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mooishbeam · 1 year ago

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『♡』 Cruel Prince

♡ featuring: villain!diluc ragnvindr x princess!reader

♡ summary: you are forced to marry the manipulative prince of a faraway kingdom. malicious compliance ensues. wc: 3.2k+

♡ cw/tw: afab, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, forced orgasm, hate sex, no foreplay, breeding, heavy choking, spanking, face slapping, spit, creampie, hair pulling, rough sex, diluc is mega possessive

notes: I promiseee im gonna come out with shorter fics im so sorry i couldn't help myself the fanart is so good :(( art by eriimyon on twitter <3

Brilliance freckled through the silk drapes of your extravagant windows and onto your resting face. A silhouette rubs your arm, followed by “You must wake now, Your Grace.” Her amiable tone made your heavy eyes ajar, looking up to see the sweet twinkle of the maid. You sit up and stretch, letting out an exaggerated yawn. “Good morning!” you exclaim. She tucks the straggly hairs aside.

“Good afternoon, you mean?”

“Oh. Oops.” She shakes her head and hands you a lukewarm meal. This was a frequent occurrence, staying up late to twirl in your room until your feet ached. Fantasizing about the enchanting gambol you would share with your lover. When you eventually collapsed, you would dream of a man whisking you off to dance in a meadow. Being confined to the limited space of the baroque palace only intensified your curiosity. The kingdom your parent's shoulder is fruitful. Lined with riches and grateful civilians, all you know is comfortability. That comfortability bored you.

“The king would like to speak with you downstairs once you’ve settled” she states. You give an exasperated sigh and flop onto the featherbed. You weren’t looking forward to this meeting. “M’kay. Thanks. Love you.”

You make your way toward the dining room after breakfast. Almost every painting you skip by is of your older brother. It was no secret that you weren’t the favorite child. Your father wasn’t particularly fond of having a daughter. You slide down the railing of the grand staircase, entering the still air. Even the sound of your tiptoes carries volumes in complete quiet.

“Did... someone die?” you say, trying to break the ice. Your brother and mother sit across from each other with their heads down, afraid to interrupt the king who sat at the end of the dining table.

“No. Have a seat (Y/N).” he says, his hand signaling to the multitude of chairs remaining. You take the middle. Your father looks more stressed than usual, crescent shapes embedded between his eyebrows.

“There is something we have to discuss” he proclaims, interlocking his fingers. “Sure.”

“There’s been some disputes... between us. And the kingdom of Ragnvindr. Their king has been ill for many years now.”

“That’s too bad for them” you say, checking out of the conversation. You know of the Ragnvindrs, but you weren’t interested. “It is. However, their commerce is flourishing. The civilians have an excess of resources. They’re the central hub for wine. If we had access to that, we could provide greatly for the public.”

“Mm, okay.” Your mind darts to unique spots of detail decorating the ceiling.

“Do you remember talking to Prince Diluc?” It hadn’t jogged your memory until now, but you recall one time the flaming redhead came to the palace a few months ago. You saw him in passing; exchanging few words in light-hearted conversation before he met with your father. You noted the calm scarlet pupils and his attentiveness when you spoke. He seemed amicable until you uncovered the rumors. Whenever your mother invited her friends, the walls would erupt with gossip. You couldn’t help but listen through the door. “- he tried to kill his father!” Your mother declines but another woman chimed in. “People don’t get suddenly ill like that. He must’ve poisoned him! The poor man can’t talk anymore so Prince Diluc runs everything.”

“He’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants. Anyone who disagrees with him is beaten. Even death!” you heard the dramatic drawl of another. “Oh please, not with his brother around.” You thought it was funny and went straight to the maid to parrot their pompousness. It wasn’t until his brother died in their home weeks later under “mysterious circumstances”, that you started to take the allegations seriously.

“He’s shaping out to be an exceptional young man.”

“I guess. Why are you telling me this?” you ask. Your father sucks in a breath.

“You are to marry Prince Diluc in a week’s time.” he declares. You freeze, beads of sweat collecting on your forehead. Your heart dropped to your stomach.

“What? Whe- who decided this?”

“It was a collective decision from me, your mother, and the Ragnvindrs.”

“No! I didn’t get to decide. You took away my choice!”

“(Y/N), this will ensure peace for both of our kingdoms. We shall do what’s best for the-”

“I don’t know who he is. How could you do that to your own daughter, what kind of father marries their child off to a stranger?” Your voice gets increasingly louder. You were too irate to back down. Your father is seething.

“We will not argue about this-” he mumbles, the veins on his hands bulging from the tightening fists.

“Do you even know who he is? He killed his own brother, and his people fear his retaliation. He’ll backstab you at any chance if it means more power. He’s using you-”

“ENOUGH!” Your father slammed his leaden fists on the table, causing a harrowing bang to ring in your ears. All you can do is look at him, shaking, searching for any semblance of hope. He was unwavering.

“I hate you.” Your defeated voice falls to a murmur, and you stumble to your room in a haze.

The next 6 days were vague. You stayed in your room mostly, the maid accompanying you as you cry on and off for hours. Rage burned inside you, it dented furniture and ripped up cushions. You were exhausted and vengeful. An instructor comes by occasionally to teach you for your wedding day, but you find no joy in it.

You're tranquil in the luxuriant flower garden you once found solace in. A garden you’d never see again after tonight. Suddenly, you hear the gate creak open. Strawberry strands peek behind the sunflowers. It was Diluc. The silence was painful. “Hello.”

“Hello. I figured it would be considerate to come see you briefly” he returns, grabbing your hand. You catch yourself staring.

“We are to be married soon.”

“...Right.”

“You don’t seem to be happy about this arrangement.”

“I’m sure you have many requests for your hand in marriage. Why me?”

“I don’t have a say in it. You don’t either.” That can’t be right, their king is senile you thought.

“That’s not true. I know what you’re really like.” His eyes narrow into yours. “You could turn this entire kingdom to ash if you willed it.”

“You know naught of me.”

“You killed your brother and now you’re after my father, aren’t you?” He’s relaxed despite the accusations.

“What would you do? As long as we are wedded, you will obey.” You snatch your hand from him.

“I will do no such thing” you utter, holding your head high. He laughs and lifts your chin with a finger, his thumb softly rubbing your cheek.

“Such a naïve princess, so far beneath me. You will be mine. Act accordingly.” You want to slap that smug look off his face.

“I’ll be going now. Don’t stay up too late.”

Everything about your wedding is opulent. Visitors sport grandiose garments and intricate jewelry, leaving priceless gifts in your celebration. The travel to the kingdom of Ragnvindr was silent, minus the glares you shot to your parents. You disappear the minute you step down the aisle, taking notice of the guests. Faceless people with appropriated smiles and forced words of kindness; a scornful masquerade.

Your vows are pitiful, and you wear an ingenuine smile for every “aww” in attendance. “I do” is said, and your fate is sealed through a chaste kiss.

The dance arrived sooner than you thought. The floor was large and elegant, a thousand eyes watching you at the start of the staircase. You almost get stage fright. Diluc waits at the bottom, his gloved hand longing to take yours. You saunter to him. You expected him to be stiff and unprepared, but as you held his hand something changed. He scoops you by the waist with the other and twirls you around, igniting the music. His steps are effortless, bringing you near him and releasing you for another spin. The movements lift you into a different scene, of green pastures and bright blue sky. Only you and Diluc. The tune curled in your ears and whispered radiance. Your stride is loose, guided by the inducing notes and swinging pendant on your neck. Your arms glide past his chest and he steadies you gently in an intimate embrace. Dilucs lips barely hover over your ear.

“You look stunning.”

“I know. You look grotesque.” You feel a puff of wind against your ear. Glancing at him, you haven’t paid much attention to his appearance until now. His physique seemed to be chiseled from the finest marble, intentional with each contour. He smelled of musk and bitter vanilla, the warm glow of glittering chandeliers highlighting his rugged features.

“You like what you see, hmm?” You didn’t reply.

“Do you like to dance?”

“It’s not your business.”

“Well, if I'm right, you can dance here every day if you want. But you must behave.” His honeyed words made you hot, and you looked away. “No. You are my enemy.”

“Very well, then.” He continued to entrap you, sewing seeds in your brain through the sway of your bodies. You were tangled in a field of thorns, pricked by his fleeting romantic gestures. It confused and enticed you. But the dance came to its end, and reality set in. He leaned down to kiss your hand, his gaze never leaving yours. The music resumes its normal pace, motioning people to return to the dance floor.

The idea of Diluc displaying you like property tests your pettiness; you need his unruffled persona to snap. He watches you dance into the arms of another man, and you’re sure to make eye contact with him. You flash a mischievous smile as you spin through the exuberant crowd, leaving him behind. You thought you lost him. Just then, shade abruptly comes down on you and the nameless man. He turns first, cowering and slinking into the masses. You don’t face the shadow until your face is grabbed by leather and twisted sharply to encounter the reddening face of Diluc.

“Have you lost your mind?”

“If I’m beneath you, this shouldn’t bother you, right?” you say, smiling at your ability to break him.

He grits his teeth. “You are forbidden from interacting with any man.”

“By whom? Your words mean nothing.” He gets closer to you; a death stare bore into your pleased expression. “If you’re angry, do something.”

You’ve never been hauled anywhere this fast. He pulled you through the bustling room and up the stairs with absurd force, not turning to you once. You were nearly hovering off the ground from his strength. He opened the sculpted doors leading to his bedroom and pushed you inside. Before you can see him, he pins you between himself and the ornate vanity. His nails stab into the wood the more he waits for your explanation.

“What happened to your composure?” you taunt.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Not yours.” His lips share space with yours, noses scarcely touching.

“Sorely mistaken. You belong to me.”

“Prove it.”

Carnal lust washed over you. Your lips instantly collide, cracking dams of yearning through sloppy kisses and smacking teeth. His tongue is demanding and seeks entry, but you deny him. He grabs your neck tightly.

“Open.”

“Say please.” Diluc pries your lips open with his fingers, playing with the wet mass while he nips your ear. The foreign feeling in your mouth makes your mind numb.

“Nasty little minx.” he husks, forcing your tongue to stick out before it contacts his. His kisses are deep and primal, holding you close to the point of merging. He’s squeezing your neck occasionally and teasing the dizzying airflow. The fire cascading down his back envelopes you in a slow bleed, tickling your chest and face. His scent surrounds you, exhilarates you. You pierce his bottom lip with your teeth, looking to regain some sense of control and he groans from the feeling. He promptly hoists you off the ground with your back facing the vanity and his hands on your ass. His greed doesn’t stop, plunging and contorting the organ in unreachable places. You taste sprinkles of metallic flavor. The sensation has your knees weak. You push him away, both breathing heavily with a trail of spit between you.

“This is nothing like the ceremony kiss.”

“Don’t you want my full honesty?” he rasped. He dips down to your upper thigh, past the slit in your dress. His pointed fangs catch onto your garter, and he slips it off, groping the plush flesh as he lifts your leg up. Your fingers intertwine with his scalp and tug it, earning a harsh bite on your inner thigh. Rough kisses drag up your body until he makes it back to your lips. You tear his button-down open, navigating the solid muscle under the fabric. Light purple marks are left in your wake that decorate his collarbone. Diluc splits your dress down the back and shreds it off you. You're soaked, relishing in the volatile nature beyond the mask.

He picks you up and hurls you on the bed, following you on top. You wrestle for dominance, entwined in passion. Somehow, Diluc ends up underneath you, your legs on both sides of him. You take this opportunity to pin his wrists and grind on his throbbing length. He lets you have it knowing that he’s stronger than you are. He kicks off his slacks and you pull down his stained boxers. A sudden fear hits you once they’re removed; his slightly curved cock was impossibly long and girthy, precome trickling down the angry tip. You weren’t sure it would fit.

“You’re just going to gawk at it?” he says, restless from the ache. Nervousness blends in your gut. You wanted him badly, but you had to make him suffer for at least some time. Hovering over it, you slather his tip in your juices and admire the way he bites his lip. You lower your folds onto him, submerging the cockhead and leave it there, stirring your hips with it inside only to pull it out. Diluc is disheveled, star fished, and spread wildly across the sheets as he grunts from each plunge. He had to feel you, to claim you.

“You want it?”

“I don’t beg” he says flatly. You roll your eyes, immersing his shaft halfway. He releases a long shaky groan and attempts to buck his hips, but you rise before he can go further. His cock was covered in syrupy fluids from the moments of friction, and he didn’t know how much more he could take.

“You won’t get anything with that repulsive attitude” you tease, and start moving at a leisurely pace, carefully stretching yourself out.

“Repulsive, yet using me for your desires?”

“That’s all you’re good for.” You’re shuddering from the feeling of your walls molding to the bruising size.

“Then I’ll be sure to satisfy you.” His calloused fingers break out of your sparing clutch and grab your hips, jerking you down to the hilt with a soggy plap. The wind is knocked out of you, shockwaves through your spine as you heaved over trembling. It hurts, but you can’t help but feel aroused by the desperate look he gave you. “Mm good, you’re sucking me so tight.”

“Shit- slow down-” you plead. He wraps his arms around your hips, arching your back and leaning you forward. “Quiet.” Diluc bends his knees and begins to bully his way into your cunt. His thrusts are unforgiving, if he wasn’t holding you in place, you’d be airborne. He slips out completely and rams into you so deep it feels like he's burrowing into your stomach; yet you grip him like a vice, hungry for more. You were melting and all you heard was his quick beating heart and the wet squelching clash of your bodies. Diluc shifts to the vanity mirror opposite the bed, entranced by the violent rippling of your ass and sticky strings your puffy vulva left. You’re teeming on an orgasm, blurring the lines of pleasure and pain.

“I’m gonna come- ah!” His hands move to your ass, striking each side hard enough to welt numerous times. He digs his nails into the searing flesh, savoring it. “Louder, I want everyone to know who owns you” he says and pushes his fingers in your mouth to pull your jaw slack. You deliver, allowing your erotic wails to echo through the halls. “Come for me princess.” His command sends you over the edge and you’re dissolved into pleasure, zeroing in on his guttural moans, the low fuck’s stuttering out of him. Your nails score his chest. He spreads your backside, enjoying the view of your convulsing heat drenching his balls.

Diluc flips you over on your back before you’re done gathering yourself. He tosses the damp shirt on the floor and reveals the crisp v-line deliciously carved under his sculpted abs. He manhandles you into a pretzel, securing your sore thighs. He puts his hands on yours and pushes them back further. “Fucking filthy, you’re such a mess” he says, smearing his leaking shaft up and down your hypersensitive clit. He quickly engulfs himself in your gooey warmth again and sighs. “You’re beautiful like this.” He’s pounding hard, foreheads touching and breath mixing. You’re both sweating, mascara running down your cheeks and needy moans leaving either of you from addictive ecstasy. His tip licks your sweet spot consistently and your eyes loll back. “That’s it, take my cock like a good wife.” One hand reaches for your throat while the other flicks your clit rapidly. The firm grip dots your vision black, and you pulse from sick delight. He stops occasionally to slap you across your face. It stings, you hate him, but the spasming veins caressing your walls make you question that belief. “Oh my god - look at you” he moans, staring at the shiny white ring forming at the base of his thrusts. Your hands find passage in his thick tresses and guide his attention to you. The coil threatened to snap at any minute. “Gonna carry my baby, then you can never leave.”

Your blood runs cold. “Huh? Wait-” You try to budge but he’s stronger than you, sweeping the nub faster with ravenous strokes. Electricity consumes your rational thoughts with a thumping finish, cloudy and fluttering. “Ngh- you’ll look so pretty with a belly” Diluc groans and chases his high. His eyes are glossed over, he throws his head back and finally falls apart, creamy ropes coating your insides with his balls flush against you. He pants as if he’s moved mountains and twitches from slow strokes, trying to get his come as deep in you as possible. His thumb presses upon your lips and you instinctively open your mouth. Spit settles on your tongue and he watches you swallow. You taste his kiss right after. When he pulls out, globs of semen dribble out your slit, but he fingers it back inside.

“Keep it in” he says darkly. He glances at the pendant you’re still wearing—an invaluable heirloom from your parents—and snatches the chain off your neck. In one devastating hurl, he shatters it on the floor. “I’ll make sure you only have me.”

#genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin x reader #diluc ragnvindr #diluc x reader #genshin diluc #diluc x you #diluc smut

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bokutosmochi · 2 years ago

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THE RETURN OF THE KINGS ♡ GOJO SATORU featuring adoptive son!fushiguro megumi

gojo satoru x fem!reader

ingredients? after weeks upon weeks of worrying about your boyfriend and your adoptive son's whereabouts, they finally come home.

what’s it? fluff

allergen warning/s? n/a

sugar level? 1.2k

regulars? @tokyometronetwork

parlor’s note? sorry i'm more than a few days late. i was a little busy then felt sick.

anyways

DADDY'S HOMEEEEEEEE

bon appetit

"c'mon, gimme a hug megs." the white haired sorcerer grinned at his adoptive child of sorts, only for the young boy to grimace, clearly not fond of the idea. "why do i have to do that?"

"i'll teleport us inside the apartment." was gojo's reply. he flashed his son an innocent grin and bat of his eyelashes.

"why don't we just open the door?" he grumbled.

if he was being honest with himself, he'd know exactly why gojo wanted a hug. he was stuck in the prison realm - a place where time does not pass - for nineteen days; but nineteen days that felt like eternity.

gojo simply missed megumi.

of course he missed gojo too. underneath sukuna's influence, he was relieved to see that gojo was okay once he was unsealed.

but gojo didn't need to know that in such detail. he's sure that a teary eyed and wavering voiced "i'm glad you're back." would be louder than if he had a long winded speech on the subject. it'd also be louder than a hug on their apartment's doorstep.

"it's one in the morning. your mom's sleeping. we might wake her if we open the door." she needs some sleep. knowing her, she hasn't been able to get a lot of those since you and i stopped updating her and replying to her texts.

and he'd be correct. you weren't a jujutsu sorcerer. you didn't even know much about sorcery as per gojo. all you knew was that it was a dangerous job and there's a big chance of your boyfriend and your son not coming back to you. that's why you wanted them to update you whenever they could; just so you have that assurance that they're still alive, but it's been a long time since you had that. gojo hasn't been able to text you since he got sealed, and megumi when sukuna took over his body.

you've been worried sick. losing sleep wondering if you lost your two favorite boys in the world at the same time.

"fine." megumi sighed. when he put it that way, it was hard to turn him down.

he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around gojo's midsection and in a flash, the both of them were in the safety of the apartment's living room.

"go change, then get some sleep. you've been through a lot."

that was what gojo did as well, damn near tearing up when he saw your resting figure in front of his eyes. this time, he was not dreaming, he was not imagining better days with you; this time, you were actually there in the flesh.

he laid in bed with as minimal movement as possible as to not disturb you, hugged you close to his chest and drifted off to sleep after pressing a much needed kiss to your forehead and burying his face into your hair.

***

you've had the best sleep of your life since satoru and megumi left for that mission in shibuya, though it may have something to do with your dream.

in this dream, it was like you had satoru in your arms, safe and sound. with how much you've been thinking about him and your son, you have had these dreams frequently, but there's something different about this one.

it's much more vivid. it was like you could smell him under your nose. the scent that's musky and sweet and clean; that scent that reminds you of home. you could feel him, the smoothness of his skin, the temperature of him, the feeling of his tight black shirt. you could hear his soft breathing, calm, deep, and utterly relaxed. and you could see him in crystal clear hd. every faint freckle and mole he had on his face, his exposed neck and collarbones. you remembered him like you've been staring at him unceasingly for the last year, like he never left, and you were to retain every single one of his features.

only he was there. your eyes widened when you realized that fact. it wasn't a dream.

"oh my god," you murmured, running a gentle hand through his messy, battle-tossee hair, making sure to not wake him, then his rosy cheeks, then his plump lips, as if you were making sure that he's actually there and you aren't hallucinating him.

and he is. my god, he is. you tenderly kissed his forehead before carefully slipping out of his arms. after all, you were missing two boys.

you opened the door, not bothering to close it since you'd be returning to the room in a few minutes. you just had to make sure than your two men were there.

you slowly turned the knob to megumi's room, your heart swelling in your chesy when you saw the black haired sorcerer laying on his bed, face without the tension that you've always been worried were glued to his features.

you padded over to him, doing the same thing as you did to satoru. brushing the hair from his face and kissing his forehead.

"get some sleep, megs."

when he recovers as best as he can from whatever horrors he has faced in the last month, you'll be sure to treat him and take him somewhere he wants to be -- like a museum or aquarium, if he wanted. and satoru too, of course.

satoru who had a pout on his lips right behind you.

you almost jumped a foot in the air in surprise, but you were able to recover quickly and throw yourself into his waiting arms.

his touch not leaving you, he dragged you out of your son's bedroom and into yours.

"why'd you leave me?" he crossed his arms on his chest and furrowed his eyebrows making you laugh.

you missed his clinginess, his shenanigans so much.

you cradled his face in your hands and pressed a kiss to his lips. when you pulled away, you didn't leave an inch of space between you. a mere centimeter would be more accurate. "i'm sorry. wanted to check in on megumi too."

despite satoru's unaccepting hmph! he still leaned in to kiss you, pulling away a microscopic amount. "you could've just checked in on him later."

you pecked his lips again, keeping the same amount of distance as you did earlier; not a lot. "i wanted to check on him while you were still sleeping."

following the pattern established, he kissed you fleetingly again before speaking. "do i look like i'm asleep to you?"

surrendering, you laughed. it was music to satoru's ears, especially now he's gone so long without hearing it. "i guess you're right, i'm sorry."

satoru pulled you in tight so you were chest to chest, not even the thinnest piece of paper could get in between the two of you, yet for some reason, you and your boyfriend thought it was not close enough.

"you should be. i'm expecting a million kisses to even begin to make it up to me."

you smiled into his chest.

"however many you want."

satoru sighed contentedly.

"i missed you."

"i missed you too."

i get: reblog

you get: more DADDY'S HOMEEEEEE tiktoks

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queenshelby · 8 months ago

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The Basement (Part 4)

Pairing: Dark Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Smut, Dubcon, Somophelia

You were fast asleep when Cillian entered the basement and sat down on the bed next to you with his erection already straining against his briefs.

He parted your legs carefully, admiring your sleeping form. Then, he slid down his boxers, revealing his fully erect cock. He couldn't help but smile as he watched your peaceful expression, your face scrunched up slightly, giving an adorable appearance.

"Alright, little one," he whispered before reaching for the lube beside him.

"I am going to put my cock into that pretty little pussy of yours while you sleep and tomorrow morning, when you wake up, you will be nice and sore, leaking my cum everywhere."

He watched you sleep, enjoying the peace and serenity that radiated from your features.

"You look so peaceful like this," he murmured before lubricating your entrance.

He carefully inserted a finger, marveling at how easily it glided in. With a smirk, he added another finger, exploring your tender folds. Your unconscious body twitched slightly under his touch, but you remained oblivious to his exploration.

"What do you think?" he muttered to himself as he stared at your prone form. "You are so sexy when you are sleeping, but too bad you won't remember this in the morning."

He decided to wait a bit longer, letting the anticipation build.

After all, there was something particularly enticing about violating someone who didn't even recognize the violation. The thrill of watching you stir beneath him, feeling your warm breath against his neck, and knowing that you were completely unaware of what was happening. It was intoxicating.

Slowly, he slid his fingers out, watching the lube ooze onto your thighs. With a grin, he applied more lube to his cock, preparing it for the act. He positioned himself, aiming his cock towards your opening.

He stopped for a moment, watching your unconscious form. He couldn't believe his luck; he would have the opportunity to use you whenever he wanted as you had signed up for this twisted little game.

He teased your entrance with the head of his cock, enjoying the friction as it slid across your sensitive flesh. He felt a surge of power, knowing that you were completely unaware of the act he was about to commit.

"Hmm," he whispered, his erection stiffening even more.

He pressed the head of his cock against your entrance, the pressure increasing.

He could hear your soft snores, creating a symphony of sensuality as he began to push.

He groaned, the sensation of slipping inside you invigorating him.

Your tightness made him pause, savoring the feeling of being surrounded by your warmth, your inner walls squeezing him tightly.

"Fuck," he cursed, his eyes widening at the sight of your naked form below him. "You are still so fucking tight!"

He pulled out slowly, leaving you panting and gasping for air, only to thrust back in with a forceful groan.

"Oh, God, you feel so good," he muttered, the sweat dripping from his brow.

He kept thrusting in and out, his movements steady and deliberate, each stroke drawing out a slight cry in your dreams. You were stirring but slept nonetheless, unaware of the uninvited guest nestled within you.

Cillian enjoyed every second of his secret escapade, savoring the power he held over you. He had planned this moment since first laying eyes on you, orchestrating every detail to ensure your compliance. His plan had worked seamlessly, and now he was inside you, claiming you.

"Now I am going to fill your hole up with my cum, little one," he murmured, the anticipation of the moment causing his cock to throb. "And then I will be back in an hour and do this all over again!"

He increased the force of his thrusts, relishing the sensation of your tightness squeezing his cock. He was determined to mark you as his own, imprinting his essence on your body.

"Here it comes," he murmured, his voice trembling with anticipation.

With a final thrust, he released his load deep within you, filling you with his essence.

"Fuck, you belong to me now my little girl," he whispered, his voice hoarse with passion. "Your delicious cunt is mine, and I'm going to use it every chance I get."

Cillian withdrew from you, leaving you feeling empty and vulnerable. You were still asleep, unconscious as his cum leaked out of you, staining the sheets beneath you. Cillian couldn't help but stare at you, his cock still stiff with excitement. He couldn't believe what he had done, but the thrill of it all was addictive.

Cillian leaned down, brushing your hair out of your face and placing a gentle kiss on your lips. You stirred slightly, but your sleeping form remained otherwise unmoving.

Cillian used you a total of five more times that night while you were asleep and by the time you woke up in the morning, your core was aching.

You struggled to move, each shift causing a new wave of pain to radiate from between your legs.

Your pussy was swollen and raw from Cillian's rough handling.

His semen leaked out of you, dribbling down your thighs, providing an indisputable proof of the filthy acts that you had been subjected to the entire night.

As you tried to process the series of events that had unfolded, a wave of shame washed over you.

You couldn't believe that you had allowed Cillian to use you like that, to treat you as nothing more than an object for his selfish pleasure.

But despite the mortification, you couldn't deny the strange sense of satisfaction that accompanied your submission.

When Cillian arrived in the basement however, you were unsure whether you could take anymore. Your body felt like it had been through a meat grinder, every inch screaming for respite.

Cillian noticed your wary state but wasted no time to make you spread your legs for him.

"I am too sore," you whined as he slid two fingers inside you, hurting you in the process.

"Ssh, remember the contract you've signed?" Cillian reminded you, his piercing blue eyes staring into your soul as he manipulated your sore pussy with skilled fingers. "Don't forget what you agreed to, little one. You don't get to say no to me!"

Tears welled up in your eyes as his fingers probed deeper, causing you to wince in pain. You remembered the document you had signed in a fit of pleasure-drunken haze - the one that gave Cillian absolute control over your body for the next two weeks and although you had a safe-word, you were not yet prepared to use it.

"Please...it hurts," you whimpered, in a futile attempt to escape as he unbuckled his pants.

Cillian's eyes glimmered with satisfaction at the sight of your distress, and he grabbed your hips, pulling you closer. "You'll have to get used to it," he said, a cruel smirk playing on his lips as he watched you struggle against his grip.

"No! Please! I can't take it again. Everything hurts down there," you objected, tears welling up in your eyes. Your pussy was raw and tender from the endless hours of abuse, and the thought of Cillian plunging into you again made you sick to your stomach.

"Hold still!" Cillian barked, his patience wearing thin as he wrestled fresh lubricant from the nightstand drawer as you kicked and protested, which is when he finally called for his assistant Mandy to hold you down for him.

When she arrived, she took your arms, pinning them above your head as you struggled against their grip, while Cillian spread your legs, his engorged cock demanding your submission.

"Your sore little pussy is going to take me in, over and over again, until I'm satisfied," Cillian snarled, brutally thrusting into you without warning. You cried out, searing pain ripping through your delicate flesh.

With every savage thrust, you wondered how much more your body, your mind could bear; where was the limit of your submission, your body begging you to use your safe word, but something held you back.

"Fuck! You feel so good, so Goddamn tight!" Cillian growled through gritted teeth, his hips snapping aggressively against yours, driving his rigid length into your tormented pussy. Each vicious dig of his shaft into you only amplified the violent spasms of pain knifing throughout your lower half.

"I-I can't," you forced out, your voice trembling with unspeakable agony. "It hurts...please, let me rest."

Your objections fell on deaf ears, as Cillian remained relentless in his conquest.

"Such a good girl, aren't you?" Mandy cooed, maintaining her firm grip on your wrists. "Letting Cillian do whatever he wants to you," she cooed and you couldn't help but feel degraded, violated even. But despite the pain, you found yourself becoming strangely aroused by their raw dominance, your own submissive nature coming to the surface.

"You really did fuck her raw didn't you Cills?" Mandy said, a note of admiration in her voice as she watched Cillian thrust into you mercilessly.

You sobbed pathetically, torn between unbearable pain and surging pleasure.

Cillian sneered, his hips slamming against yours without mercy. You arched back, your soft moans blending with the cacophony of flesh against flesh. His punishing rhythm brought you closer to the brink of orgasm, and you hated yourself for enjoying his rough treatment.

Mandy purred, leaning in to kiss your perspiration-drenched temple, her voice sultry and mocking.

"Naughty girl, you're loving every second of this, aren't you?" she asked and you bit your lip, holding back your cries of ecstasy, crushed between Cillian's fierce possession and Mandy's taunting whispers.

"Of course she does," Cillian groaned, his thrusts growing more insistent, more intense. "She loves every single thing I do to her."

He lowered himself onto you, his mouth finding your breasts. You whimpered as he bit down, drawing a small amount of blood, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop him. His relentless pounding had pushed your body to the breaking point, had forced every coherent thought out of your head.

Cillian lifted his head from your breasts, his lips curling up in a devious smile.

"You're close, aren't you?" he taunted, his piercing blue eyes glinting with satisfaction.

You hesitated, your breath hitching as another wave of pleasure consumed you. "Yes," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper. You felt ashamed at the admission, embarrassed that you were so willing to submit to his desires.

But despite your reservations, you couldn't deny the mounting pressure building inside you, the sweet release you craved.

"That's too bad because I won't let you cum," he groaned, his hips pistoning relentlessly against yours. Your protests were muffled as he captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep into your mouth.

In spite of his cruel words, you couldn't help but moan, your body arching off the bed as Cillian continued to plow into you mercilessly. You could feel your orgasm building, every nerve ending tingling with anticipation.

But just as you were about to crest the edge, Cillian pulled out, leaving you whimpering with frustration before he released his load all over your body like you were nothing.

He then got up, wiped himself clean, and left the room without a word, leaving utterly humiliated and spent.

To be continued...

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#cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy #cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy fanfic

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beyondthesefourwalls · 2 years ago

Text

Remember You Even When I Don't (5)

Summary: A training accident, the doctor had told him. A nasty one that led him here, laying in a hospital bed with a splitting headache and an inability to remember the woman sitting beside him. What he did know, though, was that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and you felt important to him. That, as it turns out, would become an understatement.

Words: 5.4K

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw/Reader (no use of y/n, so can be read as unnamed oc)

Warnings: angst, hospitals, memory loss, language, eventual smut

Notes: The response for this continues to blow me away. Thank you all so much! Hearing your thoughts about these two makes me so happy and is so encouraging to write a little bit faster. Please continue to comment and reblog, and my inbox is always open! I love to talk about these two :)

This was inspired by a one shot by the lovely @roosterforme and would not exist without her assistance. If you haven't read any of her stuff, please check out her masterlist - you won't be disappointed! All of the thanks to her and @mak-32 for being the best cheerleaders and friends I could ask for!

Buckle in, folks!

-----

He spends that first night tossing and turning, fighting to find sleep. It’s hard for him to be down the hall, knowing you were so close, yet so far out of his reach. In only a few days, he had gotten used to falling asleep and waking up with you in the chair beside his bed. The next morning, you somehow look more tired now than you had the whole time he was in the hospital, and he was sure that he was the same.

Being here was different than he anticipated. Part of him expected to walk into this house and have every memory he’d lost rush back to him in technicolor. He was disappointed when that didn’t happen, and he thinks that even if you won’t say it, you are, too.

He didn’t remember anything, but his instincts were there. He knew which drawer held the utensils and which cabinet housed plates and bowls and which one had coffee cups. He knew where the two of you kept Florry’s food and that her treats were kept in one of the drawers in the coffee table. It was muscle memory, he supposed.

But his brain tickled sometimes, like it wanted to remember something but couldn’t. He often felt that frustrating sensation of something being right there on the tip of his tongue, but he’s unable to produce exactly what it is.

He dreams every night. His subconscious creates scenes of flying and crashing ocean waves, of snow covered streets and twinkle lights. He swears your laughter echoes in his ears when he rouses to consciousness.

He doesn’t know if they’re memories, or if they’re figments brought on by the yearning he feels toward you the longer he’s around you. Either way, they’re never quite clear enough for him to even ask you about them. But he sneaks into your office one night and swipes a pen and a pad of sticky notes and takes to writing down all the details he can recall when he wakes up.

Over the first few days of being home, the two of you get into a tentative routine. You somehow wake before he does, and there’s coffee waiting for him when he makes his way downstairs. You’re not much of a breakfast person, but you make him eggs and bacon and toast or whatever he’s in the mood for, even if he insists you don’t have to. You take him to his follow up appointments or evaluations, which takes up his time until the early afternoon. The two of you have taken to grabbing lunch while you’re out everyday, before going back to the home you share and making yourselves busy until dinner.

He finds himself wanting to touch you more. There were no more forehead kisses, but his knee will knock against yours sometimes when the two of you are eating. He always holds the door open for you whenever you two are out, and sometimes you’ll brush against him just so when you’re passing by. When the two of you are walking somewhere, his fingers twitch to hold onto yours. He’s taken to placing his hand near your lower back, not quite touching you, but close enough where he can feel your body heat.

You like to curl up in the corner of your sectional couch, and he feels like you’re a million miles away when he sits on the other end.

Getting to know you again is a whirlwind of feelings he doesn’t understand. You’re kind, and beautiful, and you make him laugh. He has near constant butterflies in his stomach whenever you’re around.

He knows himself well enough to know that he’s developed feelings for you, and the concept makes his head hurt, knowing this isn’t the first time but not remembering it. He doesn’t mention it to you, because he doesn’t know if it would make things better or worse.

He wants to ask you questions about the two of you, too. You told him how you met, but he wants to know what your first date was like. He wants to know who said I love you first, though he thinks it was him. He wants to know how he proposed after only 4 months of knowing you and he wants to know why you said yes.

He wants to know everything, but he can’t bring himself to ask. Part of him is scared of the answers.

He’s seen the way you look at him, sometimes. Like it breaks your heart for him to be there with you, even though he knows how relieved you are for him to be. You don’t say anything to him, but he knows that you’re struggling. You do your best to always keep a smile on your face around him, but it’s your eyes that give you away, combined with this deep instinct he seems to have when it comes to you and your emotions.

After dinner every night, you’ve been finding yourselves sitting out on the back porch. The weather has been getting cooler and watching the sun go down with you has become his favorite part of being home. You avoid anything too heavy, too intimate, but you regale him with different tales from the last few years with your friends and your individual careers, or of you before you knew him, but the light in your eye is dim whenever you finish a tale and there’s no recognition in his.

He’s worried about you, but he doesn’t know if he has the right to tell you that. There’s something of a tension building in the air, and he can’t figure out how to cut through it just yet.

But he enjoys getting to know you again, and he hangs onto your every word. He loves every single moment the two of you have together and craves more of them. Even the most mundane of things, like when he went with you to the grocery store of all places. Phoenix had loaded their kitchen with essentials, but there was a specific recipe you were wanting to make that you swore he would love but that you needed a few things for. You looked surprised when he had asked if he could go with you, but pleased at the same time.

He pushed the cart as you checked things off your list and god, he loved watching you. You were looking up and down the aisle you were standing in, seemingly a little puzzled, and he was completely enraptured.

“I can never remember where the dates are,” you muttered, and he thinks it might have been only to yourself, but he couldn’t help but smirk a little bit.

“On a calendar?”

You shot him a look, looking incredulous but amused, and smacked him lightly on the arm with the list you were carrying. The touch sent a shot of electricity through him and he laughed, feeling warm. “Ow.”

“Okay, you comedian,” you rolled your eyes playfully, “I was going to make you dessert, but maybe I won’t now,”

“No, come on,” he laughed, pushing the cart forward, nodding his head to the side, “They’re in the next aisle over,”

You stop walking, and after a second, Bradley does too, realizing what he just said. He turns to you and you’re looking at him with wide, hopeful eyes. He thinks he might see a little bit of pride in them, too. And it’s so silly, getting choked up by instinctively remembering where something is in a grocery store he can never remember being in, but he feels a lump in his throat anyway. He coughs, trying to dislodge the emotion. You don’t say a word, maybe sensing the moment that he’s having, but you squeeze his arm when you pass by him on your way to the aisle he indicated. After a moment, he follows behind you.

He thinks he would follow you anywhere.

————

It’s a Friday and he's been home for eight days now. He has a headache when he wakes up that morning, and he can’t remember anything notable from the previous night's dream to write down in his notebook. Part of him wants to go back to sleep and try again, but he pushes himself out of bed anyway.

Like she had been the last few days, Florry is laying at the guest room door when he opens it. She looks up and meows at him, nuzzling into his hand when he squats down to scratch her head for a moment before she gets up and struts away. He snorts at her, amused at how as soon as she gets what she wants, she moves on to something else.

He makes his way downstairs slowly, feeling like a drum is pounded right in his ear with every step. There’s a distinct spice in the air as he walks toward the kitchen, and it takes a few sniffs before he places it.

“Pumpkin?”

To his surprise, you gasp, and the knife you were holding slips from your grasp and clatters to the granite countertop. You jumped back from it, but your wide eyes were looking straight at him.

“What did you just call me?”

“What?”

“You said - you called me Pumpkin.”

This was one of those significant moments that he was missing. Bradley suddenly felt incredibly awkward, and a little ashamed. A flush crept up his neck to warm his cheeks in the worst way.

“I uh - I was talking about the smell.”

Watching your face fall cuts him worse than the knife you had been holding ever could. For a brief moment, he saw raw devastation completely overcome you. He starts to say your name, but you cut him off before he can.

“I’m making pumpkin banana pancakes,” you tell him after a moment. You pick the knife back up to continue cutting up the fruit you had on the cutting board. He wants to ask you what had just happened, but bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself. He’s frustrated that he can’t remember, and the hurt in your eyes was making his head pound harder. He hates that he’s putting you through this.

The two of you eat breakfast together, but it’s quieter than it normally is. The air was awkward, tense, and it seemed that neither one of you really knew what to say.

The day had only gotten worse from there. He was late for his doctor's appointment because the two of you had gotten stuck in traffic, and there was little he hated more in life than being late. His headache had only gotten worse, and he hadn’t been cleared to drive or go back to any sort of desk duty yet. To top it all off, the two of you had run into someone you knew during a near silent lunch and he had to awkwardly push himself through the conversation while pretending he did, too ashamed to actually say he had no idea who he was.

By the time you returned back home, he was in a sour mood, and he really wanted to go back to bed.

“Do you need anything?” you asked softly, hovering between the kitchen and living room as he settled himself on the couch unceremoniously.

“No,” he said shortly, pulling a blanket over him.

You sigh, and he’s irritated with himself for making you feel bad, too.

“I’m going to go up to my office for a bit then, okay?” he doesn’t respond. When you sigh, he’s irritated with himself even more for making you feel bad, too. “You can come up and get me if you need anything.”

Bradley tries to nap the afternoon away, but it’s more fitful than restful. He tosses and turns on the couch. Florry jumps on him at one point, waking him from one of his dozes.

He closes his eyes, trying again to find some sort of sleep, but nothing comes for him. His mind was moving a little too quickly now, and the guilt was setting in. He had been short with you almost all day, and even if he was frustrated, you didn’t deserve that. You were frustrated too, even if you wouldn’t say it.

Sometimes he wishes you would.

Why the hell did this happen to him after everything else in his life?

His dad, and then his mom, and Mav pulling his papers. He still hasn’t brought himself to reach out to the man he had apparently reconciled with, but you’ve mentioned how he’s asked after him whenever the two of you speak, as had the rest of the crew. It’s frustrating, suddenly having all these people in his life who he views as family, only to have no recollection of who they are. Seeing himself in all of these pictures that are throughout the house constantly boggles his mind. He hates being so confused all the time.

He hates that he can’t remember you, and that you spend all of your days trying to be strong for him.

He groans, running a hand roughly over his face. After another 45 minutes of staring at the ceiling fan spin, he throws the blanket off of his legs and forces himself up. He couldn’t do much, but he could at least apologize.

He drags himself up the stairs slowly, trying to figure out exactly what to say. The door to your office is pulled closed for the first time since he’s come home; he tries not to read into that as you wanting him to stay away. He goes to take a step closer and knock, but your voice through the door stops him.

“The timing is awful, Jake.”

His eyebrows furrowed together. The only Jake he knew was Hangman, and he hasn’t wrapped his mind completely around the fact that he was apparently one of his best friends now.

“Bringing a baby into this would make everything so much more complicated. He’s struggling enough as it is. You think suddenly becoming a father would make this all better? The test being negative is for the best.”

He sucks in a breath, feeling like he just got suckerpunched right in the stomach. He braces himself against the hallway wall with one hand, unsure if he heard you correctly.

“I’m okay,” you say, and he wishes he could hear both sides of the conversation. He feels like he’s going to pass out. “I promise.”

There’s another pause, and you let out a small laugh, “I might take you up on that, J.”

Bradley backs away from the door, his mind going a thousand miles a minute as he tries to process what just happened.

A baby? You were talking about having a baby. You had mentioned a test. Had you taken it recently? Since he had been home? Why hadn’t you told him, if you had? Was this something that had happened before his accident and just another thing that he forgot?

He’s your husband. He may not remember it, but he was. Didn’t he have a right to know?

He stews for a while, and that’s his biggest mistake. He’s scared, and bizarrely disappointed, he’s hurt, but most of all he’s angry. He’s angry that you’re talking to other people about something so personal, but not him. And Hangman, of all people. It festers inside of him, and by the time you come back downstairs, he’s sizzling in it.

“How does chicken and asparagus sound for dinner?” You’re smiling as you walk into the room, but it drops when you see the look in his face. “Are you alright?”

“You thought you were pregnant?”

The color drains from your face, and he knows he has his answer. He stands up from the couch to face you, his thoughts jumbled together, fighting for dominance in his head. You had thought you were pregnant. And you didn’t tell him.

“How did you know that?”

“I overheard you on the phone with Hangman,” he practically spits the name, feeling his anger swell even more. “When did you take it?”

“Bradley-”

“When did you take the test?”

You let out a long, shaky breath. You’re twisting your ring around your finger again, and your eyes are starting to glass up, but he forces himself not to focus on any of that. “Yesterday,” you admit softly, “I took it yesterday.”

He groans, running a hand through his hair. You both had been in this house almost all day yesterday. He had been right here. “Why wouldn’t you tell me? I could have been there with you!”

“Bradley-”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me that we’d been trying to have kids before I got hurt?”

“Bradley, I really don’t think we should talk about this right now,” you said, trying to remain as calm as possible, but he was already way past that point.

“Well I want to talk about it,” he snaps, “Why would you keep this from me?”

“I’m not keeping anything from you!” you say, your voice rising to meet his. “We aren’t trying for a baby, Bradley. It was a scare. That’s all.”

“But you still took a test! And you didn’t tell me!”

“There was nothing to tell,” you try, but Bradley shakes his head as his anger reaches a boiling point.

“Not to me, apparently. You told fucking Hangman about it, but not me? Aren’t I the one who is supposed to be your husband?”

“Yeah, Bradley. You are,” you finally snap, your voice raising for the first time, “But how the hell was I supposed to tell you when you don’t even remember who I am?”

It was a low blow, but Bradley has never been one to back down.

“I’m trying!” he yells, and you startle back at just how loud he is, “I’m trying every single day. You think I don’t want to remember you? Someone I apparently almost had a kid with? Someone who I want to care for and protect even though I have no idea why? I know this sucks for you, but think about what I’m going through here.”

“You think I’m not thinking about you?” you demand, shaking your head, “You’re all I’ve been thinking about, Bradley!”

“Am I?,” he asks, and your mouth drops at the words, but he keeps going anyway even though every instinct in him is screaming at him to shut up. “I trust you without being able to remember you, but it’s hard to do that if you keep things from me. I have no idea what the fuck is going on the majority of the time and you’re the only one I have who will tell me things. Or don’t you want me to remember?”

The words came out harsher than he anticipated. The look on your face made him wish that he could take them back. His anger dissipated as he saw the tears that had been welling up in your eyes finally fall.

Your name left his lips, but you cut him off before an apology could follow behind.

“Of course I do,” you choked out, a sob catching in your throat. It looks like there’s more you want to say, but after a moment, you just shake your head, your breathing labored. “I think I’m going to go for a walk.”

Those weren’t the words he expected. Alarm bells are ringing loudly in his head, demanding he fix what he’s done here.

“What?”

“I need some air,” you explain, your voice cracking. His heart ached watching you gather your phone and keys.

He speaks your name again, pleading and reaching out for you as you step toward the front door. To his surprise, you ripped your arm out of his grasp. “You don’t call me that,” you snapped. Bradley’s eyes widened. He watches as you take a deep breath, steadying yourself.

“I’ll be back in a little bit,” you promise. You don’t look at him as you grab a pair of shoes from the closet by the front door, slipping them on. You don’t slam the door when you leave, but the sound of it closing still echoes like gunfire to him.

He sinks back onto the couch, his aching head in his hands, wondering what the hell he had just done.

————

An hour has passed and you still weren’t back yet. Bradley has taken to pacing back and forth through the living room, peeking out of the curtains by the front door. He shouldn’t have let you leave when you were that upset. He shouldn’t have made you that upset to begin with. He was out of line.

When he really thinks about it with a clearer mind, he understands to an extent why you didn’t tell him about taking the test. He was virtually a stranger to you right now. There would have been little point to filling him in right now when it would have just panicked and confused him. He knows, deep down, that if the test would have been positive that you would have told him. But he had been so scared at that moment, overhearing you on the phone like that. And if he really admitted it to himself, he was jealous, too. He wanted to be the one you confided in for all of those things, big or small, certainty or uncertainty. But he had done nothing to really earn that.

It wasn’t fair that he accused you of not thinking about him, either. It was so clear in everything that the two of you did that you were taking him into consideration. You had stayed with him every single day in the hospital. You had taken an impromptu leave of absence from work and drove him to all of his appointments. You cooked all of his meals for him and made sure he took his medicine on time and were readily available if he needed anything. You did everything you could to make him as comfortable as he could possibly be in this impossibly uncomfortable situation. You had sacrificed everything for him, and he was a jerk to you in response.

He really, really wants you to come home soon.

He had gotten his phone back, but he hadn’t brought himself around to touching it yet, knowing it would be full of a whole life that he wasn’t ready to face yet. Would you even answer if he called at this point?

Maybe he could go look for you instead.

Right when he’s about to grab his shoes, he sees movement out of the corner of his eye. He heaves a sigh of relief when he sees you climbing the steps to the back porch through the window in the kitchen.

You must have come through the back gate instead. He doesn’t even care if it was because you wanted to avoid running into him immediately, so long as you were safe.

You don’t unlock the door or move to enter the house. Instead, he watches as you settle into one of the plush chairs you have out there below the window that faces into the yard. Your back is to him now, but he’s breathing easier that you’re in his line of sight; you’re okay.

He lets you be, for a little while. But after another 20 minutes had passed and the sun started setting without you coming inside, he couldn’t take it anymore. He was vibrating with the need to be near you again, to talk to you and apologize. He didn’t like being on the outs with you like this, and he knew it was mostly his fault.

Your knees are tucked into your chest and your head leant back, but he could see that your eyes were open. They turned to him when he cracked open the door.

“Hey,” he said simply.

“Hey.” Your voice is still thick with the tears you had cried earlier. He swallowed down the lump in his throat, knowing he was the one who caused it.

“Do you mind if I join you out here?”

“Sure.”

He steps out onto the porch, sliding the door shut behind him. You look back out into the orange covering your background as he sinks into the chair next to you.

“How uh..how was your walk?”

“It was fine,” you respond, hugging your knees a little bit closer. You go to push a piece of hair behind your ear and your ring glints in the setting sun.

“I was worried about you,” he whispers, barely loud enough for you to hear him. But you do, turning your head to look at him. For the first time, he can’t quite read the look on your face. He takes a shaky breath, rubbing his palms on his thighs as he tries to figure out his words. “I’m sorry,” he finally says.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I shouldn’t have kept something that big from you.”

He shakes his head, because blaming yourself is the last thing he wants for you. “You were looking out for me,” he says, “I understand that now. You…you would have told me, if the results were different. I know that.”

You nod, not saying anything, and Bradley sighs out your name again. “It wasn’t fair for me to snap at you like that. To yell at you like that. I-I’m so sorry.”

“You’re going through a lot right now.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, “but so are you. All of this, me being hurt and not….” he cuts himself off, but by the way you close your eyes and let a tear slip down your cheek, you knew exactly what he was going to say.

Not remembering us.

“I’ll never be mad at you for being injured, baby,” you say quietly. The term of endearment takes him by surprise. You were always careful with calling him by his name in an unnecessary effort to make him more comfortable; part of him wondered if you were trying to curb his own guilt.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says back. He desperately wants you to know that. You take a shuddering breath at the words.

“This isn’t your fault,” you say it like it’s an oath, so much so that he almost believes you. But it was hard to do that when there were tears sliding down your cheeks.

“Having you here is harder than I thought it would be,” you admitted so quietly that Bradley could barely hear you. “It’s like a part of me is missing, even though you’re right here in front of me. And I know it’s hard for you to not remember anything, and I’m being selfish-“

“You aren’t being selfish.”

You chuckle humorlessly, wiping away at your tears.

“I’m serious,” he says, and his fingers itch to reach for you. “I think you may be the most selfless person I’ve ever met. You’ve done nothing but take care of me the last two weeks, even when I was in the hospital.”

“I’ll always take care of you,” you promise, “You’re the most important person in the world to me, Bradley.”

He doesn’t quite know how to respond to that at first, overcome with the emotions that it caused. He thinks that he would do anything for you, too.

“I want to remember you,” he finds himself saying, and your eyes shoot to him again, startled at the words. He nods. “I’m not-I’m not good at saying how I feel. But I’ve never, ever felt like I do when I’m with you. You give me butterflies. And I have this instinctual urge to protect you and make you happy. Being around you has been the best part of everyday, even if I’m so confused the whole time.”

You sniffle as more tears fall.

“You say all those things about me,” he continues, “and how you’ll always take care of me. And I know I would do the same for you. Even now.”

He lets out a shaky breath, ”It’s like I know who you are right here,” he taps his hand against his chest over his heart, and you let out a small sob. He raises his hand to tap his fingers against his forehead, too. “But I think I need your help to remember you here, okay?”

“I can do that,” you hiccup, nodding rapidly. “We can do it together.”

“That sounds nice.” It really, really does. He returns your soft, watery smile, and he revels in how your eyes shine in the moonlight that had appeared, looking at him like he really was something special to you.

“Can I -” you stop, clearing your throat and shaking your head as if you’re trying to talk yourself out of something.

“What?” he encourages.

“Nothing.”

“No,” he insists, “please. Tell me.”

“Can I ask you to do something for me?”

“Yes.” There’s no hesitation in his answer; he wants to do whatever he could for you.

Your breathing is shaky, and your voice is as small as he had heard it since he’d opened his eyes and had no idea who you were to him. Your eyes are bright with tears and dull with heartache all at the same time, but you’re still so heartbreakingly beautiful to him.

“You tell me everyday. Multiple times most days, and even when you’re deployed, I don’t think you’ve gone this long without saying it somehow. I’ve been wanting to hear it so bad since I got the call you were hurt, because I knew it would mean that you’re okay, and I know you aren’t okay, but you’re here and that’s all that really matters and I-”

He whispers your name to stop your rambling, worried about how tightly you were wringing your hands together and how quickly your breaths were coming. “What is it?”

“Can you just…tell me you love me? Please?”

Tears spring to his eyes this time, hating himself for putting you in this situation where you ever, ever had to ask him for something like this. The him from three weeks ago would hate the him sitting here right now. Hell, current him hates himself a little bit. He pushes that hatred aside, though, because this is something he can do. You’re going through misery because of him and this is the first request you had of him.

He doesn’t stop himself this time from reaching out for you. He drops to his knees in front of the chair you were curled up in, cupping your face in his hands. You gasp softly through your tears, reaching up and gripping his wrists in your own hands. He likes to think it was because you wanted to hold him there against you. Even with your tears splashing against his skin, it feels so right, touching you like this.

You were breathing the same air as one another. He wipes a tear away when it hit his skin. He waits until your glassy eyes lock with his own to whisper the words: “I love you.”

And he knows, in the deepest depths of his soul, even after so little time passing since being reintroduced to you, that it’s true. He feels a peace settle over him that hadn’t been there before; a missing piece slotting into place, even if the puzzle is nowhere near complete. Saying it feels so, so right, and he can’t help but close the distance between the two of you. It’s a gentle touch, but your lips are so soft against his that he leans into it.

There's electricity burning under his skin.

Something flickers in his mind, like a light struggling to turn on. A burnt orange dress and a Cinderella reference, cobblestone streets and a latte that tastes better on your lips than in the cup. There’s a word right there, and he struggles for a moment to grasp onto it. But when he does, it’s like he’s seeing in color after being in a black and white movie.

“Pumpkin,” he breathes against your lips, “I call you Pumpkin.”

You sob, then, nodding your head. You’re so close that he can feel your nose brushing against his. You kiss him again, the salt of your tears mixing with his. Your hands move from where they had been grasping his wrists to wrap around his body and you let yourself fall into him, slipping from the chair to meet him on the ground.

When you pull away from his kiss, you bury your face in his neck, still crying softly. He holds you against him tightly.

“I’m right here,” he says into your hair like a promise, pressing his lips wherever he can reach, “we’ll remember everything together.”

----

Part Six :: Series Masterlist :: Main Masterlist

Notes: I hope you liked this one! Would love to hear any thoughts you may have :)

Tag List: @roosterforme - @mak-32 - @hoyaharper - @wildxwidow - @gretagerwigsmuse - @bradshawburner - @iamaslytherin0 - @lilyevanswhore - @too-fangirl-to-fuction - @fav-fanficssss - @benhardysdrumstick - @fandomxpreferences - @acatwriteshere - @1234-angelika - @double-j - @cocoskween - @sunflowersteves - @teacupsandtopgun - @littlezee80 - @sometimesanalice - @je-suis-prest-rachel - @khaylin27 - @infamous-reindeer - @hotch-meeeeeuppppp - @sarahjoestewy-blog - @sunnysidesidra - @notroosterbradshaw - @yanna-banana - @inthestars-underthesun @avengersfan25 - @wkndwlff - @zbeez-outlet - @lt-spork - @indynerdgirl - @loveforaugust - @mssleepy876b

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#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x oc #bradley bradshaw #top gun fanfiction #tgm fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster fanfic #rooster x reader #Bradley bradshaw fic #alli writes #Bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster imagine #bradley bradshaw angst #Bradley Bradshaw fanfiction #rooster bradshaw #Bradley Bradshaw x you #rooster x you

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cloudshuffle · 9 months ago

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warnings: alludes to abuse, alludes to nsfw, not detailed. creeeeepy heng.

To forget about his past, Dan Heng drowns himself in his present.

This is how he becomes enamoured with you in the first place; you, unburdened by the weight of history, smiling so easily that it feels almost wrong for someone like him to witness it.

But then he remembers: himself, but not, snarling, a blur of anger, the taste of terror.

Some stones are better left unturned. He leaves, padding quietly down the corridor back the way he came, your peace undisturbed.

In this way, Heng begins to see his new form as a curse. Sure, attracting the attention of Blade, and Jing Yuan, and just about half the hostiles on Luofu was one thing - but now it nags at him like a low tide on his ankles, soaking his socks uncomfortably against his will.

He can't step out of the water. Every time you shift in your seat, or laugh, or breathe too loud - he refuses to admit it to himself, lest March read it on his face, and nothing would be more embarrassing than his clandestine desires being found out by March of all people.

But the shadow of Dan Feng hovers over you too; he hadn't been kind to who you'd been in your previous life, and Dan Heng couldn't shake that.

So he does the next best thing - he turns around and steps in deeper.

It starts off innocuously at first, returning your cheerful morning greetings with a nod, participating in the Express breakfasts whenever he knows you're there - which is always, so he finds himself making regular public appearances, an unusual experience for both him and the crew.

"You must be working some magic," March stage-whispers to you once, leaning in conspiratorially. "We never see him this much!"

He scowls at her, but everyone knows it's true. With March on your left and Dan Heng on your right, you glow like the centre of a universe - at least that's what he thinks.

────────────

He starts accompanying you on your trips on-world.

Usually March would be along for the ride (in fact, it was her idea to begin with), and he fades comfortably into the background, following the two of you around like a shadow. It isn't until you stop for ice cream, and your hand brushes against his when you pass him his cone, does he think, I wish March wasn't here.

It's a jarring thought, but an all-consuming one. The idea fills him like thick black smog, slowly but surely choking the rationality out of him. He'd like to show you around the Luofu, he thinks, though he knows he isn't that familiar with its roads and people. But something tells him he could, if he would just...

"Heng. Heng."

A hand shakes his shoulder, gently but firmly. He jolts awake, his hand reaching for the other person before he remembers where he is.

You lean over him, expression concerned. His hand grips onto your arm with a desperation that you'd never seen before.

"Are you okay?" you ask softly. "You were fussing in your sleep."

An angel. That's what you must be, sent from the heavens to wake him from this nightmare that being Dan Feng had trapped him in. The moonlight catches the ends of your eyelashes, a fragment of your cheekbone, as if a part of you were cast in alabaster.

He can feel heat rising up his neck, but it's so dark that he hopes you can't see. Dreams are where the boundary between himself and him are thin - where he can taste not just your fear but your love too, the sweetness of your flesh, soft and pliable under cruel hands. His hands.

Reluctantly, he lets go of you, fingertips brushing across your warm skin. His mouth feels dry, but now it's not because of the nightmare. This is too much, and too sudden, and he's not ready to face...

"Sorry for coming in so late," you whisper, squatting by his bedside now that he's looking better. "I thought you'd be awake. There was just something I needed to check, but it can wait until tomorrow. You should get some rest-"

"Wait." He pushes himself up with his elbows with an effort. "Do you..."

You tilt your head to the side.

"Do you want to go to Aurum Alley with me? Tomorrow? Or... today, I mean."

You seem to consider for a moment.

"...Alone?" A grin begins to spread across your face.

"...Yes, alone." He recognises that expression as the same one you wear whenever you and March have something up your sleeves. Please don't say it. Please don't-

"Like a date?"

He feels his expression freeze, and he turns his back on you. "Goodnight."

Dan Heng hears you get to your feet. "Goodnight, Heng... I'll see you tomorrow."

The door slides open, and then shut.

His chest burns.

────────────

The sky is gloomy and grey, boiling with impending rain as if trying to ward him off. Dan Heng glares at the sky. It wouldn't rain anytime soon if he could help it.

The streets are emptier than usual, however, and he finds it a blessing. The two of you meander through the streets of the Luofu, taking your time. Heng buys you snacks every so often to keep you occupied, but you seem distracted enough as it is.

"You know, it's funny," you mention off-handedly, leaning against a railing and staring out at the starskiffs zipping by. "I feel such a strange sense of deja vu whenever I come onto the Luofu."

He watches you carefully, looking for any further signs of recognition. Of course you'd feel deja vu - this was where you'd grown up, after all, and had spent all that time with... the past him. Dan Feng.

The very name feels sour on his tongue.

"You feel familiar sometimes too, you know." You laugh quietly to yourself. "But it feels like... I don't know. Like I should be scared of you or something. It's weird."

"...I'm sorry." The words slip out before Dan Heng can school his thoughts.

You raise your eyebrows. "What for?"

He hesitates. "For... for causing you all trouble. As Dan Feng." For hurting you. For bringing you out here and making you feel past memories.

You huff. "It's not your fault! Whoever you were in the past, that's not you now. You're Dan Heng, and you belong on the Express with us. Honestly, all this reincarnation business is just nonsense to me."

You're both quiet for a moment.

Did he deserve that, like you said? To simply put Feng behind him?

He glances at you, still staring out into the distance at nothing in particular, deep in thought. You look so different now, yet still the same in some ways - the curve of your lips, or the jaw that used to be decorated with such pretty bruises...

...Did he even want to?

He shudders, dispelling those thoughts. Not his. Not his thoughts.

You give him a quizzical look. "You okay? You keep staring."

"Yeah. I'm fine." He takes your wrist gently. "Let's keep moving."

────────────

March crows like a little kid, pouncing as soon as the two of you get back on board, but he leave you to deal with her, slipping away the first chance he gets.

He makes sure to keep the door locked as he digs out a tablet, hidden in an unused corner of the data base. It was something that he'd done in a haze, sneaking into your room and setting up a hidden camera high up on the wall where you wouldn't see. He hasn't used it since.

It wasn't his idea, Heng reminds himself. Not his idea in the first place. He'd done it too, and now he understands why.

Underneath the tablet, a sweater lies neatly folded. Heng pulls that out too, pressing it to his nose and inhaling deeply. It smells sweet, and soft - it was one of your favourite pieces, and you thought you'd left it behind somewhere on Belobog.

If only you knew. He switches off the lights, then logs into the tablet.

The screen fizzes, then brings up a feed of you moving around your room, humming softly to yourself. His heart stirs. It's just to ward off the nightmares, he tells himself.

He lays down on his side, curling up with your sweater in your arms, and shuts his eyes.

— word count: 1399. thank you for reading!

#cloud writes #yandere #yandere dan heng #yan!dan heng #danheng #yandere danheng #yan!danheng #dan heng

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the-s1lly-corner · 1 year ago

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Keep requesting from different people with no luck but what if jason voorhees had a S/O who reads to him when he's "sleeping" in the lake and he has dreams about the story and has a dream of him and the reader as beauty and the beast?

Reading B&B to Jason + Dream stuff!

while this isnt a slasher blog and i am grossly underqualified to speak of anything book related to beauty and the beast, i truly do love this idea + i really felt the whole request thing </3 this aint perfect but i hope you enjoy it regardless! may your other/future requests be answered someday! !!!quick note, admins only exposure to beauty and the beast is the original disney film, they have never read any renditions of it so theyre going off the basic bare bones concept not proof read, i am literally belting this out before i gotta bake an order </3

I could be silly, i could make him dream of himself as the beauty as opposed to being the beast, but im not 100% sure how i would go about writing that.... perhaps ill save that for the next time my slasher brainrot strikes me

i think he would love that you read for him, small little act that helps heal that inner child inside him + it reminds him of how his mom used to read to him at night. its almost bittersweet... im torn on whether or not pam would've read him beauty and the beast/similar adjacent tales. I admit, I'm not sure how many renditions of the story there are, and which ones were around when Jason was a kid but lets say, for convivence lets say she didnt

whenever you read to him hes hooked on every word you say, head in your lap and looking up at you with this sort of sparkle in his eye. loves it when you put on goofy voices for different characters. generally a very calm and peaceful moment between the two of you

so imagine offering to read the story to him, and he is just. totally immersed. even before he falls asleep he sees the parallels between the book and you, bonus if you somehow find a way to show him the disney movie of it

as for the dreams, naturally he's in the beasts position. solitary and secluded away from others, and self admittedly from the man himself, a sight for sore eyes (no matter how much some may disagree), and you as the beauty (not that much changes in the dream, he already sees you as something radiant)

the first time he has the dream he doesnt really say anything about it, actually he doesnt remember most of the dream thanks to him nearly forgetting everything that second he wakes up

but the dream keeps happening, even long after you first read the story to him, and each night he seems to be able to piece everything together

you wander into his home, and he keeps you. protects you, actually. the events of your arrival in the dream are blurred, but seem to line up with how you first entered his life.

theres no talking furniture, unfortunately

however i do wanna say theres talking animals in their place

nature boy

actually, jason doesnt seem to be a prince in his dreams, just a simple man

hes not even a physical monster in his dreams.

but unlike the disney adaptation, when the whole... breaking the curse thing happens, there is no transformation. so hey, theres that at least

he eventually talks to you about it, sheepishly signing the details to you as he tries to not seem embarrassed about it. but he cant help but to get giddy when he sees your smile

"aww you dream about me?" is a comment sure to make his signing pause for a second before he covers his hands over his mask

i wish i had more for this but im on a bit of a time crunch atm and as stated in the authors note my only exposure is the disney film and SOBS

you (making sure hes okay with the nickname first, obviously) playfully call him beast, and he starts calling you beauty

the story eventually kind of becomes you guys' thing, like how some couples have their song or their movie or their whatever

#slasher x you #slasher imagine #slasher x reader #jason voorhees x you #jason voorhees x reader #jason voorhees imagine

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tagasulat · 4 months ago

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to speak of love in flowers - jeanlisa divorce au fic

It all started with the roses, and it ended with them too. The witch’s memory was sharp, sharp enough to remember every detail of that fateful morning - a blonde woman in stuffily formal attire, striding over with a confident, practiced gait. Still, regardless of how much the knight tried to hide it, the anxiety was evidently washing her features.

“Lisa…Hello,” said Jean. Her hands were hidden out of sight, behind her back, but Lisa already knew. In Jean’s fidgeting, a small flash of familiar purple bled through, bunched up together. Sheepishly, the Acting Grandmaster said in a soft voice (Lisa had never heard her use that voice with anyone but herself, and it made her heart flutter), “I wanted to pay you a personal visit, for the occasion.”

Lisa sighed. “Don’t be so formal darling, it’s called a birthday party.” Jean gulped in response, then cleared her throat.

“Anyway…I’m glad you could come, Jean. I’ve missed you,” Lisa said gently, as if to a scared, wounded animal. Jean’s face dusted itself pink. Tentatively, Lisa extended her arms forward in the motion of a hug but not quite making contact yet, and asked, “Touch?” Jean nodded, almost a little too eagerly. As Lisa nuzzled affectionately into her side, the witch couldn’t help the thought passing of ‘my knight’. And whenever she’s ready…My girl.

After the embrace, one that Lisa wished could have lasted for as long as the universe remained standing, a playful look came upon her face. “So…That gift of yours. Hidden so inconspicuously. ” Delaying no longer, Jean brought out the bouquet, and whatever parts of Lisa’s heart were frozen solid suddenly melted away. Sumeru roses.

Lisa took it, examining each furl and petal with care. The most vibrant shade of purple she had ever seen on a flower - and one that she treasured like no other. “I saw you were reading a book about herbology so I…Thought it might be a good gift, my apologies if it is inappropriate.”

The emerald of her eyes sparkled with delight. “They’re perfect, Jean Gunnhildr. You know me well and…my love for pretty things.” A veil seemed to cast around her gaze as she reached a hand to brush briefly against the other woman’s. There was a hitch in Jean’s voice that stirred excitement in Lisa.

For a while Jean was silent as they rested in each other’s embrace, before the knight whispered back, with a boldness Lisa was not expecting, “Well…Is this pretty little thing to your taste?” The conversation had dropped from the flowers to a simple scene of two women in each other’s arms, sharing a moment only the two of them were ever to know. Lisa smirked. Jean’s attempts at flirting were the sweetest words she’s ever heard from the stoic knight.

“Perhaps we should continue this conversation over a warm cup of tea,” Lisa purred, stroking Jean by the cheek. Jean, attempting to stay stone-faced, simply nodded. “Yes…yes, tea would be wonderful.”

The flowers started them all. Those gorgeous, beautiful, cursed flowers. Blossoming and tangling around her heart - no matter how she pruned them, they never stopped growing. Never stopped hurting. Beautiful to look back upon, but a bitter reminder of everything that could have been that was not.

It had been years since the divorce. Lisa Minci had been managing on her own, running her own library outside the affiliation of the Knights of Favonius. She couldn’t stand to see the face again of the woman she thought loved her. That had been proven to be untrue. Jean had made many promises of a forever with each other, of their own happily-ever-after, after the stirrings in Teyvat were to calm down. They would have the soft, simple, sweet life of their dreams.

Instead of building that life together however, other things had to get in the way. It was always meeting this, reports over here and there to sign, hilichurl attack down by the farmlands, political disputes, trade and economics, and the like. It took Lisa a while to wake up to it all. To all the nights she woke up to empty bed sheets beside her, of attempts of intimacy rebuffed out of the other party’s exhaustion at the end of the day, talking of nothing but the problems that she bore on her shoulders. Jean was just a young woman with a Herculean task of running a city. And Lisa was a woman with little time left in the world, and was left spending it alone not physically, but emotionally. The distance, the distance…So close yet so far away. How bitter she had become over the last years of their union.

It was date night, Lisa’s birthday once more, the time it happened. Lisa was dressed in an extravagant green dress, glittering as she twirled herself around. A private section of the restaurant, just for the two of them, to surprise her wife with a treat after a long day’s work.

Only, there was nobody to come greet her this time. Hours ticked by as swift as a fleet-footed fox, and Lisa idly played with purple strands of electricity among her fingers. She should have seen this coming. She was a fool. A fool to think that that woman could truly love anything but her career, and her people. In the recent months, Lisa had become just that - just another citizen with problems to be cared for and addressed. Their interactions…The same cycle over and over again, with nothing learned, no growth on either side. They were two sides of the same coin. And that coin was starting to rust over. Just another penny down the gutter - nothing special.

When Jean did arrive, panting and sweaty from running through the streets of Mondstadt, the restaurant was closed. Lisa was standing outside, pelted by rain. One could practically feel the electro energy reverberating around her. Jean’s apologies came first, her pleas for Lisa to be understanding of what was important to her.

Lisa cackled, a witch’s cackle that sent Jean goosebumps. “So it really is true…No matter what happens, no matter what I do, no matter how much I tell you how you’re destroying yourself with the life you’re living…You never listen."

A lightning storm brewed overhead. "I’ve worked so hard to be with you Jean, and the thing about you is that you never change." Lisa had about her the look of a broken woman, speaking softly, but not gently. "Always so steadfast, so steady. I love you for it. I loved you for it.” The last words came out of Lisa crackling in an emotional rasp. Jean simply stared, dumbfounded.

“You feel like a stranger in my bed, mutterings of documents to submit and time to run after." It hurt Lisa to say it. How many times had she told her in confidence, in hushed whispers curled up to the sound of each other's fragile heartbeats, how little time she had left?

"So much so that I don’t remember who the woman I fell in love with is anymore.”

Jean attempted to speak, to speak in her defense, but Lisa silenced her with a hush. “This was the last chance, Gunnhildr. To prove that we could make this work. And it doesn’t. So I’m done.” The words almost dragged her insides straight out of her ribcage, but she ignored the throbbing feeling in her chest. Shaking her head, Lisa walked away, presumably to head home. Jean stood there stupefied, the gravity of what was happening hitting her.

No more Lisa. Her wife, her best friend. Disappearing around the corner, and disappearing from her life. There were no more second chances. For the first time in years, Jean Gunnhildr felt truly alone.

Years felt like centuries when bearing pain. It was just a regular stroll like any other. Going down a path trodden hundreds of times by the same feet, the same routes of vendors and storefronts, she saw it. Lisa saw it.

On the windowsill, the one she would look out of longingly in their shared bedroom, wondering what time her now ex-wife would come home from the Headquarters, there was a pot warmed by the sun.

Those flowers.. Those purple fucking flowers. She had been keeping them. Watering them, replacing them, taking the delicate care required to raise them in such a colder climate than they were used to.

The dam broke. The emotions started to flood, like the tears now streaming from Lisa’s eyes.

All thoughts seemed to slow and come to a stop. There was only one thing, one thing she had to do. Taking the signature rose from her wide-brimmed hat, she tentatively knocked on that all too familiar door.

The blonde woman answered, groggy and looking like she hadn’t had a night’s sleep. Her expression quickly shifted from drowsy to something unnameable, as she examined the other woman in front of her, clasping gently a single Sumeru rose.

“Lisa…?”

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foodtruckery · 13 days ago

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Hi oh my god? Oh my god oh my god. Oh. My god. I cannot describe how I felt when I checked your blog saw my ask and then saw THAT I swear I was in shock I just kept reading it and then closing the tab and then opening it and reading it again that was so fucking good HOW DID YOU WHIP THAT OUT SO PERFECTLY

I swear I could talk about every single detail of that drabble right now but I'm gonna just start with my favorite bits like the description of how fast and desperate this was. They're still in stanford LIVING room he lost his mind so fast and stan didnt even have time to get his pants off all the way AAAAA

Poor ford though god when he comes back to himself it must've been both his dream come true as well as a living nightmare 😭 because hes finally knotted Stanley how hes always thought about doing but he doesnt even remember how he got in that position. Ofc the poor guy is immediately gonna assume it was bill

Ohhh and the way that stan went from casual and frustrated to really fucking scared when he thought Ford was disgusted by /him/!!! THE REFERENCE TO THEIR CHILDHOOD?? YOU FIT THE OTHER LITTLE IDEA IN THERE YOU ARE AIRIENTOW

THE HAND ON HIS CHEEK!!!! IM GONNA LOSE IT!! IM LOSING IT!!! IVE LOST IT!!

And man ofc ford cant keep his head in straight for even 5 minutes right now lol even outside of having a rut he wasnt in the best headspace. The panic and fear and anger at bill poured on top of /stanley on his knot/ bro is GONE and I'm saluting him o7

Which man I love how stan is so observant right now because SOMEONE has to be. Ford is sitting up so oh shit stans lost his leverage in this position. The way he immediately presses him back down and gets ready to go when its clear ford is losing focus again

Also the detail of ford reaching to hold stans thigh RAAAAGHH bro wants to TOUCH him he wants to know how real this is he wants to fuck stan the way he always fantasized about. But stans not letting him stan CANT let him right now not when he has no clue what happening. Not when it's clear somethings seriously fucking wrong with ford

Which is another thing the way stan does not acknowledge the pleasure or arousal for himself in this moment. Pins ford down whenever he squirms too much, keeps ford from touching him and focuses on the problems in front of him, not the dick hes riding behind him. And yea hes got every reason to not really want to get lost in the sex but I do think part of it is a big ol chant of "dont think about how this is the first time with your brother"

You know man is locking all this up for spank bank material for his next heat though lol

Final tidbit the line about stan trying to stay on top. He cant afford to get pinned under a rutting alpha YESSS ford would go fucking crazy on him if he got him pinned down like that and stan needs to stay in control for BOTH their sakes

Poor fucking stan labeled the dumb twin but always destined to be the one with the brain cell lmao

This was absolutely an amazing way to wake up this was so fucking good you are so powerful

- 🐶

me for the last 24 hours every time i open my inbox and see this aaaaahs;dlfkjaf I'M SO GLAD YOU LIKED IT 🐶, CAUSE IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT.

#stan with the fucking brain cell had me cackling #but truly thank you for the inspo!#i don't remember the last time i just sat down and drabbled like that #it was fun!!#and you are ENTIRELY TOO KIND #but aesdef;lkja thank you ahhh #stancest #pretend my ask tag is cute

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deanwanddamons · 2 years ago

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Undercover - Prologue

Summary: Homicide Detective Dean Winchester and Agent Y/F/N Y/L/N go undercover to solve a spate of murders.

Universe: Detective AU

Pairing: None yet.

Word Count: 1.8K

Chapter Warnings: Description of nightmares and sleep paralysis. Dark subject matter.

A/N 1: As always thank you to my beta @winchest09, who helped me with the idea for this story. You are my cheerleader, my bestie and my constant support. I love you. A/N 2: As you may or may not know, I haven’t written anything in an absolute age. I have been struggling with writer's block and life has simply got in the way. But…I started this series a long time ago and a few chapters were just sitting in my docs. So I thought I would post this prologue in the hope that you guys enjoy, want to read more and it may give me the inspiration to continue with it. Please let me know what you think - comment and reblog if possible ❤️ Tag list is open if you wish to be added.

Dean had woken with a start. A sheen of sweat covered his body, his limbs tangled in the sheets. His breath came in short gasps as he tried to calm himself down from the recurring nightmare that plagued him.

It wasn’t the first time he has had this particular dream. In fact, it was the third time this week. He could never quite remember the exact details, had even resorted to keeping a notebook and pen by the side of the bed in an attempt to make sense of it, but so far, the pages were still blank. All he knew when he woke was that he was scared. No, not scared.

Petrified.

His body would refuse to move, sleep paralysis pinning him down. He could move his eyes, but that was all. As they flickered around the room, every shadow seemed like a threat, every creak an intruder. A scream would build in his chest, his lips desperate to open to allow the sound to escape, but they remained sealed shut. The fear would build as the shades loomed over him, their darkness and weight pressing down on him like a boulder, the oppressive atmosphere suffocating.

Then the paralysis would break. Finally, the scream would fly from his lungs as his body jerked up, hands fisting the sheets, his knuckles white from his vice-like grip.

As he relaxed, he sank back down into the mattress, chest heaving as tears spilled down his cheeks. His clutch gradually loosened on the covers, releasing the material.

He sat back up and leaned over. With trembling hands, he switched on the bedside lamp. The welcoming glow spilled into the room, the monstrous shadows rushing away, back into the corners to cower there until they decided to taunt him some more. Picking up the glass of water that he always kept on the chest of drawers, he brought it to his parched lips, the liquid rippling on the surface as his hands continued to shake. Taking a large gulp, he swallowed hard, the water slightly tepid, but a welcome relief to his dry mouth.

Placing the glass back down, he scanned the room. As usual, he was alone. He had no one there to soothe him. No one there to wake him before the nightmare took hold. No one there to offer comfort, to reassure him everything was okay and he was only dreaming, which seemed to be getting worse each time. In the dream, he was running through a dark, unfamiliar forest, his heart pounding as if it would burst from his chest. He could hear the sound of something chasing him, but whenever he turned around, there was nothing there.

The feeling of being pursued was terrifying, and it seemed like he was running for hours. Eventually, he would stumble and fall, and when he tried to get up, he found that he couldn't move. It was like his limbs were made of lead, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to get them to work. That was when he would wake up, drenched in sweat and panting for breath.

Dean knew that he had to find a way to stop these dreams. They were taking a toll on his mental and physical health. He had tried everything from meditation to sleeping pills, but nothing seemed to work. He couldn't shake the feeling that this dream was trying to tell him something, and until he figured out what that was, he wouldn't be able to rest easy.

Knowing the answer before he even looked, his eyes landed on the digital clock, the glowing red numbers telling him it was 3.40am. When he awoke from a nightmare, it was always at the same time, and tonight was no different.

He knew sleep would evade him for the rest of the night. His alarm was set for 5am, so even if he did manage to doze back off, he would only get an hour or so. Accepting that he would not be getting any more rest, he swung his legs out of bed, and padded across the room, deciding to take a shower.

As Dean entered the bathroom, he stripped off his t-shirt and boxer shorts that were damp with sweat. Throwing them into the laundry basket, he switched on the shower and waited for the water to heat up, moving to the toilet to empty his bladder as it did. Turning to the sink, he cleaned his teeth and swilled mouthwash around his mouth. The liquid spilled from his mouth into the sink, circling down into the void. The troubled man glanced up and stared at his reflection in the mirror in horror. He looked exhausted. The shadows under his fatigued forest green eyes were dark and large, his pallor pale, causing the smattering of freckles that adorned his usually handsome face to stand out like a child’s dot to dot colouring book. His light brown hair was sticking up in messy angles, flecks of grey obvious in the harsh luminous light coming from the bulb that was too bright for the small dimensions of the room. He sighed and rubbed his face, the stubble there emitting a scratchy sound as he brought his palm down his neck.

Stepping into the warm flow of the shower, Dean leaned against the cool, tiled wall, letting the water cascade down his body. His muscles were aching, as they always did after suffering from sleep paralysis. He supposed it was from clenching them in his sleep, holding them in one position against his will. He kneaded his shoulder, digging his fingers into the skin, trying to release the tension. It helped slightly, but the pain was still there. Squeezing some shampoo into his hand, he massaged it into his hair, his eyes following the stream of suds as they ran into the drain. His mind went blank and he placed the palms of his hands against the wall, allowing the pent-up tears to fall, no longer able to keep them inside. They mingled with the remnants of the shampoo as they slipped down his cheeks.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could do this. Ever since ‘the incident’ - as he put it to himself - he hadn’t got any more than three or four hours of sleep a night, and it was catching up with him. But Dean couldn’t let it show, couldn’t let anyone else see that he was weak - not in his line of work. He had to deal with it alone, deal with it inwardly, even though it ate him up inside, piece by piece, bit by bit, until there would be nothing left. The only place he could get any kind of reprieve from it was when he was in the shower. That way, not even he could distinguish the water from the tears. He had never been one to show his feelings.

His mother had passed away when he was four. His younger brother, Sam, had only been six months old at the time. A house fire had ripped her away from them. Their father, John Winchester, had struggled to deal with his grief and took a job which required traveling around the country, forcing the broken family to stay in bleak motel rooms all around the US. His father would often work overnight, leaving Dean to practically bring up his sibling alone. Dean had become Sam’s protector, his provider and his best and only friend. The older brother's relationship with John was extremely fractured, their arguments legendary.

When Dean told him he wanted to become a detective, his old man had laughed, telling him that there was no way he would ever be able to, that he would amount to nothing. This made him even more determined, so at nineteen he moved to Lawrence, Kansas and joined the police force. He had become a detective by the time he was twenty-five. Dean was now forty, living in Los Angeles, having had to leave Lawrence after ‘the incident’ and was one of the most senior and respected officers in his precinct. Of course, his career had always come first, and even though he had had a few brief relationships, he had never met ‘the one’. It was common knowledge that if detectives did settle down, many of the marriages ended in divorce, due to the pressures of the job, so Dean decided long ago that he was better off alone. A conclusion he rarely regretted, except on the nights where he woke from night terrors, scared and needing some human contact.

When Dean was in his twenties, his father had passed away. He hadn’t cried in public, shedding only a single tear at the funeral, which the younger Winchester had witnessed. When Sam had placed his hand on his shoulder - his eyes dry - Dean swiped the tear away, and vowed never to show any weakness to anyone again.

His little brother had applied for college, aced his exams and was accepted into Stanford University to study law. Now thirty-six, he was running his own law firm in Lawrence, having joined Dean in the small city. When Dean had moved to L.A., Sam had stayed. He was married to a lovely girl called Jess, a high school teacher. Even though he was distraught at his brother moving to the other side of the country, he couldn’t go with him as there was too much for him to leave behind, but he knew that Dean had to go due to his particular circumstances. They spoke regularly over the phone and via Skype, and Dean was extremely proud of the man Sam had grown up to become.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped out from under the water and turned off the tap. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he walked from the room, his damp feet leaving footprints on the wooden floor of his apartment as he made his way into his bedroom and looked at the clock. It was still only 4.10am, and so he dried himself off, pulled on a pair of sweatpants, and padded into the open plan kitchen.

The exhausted man was desperate for caffeine, so he switched on the machine, preparing his cup while the coffee bubbled. After pouring the beverage into his mug, he sat down, rubbing at his tired eyes that felt like sand had been thrown in them, and unplugged his cell from the wall.

Scanning through his email, the phone suddenly started to ring in his hand.

“Hello,” Dean said as he brought it to his ear. “Detective Elliott? It’s Detective Hanscum.” a woman said, urgency evident in her voice. “There’s been another one.”

Chapter One

Tags (and adding those who may be interested) - @salt-n-burn-em-all / @littlelonewolfgirl / @krazykelly / @deans-spinster-witch / @lastcallatrockysbar / @ssimelttilgniht / @123passwort / @winchester-girl67 / @winchestergirl2 / @americasass81 / @jessjad / @akshi8278 / @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior / @waywardbaby / @deanwinchesterswitch / @440mxs-wife

#supernatural #dean winchester #detective Dean Winchester #jensen ackles #supernatural fic #supernatural au #dean winchester fan fiction #supernatural fanfiction

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righoul · 3 months ago

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Chapter 3 just dropped

[III]

It has been weeks now and the mystery woman is still unconscious. Logan has been visiting her pretty much every day now since he found her. It was becoming a fixation for him. He obsesses over her. Well, almost, but he’s craving for her to finally wake up. He doesn’t understand why he was interested in her suddenly, but since he set a boundary to Jean, he was ready to move on. He asks Hank for any updates on her constantly to point it was starting to annoy him, and whenever Hank and Jean would run more tests, Logan would refuse to leave her side, reluctant to leave the operating table. Hank and Jean cave in, and Logan hangs out in the wall closest to her, but that was as far he was willing to be.

After they have done their testing, they would leave Logan alone in his chair, holding her hand and just wait like a child who was ready for Christmas to get here. He hardly eats right now, refusing to miss out when or if she wakes up, he wanted to be the first person she sees. Her knight in shining armor. Since the day after they came to the mansion, there has been something that was bothering him. He couldn’t quite put his finger in it, but he has been having these very vivid dreams about her, almost like a memory replaying like an old silent film. Is it possible that he may have come across her at some point? But where has he seen her? She looked almost familiar to him, but he just couldn’t remember. Normally, he would go to Charles about this predicament, but he wants to find this out on his own. Or better yet, wait for her to wake up and hopefully, she would have a positive reaction when she sees Logan.

Maybe he was being too hopeful on that part. But it doesn’t hurt to try. Every day when Logan visits her, he would talk to her. At first, he thought to himself that he was being ridiculous, and the outcome wouldn’t change but he was starting to become a habit of his and he almost found it soothing. It keeps him sane, he would say. “I know we have met before, but where have I seen you?” Logan growls in frustration. He puts his elbows down on the railing of the unconscious woman’s bed while he presses his palms against his eyes. He then runs his hands through his soft, dark brown hair, making him look even more wild. He wasn’t paying attention to his surrounding until he heard someone. “I’m sorry to intrude.” Logan whips his head around to face the owner of that voice, but he knows damn well whose voice that could be. Fuck. It’s Scott. He’s probably going to poke fun at him for talking to, well basically a wall. Has he really gone crazy?

“What the hell do you want?” Logan growls. He turns around to face at the woman again, refusing to look in Scott’s direction. Scott puts his hands in his front pockets and gives his shoulders a little shrug. “I’m just seeing how you’re doing.”

Logan finds that strange. Since when he gave a shit how I’m doing? This feels like a trap. “Fine, I guess.” Logan retorts. Scott lets out a soft chuckle and then makes his way to stand next to Logan. “Have you spoke to the Professor yet?” Scott crosses his arms, resting on his chest, carefully choosing his words before he gets shank with three adamantium claws. Logan slowly moves his head towards Scott again, and eyes him suspiciously. “About?” Scott gently nods his head to the subject he was referring to. “About her.”

Logan looks over at her again, scanning every single detail about her. “No,” he states. “I don’t want to bother Chuck, he has enough on his plate already.” Scott thinks over what Logan said. “And you said you knew her?” “Shit, you heard that?” Logan raises one of his brows, almost scuffing at himself. “Well, I think I do but it’s too vague. Not all my memories came back.” Scott mulls it over again and then asks, “You should go see the Professor. Maybe he can help.” Logan slowly shakes his head. “I need to figure this out on my own.” Wait a damn minute, he thought, is Scott showing sympathy towards him? Logan looks over at Scott again, furrowing his brows, his signature facial expression. “Why are you here anyway?”

Scott takes a deep breath. Logan is bracing for himself. Here we go. “Ever since that night you told Jean that you don’t see her that way anymore and you just want to stick to being colleagues, I was honestly surprised.” Wait for it… “I think I’m starting to respect you more and more.” There it is…. hold on. Did he just…? Logan whips his head at Scott in surprise, lucky not snapping his neck. As if he’s ever lucky enough to do that. “What the hell did you just say?” Scott sighs at Logan’s dumbfound look. “Don’t make me say it again.”

Logan’s mouth curls to one side, a cocky smirk on his face. “Jean put you up to this, didn’t she?” Scott sighs again. “No, actually,” he puts his arms down, but then rubs the back of his neck, looking down in shame. “It was my doing.” Well, I’ll be damned. Logan chuckles in disbelief at him and at himself. “What’s so funny?” Scott asks coldly. It takes Logan about half a minute to gather himself and lets out a deep sigh, “I believe Hell just froze over.” They stare at each other for what almost feels like an eternity, almost competing who’s going to blink first. But then, something odd happens. They break character and they’re laughing. Like they’re good pals.

“Yeah, I guess it did.” Scott laughs out. They come to a breaking point to catch their breaths. “This doesn’t mean we’re going to start making friendship bracelets for now on.” “Don’t kill the moment.” Logan scuffs. Scott chuckles to himself. He pats Logan in the back as he was about to head out. “Do you need me to grab you something to eat?” “No, I’m good. Thanks though.” Logan replies.

Scott nods his head at Logan before making his exit. “Hey, listen,” Scott says, placing his hand on the doorway. “I really did mean what I said.” Logan looks back at him and gave a little smile. “There’s no sense of dancing to the same tune. I’m too old for this high school shit.” “Yeah, it’s just too childish.” Scott agrees.

Logan goes back to focusing on the woman, holding her hand still and trying to put the missing pieces together. “Hey, Scott,” he exclaims as he was standing up, walking towards him. “How about we grab a couple of…” Before Logan could finish his sentence, Logan notices Scott wasn’t looking at him anymore, but rather behind him. “Hey, are you ok…?” “Logan,” Scott cuts him off. Logan turns around and his eyes goes big like saucers. He couldn’t believe it. The unconscious woman was no longer laying down. She was awake. Logan almost laughs to himself, but he notices she was having a hard time to breathe, and she was nonstop coughing. Her head hunches over, her long dark hair covering her face, like a dark curtain to hide away from the sun.

Logan races over to her side, to help comfort her and rubbing small circles to her back. “Hey, hey, hey,” Logan soothes at her. “It’s okay, take deep breaths.” “I’m going to get Jean and Hank.” Scott exclaims, but Logan ignores him. He was too occupied to keep her stability. He continues to rub her back on one hand while the other hand was holding her two smaller hands. Jesus, they’re so soft.

“Jean! Hank!” Scott yells through the hallway.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” Logan coos. “Breathe with me.”

“Scott?” Jean calls out in concern.

Logan begins to inhale deep breaths, instructing the girl to do the same. After finishing her coughing sessions, she lifts her head up, taking a big inhale with him. Logan lets out an exhale and shortly after she did the same. He rubs his thumb across her knuckles, and then instructs her to breathe again. They did it again in unison this time. “Good,” Logan praises. “Take your time. You’re doing a great job.”

After a few minutes, the formerly unconscious woman looks down again to gather her thoughts, not trusting her words right now. Damn, he thought, I was hoping to see her eyes. It seems like forever before his thoughts snap back to the present. “Where am I?” she asks softly, still refusing to look up. Logan can hear footsteps, signaling that others are on their way to the medical bay.

“You’re at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.” Logan replies. “You’re safe.”

Before she could say anything else, Hank and Jean rushes over to her, blocking Logan’s way but this time he lets them. Hank is shining a small light across her eyes while Jean was checking her heart rate and blood pressure. It has calm down since Logan was giving her breathing instructions, all thanks to him.

“Pupils are responding and no damage.” Hank announces.

“I don’t believe it,” Jean gasps. “We suspected she would wake in another few weeks or so.”

“I guess we miscalculated.” Hank responds back. “How are you feeling, my dear?”

“Like,” she slowly thinks it over. She presses her hand to her head, slowly closing her eyes. “I was run over by a semi-truck. My head feels like it’s going to explode.”

“Pace yourself.” Charles announces his arrival. Everyone turns their direction towards him as he wheels himself to the table. “You just woken up. No need to overexert yourself.”

“I’m sorry if this sounds rude, but who are you?” She looks around the room to almost everyone. “Who are all of you?”

“My apologizes. I’m Professor Charles Xavier.” Charles holds out his hand towards Hank and Jean. “This is Dr. Hank McCoy and Dr. Jean Grey; they were looking over your care.”

“This is Scott Summers and Ororo Munroe,” Charles continues. “Oh, and this one hanging in the back is…”

Logan steps out and walks slowly to the unknown woman. She seems a little distraught, but nonetheless to look over at Logan. They were not paying attention to what Charles had to say. In fact, Charles didn’t even get to finish his sentence. She was at a loss of words; she didn’t know what to say. Logan, on the other hand, is taking in everything. He slowly walks up to her, and he finally was able to see her eyes. Blue. Her eyes are blue. To be more specific, they are gunmetal blue. He thought it was the most beautiful thing that he ever gets to see. Before he could say anything, she cuts him off.

“Logan...?”

He’s taken back. He didn’t think she knew his name. This is his chance. “You…” But before he could finish his thought, flashes of memories come at him in full speed, barely keeping him upright. Finally, it gets to the part where his almost-forgotten memory comes to play. It was the exact same dream, now memory, that he’s been having for the past four weeks now. Her and Logan are having a standoff, her in her signature red ninja outfit with her twin sai and Logan, almost unrecognizable, an animal barely human at this point, fighting each other.

“You must die, Logan.” She exclaimed, pointing one of her sai at him, threatening.

Logan growls at her, not saying a word.

They come charging at each other, making their first strike.

Before the memory could finish, Logan steps back, breathing heavily now. He finally got his answer, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough. There were still unanswered questions. What were they fighting about? Logan gathers his thoughts and looks back at her. She was still gawking at him, and then the silence finally coming to an end.

“Elektra?”

#logan howlett #wolverine #wolverine fanfiction #hugh jackman #x men #xmen

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niragisimp · 2 years ago

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The Pain Before (Niragi x Reader) Part Ten

Part Nine, Series Masterlist, Part Eleven

The sun illuminated your room, the light spilling out through the window. Niragi woke to see your face, still peacefully resting. He was taken in by the way your hair fell in front of your face as your body slowly rose and fell in with your breath. He couldn't help himself as his hand rose from his side and swept a strand of hair from your face, pushing it back behind your ear carefully. It was almost as if you were home. You always knew you weren't welcome in the house of your family, but for the first time, it felt as if you had a home to come back to. A home to wake up to, a place where you could relax; free of judgment and wild accusations. His eyes fixated on yours as they fluttered open in a daze. "Oh... You're still here," your voice was as soft as a whisper, as gentle as a lovers would be. Niragi watched as the corner of your lips turned into a smile, and even the most powerful force in the world couldn't silence his thoughts. 'So beautiful, the way you wake up next to me...' You could've sworn you were awake, but the serenity you felt in the moment was enough to convince you otherwise. Your eyes wandered his face for what felt like forever, going over the little details you never noticed. He did look just like he did back then when he was like this; his hair fell so naturally around his face. His lips parted so gently and closed like the words he would've said wouldn't have been enough. You were so taken in you almost hadn't noticed his hand resting on your cheek, his thumb gently caressing your face. Niragi was normally a man of his word, although most of his words were more threats than promises. He'd kill who he said he'd kill, torment whoever he liked, and fucked whenever he wanted. The thoughts from the night prior crept toward him slowly, 'I can be that again tomorrow,' his thoughts echoed. 'That,' the self he had worked so hard on. His life in the other world wasn't what he wanted. It was rather lonely, he recalled. But here, he had made a name for himself. People were scared when they heard his name. He told you before, not to expect him to be there when you woke. Yet here he was, his mind focused on you entirely. With you, he felt his heart beat more rapidly than he would care to like. He could feel his expression soften as he lay by your side; waking up next to you was quite the feeling, indeed. He found himself unable to leave you when he woke first, your head still nuzzled into him. Your hand had crept its way into his shirt from the middle, forcing him to undo a few buttons in the early hours of the morning. Part of him screamed at him from the inside. He was being reckless, careless, even. 'This will be the end of me,' he thought. Yet his eyes kept pacing back and forth between yours in the morning light, his body couldn't help itself as it eyed his shirt still covering you under the sheets. He lifted your chin ever so slightly as your lips parted, barely being able to utter his name. All you felt was the warmth of his lips on yours, his hand reaching to cradle your neck into him. You couldn't help but fall into him, a pleasant hum running past your lips at the welcome surprise. Now, you were near certain you were still dreaming. Niragi could feel every muscle in his body aching, his other hand wandering over your shoulder, running down your arm, careful of the fresh bruises from the night prior. 'These bruises should be from me,' he thought. 'I should be the only one who gets to touch her, ever,' his lips began to push with more force, his tongue pressing through to meet with yours. He could hear the soft hums from you, his body aching to respond to them in its own way. His entire body froze the instant he heard the knock on the door, the last voice he wanted to hear echoing through past the door. 'That fucking snake,' he thought as his mind was clouded over in an instant with anger. Niragi can't remember the last time he got up so quickly, practically running to the door, his breath rising from his chest, he threw open the door.

Chishiya stared at him in silence, taking note of his appearance. His shirt was half open, no shoes, hair was untidy. He leaned to look past Niragi, his eyes catching you still in bed, Niragi's shirt barely covering your body. "The hell do you want?" Chishiya's eyes snapped back to Niragi, an unfamiliar feeling swelling in his stomach. "(Y/N)." Niragi could feel his mouth twitch in disgust as the blonde spoke, his eyes staring daggers. "She's busy," he closed the door before Chishiya could protest. Every time he saw that man, he got angrier and angrier. He turned around to see you fully sitting up, clutching his shirt around you. You were holding a hand to your lower lip, tracing over the heat that lingered. He sighed watching, walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling his shoes on. "How're the bruises?" You had barely noticed yourself until he spoke, finally taking a moment to look down at your body. "Oh... Th-they're fine, just a little sore..." You couldn't help but try and subdue the heat in your cheeks, the realization hitting you. 'Did we... Did Niragi kiss me?' You thought, wanting to ask. You watched in silence as he suddenly stood up, his back to you. "Good." Your breath hitched as you took in his demeanor; this was not the Niragi from moments ago. His voice held no concern when he spoke to you, "Try a little harder not to get killed." He didn't hesitate as he spun the door open, nearly slamming it behind him. The temperature in the room dropped almost immediately, shivers going up your arms. You looked around hurriedly ignoring the uneasiness you felt in your gut, looking for any clothes that weren't completely crusted with blood. Your feet stung hitting the cold floor, the cuts in your heels still fresh from the night prior. Your attention turned to the door as you heard a familiar knock followed by the door opening. "Sooooo, Kuina told me to come and get--" Chishiya stopped and stared at you for a moment, his words seemingly caught in his throat. His footsteps broke the silence as he came towards you, pulling his hands from his pockets. "(Y/N)... Are you alright?"

Chishiya waited for your reply as he searched your face, fighting his own concern. "Y-yeah, I'm fine... Why, what's up?" Your voice was soft in the morning, he noted. He lifted his hand up to your face and brushed your cheek, holding out his fingers for you to see. The wet tears glistened on his hand, making you bring your hand to your own face as well to wipe it, unaware you were crying. "O-oh, yeah... Sorry, I guess that would be concerning," Chishiya stared at you as you feigned a laugh, trying to shift the conversation. He thought on his words for a moment, catching you unable to look back at him. "... Did he hurt you?" Your head snapped up, "Huh?" Chishiya gestured and rose his brows to your dominant arm, particularly covered in bruises and small cuts that rose to your shoulder blade. "Oh, those... No, Niragi didn't hurt me. My game last night was..." you swallowed the rising saliva, feeling your stomach turn with unease. "Rough." Chishiya nodded slowly, unsure if he was going to believe you today. "Huh... Well, regardless, I wanted to..." He hovered over his words a bit more than usual today, watching you closely for any particular reaction. "Check on you. I tried to stop by earlier. You were busy." You could feel embarrassment creep up on your cheeks, "About that..." He took a step back and raised his hands in protest, "You don't have to defend yourself to me." You could see the corners of his mouth rise a bit as he spoke, "You can do whatever you want here, remember? I would go with someone a little less... Homicidal, personally." You watched his lips form a partial smirk, "But hey, everyone has a type I guess." You wanted to say he was wrong, that he didn't know what he was talking about. But you knew you couldn't. If Chishiya would ever be under a label, it would simply say "I'm right." "It wasn't... It's not like that," was the best thing you could say in your own defense. He nodded slowly, pursing his lips out, "Of course." He shoved a hand back into his pocket, "You know, if you don't get those taken care of, they'll get infected." You looked at your arm again, turning it over to get a better look. "Ann would yell at me if I went to her for something as little as this." You sighed, dropping your arm to your side. Chishiya quickly took a step towards you and grabbed your arm before you knew what was happening. He examined it carefully, gingerly going over even the smallest of cuts. His hand was a bit cold, but you couldn't help but feel like they had a care in the way they moved across your arm. "Regardless of size, even the smallest cut could be the death of you, depending on the one doing the cutting." You tilted your head in curiosity, looking at his eyes as they wandered over your arm. "Chishiya," he stopped his hand and glanced up at you as you said his name. "Sometimes you can say some weird stuff." You smiled and let out a small laugh, seeing his demeanor change into a rather confident one. "Everyone else is the weird one, I'm the only sane person here." He laughed with you for a brief moment, his eyes catching yours for a moment. "Stop by later. I'll help you deal with the cuts." You nodded and smiled, silently thanking him. If it wasn't for Chishiya and Kuina, you would actually be dead by now, certainly. Chishiya lowered your arm back to your side and took a few steps back, putting his other hand in his pocket. "Ah, before I go," he unzipped his hoodie and took it off, watching as you hid your face. Most of the men here were already shirtless, but it still razzled you to see someone who would normally be covered be bare like he was. He couldn't help but hide his smile as he took slow steps toward you. "You look like you need some new clothes." He raised his hand to touch the collar of what was Niragi's shirt, "These aren't really suitable. Rules are rules, you know. Hoodies, on the other hand," he stopped for a moment and licked his lips slowly, "Are perfectly acceptable. Just so you know." Chishiya grabbed your hand and held it out, placing his hoodie and enclosing your hand around it. "Just for now. Wouldn't want you breaking the rules. I'll have Kuina get you something." You swallowed your pride and looked up to see him looking at you intently. "Um, t-thanks I guess..." The corner of his lips rose just for a moment, "Be seeing you then." He took a few steps backward, eyes still studying you for a moment before he turned and left, gently closing the door behind him.

You couldn't help but sit on the ground where you stood, a leg outstretched. 'Why does everyone keep giving me their clothes?' You looked at the white hoodie in your hands, sighing to yourself as you closed your eyes. This morning, you were lying in bed with Niragi practically making out in your bed. Not even moments after, he got cold after Chishiya showed up at your door. They made each other near furious, one was just a lot better at hiding it. You laid your head back on the cold hard floor and stared at the ceiling. Last night, Niragi was taking care of you; bathing the dried blood off you, watching over you as you slept, holding you when you were cold. Then the moment is gone, and he's back to being cold like when you first arrived. You looked down at the hoodie still in your hands, its owner wandering into your mind. Chishiya didn't threaten you to wear it. He must have his reasons for giving it to you besides the obvious; he always had something else going on in the back of his mind. The only way to tell was by asking so that only left you with one rational course of action. You closed your eyes again, not caring you were still on the floor. You shut your brain down the best you could before taking a deep breath, hoisting yourself up from off the floorboards. You glanced in the bathroom, only seeing the bathing suit that was still coated in hardened blood by this point. You debated in your mind for a moment before finally settling. Tonight, you would go see Chishiya. But for now, Kuina's kindness was reaching out for you from the floor below.

Kuina dragged you to the bar, ignoring your protests over the blaring noise. "C'mon, it'll be fun!" She was careful to not grab you too tightly around your arm, but she dragged you along with her nonetheless. The lights were almost blinding, reflecting off the pool in various directions. "Here, try this one!" She handed you a small glass with red liquid inside, "What is it?" You questioned, Kuina clinking your plastic glasses together without answering. "Something fun!" You gave her a questioning look before taking a deep breath, "God, it's been a while." You hyped yourself and Kuina being there definitely helped as you both knocked back the sweet liquid in an instant. You could feel the gentle warmth go down easily as Kuina piped up, "Cherry bomb!" You tilted your head before she gestured to her cup, "You asked what it was!" You were surprised she would actually answer you. It wasn't long before you and Kuina delved more into the party at the Beach. It had genuinely been so long since you were able to have fun, you admittedly got a bit carried away with her. You were glad Kuina was a fruity drink person, it was another thing you had in common. As the night rolled on you found yourself and Kuina at the edge of the pool, a drink in hand and your body swayed gently with the music. Kuina's voice was still raised and she spoke over the music, "Sooooo, (Y/N), I noticed Chishiya left you with a preseeent!" She giggled over herself as you focused on her, "Nooo, it's not like that! People just keep throwing clothes at me!" You both laughed loudly, drawing some mild attention from those in the pool. It didn't take long for their attention to be drawn elsewhere thankfully. You tried not to hiccup through your next words as you spoke, "Chi.. Chishiya said that-- that shirts weren't allowed," you waved your hand in the air as you explained, "So--so he gave me his hood thing until you got me clothes!" Kuina covered her mouth as she laughed loudly at you, "Hood thing?! Oh, sweet, naive (Y/N), you really are a treasure!" The world seemed to spin around you and you tried harder to focus on your friend. "Ku-Kuina, I think... I think I've had a bit too much to drink." She continued to laugh as she watched your body sway harder, wrapping her arm around you. "Don't worry (Y/N), I'll get you back safely!" You grinned as she stood, tugging you up with her by the waist. "You're-- you're a good friend, Kuina!" The music poured on as the two of you made your way slowly into the lobby of the Beach, Kuina taking the first steps and helping you along. As you began to walk up the stairs, the lobby started to spin a bit more than usual. You could feel Kuina's hand around you tighten as your body began to slip from her, "Woah, careful!" You could hear your laugh echo throughout the halls, your mind blissfully unaware of the eyes peering at your back.

Chishiya sighed heavily at the knock at his door. He stood, walking over lazily and opening the door just a crack to peer through, "Yes?" He held his breath as he caught your body from hitting the floor, "What on Earth..." He could hear you laughing faintly before hoisting you up and leaning you against the wall in his room, his eyes scanning the hallway for people. "(Y/N), are you drunk?" You erupted with laughter as your eyes began to barely focus, "Chiii-shiii-yaaa!" He sighed to himself, "So, that's a yes. Come here." He gently grabbed you by the arm, attempting to lead you to the bathroom before he had to turn around and catch you from falling once again. "How much did you have to drink?" Your mind could barely form a response, "I... Kuina, and I, we had, like--" He cut you off as he lifted you up in his arms, surprising you. Just by looking, he didn't seem the type to be able to pick up a person. "If you were out with Kuina, then probably too much." He pushed open the bathroom door and sat you by the toilet, lifting the seat cover as you rested your head against the tub. "Just in case." You smiled drunkenly, "Awwww, you're so sweet!" You had a short-lived laugh as you felt your stomach start to turn, closing your eyes. "Oh, boy..." You reached out and grabbed the edge of the toilet, just in case. You opened your eyes as the light turned on, squinting as Chishiya held out his fist. "Take these. They'll help later." You did your best to steady yourself as you cupped your hands, Chishiya dropping three white capsule pills in your hands. You popped them in your mouth and swallowed, making a face at their plastic taste. "Ew..." He laughed while looking at you, "You're supposed to take them with water," as he held out a bottle. You hiccuped as you took it carefully, noticing the top was already off, "Oh... Yeah, that makes sense." You giggled to yourself as you brought it to your lips, the water refreshingly running down your throat. Chishiya sat down next to you, grabbing your free arm and bringing it to his lap. You were taken by surprise and tried to pull it back when he stopped you, "Careful. The disinfectant might sting a bit, okay?" You noticed he had a cotton ball in his hand, a clear liquid already absorbed into it. "Ohhh, okaaay." Your words were getting harder to say as your eyes started to fail you. The feeling didn't last long as you felt a sting on your arm, ushering your eyes open to be alert. Chishiya brought his hand back, studying your face carefully. "I told you." You both sat in silence for a while as he went back to carefully dabbing the open cuts on your arm, even after a day that still stung. Once your thoughts began to form a bit clearer, you spoke, "Chishiya," he stopped and glanced up at you, still holding onto your arm tenderly. "If I ask you a question, will you be honest?" He took his hand and placed it over his heart and clutched it, "You say that as if I lie." You licked your lips as you thought about your question. Even if you asked it, there's no guarantee you'll get an answer you'd like. "Are... Are you using me?" It was only for a moment that his expression changed, but you noticed it clear as day. He pursed his lips out as if he was thinking, "And if I was? What would I be using you for, hmm?" You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. He smirked at your reaction, swapping out the cotton ball for a new one. "I don't know." He looked up at you briefly before turning your arm over to aid the back, "That's what worries me..." You could feel his hand stop at your words and rest on your back. He placed your arm in your lap, his fingers lingering on your skin as he let go. Chishiya grabbed your chin gently and pulled your face towards him so he could look at you. "What if I just enjoy your company?" You stared at him for a moment, wanting to choose your next words carefully. You shook your head slowly, "I think... You only come around when Niragi is near. It's like... You're always playing a game, even when others aren't." Chishiya didn't seem displeased with this answer as he responded, "And tell me," he turned himself so he was sitting directly across from you, his hands now resting in his lap. "Where is Niragi now?" You shook your head, "I don't know." He raised his eyebrows in response, "I see. So, I'm here, and Niragi isn't, correct?" You nodded and paused, 'Why did I tell him that?' you thought. Chishiya noticed your hesitation and spoke first, "I do owe you an apology, (Y/N)." You looked at him curiously, "What for?" He sighed and grabbed your hand in his own, pulling out your arm gently and resting two of his fingers on your wrist. "Technically, I didn't lie to you. That part is important." You began to pull your arm away cautiously, "What do you mean, 'technically?' What did you do?" He promptly ignored your questions, following up with his own. "Do you feel sick? Any nausea, dizziness?" "No," you answered without a second thought. 'Wait, why don't I feel dizzy? I had so much to drink...' Your mind flashed back to the pills Chishiya gave you just minutes ago. "W-what did you do?" You asked louder, causing him to look at you fully. "I gave you some medicine. Scopolamine, to be exact. Nothing too special, not really a hangover medicine, more of an after-surgery medication that would reduce the saliva your produce. There are some parts of the world, however," he paused for a moment to let you absorb the information, "They say if you use it on someone not fully aware, they give information a lot easier. Some people call it, 'dragon's breath.'" Your eyes grew wide as you pulled yourself away from him, your back hitting the tub. "Y-you... You drugged me?!" Chishiya sighed to himself for a brief moment before standing up, his body leaning against the doorway, blocking it. "I didn't force you to take them. I merely offered. It's not lying, think of it as... Withholding the full truth." Standing up hurriedly, your body would've collapsed from itself if Chishiya hadn't caught you. "Woah, you might not feel drunk, but you still are. Be more careful." You could feel your heart quicken under him, your panic starting to rise. "Why? Why would you do this?" He held you upright and grabbed both your shoulders in an attempt to steady you, "It's not personal (Y/N)," his expression softened when he saw the panic in your eyes. "But for some reason, I can't read you." Your eyes furrowed in confusion as you watched his mind race. It wasn't easy to see, a normally composed man suddenly unsure of himself. "I can read every single person here. Most of them, exactly the same as the next," he licked his lips, continuing, "But with you, (Y/N)... Whenever I think about it, I can't seem to think rationally. It's incredibly bothersome." You tried to take a step back but couldn't, Chishiya's hands pulling you more toward him whenever you tried to push away. "If it makes you feel better, you probably won't remember this conversation tomorrow. Just," he seemed to lose himself for just a moment as he closed his eyes, thinking. "Trust me. I needed to know you're intentions." "My intentions? I had no intentions! My intention was to survive this fucking place and go home!" You could feel tears spill out of your eyes as you yelled, your voice cracking throughout. You began to sniffle, your body was still drunk indeed. "I-- I thought you were my friend!"

His arms dropped to his side as he let you push past him, nearly tripping as you ran into the hallway. He listened as your footsteps pounded away on the floor, all the way down to your room. He contemplated following you for a moment, stopping himself as he closed the door in front of him. Once again, you left his mind unable to react in the way he needed it to. The only thoughts he could muster were simple ones of regret, 'Shit.'

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undiscovered-horizon · 2 years ago

Text

"I met you tomorrow" - The Corinthian x GN!Reader

🫀REQUESTS ARE OPEN🫀

A/N: did my best to make it gender-non-specific but if I have missed any detail please do message me!🌺 Also Lovecraft reference bc I love Cthulu Mythos

SUMMARY: You have a recurring nightmare in which a stranger shows up and tells you to wake up. Then one day you run into a weirdly familiar man, who seems to know you.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.8k

They say that all faces seen in dreams are faces one had seen before - that a human mind simply cannot invent a new visage. What people foolishly omit while sharing such wisdom is that time does not work the same in the Dream World as it does in the Waking World. Yes, aside from faces past, one might stumble upon a face from the future. Maybe that's what happened to you?

You couldn't quite remember when was the first time you dreamt that nightmare but ever since it has been stuck to you like a thistle to a sweater. At least once a week you'd find yourself back at your secondary school, after hours with a creature of darkness looming in the corner of your eyes. You always run even though each time you looked around the corner or over your shoulder, there was completely nothing. Despite that, you could feel those disgusting tentacles of eldritch malice reaching out to grab you. What happens when the entity catches you - you never knew as you always wake up before it can happen. Not that you would want to find out. The nightmare was always so severe and realistic that you grew to fear the darkness and shadows of the Waking World even if your reason assured you that the shapeless terror was but a figment of your imagination.

There's that strange man in the nightmare - he always tells you to wake up or stand up and fight against the malice that haunts you. He always wears light-coloured clothes and carries a straw Panama hat with him. Despite your utmost terror at the creature reaching out to grab you and pull you into the endless pit of sorrow and fear, the strange man is always relaxed, amused even. You often run into him as he sits in the empty canteen or in one of the deserted classrooms, sipping on a colourful drink with an umbrella. There's a strange feeling of safety and reassurance whenever he's around as if some part of you knew that the formless malice couldn't hurt you while the stranger was there. Sometimes he'd remind you that it was only a dream and you had nothing to fear, while other times he'd have a small chat with you before pulling out something from his jacket and giving it to you: a knife, a gun (even a water gun once), a flare and many others. No matter what manner of weaponry he gifts you, it always works like a charm - the terrible beast of old retreats into its den in the land of misery and you wake up to sunlight crawling into your bedroom.

That night wasn't like any other: you were running through the dull, twisted and deserted corridors of the school. You could hear the slapping and slurping of tentacles slithering across the linoleum floor. Every now and then one of the famished maws would bite loudly at the air, their crooked fangs clicking against one another as if Hell could have its own doorbell. And yet, each time you dared to look over your shoulder, the corridors remained empty. The only sound that echoed throughout the building was your own rushed footsteps.

It was hard to breathe. No matter how deep of a breath you took, your lungs could only inhale a little air like something was constricting your airways. Your chest burned as you panted, never slowing down your maniacal escape even if your legs burned. Tired and with hopelessness gnawing at your heart, you stumbled over your own feet.

But before you could hit the ground, too tired and slow to resume your run from the shapeless demon hunting you, someone caught you. To your own surprise, your eyes were met with a suit jacket in the familiar creamy-beige colour. You looked up only to see the stranger you've grown somehow attached to. He was chewing spearmint gum and smiling at you in a fond yet nonchalant manner.

"It's you," you said quietly as if you couldn't quite believe your own eyes. But truthfully, how could you be surprised? After all, he's always been there - every time you were running from that beast you knew nothing about.

In a joking manner, the man looked down inspecting his body and clothes before looking back at you. "I should hope so," he answered with amusement seeping from his voice.

Gratefully using the support he kindly offered, you stood once again on your own feet. The wet, disgusting slush resounded far away, deep inside the building and surely far away from you. That man... in his presence, the sounds of the nightmare's slithering across the floor didn't strike fear in your heart. There was a strange sensation of illusive safety around him as if the security he provided was merely the product of other creatures' fear of him. As somebody once had elegantly put it: "There's always a bigger fish".

"Who are you, really?" you asked. It was a question you could never quite let go, something that bothered you anytime you were running through those deserted halls. Yes, who could he be? Even more importantly: why was he?

"Take a guess."

"Casper the Friendly Ghost?" Perhaps it was strange to stop by and tell jokes while the shapeless, eldritch terror was still after you but you knew this segment of your nightmare a little too well - the man's presence always happened at the very end of the night terror. The dawn was close and so was the relief it brings you.

The man let out a breathy chuckle. Maybe he didn't find it funny but it surely was entertaining to him in some way. "Quite the contrary, actually. I'm more of a... nightmare if you will."

You couldn't help but laugh at his words. Maybe if he said them with a little more seriousness, you would have been inclined to believe him. There was nothing horrible about the stranger but perhaps that was the most severe weapon of them all: the beautiful colours of a Heliamphora. And yet, staring into the gaping mouth of a lion, you never once felt threatened by its teeth.

"Of course you are a nightmare. You’re a little too alluring to be something good."

The corner of his mouth pulled up in an amused smirk. "Are you flirting with me?"

"Is it working?"

"I don't know, I think you need to indulge me a little more."

"So, what do you propose we do about it?" you diverted the conversation while vaguely pointing at the corridor behind you.

The Corinthian looked over your shoulder for a mere moment, the furrow of his eyebrows disappearing as swiftly as it had appeared. "Shub-Niggurath?" he asked. His voice was slightly raised in confusion as if he never thought of taking any action against the mass of teeth and tentacles. "Nah, I wouldn't mind him. We're not on good terms and he knows exactly how well it went for him the last time he got under my skin."

"Wait, you guys are like colleagues or something? Friends?"

"More like brothers from another mother. The same father though."

There was, however, something else still on your mind. By his slightly raised eyebrows, you could tell he knew but decided to wait instead of coaxing the curiosity out of you.

"Can I ask you something else?"

"Shoot."

"Why do we keep meeting here?"

"Truthfully, I find you fascinating." The Corinthian was also painfully bored but confessing that part of his non-existent heart could make you a little too reluctant towards him for his liking: there were many things you and he were yet to do. "I've seen Shub-Niggurath's work and most of the dreamers are too scared to fall asleep ever again. And yet you come back regularly, fighting or running but always refusing to give up. I'm not sure if you're brave or reckless."

"Recklessness requires bravery, doesn't it?"

He stared at you for a moment with a smile dancing across his face. The silence felt enigmatic for you weren't sure what to expect from a man like him but it never once was awkward or tense. "Well, I suppose we'll have to reschedule our little chat," the stranger spoke up finally. "It's time for you to go. Rise and shine, sweetheart."

As all things dreamy and ethereal, the vividness of the school corridors and the man with a Panama hat disappeared when you opened your eyes. Until you dream of them again, they were to remain but a grain of sand on the beach of forgetting - a memory once remembered. Remnants of the terror you've experienced were still leaving your body and mind as you sat up on your bed, panting heavily. Each time you closed your eyes to blink you'd see a passing mirage of the bleak corridors and a shapeless mass of teeth and jointless limbs extending towards you. The small lamp on your bedside table was still on like you left it in the evening. Behind the curtains, the sky was still a beautiful shade of deep blue but stars were no longer brightening the dark firmament - dawn was approaching in hasty strides.

Knowing that the night couldn't offer you any more rest, you got dressed and decided to walk through the sleeping city. There was a certain tranquil melancholy, if not a sense of loneliness, to observing life yet to wake up. For a moment, all those people were as one, no grievances or anger remained in their hearts. Their minds weren't stained with the vapid burden of existence that weighs them down during their waking hours.

"Can't sleep?" you heard someone ask behind you.

You turned around only to see a man you felt you should recognize. He was dressed in a light-coloured suit and wore blackout sunglasses despite the Sun not having risen yet - the sky was becoming lighter over the Eastern horizon. During such early morning hours, the weather is rather vicious, cold and windy, and the man looked to be dressed a little too lightly for such time and circumstances. Despite that, he didn't appear to be cold.

The strange feeling wouldn't leave your thoughts. It was hard to put it into words really - it felt as if you had once known him, in some another time and another place; like you once remembered that you used to remember him as if the memory of him was woven into the dust of your bones. Perhaps it was that strange, subliminal familiarity that rid you of hesitation or reluctance in approaching him.

"I'm afraid of what I might see there," you answered him. It was an eccentricity you had grown used to: you knew there was something terrifying in your dreams but you could never quite recall what it was exactly.

"Oh, I'm sure you're being missed there, sweetheart." It wasn't a complete lie, not really. The Corinthian did miss having you in his own dominion, in the world where he held the most power over you. "I know I would."

"Are you flirting with me?"

"Is it working?"

"I don't know, I think you need to indulge me a little more."

To your best knowledge, the two of you were the only witnesses to the glory of a waking Sun. And in his first act of mercy, the Golden God washes human fears away along with the darkness of the night.

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