bracelet. Three small spikes neatly arranged in the middle caught his eyes.

“Looks familiar,” he teased. You let out a puff of cigarette smoke before you lifted the already finished bracelet with your power. A sad smile shows up on your face before you carefully store the bracelet in a small velvet box. You gently grab Logan’s hand before you drop the velvet box to his palm.

“It’s inspired by you. Give it to Jean, it will look good around her wrist.” your words laced with sadness as you looked intensely on the box. Little did you know Logan furrowed his eyebrows as he frowned at your words. The atmosphere around you falls to a comfortable silence as you tidy up the tools you use to make the bracelet.

“You know… your ex requested to meet me yesterday.” Logan’s words make you stop your movement. The new stub of cigarette stuck between your fingers as your eyes slowly moved to find Logan’s face. Giving him a silent request to continue his story. Logan chooses to stare back at your eyes.

“What did he want from you?” you asked as you lit up your cigarette. Logan grunted softly as he grabbed his own cigar. Your hand that is still holding your lighter quickly helps him to light up his cigar. Logan draws a long puff before he exhales the smoke from his lungs.

“Kid asked me to take you to the psychiatrist.” a soft snort escaped from his nose. Your eyes narrowed at your ex’s request. Carefully you turn your body to face him.

“Why?” you asked. Logan’s eyes linger a second too long on your lips before moving up to stare at your angry eyes.

“Said you were not in the right place of mind when you asked for a break up.” he answered in full honesty. You let out a soft curse as you harshly rubbed your face. Tears welling up as you draw an angry harsh puff from your cigarette. 

“Am I a joke or what?” you muttered angrily, voice dripped with venom before you let your body fall back harshly to the grass. Your brows furrowed as you felt something cushioned your head. Logan looked at you as he softly shook his head. His eyes narrowed at you as a silent warning. You rolled your eyes as you put your cigarette between your lips.

“Don’t you even try to hurt yourself, doll.” he warned you. You huffed out the cigarette smoke towards his face which he playfully rolled his eyes before he gently flicked your forehead. You hissed in pain as you softly rubbed your forehead.

“Dramatic,” he teased. You jabbed his ribs.

“Your bones are infused with metal. Obviously it hurts.” you retorted back as you pushed your body to sit up. Both of you and Logan quickly put out your own cigar and cigarette before you stand up.

You nervously gulp down when you feel the unspeakable tension between you start to creeped in as you stand chest-to-chest with Logan. An awkward cough escapes your throat as you give Logan an awkward pat on his bicep.

“Thanks for the company.” you gently whispered. Logan awkwardly nodded his head as his hand clutched to the velvet box you gave. You give him a gentle smile before you walk back to the mansion. Leaving Logan alone with his thoughts.

.

.

.

Your eyes shoot open as your body that is drenched in sweat shot up when you hear someone harshly slam your bedroom door open. A tired sigh of relief escaped your throat when you realized it was Rogue that barged in. Her face looked pissed as she silently took a seat on the corner of your bed. 

“Is it about Bobby and Kitty?” Rogue quickly snapped her head toward you as your question hit the bullseye. You softly smile at her as your hand grabs your coat and drapes it over her before you pull her to a hug.

“It’s okay, sweet girl.” Your voice is gentle as your hand rubs her back. Purposely avoid touching her skin as you know she is still uncomfortable and afraid with skin-to-skin contact due to her mutation. Even though you don’t really mind it.

“What’s going on?” Logan’s head popped in from the doorway when he heard a soft sob from your room. His expression softened at the sight of crying Rogue in your arms. Logan carefully sits down on the other side of Rogue, making the dual colored hair girl sit between him and you. His hand softly patted her head.

“Boys can be sucks sometimes.” your words earned a giggle from Rogue as Logan playfully rolled his eyes. You smile as you watch Rogue start to smile again before you let go of her and stand up. 

A groan was heard from your lips as you stretched your body. Logan’s eyes trained on you as he saw your shirt get lifted out, exposing your stomach. You walk to the bathroom, being oblivious with Logan’s stare. Logan’s grunt and Rogue’s giggle were the last thing you heard before you closed the bathroom door.

You stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Frown deepens as you look at your dark eyebags. Thoughts of how you will never be enough and will never be pretty enough for your ex and Logan start to cloud your brain. You slapped your cheek hard enough it left a red mark as you watched tears rolling down your cheeks.

You took a deep breath as you quickly set your shower to a hot temperature. Dazedly you peel off your clothes before jumping into the shower. You bite your lips as you feel the skin scalding boiling hot water run down your skin. Mindlessly your hand starts to grab shampoo and soap to clean your body as fog covering your whole bathroom.

.

.

.

“Holy shit. What the fuck did you do, bub?” Logan quickly rushed towards you when he saw your almost sun-burned state like skin. You shook your head softly as you put an arm-length distance between you and Logan. You quickly grab the fluffiest hoodie you have before you put it on. A hiss rolled from your lips as you felt the sting of your skin touch the hoodie material.

Logan helplessly watches you from the side as he lets out a huff of desperation. His hands can’t stop twitching as he has to hold back the urge you hold you and cradle you close to his chest. Your eyes softly moved towards his figures.

“I’m fine.” your voice is barely audible if Logan doesn't have his enhanced hearing. But he heard you. He shook his head in disapproval.

“You are not, princess.” your heart skips a beat at the nickname he has for you. Logan carefully walks closer to you. His eyes locked to yours. Gently and carefully Logan grabs your hand.

“Let’s bring you to Jean. She can help you ease the pain.” you mentally rolled your eyes as Logan mentioned Jean’s name. But you do nothing but nod your head. Let him guide you to the med bay where Jean usually stays.

Jean widened her eyes when she saw how red your skin is. She quickly ushered you to sit down on the bed as she started to grab meds for you. Logan decided to stay outside. Jean let out a frown as she helped you ease the burning pain from the hot water.

“You should take a break from the mission for a while.” Jean gently said as she examined the rest of your skin. You shook your head in disagreement. 

“Don’t wanna. I will go crazy if I just stay in the mansion doing nothing.” you answered as your eyes wandered to Jean’s wrist. Only to be confused when you realized Jean didn’t use the bracelet you made last night.

“But you really can’t go with this mental state. How many night terrors do you have already?” Jean voiced her concerns as she heard a couple times your room shaking violently. You let out a sigh as you smile softly. Your hand gently holds hers.

“I will be fine. I promised… I just need time to adjust. Two year relationship is not long but not relatively short either.” Jean sighs as she gives up making a mental note to herself to talk to Logan later about your stubbornness. She quickly cleans up as you put back your hoodie.

“Lunch, doll?” Logan suddenly showed up again. You softly smile at him before you nod your head. Slowly walking towards him. 

“Can we eat lunch in the yard?” you asked as you and Logan walked to the kitchen. Logan looked at you with a smirk before he nodded his head.

“Sure we can, sweet.” Logan said as you both quickly grab lunch and walk to the yard. The two of you sit in silence as you start eating your lunch. Your eyes once in a while will watch the kids play basketball before flickering back to Logan.

“Take a picture, sweetheart. It will last longer.” you choked on your food as Logan quickly helped you by giving his water to you. A chuckle rumbled from his chest as he watched your face getting red. Your face inches away from Logan when suddenly a cough makes you both pull away.

"Of course it's someone you told me not to worry about." Your eyes flickered in anger as you heard your ex's voice. Logan let out a groan as he looks like he's so done already.

"What do you want?" Logan's voice obviously is not welcoming as he propped his arm behind your small back. Your ex let out a huff before they rolled their eyes. Making Logan arched his eyebrow at the attitude.

"What is so good about being with an old man like him?" Your ex triggered something inside you as you stood up and walked to them. You quickly swing a punch to their face as your breath ragged.

Your ex looked at you full of surprise as they tried to regain their control over their body while you watched them unamused. You quickly grab a cigarette with your lips and light it up.

"You promised me, you are not gonna smoke! I told you before if you smoke we are pretty much done!" Your ex screamed in anger. You huffed out the smoke out of your lungs as you started to relax. Your ex coughed a bit as you directed the smoke towards their face.

"Fuck you and your promises and your manipulation! You ruined my life! I'm done being manipulated by you! I am tired dealing with the thought of wanting to die with a bullet through my head because I have spent the rest of my life becoming your plaything!" You huffed harshly as tears streamed down your face. Your nails dig deeper into your palms as adrenaline pumped through your veins. 

Your ex looked at you full of surprise which made you annoyed as you started to strangle them with your power. Your ex starts to struggle. Logan carefully walked towards you and softly reached your balled fist. 

"Princess… let them go. It's not worth it." Logan calloused hands carefully opening your palm pulling your fingers away from your bloodied palms. A grunt rumbled out from your chest followed by a frustrating scream from you. Logan let out a sigh as he gently caressed your bloodied palm.

"The more you hurt them the more it shows you are no different from them. Come on, sweet thing. Let me take care of it. Let me take care of you." Logan leaned in as he whispered against your ear. One of his hands is still holding your bloodied one, refusing to let your hands go. His other hand grabs the cigarette stub between your lips before throwing it to the ground and stepping on it.

Sobs escaped your lips as you fell on your knees. But Logan is quick enough to pull you towards him. Finally he chose to cross the invincible line you both created. His arms protectively circling around your small frame as his eyes narrowed at the sight of your ex staring at you both. 

Logan carefully helps you sit down to your previous spot as you start to hug your knees and wail. Logan's heart aches at the sounds of your cry. He quickly walked back to your ex. Harshly he grabbed their collar pulling them with him.

"You did not disrespect my princess like that. Ever again. If I smell you even 10 miles away from here, I'll cut you to pieces." Logan throws your ex harshly to the ground. A growl rumbling from his chest. While your ex scrambled away. If it's not because you are busy crying yourself out, you probably will be all flustered when Logan calls you his princess. 

"Sweets, it's okay. They left already." Logan's voice is gentle as he puts his warm hand on your back. You looked up to see his face. Logan softly smiled as he tucked the stray hair away from your face. You whimpered before you tackled him to a tight hug.

"I don't know what to do without you, Lo." Your voice is hoarse from all the screaming and crying. Purrs rumbling from Logan's chest as he pulled you to sit on his lap. His hands protectively circled around you as he rocked your body gently.

"I'm always here for you, baby. Not gonna go anywhere to leave you alone." His words were spoken with a gentle voice making you at ease. Logan gently puts his palms under your thighs before carefully standing up. Letting you cling to him like a koala.

"Let's clean you up and rest." You nodded at Logan’s words. Letting the rugged man bring you back to your room and take care of you. The walk back to your room was covered in comfortable silence as your mind started to wander back to the scene just now.

“We’re here.” You blinked a couple times as you realized Logan sat you down on the bathroom countertop. His stare is soft as his hands gently cup your cheeks. Carefully Logan starts to clean your face with your makeup remover. He frowned a little when he noticed how dark your eyebags are. Gently kiss your eyelids as his hands still securely hold your cheeks. His actions bring you to tears as you never feel like you have been taken care enough when you are with your ex before.

You choked on your sobs as hiccups erupted from your throat every once in a while. Logan, opting to keep quiet as you finally are able to cry your heart out. Your trembling hands weakly hold on his shoulders as his hands now protectively circled around your waist. So many memories of you and your ex start to rush into your mind as your breath becomes irregular. Your eyes flickered fastly as you felt a panic attack start to creeped into your system. 

“Doll, look at me.” Logan’s voice is calm and collected as he holds your cheek with one of his arms while the other slips under your shirt. You force yourself to look at his eyes as you try to regulate your breath. 

“Tell me 5 things you can see, princess.” you blinked the tears away as you tried to get a better view of the bathroom. With a trembling voice you told him you see the almost emptied shampoo bottle, some rubber ducks you have, your loofah, his eyes, and his lips. He hummed as a soft smile creeped out on his face.

“Good girl, now what 4 things you can touch, baby?” you closed your eyes as your hand gently cupped his cheek. His rough beard gently scratches your palm, you feel the coldness of the bathroom countertop, your back feels the warmth of Logan’s palm, and lastly you feel his pulse on his chest.

“Attagirl, 3 things you can hear?” a soft sigh escapes your lips as you open your eyes again as you let yourself drown in his deep and gentle gaze . His calming voice, the soft hum of the bathroom vent, and water dripping from the faucet. 

“Good job, darling. A bit more. 2 things you can smell?” Logan gently encourages you. Your bathroom refresher, and his own scent engulfing you. You lean your body closer to him as you start to calm down from your panic attack.

“One thing you can taste?” Logan whispered as his face was an inch away from yours. You gulped down as you leaned closer to him. Your lips are right in front of his.

“I want to taste you.” you whispered against his lips before you softly kissed him. Logan’s hands immediately cupped your cheeks as he slotted himself better between your legs. 

You let out a sigh of relief through your nose as you can taste Logan in your mouth. His tongue explored every inch of your mouth as you pulled him impossibly closer. Your hands immediately circled around his neck. A groan escaped from Logan’s throat when you tugged on his hair. His calloused hands are now actively gripping your thighs.

You quickly tapped Logan’s back as you pulled away. Your breath is ragged as your face is flushed red. Logan, equally ragged breath stares at you lovingly. His hands are busy grabbing something from his pocket as you try to control your breath and your very fast heartbeat.

“Fuck it. Be mine, doll. Spend the rest of your life with me. Please, I'm begging you.” His words are desperate as you furrow your brows. You stare at him confusedly as you gaslight yourself that Logan didn’t mean what he said.

“What about Jean?” you confusedly asked Logan. The rugged man rolled his eyes before he pulled you to a more hungrier kiss. You gasped as Logan tugged your hair making you expose your neck. He quickly nipped at your neck as you shut your eyes and tried to hold back your moan.

“It’s always been you that I want, princess. Always you and never Jean.” he said with his lips against your neck. You choked out a gasp as Logan bit your neck. Leaving a very obvious bite mark on your skin before he licks your neck to ease the pain. 

“Do you… mean it?” your words are dripping with doubt. Logan pulled away from your neck and cupped your face. His forehead is against yours. 

“I mean it. I’ve been waiting for a long time but you keep going out with stupid people and get yourself hurt. I can take care of you better than any of your exes. Let me take care of you pretty girl.” His words are soft and secured as he grabs one of your wrist and clipped the bracelet you made last night. He carefully pulls your hand towards his lips and kisses your knuckles. His eyes never leave yours.

“I am yours, Lo. Always been yours.” Logan smiled as he pulled you closer. His hands skilfully peel off your clothes as he brings you out from your bathroom and towards your bed. Gently he lay you down as he nestled himself between your legs. 

“Let me show you how precious you are in my eyes, sweet thing.” he roughly whispered against your ears before he nipped at your neck again. Leaving you breathless as you let him show how much he craves for you.

[gor3-hound]

i apologise if you feel something

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, dead dove, domestic abuse, possessive leon, toxic behaviour, heavy non-con, choking, p in v, improper prep, blood as lube, creampie, physical assault, crying, BRIEF murder threat, guilt, very brief praise n degradation mixed in

a/n: hiii! this is written w re2 leon in mind!! pls be aware there are quite graphic depictions of co-dependency n abuse in this one. it's late, so pls ignore typos !! title from bmth song of the same name

word count: 1.8k words

Leon wasn't the same man you knew before Raccoon City. When he first came home after his first day, he was clingy. He wouldn't leave you alone, following you around like a lost puppy. You didn't know the extent of what he went through at the beginning, but he slowly began to open up about the horrors he saw.

You were there for him. Of course you were. You let him stay at your place now his new apartment was left in ruins after the bomb hit. Not that he could stay in that godforsaken city, anyway. He still dreamt of the infected most nights, waking up in a cold sweat.

You could have handled that, if it was all it was. You wanted to be there for him, help him recover as best he could. You loved him, and you wanted him to be okay more than anything.

But he started changing. You couldn't so much as try and leave for the store without him crowding you against the wall, demanding to know exactly what you needed. If you were out and didn't answer his texts, he'd make sure to let you know you fucked up.

He wasn't above hitting you, gripping your throat until you almost passed out. Anything to keep you under his thumb, to make sure you wouldn't leave him. He'd seen too much death so early in his life.

He wasn't going to lose you, too.

You couldn't take it anymore. He controlled every aspect of your life. It was getting to the point that you'd flinch anytime he moved too fast. You hated being scared in your own apartment.

You tried bringing it up gently, tell him it just wasn't working out for you. After all, he'd be leaving for military training soon, and you needed to finish up your college studies and think about building a career.

You regretted it as soon as the words came out of your mouth.

“You think you get to leave me?” He says with a dry, humourless laugh. He stalks towards you like a lion cornering its prey, backing you up against the wall. He cages you in with his larger frame, looking down at you with a dark glint in his eyes.

“That's cute, baby. Really. You think you get a fucking choice?” The words are punctuated with a harsh grip on your throat, squeezing you so hard that your airflow is instantly cut off. You can feel the blood rushing to your face as you try and suck in a breath, your hands clawing at his wrists to try and get them off.

Your nails draw blood, and that just pisses him off even more. He yanks you towards him slightly by your neck before slamming you back against the wall, your head hitting it with a loud thud.

Pain shoots across your system, your vision blurry with the unshed tears forming. He lets go of your throat after another minute, watching with a sadistic glee as you crumple to the floor at his feet. He squats down, watching as you choke in air to fill your burning lungs.

“You're the only good thing left in my life, baby. You don't get to leave me.”

“You're crazy…” You gasp out, pushing on the floor to attempt to stand up again. He was dangerous. You needed to get out before he killed you.

His eye twitches at your words, and a foot goes flying for your stomach before you can even register it. You fall to the floor once more, sobbing as you curl in on yourself in a pathetic attempt to protect your body from more hits.

“I'm crazy?” He says quietly, an eerie sense of calm in his voice. He stands over you, placing his foot on your wrist before grinding the sole of his boot into your wrist, making you cry out in pain.

“I'm crazy?” He repeats louder this time, almost yelling at you. He yanks you up by your hair, dragging you into the bedroom and throwing you onto the bed. “You're the crazy one! You think this is bad, sweetheart? I can make you disappear.”

"You want to leave me, huh?" His breathing is hard and fast. "I'm crazy, huh?" The veins in his neck are bulging out, his hands fiddling with the buckle of his belt.

"I'll show you crazy."

Your entire body is shaking, but you have to get out. You have to get to your phone. You look at the door, and that was your worst mistake. In a flash, he's slapping you across the face hard enough that your ears ring, blood filling your mouth.

“Cute. Real fucking cute.” He hisses, grabbing your jaw roughly so you're facing him. He seems to get even angrier when he sees how terrified you look.

“Aww… baby. You're scared?” He coos, a mocking pout making its way to his lips. “You should be grateful. I'm keeping you safe. You have no right to be scared. If you knew what I've seen, what I've been through-”

He pauses to suck in a shaky breath through his teeth, images of the horrors he'd endured during Raccoon City flashing through his mind and making him feel nauseous.

“You should consider yourself lucky.” He says in a low tone, his expression hardening as he looks down at you. “You haven't been exposed to anything worth being scared of, princess.”

“Don't worry, though. I understand. I'll just have to fuck some sense back into you, hmm? Remind you of who's been by your side since day fucking one, keeping you safe.”

Your eyes widen at his words, and it seems to renew your fight. You struggle against him all over again, crying as you push and kick at his torso, thrashing as he pins you down on the bed. “Leon… Leon, no, wait… babe, fuck I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, m'so sorry, just…”

He shoves three fingers into your mouth, the tips jarring your throat and making you sputter and choke. There's a steady stream of tears running down your face at his point, your breaths heavy through your nose.

“Do you ever shut up?” He grunts, tugging down your pyjama pants and underwear, frowning when he sees you're not wet for him. That's new. Oh well. Wasn't gonna stop him.

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, coated with a mix of your blood and spit. He uses that to ease his way into you, pushing two fingers in straight away and spreading them inside of you to stretch you out for him.

“Leon, stop… that hurts.” You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut and kicking your legs out weakly. He's not doing this for you. Doesn't try to hit your sweet spot or rub your clit to ease the discomfort like he usually does.

“One more word from you, and I swear to god, I'm going to break your pretty fucking neck.” He grunts, yanking his fingers out of your pussy to free his cock from his jeans.

You're nowhere near prepared enough to take him. You cry out in pain as he bottoms out in one thrust. He doesn't give you a second to adjust, nothing. He just starts thrusting, chasing his own high as he fucks into you.

Either you're getting wet, or you're bleeding. Whichever one it is, slick lines your pussy and makes his thrusts easier. He groans as he continues to rock his fat cock into your cunt, his head thrown back in pleasure.

His hands grip your thighs as you try and close them, holding them wide apart so he has full access to fuck you as much as he wants. You give up, going limp as he takes what he wants from you.

“There we go… shit, you feel so fucking good. Even when you say no, she sucks me right in.” He moans, his hips rabbiting even faster against you, the sounds of slapping skin filling the room.

“Such a… god.” He sucks in a breath through his teeth, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “Perfect little slut for me… pussy always squeezes me so good…”

His eyes flutter open, and he tilts his head down to take you in. He finally looks at your face and sees how much you're sobbing, the pure terror in your face. His brows furrow, and he frowns. He looks down further, trailing your body and noticing the bruise forming on your stomach. When his gaze reaches his cock and he sees the blood coating it, a look of panic flashes across his face for a second.

He seems to realise what he's doing, his expression switching to one of worry in an instant. His hips stutter, but don't stop. He pulls out just enough to spit on his dick, trying to make it hurt less for you. He starts to sob, his hands cupping your cheeks and caressing them softly.

"Fuck, baby. I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me." He says quietly, voice cracking halfway through the sentence. He feels sick when he sees your blood coating his length and has to swallow down the bile that rises in his throat. Doesn't make him stop, though. What the fuck is wrong with him?

"I didn't mean it. I swear. I just love you so, so much. I have nobody. Can't lose you, too." He breathes out, dropping his head against your shoulder as he ruts shallowly into you. “My pretty baby. Such a good girl. Don't wanna hurt you… hate seein’ you cry.”

You don't know how you end up comforting him, promising him it's okay even as your whole body aches and your insides burn with every thrust. It hurts to see him hurting. You'd rather take a beating than see him this broken. All it takes for him to cum is for you to say you love him, too.

He pulls out carefully, pressing kisses down your neck. You don't move. Don't speak. You couldn't, even if you wanted to. You're limp in his arms as he picks you up, cradling you carefully against his chest.

He runs you a bath, gently placing you into the hot, soapy water. He peppers kisses all over your face as the water washes away the blood and cum, soothing your aching muscles.

He keeps saying he's sorry, his eyes filled with remorse. He promises he won't do it again, but you know he will. As soon as you step a toe out of line, he'll snap again. You know you should leave. You'd be dead if he kept this up. But seeing that pain on his face, the way he trembles as he washes your hair tenderly…

You'd stay one more day. Just one more day…