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beloveds-embrace · 17 days ago

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(poly 141 x fem reader) | Part One

The first thing John notices when he wakes up is warmth.

Not the dry, stifling heat of the hellhole they’d been trapped in, not the sharp burn of pain flaring beneath his ribs, but something softer, something familiar. A small hand curled over his own. The scent of clean linens mixed with something gentler, something yours.

He breathes in slowly, cracking his eyes open against the dim light filtering through the hospital room. The steady beep of monitors hums in the background, grounding him, but it’s you that he focuses on.

You’re slumped over in a chair beside his bed, forehead resting against his arm, your hand wrapped lightly around his own. Even in sleep, you hold on, fingers curled just enough to keep contact.

John exhales, letting his eyes roam over you.

You look exhausted, and it makes his heart ache.

Dark circles smudge beneath your eyes, your lips pressed into a faint frown even in unconsciousness. Your clothes are rumpled, the same ones you must have worn for days. The sight makes something in his chest twist again, a sharp pang of guilt cutting through the haze of medication.

He wants to reach for you, to trace his fingers over your knuckles and murmur your name until you wake, but he doesn’t. He lets you rest, lets you breathe. He knows you need it.

Because Christ, you must have been worried sick. He knows you, knows how much you worry for them on a good day even on the simplest of missions- and he still doesn’t know how long they’d been gone.

The memories are still blurry, slipping through his mind in broken fragments. Pain. Restraints. The weight of his men against him, Ghost half-conscious, Soap fevered and delirious, Gaz barely breathing.

And then-

He remembers you.

A shadow slipping through the chaos. A whisper-soft touch against his face. Hands steady and sure as they undid his restraints, coaxing him back to awareness.

It had to be a dream.

You weren’t trained for that. You weren’t meant for war, for blood, for the brutality of what they endured. You were their sweetheart, their delicate thing, the soft reprieve from the violence that defined their lives. He would rip apart everything in this world if it meant keeping you safe, sound and happy and far, far away from any violence.

So it couldn’t have been you.

It must have been an extraction team. That’s what had happened. Someone must have come for them, gotten them out. That was the only explanation, and the drugs must’ve messed up his mind enough he was seeing you.

But still-

He watches you now, the tension lingering in your features, the way your fingers tighten around his even in sleep, and something gnaws at the edges of his mind.

You had been there, hadn’t you?

The thought makes his head swim, exhaustion weighing heavy on him again, but he keeps his fingers tangled with yours, grip loose but unrelenting. He doesn’t want to let go.

Because for all the horror, for all the pain, for all the hell they’d been through-

You’re here.

Tired. Stressed. But here. And that’s all that matters.

For now, anyways.

The others then wake slowly, one by one.

Johnny first, groggy and confused, grumbling about how sore he is as you smooth a hand over his forehead. Kyle next, blinking against the light, his voice rough when he murmurs your name. Simon takes the longest, his body slow to rouse, but his first instinct is to reach for you, even before he fully opens his eyes.

In return, you are relentless in your care. You fuss over them, checking their bandages with the nurses’ help, brushing your fingers through their hair, whispering soft reassurances. You press ice chips to dry lips, adjust pillows, and coax them into drinking water.

When Johnny complains about the bland hospital food, you leave the room for an hour and a half and come back with something warm and homemade, tucking a spoon into his hand with a firm, eat.

When Kyle shifts restlessly, unable to get comfortable, you climb up onto his bed without hesitation, settling beside him so he can lean against you, your fingers threading through his curls gently and carefully until he sighs and relaxes.

When Simon wakes with a sharp inhale, eyes darting wildly as if expecting restraints, you’re already there, climbing onto the edge of his bed and murmuring soft reassurances into his ear, grounding him with the steady press of your body against his.

When John struggles to sit up, wincing against the pull of stitches, you scowl and press a hand against his chest, forcing him to lie back down.

“You’re pushing yourself too much,” You scold, brow furrowed in concern, arms crossed, your foot tapping on the ground. “You need to rest.”

“I’ve rested enough, love.” He rasps, voice still heavy with sleep, but he doesn’t fight you when you adjust the blankets over him.

You shake your head, lips pressing into a thin line. “Not nearly enough. Please, John.”

The worry in your voice is palpable, thick with something deeper, something almost frantic. John notices the way your fingers tremble slightly when you tuck them under the blankets, the way your shoulders remain tense, as if bracing for something unseen.

He reaches for your hand, squeezing gently. “We’re okay, love.”

Your throat bobs. You nod, but don’t speak, gaze fixed on where your fingers curl around his.

John doesn’t push.

You’ll talk when you’re ready. But for now, you keep your hands busy and full just tending to them.

Anything to keep from thinking about what comes next. What has to come next.

You smooth down the blankets over John’s chest constantly, brushing your fingers over the fabric as if that alone can shield him from the pain still lurking beneath. You press cool compresses to Kyle’s forehead when the medication isn’t enough to dull the ache. You help Johnny sit up when he needs to, spooning broth past his split lip, murmuring praise between each swallow. You lace your fingers with Simon’s when he stirs in his sleep, rubbing slow circles over his knuckles, grounding him even as you feel yourself slipping away.

You do it because they need it; because you need it, too. Because if you let yourself sit still for too long, you’ll remember the blood.

The fear- not of the blood, never, but for them; the way you had to drag them out of that hellhole with your own hands, because no one else would.

Because no one else cared enough to try.

And if you think too long about that- about how close it was and about what could have happened-

About what should have happened if you had listened to the same authorities who dismissed your pleas-

It will eat you alive.

So you focus and pour everything into them. Because as much as you love them and as much as your heart aches at the sight of their bruises, the bandages wrapped tight around their ribs, the exhaustion that weighs heavy on them-

There is still something unfinished, but not for long. Something you have to do:

Shepherd still lives and breathes the same air as them, and and you can’t allow that.

Not after what he did. Not after what he almost took from you.

Not after the endless, screaming nights you spent scouring every lead, chasing every whisper, tearing apart the world with your bare hands just to find them.

So you wait.

You tend. You soothe. You pretend. Because right now, they need you soft; They need gentle hands and quiet reassurances. They need your warmth, your care, your unwavering devotion, the one constant in all of this.

They need to believe that you are exactly the same as you were before and that nothing has changed. That you haven’t changed and reversed.

But soon-

Shepherd will never see it coming. You are keeping a bullet just for him, but he will never see it coming.

In the meantime, you don’t sleep much.

You pretend to, curling up in the chair beside John’s bed, but he knows better.

Your breathing is too shallow, never quite settling into the slow, even rhythm of true rest. Your body remains tense, shoulders stiff, fingers twitching slightly even in stillness, as if your mind is running too fast for your limbs to fully relax.

You’re thinking- plotting.

John doesn’t know what about- not yet, at the very least. But he watches you in the quiet moments, when you think no one is looking, and he sees it. The way your gaze lingers somewhere unseen, sharp and unfaltering, like you’re tracking something just beyond his reach. The way your jaw tightens in fleeting moments, your fingers flexing unconsciously before you school yourself back into softness. The way you breathe, slow and measured, as if bracing.

And it worries him.

He knows the woman who smiles at him across the kitchen table, all warmth and sleepy affection. He knows the woman who hums under her breath when she’s focused, who soothes them with gentle hands, who kisses his temple and tells him to be safe before every mission.

He knows you.

But this- this quiet, this edge-

It’s not you.

Not the way he’s always known you. And that thought lingers, gnawing at the edges of his mind as exhaustion pulls him under. Because something has changed, something has happened- something is different. And he doesn’t know what it is, doesn’t know if it’s something you’ll tell him, or if it’s something you’ll try to carry alone.

And that- that- is what worries him.

Because he can see it in the way your hands still against the blanket you’ve been adjusting for the past ten minutes. He can see it in the way you chew the inside of your cheek, in the way your eyes flicker toward the door as if you’re already thinking about what’s waiting beyond it.

You’re planning something, and you won’t tell him what, and he worries so much for you, for their beloved.

But whatever it is, whatever it takes, he will be beside you even if he doesn’t understand it.

Even if it aches, knowing you are carrying something too heavy for soft hands alone.

Because he trusts you, loves you, and he will not let you bear it alone.

Part Three

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thriftedtchotchkes · 7 months ago

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how do you sleep?

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel's always there to comfort you with his words and a warm bed after a nightmare, but tonight, you need a little more

warnings: 18+ MDNI, jackson era, soft!joel, comfort, undefined relationship, getting together, mentions of nightmares & insomnia, smut, unprotected piv, slow/intimate sex, creampie

word count: 3.3k

“Whas’wrong?”

You didn't mean to end up here again. It's the third night this week you swiped Joel's key from under the doormat and found yourself standing in his bedroom doorway.

"Can't sleep," you reply, barely above a whisper. Exhaustion seeps into your voice, permeating your limbs the longer you remain standing.

He already knows why you're here. Ever since you, Joel, and Ellie arrived in Jackson and were offered homes of your own, rest evades you more than it ever did on the road. It's too quiet here, and your racing mind fills the silence with the horrors of a life lived in constant fear.

You know you're safe now. You know that, but it's not enough to convince your body or quell the ever-present tightness in your chest telling you to run, to hide. Your fears are more potent in the dark, and the shadows creeping from wall to wall have sharper edges. Teeth that threaten to tear you apart and rip away everything and everyone you've fought so hard to protect.

The walls and floorboards creak with life that shouldn't be present in an empty, two-story home—too big for a single person, and yet still yours—and quickly begin to sound like impending death.

Nowadays, more often than not, you seek out a different kind of shelter. The familiar, comforting embrace of the man who kept you warm and protected through harsh winters and from monsters prowling in the night. That's where you belong.

Crisp bedsheets rustle in the dark and then you hear Joel pat the mattress twice—an invitation to occupy the space beside him, the one he always leaves empty just in case.

"Well, c'mon then. Hurry up," he grumbles, still half-asleep. But he isn’t frustrated. He's tired, just like you, and he'll probably sleep a lot better knowing both of his girls are resting soundly under his roof.

You trudge over and waste no time burying your face in his bare chest, breathing in pine and cedar wood shavings before exhaling a heavy sigh of relief. Throwing a leg over his thighs, you mold into him, rubbing your cheek into coarse curls and marveling at the calm, steady rhythm beneath you.

It feels good to be home. You're not sure why you let Maria give you an entire house to yourself when everything you could ever want or need was right across the street. Every time you end up back here, you wonder. And every time you leave, you wish you'd stayed.

He wraps you up in his arms and tugs you into his side, murmuring your name with soft lips that tenderly caress your forehead. They're so warm, just like the rest of him, and you find yourself aching to feel them on yours. It's a line neither of you have ever crossed, but tonight's been rough.

For what felt like days, you were forced to watch as your worst nightmares came to bloody fruition. You were dragged through the most brutal outcomes of events you already survived and could do nothing more than pray you'd wake up soon. When you finally came to and checked the clock, it had only been an hour and a half since you'd passed out. The moon was still high in the sky, taunting you with the promise of more. More dread, endless brutality.

Joel can make all of that go away, if only for a few hours. He always does, but tonight...you don't want to talk about it tonight. You don't want to think about it, about anything at all. You just want him.

You'd feel selfish asking for more if there wasn't already something between you. Something nurtured and gradual that's been building for months, beginning on your travels across the country and coming to an unignorable head here in Jackson.

Back then, it was stolen glances while you bathed together in streams and fleeting touches in your shared sleeping bag under star-filled skies. It's more intimate these days. He holds your hand when you're anxious, and you kiss away the frown lines and frustrated wrinkles that mar his skin.

Every day, you skirt the line between platonic companionship and whatever's starting to simmer below the surface. You're scared to hope he feels it too, but the thought of remaining in this undefined middle ground scares you even more.

The furnace drifting in and out of consciousness next to you radiates with an addictive heat you've told yourself to ignore for a long time, but it's quickly becoming an impossible feat. Pressed into his side, you're trying and failing not to writhe against him. But he's starting to notice.

His hips jerk every time your core drags against his bare thigh, a slow, repetitive grind you really shouldn't continue, but feels so fucking good combined with the slick pooling between your legs. You should stop—really, you should—but his breathing's changing and hitching, catching in his throat every time the growing tent in his boxers meets the friction of your inner thigh.

Then, he gasps something cognizant and urgent, and you know you've been caught. His hand snakes down to your ass and traps you against his side with a grip so firm, plush skin spills between his fingers.

“Woah, hold on there," he breathes out heavily, and his gaze drops to yours curiously. His eyes are wide open and alert, shining with the faint reflection of moonlight streaming through an adjacent window. Bright and yet pitch black as his sleep-addled brain struggles to catch up with his body. "What's goin' on with you tonight?"

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, debating whether or not to ask for his help. His expression is gentle but otherwise unreadable, and there's a chance this could go very, very badly. Maybe you'd be better off apologizing, but you don't want to. You're not sorry for needing him.

And the longer he waits for an answer, the more his body convinces you that he wants the same things you do. His hand is still on your ass, kneading as he urges you to rock into him, but he doesn't seem to realize he's doing it. Then, his thigh flexes and a rush of wetness coats your already soaked underwear. His expression falters, and you know he can feel it.

His voice is tighter when he speaks again, but that tinge of concern is still there. He wants to make it all better, but he can't unless you tell him how. Your hand tenses where it lies on his chest, and he covers it with his own.

"What can I do? Just tell me how to help you—whatever it is, I'll do it," he murmurs, brushing his thumb reassuringly across your skin. You tilt your chin up and suddenly you're close enough to breathe his air. Closer than you've ever been and yet still not close enough.

"I need you to...," Fuck me. But it sounds too crude. A quick fuck isn't what you need right now. You need to be full of him, to hold him deep inside you and keep him there for as long as this night will allow. "...make me feel safe again."

"Tell me how," he repeats as you struggle to bite back a moan. He's working you against him intentionally now, encouraging you up and down his leg, and it's making your brain go a little haywire. "What do you need, baby?"

"Joel," you whine at the endearment, an intense heat building at the apex of your thighs. That's new. You want to hear him say it again, to devour every word as he buries himself inside you over and over. You will him to understand. "I need you."

He sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth, steeling himself before nosing into the hairs at your temple. The gesture is so tender and affectionate even as he bucks into your thigh, and it's painfully obvious how hard you're making him. He nods slowly and plants a soft kiss on your forehead, his chest rising and falling more rapidly than before.

"Okay, baby. I got you," he murmurs, his lips trailing down to your eyelids, then the apple of your cheek. "I'll make it all go away, alright? M'gonna take care of you."

And you believe him. He rolls you onto your back and you gasp as his entire weight presses you into the mattress. It's more than just comforting. You feel protected. He's shielding you from this horrible, broken world, somehow managing to prove that there's still goodness to be found. And it's on top of you, broad and strong, and wanting you just as badly as you want him.

Big hands cup your cheeks and his lips meet yours, so much different than the familiar press against your forehead or the top of your head. You're in unknown territory, but he guides you carefully and moves slowly, taking the time to explore and savor. The taste of spearmint begins to overwhelm your senses as the kiss deepens, and you lick into his mouth impatiently, already craving more.

But after years of quiet observation, Joel knows better than anyone how to temper you. Ducking down to bury his face in your neck, he kisses along the underside of your jaw, regaining control of the pace with a sharp, halting suck. And while he refuses to let your urgency rush him, he still allows your hands to roam his skin and tug at his boxers, letting you take what you want—like his only goal is to make sure this lasts long enough for him to fulfill his promise.

A disgruntled groan bubbles in your throat, and you feel him chuckle. "Y'know, patience is supposed to be a virtue," he mumbles, amused, his beard scratchy and grounding against your skin. You huff in response.

Tonight doesn't feel like a night for virtues. Not when things are finally changing in your favor. After so much time, so much running, you actually have somewhere to go—and stay. You're not running away anymore. You're moving towards something that feels real, and dependable, and safe, and you're doing it together. And now that you're so close you can taste it, you're done waiting.

"You're really gonna start caring about virtues now?" you ask skeptically, slipping your hands past the waistband of his boxers to grab his ass.

He hesitates, then huffs out a quiet laugh. "Fair enough."

And with that, you both know the time for talking is over. Something shifts and you're on the same page, ready to take as much as the other is willing to give.

Joel begins to drag your shirt up to reveal more, but suddenly feeling stifled, you take over and remove it completely. The look on his face makes it more than worth it. It's not the first time he's seen you naked, but as his eyes rake over your bare curves, it feels like it could be. Reverently, he returns his lips to yours, kissing you deeply before charting a path lower.

His mouth feels hot as he laves and nips across your collarbone, and he shimmies further down the bed until he's just barely ghosting the swell of your breasts. You gasp, burying your fingers in his hair as he sucks a bruise below your nipple and soothes the sting with his tongue. Licking a wide stripe past the darkening mark, he captures the bud between his teeth, another hand sliding up your stomach to cup your other breast while he alternates between swirling and sucking.

Your entire body feels like it's on fire. The ache between your thighs worsens the longer he continues, but instead of squeezing them together for relief, you wrap your legs around his waist and tug him onto you. By now, you're so wet, there's no way you're not soaking right through your underwear and into his boxers, and you hope he can feel it. If your increasing volume isn't enough of an indication that you need him inside you, then maybe this will be.

He lets out a pained groan into your chest, and you clench in satisfaction. He immediately grinds down, thrusting into you like he's forgotten about the layers of clothing still separating you. You don't bother to remind him.

Bucking him off, you quickly wrench down your underwear then reach for his, yanking them off while he sheds his t-shirt. Your fingers close around his cock before his shirt hits the floor and he startles before melting into your grip, eyes fluttering shut and lips parting around a cross between a sigh and the neediest whine you've ever heard.

You feel that telltale whoosh between your legs again, and after pumping him a few times, you guide him toward your entrance. In the back of your mind, you know you're taking a risk without a condom. You should be safer, more responsible. But it's Joel. It's always been Joel.

His eyes shoot open once he realizes where you're leading him, but you only bite your lip and nod, your expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. An unspoken agreement passes between you, a quiet understanding cultivated through years of friendship and now something more. Then, he presses inside and your mind goes blissfully blank.

No more horrors, no more fear. Just Joel keeping his promise and doing exactly what you trusted him to do. He encompasses you entirely, pressing the length of his body flush against yours as he works himself into you. The stretch was nothing you ever could've anticipated, but it grounds you in the present moment. It's everything you told yourself not to hope for when you showed up on his doorstep tonight.

His movements are slow but powerful, and he rests his forehead on yours, eyes alert and acutely aware of every change in expression. The intensity of his gaze and the slick sound of him burying himself to the hilt should make you self-conscious—it's all you can see and hear, but that's the point, isn't it? To get lost in the way he drags so perfectly against your walls and grinds his hips into yours on every thrust, slow and steady.

He's attentive, cataloging whenever he makes you moan a little louder or your eyes roll, and repeats it again and again until you're writhing underneath him. Your nails rake down his back and scratch at his scalp, and he jerks forward whenever you're a little too rough, hitting so deep, it feels like he's grazing your cervix. But the longer he continues to give you everything you want, the more his body trembles with the effort of holding himself back.

You know Joel, and you can tell when he's resisting an urge. His biceps tense where he's propped on his forearms, bracketing your head, and there's so little space between you, you can feel his abs flexing every time he plunges back inside you. He needs more and you want to give it to him.

Lifting your head, you bridge the tiny gap to meet his lips. "Joel, c'mon. You can fuck me harder than that, I'm not gonna break," you mumble between open-mouthed kisses. That catches him off guard.

He accidentally lets himself go for a thrust or two, and you're cut off by a moan, your walls squeezing him so hard, it's painful. Somehow, you manage to recover just long enough to gasp out the rest. "It's okay if you need something from me, too. Just take it. I trust you."

For an agonizing moment, Joel pauses to observe you, waiting for something in your eyes to contradict the permission you just gave him. But when he doesn't find it, he shakily exhales the breath he'd been holding and his head drops to your shoulder. The groan that follows rumbles so deeply in his chest, it makes your stomach drop. Then, without warning, his hands are gripping your thighs and he's rutting into you like a caged animal finally set free.

There he is. The man who never hesitated to gun down anyone who threatened the safety of his loved ones and did whatever it took to bring his girls home.

Recognition washes over you and fills you with a familiar feeling of security. It's something only Joel has ever been able to give you. You wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face into his hair, hoping to return even a fraction of that feeling.

As he gives into his body, he starts to ramble, his words muffled and lost to your delicate skin. But you don't need to hear him to know what he's saying. With every thrust, the bed frame rattles and gets the message across loud and clear. Your heels dig into his back, encouraging him forward, begging him to keep going, and he obliges, quickly reduced to helpless grunts and curses.

The room gets increasingly hotter and more humid, and the cool air flowing through the window isn't nearly enough to provide relief, but neither of you seems to care. You're a little in love with the way your bodies slip together, sweat and slick intermingling seamlessly.

Everything is so wet, and it feels incredible—your skin against his, your walls pulsing around his cock. He's molding into you, so close that you can't do much more than swivel your hips into his, and it's sending you hurtling toward the edge faster than you can fully process. The coarse hair at the base of his cock rubs your clit just right, and when he adjusts the angle to fuck you deeper than before, you hit your peak.

You dissolve into a whimpering mess beneath him, desperately riding out your orgasm as he groans and abruptly bites down on your shoulder. Releasing your legs to grab your waist, he forces himself impossibly further inside you and grinds into your spasming walls until he's coming with you. He gasps his way through it, stilling while he lets you milk him dry, then collapses on top of you and gathers you in his arms.

For a while, you both struggle to catch your breath. The mattress is bare save for the fitted sheet, your clothes, pillows, and blankets having been kicked or tossed onto the floor. It feels nice like this—to savor the winter air cooling your bodies and to just be held. Without letting you go, Joel lifts his head to kiss the teeth marks he left on your shoulder apologetically and then shifts higher to press his lips against the underside of your jaw.

"You alright?" he asks gently, his voice a little gruffer than usual from the exertion.

"Mhm," you hum, nosing into his temple. "More than." He sighs and almost sounds relieved.

The thought makes your heart ache. If he's worried he crossed a line, well. He did. You both did, but it was a long time coming and you don't regret a thing. You squeeze him a little tighter as if to tell him, and he allows himself to melt into you briefly. Then, he draws back to cup your cheek and guide your lips to his.

He kisses you slowly, taking the time to appreciate the sensation of your mouth against his without any urgency. "Feel better?" he murmurs after reluctantly parting from you. You keep him close.

"I don't think we have to worry about any more nightmares tonight," you reply with a small smile. He returns it, eyes crinkling fondly, then rolls you onto your sides to settle in for a good night's sleep.

As you start to drift off, you hear him chuckle and mutter something under his breath that you don't quite catch. But it sounds a lot like, "Might be time for you to finally move in."

thanks for reading!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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billowyy · 1 year ago

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#having your comfort thing taken away like that is fucking brutal man #there's a big gap between me and ofmd rn #hopefully the gap will close once this gets better but fuck #i've not been having a good day #i had to leave class early this morning and i'm gonna skip my evening class #i've been crying off and on since class this morning and i wouldn't be able to handle going #it's not even izzy specifically #just the comfort and joy i found in ofmd being ripped apart suddenly and unexpectedly #i've never been this affected by any sort of media before it's def a new experience

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acid-ixx · 6 months ago

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brutus: out for blood (villain au concept)

ft. neglectful yandere! bruce wayne x gn villain! reader

— masterlist !

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: did anybody ask for this? no! did i decide to write this anyways? abso -fucking-lutely. is this a rantfic? mayybee. anyways, this is not my best piece nor will anything i write be my best piece but i just love destroying my happiness with angst and altho writing a very anxiety ridden mc is fun, i also love to dabble in sadomasochistic traits for a main character. like i said, i am not proud of this but i figured i should post something. erm... leave comments bec i love reading whatever stuff u guys have in store hehe.

you've tasted blood on your tongue far longer than you've felt the loving touch of a family.

it's metallic. it's salty. it twists every vein in your gut.

it tastes of broken metal pipes in playgrounds, destructive tantrums and broken dreams, of skipped classes and detention rooms, of ripped test papers and missed diplomas. it reminds you of your bitter past every single time; one you swore you've buried six feet deep into the ground. a burning memory with nothing more than heartaches and heartbreaks.

you taste blood whenever they reject your advances for even a single moment of bonding time. you feel it pumping slowly, steadily, painfully whenever you stumble upon a room, only to see them, smiles and all, huddled together in a group with junk food in their hands and a movie playing in that stupid flat screen tv. you know it's the only thing accompanying you whenever he misses another event in your school. it becomes the only friend you have whenever you're alone, inside your too-small room, with shatters glass scattered around and bruised knuckles.

blood, for most, is vile, utterly repulsive. it reeks in every corner of a room, its scent is overpowering, it stains, it's hard to clean. it imprints. and it will always remind you it's there, in the depths of your body, curdling and boiling and ready to burst out of the seems every time you rip at your skin with a razor sharp blade. blood has always been your only friend, like a scar that will never fade away.

yet you embrace crimson like it was the color of your soul, and accept how it's the only color you allow in your grim life. black has never provided you solace, but red allowed for a mantra of emotions to trail into your very being.

blood. it's more homely than you let it out to be.

and you're far more familiar with it than anything else. you cradle it like an unwanted child, you kiss its wounds, allow it to fester and grow into an abhorrent disease that crawls like a lump in your throat that you could never get rid of.

in moments of solace, of quaint prayers and hours of kneeling into the floor— it is the thing that slides on cold, hard tiles. it is the warmth, the numbness, the thing that seeps out of your bruised knees, your scratched neck and your thighs with fingernails buried deep into flesh.

you've come to love blood, cherish it even.

especially if it's your own.

especially if it came from the punch of none other than your father.

left, right, left, right.

his punches were cruel and his kicks can easily crush bones into powder. he demands answers with every strike he delivers, he exudes an energy far more adrenaline based than yours. batman is methodical in the way he moves, the way he acts, and you're not; you're impulsive, you had no plans to counter the towering man— no counter for the brutal hits he lay upon you. you let him, you open every doorway world to beat your body black and blue, with red painting the canvas as a finishing touch.

he's stronger than you, and every time he bashes your head into the wall, the urge to spit into his face, to piss him off, to laugh at him and his Idiocracy; it all becomes stronger.

yet all you do was allow him multiple openings, denying yourself the pleasure of attempting to even take your abandoned gun at the corner and shoot at his cranium— you want him to suffer, even if it costs you your mobility by the near future, fuck it.

up, down, to the side, then an uppercut to your jaw and you're nearly depleted of anymore moves to counter. you want to seem like you've given up; but you want him pissed off, enough to punch you 'til blood seeps into the fibers of your mask. until your face starts bruising, until your nose breaks, until he finally rips your mask off and sees your face.

and he'll come to regret.

you shift to the side, and ignore the sting of your throat, the lull of your head and the soreness of your entire body.

because if you hadn't dodged, then your head would've left an imprint on the walls. you would've preferred that now, rather than the disgusting feeling of sentimentality that creeps into your heart at the implication that his blows were slowly, but surely, weakening.

he's holding back, you hold back a sneer.

as if he actually cares about you.

maybe he does, maybe he doesn't. you know he cares far more deeply for his enemies than he does you, and you hate how glad you are at the pride that finally, just finally are you being acknowledged. at the opposite end of his side, as enemies. but for once you can feel the care he offers others, most of which were nonexistent back when you were just some... nobody.

batman never kills; but he can hurt, he can injure, and he can destroy. and right now, you feel all the air leaving your body as the cloaked vigilante delivers the last punch to your ribcage.

you fall, on your hands and knees, a loud thump resounding through the empty abandoned building. all you hear are your crackling joints, and heavy breathing. heavy, like your eyelids, about to fall, about to shut until black encompasses your vision. if not for the remaining adrenaline coursing through your veins, you would've fainted— but you won't, you wouldn't, not until you see him, see his face.

the thumping in your heart beats louder, and your hands. god, they feel like jelly, it's burning, it's one step closer on collapsing under gravelly concrete and piercing skin into rocks. yet you're forbidden any time for grace, not when he lightly shoves you out of your position, and not when you fall to your sides, hands paralyzed, tears prickling against your cheeks at the pain that burns throughout your body.

"you don't deserve peace after shooting that family in front of that child, you know it."

his voice, domineering, absolutely fucking vibrating with a tremor of sheer anger. he directs his words at you, without empathy, without mercy. he wants you to learn to never mess with him in the streets of gotham. but you'll never... not until he notices you. fuck, you just want him to notice you. and now, he is, with utter vexation that causes a lump in your throat to form.

shit, you've never felt so happy.

it's when his tussled form — heavy, pitch-black boots slathered with crimson liquid — enters your sight that you cough, violently, out of breath, and you can feel it one second, then taste it in your tongue the next.

blood.

you grin, and slowly, ever-so eminently, did you spiral into a cackle. your throat gurgles crimson liquid, and yet it only builds into a cacophony of a broken record. you move your head, look through your nearly shredded domino mask, with so little strength to accompany you, to look at the man above you, eyes glinting with a glow never so alive until now.

you're genuinely so fucking happy.

batman, he who strikes fear into the hearts of gotham villains and civilians alike. he who protects the city at night. he whose name is said with wavering uncertainty— he's looking at you, only you.

'bruce wayne: my dad— is finally looking at me.'

and you! you're laughing, the sounds that emanate from your throat are so scratchy, so utterly decimated that it sounds like vultures feeding through a dead corpse; but you don't let your chuckles die down, because you're so, so happy.

he looks at you, with contempt, with disgust, you don't know; but you're still so overjoyed.

"y-yeah... it's me, i did it. are you proud of me...?" you ask as you look up, through the tears that flow out your eyes, through the grin that couldn't die down. he looks at you like you're insane, and you know he's confused, shifting uncomfortably as he gives someone a status update through the comms, his eyes never leaving your pathetic form—

you look at him like he means the world all throughout.

"call for red robin, i have one of the culprits," he orders through the intangible device, eyes squinting as he takes you in— you whose chuckles slowly calmed down, as your breathing finally becomes heavier, as blood, yours, seem to seep into clumsily made apparel. you, who bruce realized seem too oddly familiar, too small, too childish, whose moment of spiraling insanity is too damn innocent to ignore.

you're not like the typical rogue he encounters, no. and right before you finally allow sleep to overcome you, you muster the last of your energy, to stare back at him with shining eyes, expectant, and like a child's, you ask with the meekest voice.

"hey... dad, i have a surprise." scratchy, absolutely broken, yet spilling with joy, with... your last word right before you continue, bruce's heart thumps ever the slightest faster.

"take my mask off, please?"

crimson began to overtake your entire body, and bruce should've never complied with your... request, but as he kneels and finally gets a grasp of what you truly look like, he notices the frailness, the vulnerability, as if you were never built for... combat. with just how quickly you succumb to the depths of rest, with how oblivious you are to the fact that if it were anyone else, they would've killed you.

you're not properly trained, you fight out of impulse, and he knows it with just how swift you gave up midfight.

when he pulls the domino mask (which seems oddly inspired by the shape of... his vigilante partners, the robins...) off your face, did his heart finally hastened its pace, loud thumping crawling its way to his ears, his eyes registering your face: its form, its shape, your eyes, your nose—

all similar to his, all an amalgamation of your mother's, too.

no... wait, no.

it's not...

it's not his... child?

you?

your eyes, flickering one last time stared at him, softly, like that of a child who looks at their father with pride like nothing else. your hand, it shakes, it shivers, as your fingers find its way creeping to his hand, holding your mask. fingers so dainty, now pulverized bones lay atop his shivering hand, tenderly, as if trying to comfort the very same man who has nearly killed you.

batman— no, bruce looks at you. at what he's done, and only now did he realize his greatest mistake. a child, his child, one whose innocence retained through heinous acts, now a villain, whose actions were all a testimony to merely wanting their father's attention.

he failed you, his child. he failed to protect you, who he has never held up close until now— as your body is hastily taken into his arms. so small, so easily wrapped around his body, so unbefitting of committing criminal activity. now bloodied and laid into barren ground by their very own father.

bruce wayne never felt this much terror, for nearly killing his child.

this, this day marks his sin.

and you? dearest you feel like today is your greatest day.

crimson, nearly every part of you is stained with that putrid color.

yet blood has always been your best friend, no? and right now as you bleed into the arms of your father, you find yourself grateful that it is the last thing you see before a black cloak wraps around you, before black fills your entire line of sight.

short rant ahead: another author's note??? wow. yeah this was such a hard drabble to write. plsplspls leave a comment or some sort of input. anything will do. ive been so demotivated to write lately and i feel like anything i write is just, so bad 😭 like is my pacing good? are the emotions out of place? am i even doing this right ?? i don't know, and i feel like every time i post something i always put up expectations on myself that I should've done better so yeahh. is this attention seeking behavior? probably. but i don't get how people have come to like the stuff i write when i hate whatever i write hence why im in a constant cycle of hiatuses and short breaks. and really, it's just so hard to come into terms with things and i need input lest i accidentally get into a year or two of hiatus, lmaoo.

#🌷... yael's works #🧁... yael's misc.#series: again & again #concept: brutus #yandere dc #yandere batfam #yandere bruce wayne #yandere batman #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x male reader #yandere x female reader #yandere x gn reader #yandere angst #platonic yandere #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n

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wonryllis · 3 months ago

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✴ ONE OF YOUR GIRLS TONIGHT.

❛ 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾.

FEATURING. sim jaeyun & fem!r GENRE. smut! they are fuck buddies and jake is sort of a fuckboy, dom!jake, obsessed but no commitment WDCT. 700 SONG───oftg

WARNINGS. SMUT PG18 ofc, choking, nipple play, unprotected sex, clit rubbing, rough sex, illusions to multiple rounds, brief dirty talk, bit of manhandling yeah. ( D𝒾RECTORY? )

jake sim’s favorite— you took pride in it. his little cum dump, the only one he fucked raw, the only one whose name he moaned out loud when he came— so much pride, you were blind to all the ways it was so wrong.

“fuck take it just like that,” jake grunts, the sound of skin slapping and your cum mixing with his in filthy squelches echoing in your ears in a numb ringing.

his hands grip your throat tight enough to keep you in place as he pistons in and out, fast and hard. forehead against yours, mouth fallen open in quick pants and dirty praises. his eyes narrow, brows furrowing while looking straight into your pretty brown orbs,“keep your eyes on me,” he grunts again, feeling his climax creeping up on him.

“you're always so tight, so warm— fuck oh god, makes me wanna fuck you till i physically can't anymore,” his words waver, tone going down as he struggles to hang onto to the edge.

“my pretty little slut,” one of his hands leave your throat, trailing down to fondle with your nipples. your evening gown torn on the side from the sheer force he used when he had pushed it down to pull out your breasts. as always. he just never seemed to have any kind of patience when he needed his cock to be inside you.

asking you to be his date for a charity gala, buying you the perfect dress and a matching lingerie set to go with it. touching you shamelessly the entire night before ripping it all off and pounding your brains out at his penthouse later. sometimes only lasting till you get inside his car— the need to have you so strong, he can't help but have to watch you cum at least once, either on his fingers, his mouth or if he's too worked up: on his cock, before he can even think of of driving off.

jake's fingers are rough as they touch you, shivers running down your body at his squeezes. jolting and jerking when he slips them over your clit, rubbing harshly. desperate to make you cum with him. the hand still on your throat moving to grab your jaw, squishing your cheeks together.

the way your face srunches up with pleasure, he can't take it anymore. overflowing with the urge to stuff you with his cock so deep you can't think of anything but how good he fucks you.

and so he does exactly that, grabbing your waist and throwing you onto the bed with your back against the mattress. slipping his cock into you in one brutal thrust and then pushing and holding your legs up over his shoulders by the back of your knees. it felt insanely hot and heavenly, the way you clenched again and again, gripping him so hard; he succumbed.

“shit shit shit— i’m cumming— fuck—” jake’s hips buck forward in jerks as he cums, his head thrown back while he groans and curses at every hot spurt of cum hitting against your walls.

he grabs your thighs in a bruising hold as soon as his high starts to eeb away, hammering into you at a pace that feels borderline hurtful,“can't ever get enough of you—” thrust. “it's fucking impossible—” thrust. “even if you milk me dry,” thrust. fucking you through your third orgasm of the night with no intentions of stopping any time soon.

imagining you everytime he is down with another girl, moaning your name and picturing your face when he cums in them. it would be an understatement to say you are his favorite.

jake is obsessed— addicted, to you, your pussy and to fucking you raw but he just can't commit. that's not him. it has always been so wrong but it felt so good.. neither of you could think of giving up this twisted relationship.

choke you and fuck you till you pass out. use you till his heart's content and fill you up to the brim. pepper your face with kisses and your neck with hickeys. and then disappear the next morning— out of reach until he needs you again. this was his kind of love.

taglist . . open ! @s00buwu @lilyuwon @pockyyasii @nctislifue @shawnyle @enhastolemyheart @aaa-sia @criminalyun @oddracha @satan-223 @seochangbinnnnnnnnnnn @jayjw16enxp @laylasbunbunny @riribelle @ancnymcnzjy

#enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #enha smut #enha hard hours #enha hard thoughts #enhypen jake smut #jake smut #jake sim smut #sim jake smut

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queenie-the-court-jester · 11 months ago

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yandere bunny hybrid x reader

A/n: the Intro was rushed because I got too excited to write the smut. Not proofread 🌺

Tw: noncon turns to dubcon, androgynous breeding kink, little dirty talk, he's a horny bastard. Mommy kink but it can be applied to any gender. Slapping body parts, he has a minor lactation kink. Mdni please!

★you met the little furball while you were out on a evening walk. It was the middle of winter and being cooped up inside the house all day was starting to get a little claustrophobic

★you didn't notice him at first since he blended in with the snow. Stopping mid-walk when you heard a weak little whine coming from behind you. Slowly turning around, you saw a pair of red eyes staring at you from beneath the snow

★approaching them slowly, you could finally see him more clearly. Milky white skin turning a light blue due to hypothermia. He didn't have the strength to run when you picked him up. Patting his head, you headed back home.

★giving him a warm bath and setting him next to the fireplace, you slowly nursed him back to health. He was very reluctant at first, but your touch was too comforting to pull away from. He hasn't felt this safe since he was just a baby bun! He stayed with you nearly the entire winter

★midway he starts to get himself familiar with your home, peeking under furniture and into rooms, he seemed to understand you when you'd ask him questions in English

"what's your name little fella?"

"cotton.."

★eventually you had to let him go back into the wild, just a month before spring arrived. He was reluctant but with enough convincing he finally left. Looking back at you from the forest edge, watching you wave goodbye with that beautiful smile he loves

❣️cotton who goes into heat early because he can't stop thinking of you. Burrying himself in his burrow, humping the air. Nothing is as soft as you and your bed. Nothing can make him feel as safe as your touch does

❣️he shoos any females who wish to mate away. Claiming he already has a mate. Oh he wished you'd come into the forest looking for him, to take care of him again as he fills your tight little hole up with his cum

❣️he spends most of his time shamelessly masturbating to the thought of you. His entire heat cycle has been on loop since he left, so finally gathering the balls he heads back to your cottage. Watching you from a distance, lazily stroking his already sensitive cock.

★just minding your business, you don't notice the certain bunny hybrid approaching slowly. You don't have much time to react before a familiar mop of white hair tackles you to the ground. Desperately humping your clothed sex as he whines and grunts.

"cotton!? What the hell are you doing!?"

"hah- nhg need.. mate.. pretty mate.. need to breed! Ohh!"

★you tried pushing him off, but when did he get so strong!? Pining your arms down and ripping your clothes off, wasting no time in lapping at your genitals. Eating you out like a starved man, sucking and nipping your inner thighs until he's sure you're nice and lubed up

★he carefully pressed the tip in, but he doesn't last long as he slowly sinks deeper into your gummy walls. Letting go of your arms and roughly grabbing your hips, which were sure to bruise later, brutally fucking your brains out. Slapping your chest and privates as he grinds his cock deeper

★he keeps going even after he's ripped multiple orgasms out of you. The pleasure slowly chipping off your resistance. Leaving you a blubbering moaning mess under the bunny. A pool of his cum under where your sexes kept meeting.

★it doesn't matter what gender you are, he's determined to breed you until you're swelling with his children. He couldn't wait to suck and bite your chest once it was swollen with milk!

"gonna be so pretty- mph! So pretty, all swollen 'n fat with my babies.. gonna be a good mate, right? G-gonna give me lots of 'em right? Oh ohhh! Cumming again! 'Yer squeezing all my cum out! Mommy!!"

★let's just say that you should get use to your new roommate husband, because now there's no way of getting rid of him. Ever.

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sinfulcries · 4 months ago

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I WANNA FUCK YOU LIKE AN ANIMAL! / GOJO SATORU

AUTHORS NOTE: wow dylan’s writing again after a million years 🤓 i could not miss out on halloween so what better way to celebrate than to destroy gojo’s ass? i miss you guys lots and i miss getting all creative nd being able to write again after dealing with so many stressful things irl <\3 this is pretty tame compared to my previous smuts and this is like also a month old so my apologies 🙂‍↕️

CONTENT WARNINGS! knife play, overstimulation, pet names (doll, sweetheart,) slasher reader x victim gojo, implied marathon sex

"That's it, baby, spread those pretty legs f'me." A dark chuckle escaped your lips as the rough tips of your fingers roamed the smooth expanse of Satoru's legs, opening them wide enough to reveal his leaking cock lying hard and useless on his flat stomach. Satoru could only muster a whine in response, trying to pull you in deeper whilst your thick cock nudged teasingly against his puckering hole. "Please," He whimpered prettily, his pale cheeks flushing red with arousal and hunger.

The white haired man didn't need to see your face to know that you were grinning down at him sadistically underneath the ghostface mask you were wearing, and it only made his cock twitch with need as you pinned him down onto the plush mattress— rendering him utterly helpless against you. "I'm about to kill you and yet here you are begging for my cock." You laughed amusedly at the absurdity of the situation, making the poor man pout. "S'not fair you're so big that I wanna feel you in my guts."

Okay, Maybe you'd keep him as your slut instead with how desperate he was. Slender legs wrapping around your waist coaxing you to just fuck and claim him already.

"You're playing a dangerous game here, sweetheart." You growled through the cheap plastic of your mask, reaching down to push your thick fingers between Satoru's lips, his tongue instantly swirling around the thick digits getting them nice and wet as his gaze never left yours.

God, He was a filthy little thing, and you couldn't help but notice the way his hole clenched around nothing every time your free hand trailed the knife's blade teasingly against his inner thigh. Satoru pulled away from your fingers with a wet pop, glaring up at you through thick eyelashes. "Just put it in already." He growled impatiently, and you only responded by pressing the blade harder against his skin, the tip of the knife threatening to dig into his flesh.

Satoru only gulped in response at the action, a shiver running up his spine feeling the cold metal of your knife kissing his thigh. "Okay, okay— calm down." He tried to laugh off his insistent whining with a practiced grin however, you could see the lingering traces of fear swirling in those blue eyes. "Just be patient, doll." You murmured raspily, spreading the lube you had used earlier to finger his sweet little hole open with your thick fingers around his twitching rim.

You couldn't help but notice the way Satoru threw his head back against the pillows, his bruised chest heaving as you rubbed his lubed entrance messily. He was so sensitive. So easy to break. And the thought of splitting him open on your fat cock made it jut against his thigh with aching need.

Wasting no more time, you aligned the fat head of your cock in front of his wet hole before thrusting in with one brutal snap of your hips. Satoru's eyes widened impossibly, his hands scrambling to grip the headboard as a high pitched scream ripped past his throat.

"Fuck—! S..So big—!" He mewled, moving his hips in sync with the way you jackhammered into him like a cheap fleshlight. Satoru wrapped his legs around your waist weakly, trying to anchor himself with the way your fat cock battered his prostate— And as his screams and the wet squelch of skin against skin filled the room, the white haired man could slowly feel his brain melting with searing hot pleasure.

"Take it." You growled possessively, continuing to rut into his ass like a beast in rut, angling your hips to reach deeper inside of his hole. "D'you like that, doll? You've been beggin' for this all night."

Satoru could only nod frantically in response, his brain too mushy to form any coherent words. You could see a white creamy ring of cum forming at the base of your cock, the sight only fuelling you to pound your willing little victim until he passed out, still impaled on your unrelenting length.

"'S too much..!" He squealed, arching his back as your cock drilled in harder, rearranging his insides until they were moulded to fit your big cock. "Can't take it—! 'M-M gonna die..!" With a loud cry, his body started convulsing in your hold, trying to squirm away from the brutal onslaught of your merciless thrusts.

"Don't chicken out on me now, doll." You warned lowly, now pressing the cold edge of your knife against his throat, each thrust driving the blade closer to his jugular. "We have a long night ahead of us."

#sinfulcries works #top male reader #dark content #dom male reader #dom amab reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x male reader #jujutsu kaisen x male reader #gojo x male reader #gojo smut #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo x male reader smut #dom reader #sub gojo

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lilacxquartz · 4 months ago

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part 17 of 19 of kinktober: trapped

pyramid head x gn!reader

plot: while exploring the town, you find yourself incapacitated in the worst possible position — themes: warning for non con, dark smut, gender neutral reader, size difference, monster fucking, horror, gender neutral smut — w.c: 700ish

kinktober masterlist • main masterlist • ao3

You were incapacitated.

Trapped in between the barely pried open iron bars, providing just big enough of a gap for your upper body to squeeze through and then… stall. In a way, it was humiliating, but in another sense, it was also terrifying because existing within the town as a whole was a death sentence in its own right. From one little miscalculation—you had potentially doomed yourself.

You tried to dislodge yourself again but the bars were too narrowly placed and you couldn’t push or pull yourself neither back nor forth and in doing so, you only found yourself more stuck than before. Panic quickly swept through your being in violent waves, abandoning all sense of rationality in favour of a hurried escape but nothing was working—but then finally, you heard it—the all too familiar scrape of metal, the thud of staggering footsteps—oh no, no, no… he was here.

You turned your head slightly back to just about catch a glimpse of him filling out the doorway, blocking all gaps of light that otherwise cut into the cell. In an attempt to avoid your flesh likely meeting the blade, you strove to push yourself forward, to at least nullify his efforts to strike you down… but then something else followed suit.

You froze as you felt his calloused hands brush around the soft contours of your exposed flesh; his fingers breaching the torn fabric and tearing away the cloth from the skin, readily exposing you to him. You remained statued in place as you feared for the worst, unable to quite comprehend what he was actually doing to you; almost delicately feeling you up—pushing—spreading your legs apart, ripping away at anything that acted as a barrier between you and him.

You tensed as you quickly understood what was following suit; feeling the tip of something very obvious poke against your most vulnerable parts. You writhed around and squirmed under his grip like a fish out of water, only to remain caught and hooked in his presence, feeling him drive into you in a near hungry pursuit. You gritted your teeth as you felt him force himself inside of you, feeling overwhelmed by his monstrous length that completely filled you out to the brim.

With shuddering, quaking cries, you softly wept as he continued to take in his brutal girth, feeling his cock slide in and out of your insides and stretch you out beyond a recoverable limit. With an unforgiving pace, Pyramid Head continued to hilt himself into your core, feverishly bucking into your body as a radiating, almost scalding pain akin to searing agony settled within the confines of your form. Of course however, he showed you no mercy, pounding into you with a near primal fervour; his hips slamming against your behind with each sawing motion.

Somehow, he grew needier as he continued to violate you—his fingernails digging bleeding crescents into the soft peaks of your ass, kneading against the cushioned skin and spreading you open as far as you could physically handle. It was as if he was trying to force you to accommodate the entire capacity of his impossible length, taking advantage of the limiting position, knowing that you couldn’t just pull yourself away.

Nearing his impending climax; his movements soon became more erratic and maybe even sloppy. He leaned his towering form closer wherever he could press against your bare back—causing the iron bars to crack open further—growling out heated breaths that rolled hot down your spine. Each passing thrust caused for you to shake, prompting you to involuntarily roll your eyes to the back of your head and perhaps even see stars from just how overwhelming it all truly was.

Just as you were about to pass out however, the monster finally came undone with one final violent rut of his stuttering hips. You gasped as you felt a stream of hot oozing warmth fill your senses to such an extent that your stomach nearly bulged from his pent up release.

Thinking it was all over, you tried to close your eyes to recover—but then you were promptly taken out of the cell, readily carried around like a rag doll, to be used and paraded around per each of his passing whims.

In a way you were thankful that he wasn’t going to end you outright.

But then you realised what your life was about to become and that much had otherwise terrified you.

Not quite a mercy after all and worse yet, rather a sentence in the hell you found yourself in.

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blueberrisdove-sideblog · 9 days ago

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hicc gymnastics roomie mydei fucks the shi outta of bratty reader ToT

૮ ˃̵֊ ˂̵ ა warnings : nsfw/smut, fem!reader, vaginal, doggy style, hair pulling, implied dubcon, sub and dom dynamic.

You knew exactly how to piss Mydei off. It was easy, really—just a few snide remarks here and there, a teasing flick of your fingers against his toned arms when he was stretching, a deliberately careless attitude when he was trying to focus on training.

"Mydei, you’re such a tryhard," you’d giggled earlier, flopped lazily on the gym mats while he practiced his parallel bar routine. "Are you training for gold, or just compensating?"

He didn’t answer. He never did when he was in the zone, but you saw the tick in his jaw, the tension in his shoulders. And that was enough to make you grin.

The problem was, you weren’t expecting him to snap tonight.

You weren’t expecting him to pin you down in your shared dorm after practice, his knee shoving between your thighs, his fingers wrapping around your jaw as he forced you to look at him.

"You’ve been testing me all damn week," he growled, voice low and rough. His golden hair clung to his forehead, sweat from hours of training making his muscles gleam under the dim light. "Do you think I’m just gonna let you get away with it?"

Your breath hitched. Your bravado wavered for a second—but you weren’t about to back down. "Oh? What, are you gonna discipline me, big shot?"

His smirk was sharp, dangerous. "That’s exactly what I’m gonna do."

He flipped you over like you weighed nothing, pressing you down into the mattress, his hand sliding into your hair and yanking. Hard. A whimper tore from your throat as your back arched involuntarily, pushing your ass against his hips.

"That’s more like it," he muttered, his free hand gliding down your spine, shoving up your tank top to expose your bare back. Then lower, lower—until his fingers curled around the waistband of your shorts and yanked them down, taking your panties with them.

You gasped as the cool air met your skin, but the sound turned into a moan when he shoved two fingers between your folds, spreading the slick gathering there.

"Bratty little thing," he mused, dragging his fingers along your pussy, rubbing your clit just enough to make your hips twitch. "You act like a pain in the ass, but look at you. Dripping for me already."

You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

He laughed—low and knowing—before pulling his fingers away. You barely had time to whine before you felt it. The thick press of his cock against your entrance, the blunt head rubbing against your slit, teasing, taunting.

"Mydei—"

Your voice cut off into a sharp cry as he thrust in, stretching you open in one slow, agonizing push. Your nails dug into the sheets as he bottomed out, filling you so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach.

"Fuck," he groaned, hips rolling as he pulled out just enough to slam back in, the force knocking the air from your lungs. "This is what you needed, huh?"

His grip tightened in your hair as he set a brutal pace, his cock pounding into you with every thrust, pushing you further into the mattress. Your tits bounced with each snap of his hips, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room, mingling with your gasps and his rough grunts.

"Mydei, s-slow down—"

"Not a chance." His hand slipped down your body, fingers finding your clit and rubbing harsh circles, sending shocks of pleasure through your core. "You wanted my attention so bad. Now you’ve got it."

You clenched around him, body trembling as the pressure built in your stomach, hot and unbearable. His name spilled from your lips like a plea, like a curse, and he drank it all in with a growl.

"Come on," he muttered, hips snapping harder, sharper. "Be a good girl and cum for me."

And you did—your pussy spasming around him as your orgasm ripped through you, leaving you shaking under him, barely able to hold yourself up.

But Mydei wasn’t done.

He kept fucking you through it, fucking you harder, chasing his own high. His grip in your hair tightened as he pulled you up, forcing your back against his sweat-slicked chest. You were barely coherent as his thrusts grew erratic, his breath ragged against your ear.

"Taking me so well now," he muttered, voice rough. "Not such a brat anymore, huh?"

And with one final thrust, he groaned, burying himself deep as he came, warmth spilling inside you. You moaned, body spent, muscles trembling from overstimulation.

For a moment, there was only the sound of heavy breathing, of Mydei’s lips ghosting against your shoulder. Then, he chuckled, pulling out, watching the way his cum dripped down your thighs.

"Maybe I should fuck the attitude out of you more often," he murmured, dragging his fingers along your sensitive clit, making you jolt.

You turned your head, just enough to glare at him. "F—Fuck you."

His smirk was all sharp edges. "Oh, you will."

Mydei’s grip on your hips was firm, keeping you from collapsing completely onto the mattress. Your thighs trembled as the aftershocks of your orgasm left you weak, your pussy still clenching around nothing, oversensitive and leaking with his cum.

But you weren’t stupid—you could hear it in his breathing, feel it in the way his hands lingered on your body, possessive and wanting. He wasn’t done.

"You’re still mouthing off after I fucked you dumb?" His voice was lower now, almost amused, but there was that same dangerous edge to it. His fingers ghosted over the curve of your ass before smacking it, hard, making you jolt forward. "Guess I haven’t fucked you enough yet."

You barely had time to register what was happening before he was forcing you back onto all fours, spreading your knees wider, pressing his cock against your swollen entrance again. Your body shuddered as the thick head rubbed against your sensitive clit, your hips twitching involuntarily.

"Mydei—wait, I—"

"Wait?" His laugh was a breathy, condescending thing as he dragged the tip along your slick folds, teasing you, letting you feel every inch of him. "Now you wanna play nice? Cute."

He didn’t wait. He never waited.

With one sharp thrust, he sheathed himself inside you again, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth motion. Your breath hitched into a broken moan, your walls fluttering around him, still overstimulated from the first round. Your arms gave out beneath you, your cheek pressing into the sheets as he set a brutal pace immediately, hips snapping forward with no restraint.

"Fuck, you’re still so tight." His voice was rough, his hands gripping your waist like he was anchoring himself. "Like this pussy was made for me."

Your hands curled into the sheets, breath coming in short gasps as he fucked you deeper, harder, dragging his cock along all the spots that made you keen. Every thrust pushed you further into the mattress, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing in the room, filthy and obscene.

He let go of your waist just to grab your hair again, yanking your head back so you had no choice but to arch against him. His lips were hot against your ear, his breath ragged as he growled, "Tell me, does this feel like I’m compensating now?"

You whined, legs shaking as he rolled his hips just right, his cock pressing against that spot inside you that made your vision blur. "F-fuck—"

"Yeah?" He smirked against your skin, biting down on your shoulder just enough to make you yelp. "What was that? Didn’t catch it, baby."

He let go of your hair only to slide his hand beneath you, fingers finding your clit again. You gasped, body jerking as he rubbed harsh, fast circles, pushing you closer to the edge.

"Mydei—" You choked on a sob, your walls tightening around him as another orgasm tore through you, white-hot and overwhelming. Your thighs shook as pleasure crashed over you, leaving you utterly spent beneath him.

But Mydei didn’t stop.

His hips stuttered, his thrusts growing erratic as he chased his own release, panting against your skin. "That’s it," he muttered, his fingers digging into your hips as he fucked you through your high. "So good for me now, aren’t you?"

You could barely respond, your body limp, completely at his mercy. That seemed to drive him even further—he groaned, his grip tightening, and with one final thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, filling you up again with a sharp, low curse.

For a moment, there was only the sound of heavy breathing, of his chest rising and falling against your back, of the way his cum dripped down your thighs, sticky and warm.

Then, after a beat of silence, Mydei chuckled.

"Guess I’ll have to keep fucking that attitude out of you."

His hand slipped back down between your legs, fingers teasing your oversensitive clit again, and your entire body jolted at the sensation.

You barely had the strength to turn your head, glaring at him through half-lidded eyes. "You’re a fucking menace."

Mydei smirked, leaning down to press a kiss to your shoulder, deceptively soft. "And you love it."

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kingkat12 · 6 months ago

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pornography (eric draven x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, foul language, groping/fondling, dry-humping lol, mentions of substance abuse

summary: when you finally talk to Eric Draven in rehab, it doesn't take long before you get drawn together by a force stronger than anything you have ever encountered. it doesn’t help the situation that you eventually find out Eric has been drawing pictures of you… nude

word count: 2,337 PART 1, PART 2, PART 3

a/n: this is for all the girlies like me that just came home from watching The Crow and got their mind blown by how hot Bill was in it... holy fuck. had to write this blurb because I am so shaken up, I can't feel my face. enjoy!! there will be more parts hihi...

"I fucking hate pink,"

I couldn't believe that was the first thing I said to him-- the dark and broody stranger I had been eyeing through my first few weeks in rehab. He stared back at me, confusion swimming in his big green eyes, probably pondering why I had sat down next to him in the cafeteria. "Pardon?"

"It's a little ridiculous," I tried, watching as he put down his cutlery, pushing his food away as he gave me his full attention. Tugging at my pink sweater, which we were all wearing, I let out a nervous chuckle. "Whose idea was it to put a lot of addicts in pink, anyway?"

My eyes darted down to his hands as I waited for his answer-- they were huge up close, and completely covered in tattoos. I hadn't noticed them from afar; I had only noticed the ones peeking through the top of his shirt when he would pass me by in the hall, or the big eye he had on his chest that I had seen while passing by his room. I knew it wasn't nice to peek into his room while he was changing, but I was quite frankly starved of any male contact-- any girl would go crazy in here.

He eventually shrugged, giving me the answer I least expected; "I guess pink is supposed to be a calming colour. It's not that bad," I watched as the corners of his mouth tugged upwards, giving away hints of amusement. "Aren't you girls supposed to like pink?"

"Maybe," I mumbled, nudging food around on my plate with my fork. "I just don't like to wear it. It doesn't suit me."

The handsome stranger didn't seem to agree, another shrug following accompanied by a shy laugh. "I can't figure out whether you're being sincere or searching for compliments,"

This was most definitely not how I wanted to come off. I straightened up, resting my elbows against the table as I cleared my throat. "I'm just trying to make conversation,"

"... Why?"

"Because you've been staring at me almost as much as I've been staring at you," I put down my fork, hoping he didn't see how nervous I was. In truth, he had been staring-- it wasn't all purely one-sided. I had caught him staring at me in the courtyard, on my way to the shower, and I had also caught him lingering outside my room several times. He would usually leave when I came out, disappearing down the hall with speed I wouldn't even dream to catch up with.

He finally gave in to a smirk, nodding to himself as he lowered his head. "Sorry," It was clear that he hadn't thought he'd be called out like this. However, something told me he wasn't too upset about being caught either.

"Don't be," I said, feeling my anxiety ripping through my veins. Why was I indulging? "I just--"

It was at this moment that a guard appeared behind him, yanking him away from the table with a harshness that made me gasp. I clasped my hand over my mouth, watching as he barely reacted to the brutality.

"Guys and girls eat separately!" the guard yelled at me, slamming his fist down on the table.

My eyes widened, looking back at the handsome stranger. "But I-- I was the one who sat down here, he didn't do anything!" I protested, watching as the guard grabbed him and led him away. Groaning, I ran my hands through my hair, frustrated with the rules at this place. Why was it so fucking strict?

I eventually looked up just in time to see that the man had managed to turn around, smirking my way; "I'm Eric!" he said, holding back a laugh as he was shoved along the cafeteria for everyone to see.

Despite the horror washing over me for getting him in trouble, I managed to croak out my name as well. It seemed that he appreciated that I had at least tried to stick up for him-- What was it that I had just started?

My question would be answered a lot quicker than I had expected.

A few days passed, and more looks and stares were exchanged. I was dying to talk to Eric again. I knew I hadn't been sent to rehab to make friends or get feelings for someone, but something was gnawing at me to talk to him again. I wanted to be around him constantly; what was happening to me? I recognized this feeling-- it was the same feeling I got when I really, really craved something... Fuck, how I missed drugs. Maybe Eric was turning into a substitute?

It wasn't often that the door to Eric's room was open, but today it was. I wouldn't have noticed it if I hadn't taken the extra lap around the institute as usual, hoping to get a glimpse of him through the small window in his door. But today, I didn't have to get on my tippytoes to get a look-- there he was, picking up several drawings that had been scattered around the floor. His room looked like a mess, completely unlike how I was used to seeing it through the tiny window. This looked like the result of one of those raids that the prison guards sometimes did when they suspected there were hidden drugs in a patient's room.

I felt sorry for him; I knew how horrible it could feel to have someone rip through all your stuff. But as I bent down and picked up a few drawings that were at my feet, my lips parted in surprise.

It seemed I wasn't the only one caught off guard; Eric noticed me standing in his doorway, letting out a relieved sigh as he watched me inspect his drawings. He called out my name, leaning against the wall as he sized me up and scanned me, crossing his arms over his chest.

I cleared my throat; "Is this... me?" I held up the first drawing of the bunch. It was a sketch of me sitting in the courtyard, and I was sure that it was me-- I suppose it was my shock asking for confirmation.

Eric snickered, kicking off the wall. "Yeah... Sorry,"

"Stop saying sorry," I shuffled through the drawings, finding he had drawn me in multiple settings, and it was clear that I had been watched the few weeks I'd been here. "These are beautiful, Eric... I guess I'm honoured--" My words trailed off as I finally approached the last drawing. Was that...?

He didn't even try to take it away from me. Eric sighed, looking away as his cheeks flushed a light pink, similar to our uniforms.

Judging by his reaction, I had a feeling he wasn't so against me seeing this. It was a sketch of me, after all-- nude.

I had to swallow rather hard for anything to go down. I couldn't pinpoint why I wasn't absolutely horrified at this. "So... this is what you've been up to in here, huh?" There was no stopping the smirk that spread across my lips, holding back a flustered giggle. "This is next-level pervy, do you know that?"

It didn't take long before Eric's big hands ripped the drawings out of my hands, turning away as he shook his head. "Every artist needs a muse, no?"

"A muse? How can I be your muse if we don't know each other?"

"That's not how it works," he mumbled, throwing away the drawings into a heap on the bed. "Your beauty is all I need to get inspired."

This was enough to shock me into silence. I inhaled a sharp breath, stepping into Eric's room despite knowing it was forbidden. "So now you think I'm beautiful?"

Eric hummed, finally turning to meet my eyes. "It hasn't been the biggest secret, has it?" There was something playful about him, shameless, as though it didn't matter to him that I had just found his handmade porn. "It gets a little lonely in here, I guess. These drawings just... run out of me like water. Can't control it."

There was something so unimaginably tantalizing about Eric. Everything about him made me want to jump him then and there-- was it maybe the result of my withdrawals that were turning my brain into further mush? In a normal setting, this would have creeped me out to infinity and beyond, but knowing this was coming from the man I had been lusting after from afar for several weeks made me excuse it in a heartbeat.

I had no idea what possessed me to close the door to his room and lock it, knowing the repercussions could be severe if we were caught. But Eric didn't seem to mind; his green eyes widened, watching my every move like a hawk.

"It was really pretty and all... The drawing, I mean," I said, inching closer to where he had sat down on the bed. "But would you maybe want some inspiration for the next one?"

Eric's plush, pink lips parted, eyes rounding out in surprise. Despite his shock, his big hands reached out for me as I came closer, and he pulled me in between his legs. I could feel him caressing my back through my shirt, holding me with the utmost gentle touch. "I'll take all I can get," he murmured, looking up at me through his brows, a knowing smirk spreading across his face.

I let out a giggle as he pressed his lips against my stomach through my shirt, enjoying the intense feeling of someone against my skin again after all this time. Eric pulled away, glancing at the door before slowly trailing his fingers under my shirt, testing the waters.

It didn't take long before that wasn't enough for him-- my breath hitched as Eric grabbed my waist, pulling me down with him on the bed. I barely had time to think before the euphoric feeling of being kissed engulfed me. Our lips met in an open, soft kiss, almost as though we were scared to break the other if we were too needy or harsh. As I straddled him, I felt his hands tugging at my shirt, dipping back under the fabric once more. His fingers gently ghosted over my lower back, eventually ending up trailing small circles with his thumbs along the underside of my bra.

If I hadn't been so starved of any human contact in here, I would've never jumped the opportunity like this. But none of us knew how long we had until the guards would bust us, and it only fueled the adrenaline pumping through our veins. Our kisses became desperate, hungry, and I let out a whimper against his lips as he took the liberty of cupping my chest, feeling me up to his heart's delight. I knew I had been waiting for this moment since the first time I saw him, and I wasn't about to let it slip through my fingers-- I decided to let him do whatever he wanted to me, no matter what.

I could feel Eric's cock twitch beneath me, clearly aroused. It was also at this moment that he made me sit up, tugging my shirt off of me before laying back down to scan me. Was he memorizing my body for his next sketch? It wasn't every night that I had a handsome stranger beneath me like this, so I allowed him to trail his hands up and down my body, lips parting in delight. "Fuck... Yeah, this will do," he murmured, pupils dilating at the sight before him whether he wanted them to or not.

"You sure?" I asked, giggling to myself. My hands rested against his broad chest, letting out a sigh of delight; God, he was sexy. As I shifted in his lap, Eric's breath hitched as I seemingly sat down in the exact right spot. Almost as though he was possessed by instinct for a moment, he grabbed my hips, rocking me against him through the fabric of our clothes.

Who would've thought I'd be dry-humping this stranger and enjoy it so much? My hands gripped his shirt, a quiet moan spilling past my lips-- I had forgotten this feeling. This was mostly something I did when I was a teenager, before I figured out how to have proper sex with my high school boyfriend. But it felt so damn fucking good, desperate; it didn't take long before I leaned back down, capturing his plush lips in another kiss.

I craved him like water. I wanted him against me, in me, for him to take me in every possible position ever-- a deep, dark part of me knew I would be insatiable from now on.

But our moment of ecstasy was interrupted when a guard started banging his fist against the door, his muffled yells barely registering through my arousal. Despite my dazed state, it didn't take me long to drape my shirt back on, climbing off Eric with wobbly knees. "Shit," I mumbled, turning to him with wide eyes. "I'm screwed. We're screwed."

Everything about him was so damn beautiful. The kiss-swollen lips definitely didn't help how gorgeous I thought he looked right now. Despite the situation, knowing we were in deep shit, Eric let out a soft chuckle; "I don't think you're screwed enough, actually. We'll get to that another time,"

My eyes widened as I gave into a light giggle. There was no way this was happening-- had my naughty rehab dreams come true? The guard banging against the door was drowned out by the incessant ringing in my ears that festered through my mind as Eric leaned down to kiss me one last time; "I hope to see you around, if they don't kill us,"

"Yeah," I breathed, only now realizing how tall he was as I looked up to meet his gaze. This man was towering over me. Holy shit. "Can't wait to see your next masterpiece."

I couldn't wait. I really couldn't.

(a/n: PART 2, PART 3 here!! enjoy<33)

#the crow 2024 #eric draven x reader #the crow x reader #the crow fanfiction #eric draven fanfiction #the crow #oneshot #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #bill skarsgård #bill skarsgård x reader #bill skarsgard #eric draven

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lilaccmilk · 6 months ago

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so....hi and I love your work, amazing btw

so i had this idea yesterday and well what about like a lioness! hybrid reader and a hare! hybrid bf, like I remember reading somewhere that lionesses try to mate with a male around 100 times a day and i was like shocked, but them i remember that hares basically the same so....

kinda matching energy hahaha

but yeah, everything else is up to you

thank you

“I am just a dumb bunny, but we are good at multiplying.”

content warning: hare! male hybrid x lioness!fem reader, mentions of heat/rut and mating season, uhh that’s it i think?

giggling at this ask as we’re speaking.

Alright so, the hare always thought that he would never find someone who matches has libido. I mean, sure he had other females of his kind, but they weren’t the same. That was until he met you— the most sweetest person despite being a predator. You were so kind and so pretty and your skin felt so soft. The hare couldn’t help but find you in his darkest desires. He didn’t really think you’d be able to match his libido, primarily because of the fact that he knew nothing about lioness hybrids.

The start of your relationship was cute and slow. But when the mating season hit— and god it was like a switch had been flipped in you. The hare had been keeping distance from you because he thought he’d tire you out in his own rut. But staying away from your boyfriend became too much, so here you were standing in front of his apartment door, soaked from head to toe because of the rain, 11 in the night.

He quickly got concerned, leading you into his apartment, he went to get you some towels but when he came back— he was hit with the scent of your arousal, and your eyes, god your eyes got so predatory.

You stared at him like he was prey— and he was. You went to him almost ripping his clothes off, not that he minded. Your touch felt like fire on his skin, blazing the flames of his own rut. Without wasting time, you pushed him onto the couch and asked him to take off your clothes. And he obeyed, the sweet scent of his submission hitting your nose.

You had always called him ‘bunny’ to playfully tease him, but now as you growled out “fuck bunny, so pretty f’me yeah?” the nickname would never be the same.

You slowly sank down his length, he was so huge and just filling you up in all the right places. He let out a little whimper as you clenched around him. “Should’ve- hah- should’ve done this sooner.” he mumbles out already pussy drunk. You hadn’t even started and he was already looking like he was fucked dumb. You start moving your hips in a frantic rhythm because you couldn’t think about anything but him. Your mate, your bunny.

The soft plap! plap! plap! fueling your heat on and on. You both reached your climax soon him filling you up full. But no, not enough for you, not enough for you both. You felt your boyfriend flipping you both over, his body moving on pure instinct. You were under him, pinned down.

He started drilling his cock into your pussy. Pace relentless. He wanted to mate you, mark you, breed you. All you could do was let out soft moans and whimpers. His cock was hitting that spot inside of you brutally again and again. Your back arched into him, your pussy clenching deliciously around him, you came with a shudder, and he filled you up again.

You both fell into each other’s embrace, eyes half lidded. He continued kissing your neck, scenting you, his cock still inside you. “5 minutes break?” he asked and you couldn’t help but laugh, “Needy, aren’t we?” but you couldn’t be the one to talk.

#monster boyfriend #monster fucker #monster smut #monster nsft #tw monsterfucking #teratophillia #tw teratophilia #terato #monster fluff #monster bf #hybrid x reader #hybrid smut #hare hybrid #smut #breeding k1nk

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