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ino-takumas-baggy-sweater · 9 months

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The Blessing to Your Curse - Part 1 (Ryomen Sukuna x Reader)

Hey y’all I’m back again so soon with another fic, Sukuna’s lover reincarnation (whatever you call it) has me in a chokehold right now and I thought I’d share this with the world. Would like to warn you there is a lot of strange jumping around/pov changes which are indicated by the change in pronouns, I would mark each change but it would get a bit messy after a while so I hope it’s not too hard to follow! ^-^

Reader’s powers involve something I like to call ‘blessed energy’ which is the opposite to cursed energy and is mostly used for healing (reverse blessed energy is used to harm in the same way reverse CE is used to heal) and it’s something I created to use with my writings in the JJK universe. (sometimes I write it a little op because im a self-indulgent piece of shit so for most of what I post I’ll probably dial it back if I use it hehe) The reader has a similar situation to Maki/Mai (MANGA SPOILERS AHEAD) where one twin is restricted and the other has all the energy, and when the one with the energy dies the living twin gains all the power, so I hope that makes sense in context of the story

(PLEASE DON'T HESITATE TO SEND A REQUEST!!!! I'M ALWAYS IN NEED OF NEW PROMPTS AND CHARACTERS TO GO WITH THEM ❤)(I have a post which outlines characters I mostly write for but I'm open to adding to that list!!)

Warnings: mild description of mutilation (sukuna’s transformation), main character death (not described), fluff

Word count: 2.4k

“Ryomen!” You laugh, trying to keep a few steps ahead of the young man who chases after you. Your legs tire easily, body frail and sick despite the immense power flowing through your veins. “I’m coming for you!” He growls playfully, “Better run!” He’s holding back from his top speed, this you know well, but you refuse to let that stop you from trying to keep up with his childish play. Still young, 16 and 17 with him being the older one, you insist that you would rather spend the rest of your life here with him than being shepherded around in the village like a priestess.

This is your only escape from the temple on the hill, only solitude, your time with Ryomen Sukuna is precious and you treat it as such, thinking only of him and his rare smiles. You refuse to let the village’s words taint your view of him, as powerful as he is with his cursed energy there is good in him and you seek to nurture it, for both simple selfish gain and so he doesn’t turn on everyone like they did him. You reach the treeline and race out into the meadow, the grass tall and soft around your waist having stripped down from your daily ceremonial robes into just modest loose undergarments.

He does eventually catch up near the middle of the meadow, springing out of the grass and tackling you to the ground, making sure to roll so you land on top of him and he takes the full force of the fall. The last time you returned to the village after a long day of simple play with bruises and scrapes you weren’t allowed to leave the village for a few weeks.

He’s grown quite a lot larger than you during his time in exile, to be expected when you have to fend for yourself against wild animals and build your own shelter, “You’re getting stronger every day,” You smile, pushing yourself off him and laying in the grass, staring up at the beautiful pink of the sunset. “Well I have to, to be able protect you, I’m not the only thing out there you know,” He says, his tone almost too blasé for what he’s implying. You tilt your head and trace the lines of his tattoos with your eyes, “I know you’re not, but you’re not a thing to me Ryomen,” You murmur, “Please, you’re the closest thing I have to a friend, you’ve always been human to me,”

He meets your gaze, his eyes used to be brown, but the red no longer worries you like it used to, “One day I’ll get you out of that village,” He says softly, his words for your ears and the rustling grass only, “I will take you far away from here and we can live somewhere untouched by the rest of the world,” You sit up, looking down at him as you hug your knees to your chest, “I’d like that,” You say, smiling, “Just the two of us,” Nothing could touch you while you were together, the world stood still for you, not even the scathing remarks you sometimes got from the other young girls of the village could hurt you.

The world is volatile, things can change so quickly. Curses are still so new to the world of humans, sorcerers that act as protectors are only just starting to appear among humans and spread themselves between villages when the day finally comes. The wave of hatred and anguish that came with the curses suffocated everything in its path. You were outside the village when it happened, returning from a visit with Sukuna, and you returned to find nothing but death and destruction. More than half of the village had been killed with no discrimination towards age or gender, and it only soothed you a little to see your old family home empty when you wrenched the door open. No blood nor bodies of any kind. Your parents and sister had made it out alive, but the temple atop the hill that you resided in was completely engulfed.

You weren’t naïve, you did not attempt to return to the temple, but they came for you all the same because your energy was like a beacon for them, and they were programmed to destroy. Running with Ryomen had improved your strength over the time you spent together, you supposed that was one of the ways he took care of you in his silent brooding way, but it wasn’t enough to get you all the way to him. He must have sensed your fear as you grew nearer, your breaths shallow and your chest tight, his eyes are the last thing you remember seeing before your soul was harshly liberated from your flesh.

The smell of blood permeated through layers of warmth that held you in suspension beyond life, but you felt yourself being dragged back to the ground, standing over your own body as you watch the only person outside of your immediate family who ever truly cared for you cry. You had never seen him cry before, it was cathartic to know even he still felt human somewhere inside while holding your weak broken body to his bare tattooed chest.

You felt his cursed energy filling the air like smoke, almost able to see it in the purgatory state you’re trapped in, his body shaking and his muscles twitching. It was like watching someone turn themselves inside out when it finally happened, his body began changing before your eyes, an extra pair of arms sprout from the top of his ribcage just under the normal ones. His face contorts with an agonized cry and one half becomes unrecognisable, the flesh pink and hardened into some sort of twisted mask, and to finish the monstrous transformation a second pair of eyes open under his regular ones.

Drenched in sweat and breathing heavily as he cradles you, you hear him make one last promise, one that locks around what remains of your essence like chains and puts you into a deep sleep. “I will burn this world for taking you from me, I will become the King of Curses, and when you are reborn I shall make you remember, make you my Queen, I will bind myself to you to protect you,” It’s the final part that reassures you he isn’t losing himself as the darkness consumes you, “When I find you, the world will be right once again,”

Now it had been over a thousand years since the light in Sukuna’s life had gone out, reducing him to a killing machine that punished the world for snuffing it out, and he had returned once more in the body of a naive 15 year old boy with pink hair. Having been preserved as twenty separate cursed objects since his untimely death he was eager to resume his self-assigned purge, but the boy had more control over his body than Sukuna could break through, leaving him trapped within his innate domain watching through Yuji Itadori’s eyes like they’re windows.

“I had to do it at least once,” He grumbles to himself as the boy sits up, stark naked, on the morgue table, surprising the three sorcerers in the room with the formerly dead boy. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet, Yuji, come,” Gojo instructs as the boy slips on some clothes handed to him. “Another sorcerer?” He asks. “You’ll see when we get there,” The taller man beckons him and they make their way to a house on the furthest outskirts of the Jujutsu high campus, small in size and surrounded by forest on all sides except for the path leading up to the entrance.

A fire burns in the chimney and the house is warm when the pair steps inside, “L/n!” Gojo calls out. Sukuna’s attention is elsewhere as around the corner down the hall out walks a pure angel, her energy blinding and her form strong. “Gojo!” She smiles, “Who’s this?” “This is Yuji Itadori, Ryomen Sukuna’s vessel,” She bows politely, “Welcome to my home,” She looks back up into Yuji’s eyes as he smiles, “It’s nice to meet you!”

“Enchain!” Sukuna shouts, and suddenly he’s thrown violently to the forefront of Yuji’s mind. His trump card, wasted. He hadn’t considered the potential consequences, it had been instinctual and foolish of him. The girl didn’t know who he was, but he wanted to speak to her all the same. He would make her know. He cannot stumble, he cannot falter, not when she’s right there and all he has to do is show her, “Y/n,” He murmurs. “That’s not Yuji,” She frowns, her voice soft, “That’s-” Before the two can react Sukuna is on his knees before her, holding her hands in his and hiding against her soft clothing. “I’ve…” Gojo trails off, “I’ve never seen that before,” The girl doesn’t let him go, and he feels her power reach into him, feeling around in the darkest parts of his soul, “My Queen,” He mutters, feeling the metaphysical chains around his heart tighten, “Please, remember,”

A fast surge of energy from Gojo causes the man on his knees before you to react just as quickly, pulling you tighter against him and then seemingly teleporting out the open door into the clearing, “It’s rude to attack ROYALTY!” He roars as Gojo steps out the door after the pair of you. Sukuna has planted himself firmly between the two of you, “You sorcerers never learn manners!” Something happens when your skin next touches his, his hand shooting out to catch you by your wrist as you fail to keep your balance.

A flood of memories that don’t belong to you, in fact, ones that belong to him. You see yourself, weak and frail but smiling widely, Sukuna as he is in front of you now not as he is described in sorcerer texts. A regular human man with an abnormal amount of tattoos, fiercely protective and full of love for the only person who still sees him as human. You vaguely feel yourself fall to your knees as everything from the day he was exiled to the day you died returned to your mind. You knew that despite the life you had lived for twenty years, you were in fact over a thousand years old.

This wasn’t your life, this wasn’t your body, it was hers, but you are her. You can feel the chains, too, the ones he put there the day you died to ensure that you would return. “The world took her from me, and the world paid the price, now BACK OFF!” His words shake you out of your visions, his hand still clutching your wrist as your head hangs weakly.

“Come now, Sukuna, taking hostages isn’t your style, you know that,” Gojo bargains, “Let her go, and we can fight like men,” You shake your head, “No,” You murmur, “No, Gojo,” You finally look up into his eyes, slightly uncovered as he prepares to fight, “He’s right, I know who I am, I know where my clan comes from,” He doesn’t make a move towards you and you take the opportunity to speak again, “My mother was blessed, her child would calm the beast, but she had two and one was weak in body strong in energy, the other was lacking in energy but strong of body,” Your sister had been the one the clan records mentioned, nobody remembered the girl who died alone in Ryomen Sukuna’s arms.

“I am the Queen to Ryomen Sukuna’s King,” You breathe, feeling his grip on your wrist go lax. His energy dies away and he falls to his hands and knees, but the tattoos are gone. “Yuji!” Gojo’s shoulders finally relax and he recovers his eyes, “What happened? How did he get through?” “Don’t ignore me, Satoru,” You state firmly, “Sukuna will not be a threat while I am alive,” “Can you guarantee that?” He’s always been intimidating, but this man was a part of your training as a sorcerer, and he can be rational when he wants to be.

“You’re an imbecile if you think I’m going to go back on a binding vow,” Sukuna spits from Yuji’s cheek, the boy not even having a chance to get a word in, “She is the only thing in this forsaken world I care about and you’re not about to take that away from me just so you can pretend like you’re the saviour of humanity,” You don’t remember ever being as harsh as Sukuna is right now, but his rage fills you with confidence and admiration, “I can guarantee humans will not fall as long as I am alive, his vow makes sure of it, though I’m sure he would not need it either way,”

The secondary eye on Yuji’s cheek closest to you locks its gaze onto you, “Ever so cunning, I wish I’d had the chance to nurture your hatred towards the village, maybe you’d be more open to killing,” He sounds almost wistful, “But alas, I did make a promise, and I intend to keep it, no matter how idiotic I think you sorcerers are,” You finally move to stand back on your feet, helping Yuji up with a tentative smile, “It’s nice to meet you Itadori,” You murmur, “I’m sorry you have to listen to that punk, you come to me if he gives you trouble alright?” The boy nods, his previously cheery demeanour replaced with something mellower and he seems deep in thought as he looks into your eyes.

“He really loves you,” He murmurs in disbelief, “I didn’t… I didn’t think he was truly capable of love, after what he did to me,” You shrug, “It’ll make sense one day, but I’ll let him be the one who opens up, it’s not my place to air out thousand year old dirty laundry with people who are long dead anyway,” Your words hang in the air as Gojo finally sighs. The discussion and conclusion are finalised when he leaves, Yuji will live with you and you will suppress Sukuna’s energy. You will keep the world safe by preserving your life, lest another binding vow come down upon your departing soul and the King of curses be forced to unleash his merciless fury once more.

Sukuna is a little shit and out of character because it’s my fic and I get to write the male love interest however I want (I tried besties :( I don’t like mean Sukuna but I do love “I hate everyone but you” so that’s what you get) also I wrote this instead of sleeping at 2am, the brainrot is real and this will probably end up being a series because I can’t control myself

Part 2 here!

Post dividers from @cafekitsune

#jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader #true form sukuna #ryomen sukuna #yuji itadori #satoru gojo #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk sukuna #heian era #jjk x reader

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kingofpopmj · 4 months

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Can’t Go On Without You By My Side

Summary: You visit your boyfriend of two years on his BAD world tour. The excitement of witnessing him perform live is quickly tainted the moment she walks in.

Pairing: Michael Jackson x Reader

Warnings: SMUT

Requested: no

*Y/N's POV*

Michael and I were finally able to plan for me to visit him on tour. I was lucky enough to get a week and a half off of work and we were determined to make the most of it. Michael had insisted on picking me up from the airport even though he was technically supposed to be at the venue. We arrived about ten minutes after the show was scheduled to begin, but thankfully, no one called us out on it.

I stood off to the side, watching Michael completely own the stage. The way he mastered his onstage persona was breathtaking. His smile was so bright. I took a moment to discreetly admire his outfit, clinging to his body tighter with each passing song.

“He’s sexy, isn’t he?” A breathy voice sounded from beside me, interrupting my silent gawking. I guess I wasn't being as discreet as I thought.

“Um—” I looked to my left, making eye contact with a very tall woman. She was beautiful. A tight black dress clung to her body so tight it almost looked painted on. I know exactly who this is.

“The correct answer is yes. He can do it all, if you know what I mean.” My hands clenched into fists with such force I could feel my rings digging into my skin. “He’s absolutely the sexiest man alive. I’m so exhausted, he kept me up all night this past week. That's not a complaint by the way. He is so worth it.”

I couldn’t put together enough words to form a complete sentence. Quite frankly, all my focus was on holding myself back. I couldn’t catch a case right now. Michael might be cheating on me and this woman is certainly a whore. That was that. I couldn’t change fact. If I went off and beat the living shit out of some groupie it would ruin the rest of my life. I couldn’t let the anger control my behavior. He betrayed me, but I refuse to let him see how much it really broke me.

“I’m so sorry, I get all misty watching him. Don’t we all?” She laughed, squeezing my shoulder, little did she know she was dangerously close to losing those boney little fingers. “My name is Tatiana, and you are?” She held out her hand, batting her eyelashes so hard I thought she’d fly away. At least I hoped she would. Maybe over a large body of water, perhaps shark infested waters.

“Hi, I’m Y/N.” She let out an exaggerated gasp, slapping her palm against her mouth.

“You’re the girlfriend! Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry.” She quickly ran off leaving me standing there alone with this feeling in my stomach that I couldn’t describe.

I glanced around the immediate area, seeing no one else near me felt worse somehow. I don't know many people here other than Michael. I became distracted as he sang Rock With You, little did he know he was moments away from getting rocked. Y/N, no, stop. I release the tension in my hands, shaking it off, trying to let go of the violent thoughts swirling in my mind. Besides how therapeutic it was right now, it wasn’t productive. I need some air, a drink, a hitman? No. Air, I need air.

The clicks of my heels echoed through the halls as I headed towards an unknown destination. I'm probably lost, but that’s a problem for future Y/N.

*Michael's POV*

As Rock With You came to an end, I noticed Y/N disappear behind the curtain. Exactly, two songs have gone by since then and still no sign of her. During the brief outfit change after Thriller, before intermission, I notice Greg, my music director mouthing something to me.

"What?" I mouthed back, scratching my forehead. He's terrible at this.

"Your girl." Okay, I got that. I nodded, shrugging slightly as if to say and what about her.

"Mad."

I couldn’t play charades any longer, as the lights dimmed and the band took over the stage I snuck behind the large equipment to get closer to him.

"What happened?"

"I saw Tatiana talking to her. She did not look too happy after that brother."

I nodded slowly, processing his words before walking off. I should be taking advantage of my break, but I couldn’t relax not knowing where my girlfriend was.

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you. What are you doing all the way back here?”

"Nothing I just needed some air." She said lowly, avoiding my eyes.

"Are you okay?" I moved towards her, cupping her face in my hands. The look in her eyes answering my question, but I wanted to hear it from her.

"Yeah, well, no, but it can wait until after the show."

"Are you sure?" I asked and she nodded in response. "Now, can you please come back with me? I perform better knowing my beautiful woman is watching me."

She accompanied me as I changed into my next outfit. She helped me slip into my coat, but my excitement was short lived, because I could sense her sadness. What is going on?

"I love you, baby." I watched closely as she struggled with her response, she began biting on her bottom lip, her eyes growing glossy. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Her voice cracked and she quickly turned away from me.

"I know you Y/N. You're hurting and I'd like to know what's going on so I can help."

"S—She—" Y/N broke down right, her body was shivering as she tried to compose herself. I felt less than helpless.

"Who?" I tried comforting her, but she brushed me off, moving away from me all together.

A quick knock on the door, signaling that intermission was coming to a close and I needed to get back out there.

"I'll let them know I need more time. I'll be right back."

"No!"

"You're crying. Y/N, baby, I'm not leaving you."

"I'm alright. Please, can we just talk about this later?"

I didn't want to agree, but she wasn't asking, she was practically begging. I intertwined our fingers, keeping her close as I weaved my way through the backstage area.

"Please, stand here and watch the rest of the show. It would mean the world to me." I smiled at her and kissed her temple as I hugged her.

"I'll be right here." She reaffirmed my confidence. Then, she grabbed my collar, pulling me into her lips. Her tongue was pure magic. Normally, I'd be embarrassed about public affection, but with the way I'm feeling, I'd love to feel every inch of her right here, right now. I didn't care who was watching.

She pulled away and I desperately chased her lips as she giggled at my neediness.

"You have to go."

"There is no way I'm leaving your side after that."

"You don't have a choice."

"I will be back. Very, very soon."

*Y/N's POV*

I watched the second half of Michael's concert the way I should've watched the first half. I enjoyed myself dancing and singing along to my man's voice. What Tatiana said hurt me, but I felt so foolish when I thought logically again. Michael isn't that type of person. I didn't need to talk to him about this, because once the anger and hurt wore off I was able to come to a conclusion on my own. She's lying. She has to be.

"You're still here?" This damn witch. "I'd be halfway home by now if I found out my boyfriend stepped out on me."

There was so much I wanted to say, but I chose to let her words go in one ear and out the other. The last thing I want to do is let her know she ever got to me.

"Well, that's my cue. Enjoy the show." She winked, walking pass me and flipping her hair.

I was forced to watch as Tatiana strutted across the stage with my boyfriend chasing after her. This was one of my favorite songs and now I couldn’t even enjoy it. I felt my blood begin to boil as she shamelessly flirted with him in front of the crowd of thousands.

She was getting closer and closer to him. She was doing this on purpose and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

Why is this song so long all of the sudden?

"What the hell is she doing?" I heard Frank DiLeo grumble from behind me. I jumped a bit at his tone, but tried to play it off.

"Everything okay?" I asked softy.

"Hey darling, yeah she was supposed— what the hell! Get her off the damn stage! Now!"

I turned my attention back to the stage and I wished more than anything I wouldn’t have done that. I tried to blink as if that would change the view, but it didn’t.

I was stuck in that horrible moment as the worst thing I could imagine was confirmed. I had a front row seat to my own humiliation and I had no idea how to escape.

Before I knew it, she was walking towards me. "So happy you could be here to see what a real power couple looks like." She stopped in front of me, crossing her arms. "Sorry honey, he's moved on to bigger and better things."

I felt my cheeks heat up as I became uncomfortably aware of how many eyes were on us.

"Tatiana, that's enough. Get away from her." Frank shouted, shooing her away like a toddler.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

We stood in silence as Man in the Mirror blasted through the speakers. It wasn't until Michael's long passionate goodbye to his fans, wrapping up the concert that Frank slung his arm around my shoulder.

"Darling, you know she's full of it right?"

"I'm not sure."

"Michael and I have to take care of some business. I won't keep him too long and I'll send him your way after."

I knew that was his way of telling me it was private business that I couldn’t be around for. I hugged him before heading off, I wasn't really sure where I was going, but walking felt better than sitting with my thoughts.

"Baby! I'm so sorry. Frank told me what happened after—"

“I need to get out of here before I do something I regret.” Michael reached out, taking a firm hold of my hand, he pulled me down a short hallway and into his dressing room.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” He finally spoke, shutting the door behind him.

“You’re sorry I had to see it?”

“Yes.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Y/N—”

“Does that mean you do it often?”

“No, that’s not—”

“You go around kissing other people when I’m not around?”

“Y/N, I’ve never—”

“I know they’re everywhere, throwing themselves at you, but I never thought you let them get to you.”

“Stop!”

“What!”

“I’ve never cheated on you!” He shouted in a tone I had never heard before, the look of pain present in his eyes. Shit.

“That’s not what people are saying.” I muttered, suddenly I felt so guilty.

“People? What people?”

“Who do you think! She said you two—”

“That’s a lie! I only see her during performances. That’s it. Y/N, I would never do that to you.”

“How am I supposed to believe you after that? She kissed you and you let her.”

“No, no, no! I didn’t let her! I wasn’t even paying attention to her. When I’m on stage, I’m there to perform. Why would I spend weeks planning for your visit just to betray you?”

“She was so awful to me, the things she said, then, she went out there and—”

“Got herself fired.”

“Michael, I’m pissed, but I’ll get over it. I don’t want this to affect business. You don’t have to fire her.”

“I already did.”

“Michael—”

“I only want to work with people who respect me and my loved ones. She won’t be missed. I don’t care to have people around me that I can’t trust.”

“I’m sorry I yelled. I’m so sorry I accused you of—” Michael shut me up, gripping my hips, pressing my body against his and kissing me sloppily. His hand claiming a possessive hold of the back of my neck, deepening his touch.

"I love you." he spoke into my mouth, his hot breath sent shivers down my spine. I felt myself tremble as his fingers explored my inner thigh, pushing up my skirt to give himself more access.

"I love you." I said, slipping my fingers around his belt buckle. He smiled knowingly, pushing me back, my ass collided with the counter and I felt myself crumble at his roughness. The cold countertop causing me to let out a moan. He pulled away for a moment, reaching behind me and clearing off the counter in one swift movement. "Such a gentleman." I purred in his ear as he picked me up.

"Only for you." A smirk on his face as the sound of nylon tearing filled my ears. "I love how sexy these look on you. I'll have to replace them." His long fingers slipping pass the freshly shredded fabric of my panties and teasing me one finger at a time. He watched as my head leaned back onto the mirrored wall, he chuckled as I struggled to find something to grab onto.

"Michael!" I was fighting to breath feeling him knuckle deep inside of me, hitting the right spot. "Fuck! Deeper!" I begged for more. Contrary to my needy cries, he pulled back, leaving me feeling empty as he unbuckled his belt, letting his pants fall to the ground. I took this opportunity to tear his shirt off, throwing it across the room.

Michael pushed my legs apart, admiring how much I yearned for him, he slowly pulled me towards him with a strong grip on my legs. My bare ass slide across the counter painfully slow until I finally felt his hard tip press against my entrance.

"Always so wet and ready for me." He slammed into me, giving me no time to adjust which threw me further over the edge.

"Harder!" I yelled as he pounded into me with such intensity I swear I could feel him rearranging my guts.

"Baby, I want to cum inside of you." His voice smooth, making me even more wet.

"Please!" The walls were shaking as we continued to devour one another.

"You're fucking perfect." He whispered against the bare skin of my chest, I felt him everywhere. My eyes rolled back as his dick massaged all the right places.

Suddenly, the door swung open violently, causing me to panic and try to cover my exposed chest, but Michael stopped me. He grabbed my wrists trapping them behind my back in on of his hands as he increased his speed again. My moans escaped my throat against my will as tears of pleasure rolled down my cheeks. At this point, my entire body was shaking, Michael's tongue rolling against mine elongating my high further.

"What the fuck are you doing!" A voice shouted, causing my head to snap in the direction of its origin. Tatiana.

"You feel so good wrapped around my dick." He declared as he sucked on my neck. It was impossible to concentrate on anything else but his lips. "I'll never get tired of fucking this perfect pussy." Michael didn’t stop. He spoke clearly and confidently as he fucked me with purpose.

"Get the fuck out of here!" Tatiana yelled.

"Y/N!" Michael whimpered, his seed spreading within me, causing my legs to tingle. He gazed deep into my eyes, beads of sweat trailing down his face. "I fucking love you." His hand gently curled around the side of my neck, pulling me back into his sweet mouth.

"What the fuck!" Another shout from the demon herself. I paid it no mind. Looking back at Michael, his long dick still twitching inside of me.

"I love you baby." I smiled, wrapping my arms around his neck, leaning into his neck to leave my mark. Tatiana stood there staring at us in shock, so naturally I challenged her stare. I waited to see if Michael would break focus, but he didn’t.

“We are busy in here. Close the door on your way out.” Michael said sternly between breaths, not even sparing her a glance.

The door slammed shut seconds later and it was only then that I took the time to look around the dimly lit room. Make-up and personal belongings littered the floor. Various unfamiliar items surrounded us, leading me to believe that I was made apart of one very well thought out, very devious plan and it turned me on.

"Michael?"

"Yes, my love?"

“This isn’t your dressing room, is it?”

“Nope.” He smiled triumphantly, planting tender kisses all over my face.

“You’re so sneaky.”

“You’re my girl. That’s never changing.”

“You quite literally marked your territory.” I giggled as he caressed my collarbone, watching as goosebumps formed.

“Oh, Y/N, baby, I’m just getting started. We’re gonna be here all night.”

“Let’s see what you got rockstar.”

“Baby, don’t make me carry you out on that stage and give those lovely people an encore they’ll never forget.”

“A girl can dream can’t she?”

I winked teasingly as I positioned myself onto my knees, looking up at the man I love, confident I was about to give him the best head of his life.

#michael jackson #michael joseph jackson #king of pop #michael jackson imagine #michael jackson x reader #michael jackson imagines #michael jackson fanfic

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bucknastysbabe · 9 months

Note

Ser Criston is OC Princess (Rhaenyra’s younger sister) sworn protector & is in love with her but he knows he shouldn’t but he can’t help being obsessed and Rhaenyra hates it because it’s her little sister & so one night she asks Ser Criston to sneak out for a walk and they kiss & get caught by Rhaenyra idk

Hi yes I totally got carried away bc Criston has me in a chokehold rn. I hope you enjoy, I love the obsessed aspects. I also got to explore the other indications in F&B that insinuated Cole rejected Rhaenyra. Thanks for the ask🥰🥰 I don’t usually do OC’s but since it’s a Targ I mean I can only leave so much up to interpretation! But it was fun and diff

Rating: Mature

Tags: Forbidden love, unreliable narrator, Criston’s POV, oc-ish Princess reader, Sorry I made Rhae a bitch ugh, Criston’s snappy ass, Alicent is his bestie, masturbation, fantasies, dark Criston, virgin reader, clit orgasm, open ending, angst and pining galore, Religious Guilt, Harwin doing his best okay?, character study-ish, obsessive/possessive Criston

Word count: About 6k

@aemonds-holy-milk @aemonddtargaryen

Lucerra Targaryen, called Cerra, was oft said to be the spitting image of the late Queen Aemma. She retained more of her father’s demeanor, none of the resolute strength of Aemma and the fiery nature of young Rhaenyra. The fire that had entranced Criston once. He was told all of Cerra’s quirks when they made him her sworn shield.

He so much did not glance Rhaenyra’s way now, the burly Ser Harwin towering over the heir. They shared a kiss once, Criston ran, their close bond was severed. He knew down deep she coveted her uncle. It burned him, but he did his duty. The duty hanging around his shoulders like a lead weight— just cloaked in white wool. Criston found himself bewitched again.

The sweet Cerra, her gentle innocence and piousness. Something unmarred, not yet tainted by the world. The knight wondered if she was the maiden reborn, sent to test him. He prayed and prayed and confessed repeatedly to get rid of the wicked sin in his heart. Usually after touching himself.

Criston had always been weak when it came to the fairer sex. He’d fall madly in love like a boy and his first fuck. Just no fucking, more of the merest scrap of appreciation and touch had him by the vulnerable throat.

He coveted the young princess badly. Sometimes she would grab his palm when frightened, or on a walk to the Sept. Criston felt disgusting wondering how that soft hand would feel around his cock, the pale flesh clashing against ruddy. Cerra didn’t know, couldn’t know how weak he was.

Rhaenyra obviously knew of the metaphorical chink in the armor. She was becoming increasingly nosy of her sister’s doings as of late. He sourly thought to himself, ‘spoiled cunt couldn’t have me, of course she’ll make sure I part from her sweet sister.’ He frowned in annoyance at the elder’s recent interruption.

He’d merely helped her up to reach a flower in a tall bush. Certainly didn’t expect chaste Cerra to be so…close. She had wrapped her arms around his neck, startling him as she sighed, “You’re too kind Ser Criston, my white knight. What would I do without you?” She didn’t mean anything licentious, the Princess never did. Once a lordling flirted and she blushed to her ears and called for Criston to escort her away.

He preened about that for days. He’d heard the idiot boy scoff, “Stupid Dornish mutt.” Criston grinned and leaned toward the shorter lad, keeping his voice low. The princess shouldn’t hear such filth. He hissed, “This mutt would be glad to cave your fucking skull in with a Morningstar. Don’t come near the Princess ever again.” That was that. Back to his original thought.

At the moment Criston couldn’t help but sink into her soft gesture, pale white waves and lavender eyes gazing up as she laid her head on his chest. The brunette laid a chaste hand on her waist, but the moony look on his face was likely brighter than the Hightower’s beacon.

“My lady is kinder, no need to praise your sworn shield, merely doing my duty Princess.”

His cock was full to bursting at her sweet scent and wide eyes, framed by pretty lashes. Cerra closed those lavender orbs and inhaled gently, relaxing in the center of the Godswood. Criston’s hand thumbed little circles into her waist, feeling the princess relax more, leaning into his stronger frame, lips subtly parting.

“Cole! This is an unseemly position to be seen in with my sister if Larys’ spies are about,” Rhaenyra called with a smile and cocked head. Lucerra stepped back with a gasp, flush flooding her cheeks. She stammered, “R-Rhaenyra, no no, I w-was simply.”

“Simply what?”

Criston cooled his expression to state, “The princess was expressing her gratitude for me. Nothing more.”

Lucerra nodded, gesturing to the knight, cheeks still flaming and eyes downcast. She certainly wasn’t acting as if this was innocent. Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes and stepped forward to grab her sister’s hand. Casting a glare toward him she hissed, “I need her for the afternoon, you can wait outside the door.”

He stiffly nodded, anger flaring up in his chest so violently Criston feared he would yell at the heir. Instead he murmured, “Yes princess.” From a distance he trailed the two blondes, aggravated as all Seven Hells. Rhaenyra never paid attention to Cerra, especially since having her first babe. Damned bitch. Where was her loyal whore Harwin?

Waiting outside Rhaenyra’s chambers, Criston thought over her precious sister’s actions. He wondered what it would be like to touch her more. Graze over her sensitive neck, breasts, lower belly. She’d probably squeal if he suckled on a pretty tit. He inhaled sharply, catching himself on a low moan. Repentance would be in order soon.

Maybe he was being punished now— waiting outside like a mangy dog.

For hours.

Cerra came back out with a strange look, apologizing, “Sorry Ser Criston, that went longer than expected, I didn’t think my sister would want that much of the day. Shall we head to supper?”

He nodded, extending an arm forward. The princess was quiet, eyes flicking toward him a couple of times. Criston asked, “Yes princess?” Lucerra stopped on a dime and faced him, face close to tears. She warbled, “You’re not mad are you? I- I can’t deny family. Rhaenyra actually uh- helped. I was acting imprudent in the Godswood, I apologize for being wanton and brazen Ser.”

Oh. Criston blinked a couple of times. She was expressing more than mere affection? He wiped away her tear with a gloved hand, sighing, “No princess, I could never be mad at you, what’s in the past is in the past. You are anything but wanton, the picture of the maiden to me. Don’t let her scare you.”

She smiled, tipping forward on her feet some, eyes entrapping Cole easily. Then he was engulfed into a hug again. What had brought in this madness? He couldn’t complain, yet.

She breathed, “Oh, oh I was so worried you’d be mad. We should go to the sept tomorrow, yes?” The knight’s lips quirked up as he replied, “That sounds splendid my Princess, we shall go in the morn. Now let’s get you to dinner?”

She grabbed his hand again, practically skipping, chattering now about her time with ‘big sister’. Criston listened, he always did, but he needed to go jack his cock before going mad. Then wallow in guilt about it all night at the edge of Cerra’s room. She preferred him taking watch from inside her quarters. Such a frightened little lamb.

Wallow in guilt did he. While the princess slept in her grand bed, Criston couldn’t help but replay the shame in his head. As soon as he’d escorted her to dinner, he went to his quarters and stripped down heavy armor and pants. The man shuddered at the sensation of cool air hitting his achingly flushed cock.

He pictured the pristine Targaryen underneath his tanned body, writhing with pleasure. Criston spat on his hand and worked his prick, panting softly. Cerra’s doe eyes would be teary, overwhelmed with the pleasures of the flesh. She’d whine while he’d pump into her virgin cunt, “Oh, Criston, oh gods! Don’t stop!” The knight gasped and shuddered at the thought, groaning as he spilled all over his hand.

He blinked again, running a hand through his hair. Lucerra was awake, hair shining like silver under the moonlight. She spoke in a soft rasp, “Ser Cole, are you still here?” He laughed at her silly question, replying, “As always, can’t trade me out like the Cargylls.”

“Oh, good,” she pulled the covers off the bed and stretched, white nightgown pulling in the right wrong places, “I had a horrid dream. I can’t possibly go back to sleep yet.”

Criston frowned at her admission— it pained his heart to have her upset. He questioned, “A bad dream? What was it about?” She stepped onto the cold marble floor, shivering, shrugging on a thicker robe hung nearby. His eyes followed her smaller form come closer, curling up in a plush chair adjacent to his position. She wiped a hand across her face, still groggy.

“I can hardly remember now. I was alone, so alone, not even my dragon was around. I k-kept calling out for someone, probably you,” she pulled the robe tighter, “I don’t know. Maybe it was the wine.”

Cerra’s lips were drawn tight, brows pulled together. Criston wanted to pull the pretty girl onto his lap, she was still shivery. He thought of a decent response, something comforting. The knight settled on, “It was obviously a dream, I’d never desert you my Princess. That big white beast wouldn’t either.”

Her lips curled up to let out a tinkling laugh— making Criston’s sick heart skip a beat. Cerra replied, “Cloudwing is not a beast! She’s a good girl.” The brunette chuckled along with the Targaryen, smiling helplessly, such a lovesick dumb dog was he.

A beat of silence grew over them, heavy with something. The earlier revelation of Lucerra behaving with romantic intentions still lay undiscussed. Criston suggested gently, “You will catch a cold if you do not get back under the covers, princess. You won’t be alone, I swore an oath.”

One he would break if she just asked. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted that truly or not. He’d gotten quite far being the son of a common born steward.

She bit her lower lip and shrugged, “I’d much rather sit with you Ser Criston. I’ll be okay as long as I keep my feet off the dreadful stone.”

“Lucerra, please, shall I pick you up then? You need sleep, the Sept remember?”

Her gaze locked onto the white knight’s intensely. Lucerra fidgeted with her robe, the damn air growing heavier. Criston found it hard to think when she was being so confusing. She finally spoke, a meek whisper, “Yes, that would be nice, thank you.”

Lifting the blonde was easy, her squeak and grasp onto his shoulders adorable. Criston had to bat away more thoughts about how simple she was to handle. He laid her down gently, taking the coat she shrugged off. Lucerra grabbed onto his hand with a fervent tightness as he turned back to his chair.

“Please, don’t leave me so alone, I don’t care what Rhaenyra says. Just keep me warm?”

Her pretty face was achingly raw, open, eyes tinged with fear. Criston swallowed heavily. He was weak. He couldn’t run away this time. Didn’t want to run away, bask in the sweet sin. Maybe it was meant to be. Maybe it was a test from the seven.

“Criston?”

“Yes, just, just- give me a second to get my armor off.”

Now he was shivery with want, warring with trepidation. Ridding his body of armor was horribly slow. The awkward clank of each piece coming off. Each heavy noise reminded him what he was potentially giving up. Soon Criston remained in simple breeches and a linen shirt. Lucerra pulled back the covers and smiled nervously.

He climbed onto the soft bed, pulling the blankets back over their frames. Unsure of what came next, Criston simply laid on his back and gazed at her. Lucerra murmured, “Must you be the pious one now?” He raised an amused brow at the bold comment.

“What’s that supposed to mean princess?”

She frowned and nestled into his side, wrapping an arm around him and tucking soft hair into the crook of shoulder and jaw. Criston exhaled sharply, unused to such intimate touch after donning the white cloak. He reached over to grab her leg, pulling it snug across his lower belly, thankfully out of the way of his swelling prick.

Cerra gasped against his neck, giggling, “Good, now I don’t feel like a concubine.”

“Concubine? Pfft. You’re white as snow compared to my cloak,” he replied.

“It’ll be our secret, I’d fear I would perish without my white knight. I swear it upon my heart.”

He couldn’t respond, lest it be something out of control. Instead he rubbed her back and knee, squeezing once in agreement with Cerra’s statement. Soon she fell asleep, softly puffing against his neck. Criston joined soon after, utterly content and warm.

The simple action of cuddling up couldn’t slake the thirst that grew within him for the lovely princess. They had remained chaste and he arose early every morn to get dressed and step back outside the wooden door. Lucerra would seek out touches in secret, holding pinkies with him, laying her head on an armored shoulder in the Godswood.

She would share smiles with the knight across the throne room, Rhaenyra’s calculating look upon the utterly obvious pair. Criston knew one could see into his bleeding heart if they looked into his eyes. The way Princess Lucerra grew tighter and tighter into his side around the keep, lavender eyes sparkling aroused many curious onlookers.

Rumors began to swirl. Criston reluctantly stood outside her chambers a couple nights a week. One night he encountered a poorly prying Harwin Strong. The fellow knight had made one too many passes and he called out, “Get your big ass over here!” He didn’t mind Harwin, but did mind being spied on.

The hand’s son looked sullen as he walked up to Criston, flicking down a dark hood. He gave a sheepish smile, apologizing, “Uh, you know, the girls want what they want.” Criston crossed his arms and deadpanned, “Your girl wants me expelled from King’s Landing on account of rumors”

Harwin gave him a look, disgusting pity lacing his features. Criston reiterated, “The girl remains pure, she looks to me as a protector, you know how easily frightened the princess has always been.” Somehow he felt like a liar. Still her pretty lips and cunt remained untouched.

“Sure Cole. Just be careful, you know what the punishment is of breaking your oath.”

Criston’s temper flared to life, taunting Harwin with a fake smile, “You be careful too now, two Valyrians making some beautiful brown haired babes is a bit strange no?”

Harwin shoved him into the door with a snarl. Breakbones’ power at full force knocked the wind out of Criston, but he wheezed a laugh. He was no better than him— just another lovesick fool. Strong rumbled, “Keep your damn mouth shut and I’ll stay on my side, but I know you got the princess primed for your dirty lowborn cock.”

Criston didn’t want to get his face pummeled in. The raucous already probably woke his sweetling. He gave another smarmy look and hummed, “Noted, Strong.” That earned the knight another shove and the burly man stomped off to lick the bitch’s teats.

The door opened behind Criston, a bewildered Lucerra in her robe. She questioned, “W-what was that? Are you alright Ser Criston? Come in, please.”

His dark eyes scanned down the hallway once more before stepping inside, sighing as she enveloped him into a warm embrace. Criston spoke lowly, “Big sister had sent her own shield to spy on me. We should be more careful.”

Lucerra frowned, lips setting into a pout. She murmured, “We’ve done nothing horrid. Yes, unseemly, but I’m intact. Turn around, let me get off this dreaded armor.” Criston appreciated her desire to learn how to discard his Kingsguard armor— although he averted guilty eyes from the way the Targaryen would carefully hang his cloak, like it still meant something.

As they laid together, she complained into his neck, lithe fingers playing with his inky hair, “You’re right, we should be more courtly, take more precaution. Of all of my sister’s misgivings, why does she care?”

Criston played dumb, it’s what he was anyway. Lied again and said he had no clue why Rhaenyra took such a deep distaste to the pair’s relationship. He sighed, “It will work out, more careful, yes. C’mon, to sleep, sorry about the noise.”

Another night in her arms was a blessing to Criston. He would be reluctantly busy the next day. The king needed a whole retainer for his appearance in public at the Dragonpit. It was the anniversary of Aegon’s landing. Luckily the princess would be in his peripheral. Along with the conniving heir and her other eyes.

It was a banal affair, King Viserys smiling and waving to the crowds. Queen Alicent held her youngest child, Daeron. Rhaenyra and Laenor were surrounded by her bastard brood, holding her own babe Joffrey. Named after that flimsy knight who Laenor was fucking. Poor sap died in the city under strange circumstances, likely Daemon’s doings.

Criston met eyes with Harwin, vaguely disguising a sneer. He ignored the brute and turned his vision back to the crowds, the smallfolk staying relatively easy. Lucerra stood next to her elder sister, holding Lucerys, her namesake. Her smile was gorgeous, a couple of boys cheered for her, throwing a flower.

After the public spectacle, the princess gave a shy smile to Criston on his horse, cheeks rosy pink before the door was slammed shut by the cunt Daemon. He raised a brow and hopped onto the front of the wheelhouse, offhandedly commenting, “Cunt struck and you haven’t even defiled my niece, Ser Crispin.”

The Dornishman clenched his jaw so hard he feared it may crack a tooth. He rode ahead, staying silent, Daemon didn’t forget a slight and surely hadn’t forgot when Criston embarrassed the rogue prince in tournament. Pompous ass.

More annoying feast and merriment kept the knight from his pretty girl. Lords and ladies filled the grand dining hall, dancing to and fro. He stayed put against a column, watching her. Lucerra wasn’t much of a dancer, but she let the old Sea Snake guide her around some turns.

A body sidled next to him, a familiar face and scent. The Queen herself, Alicent smiled softly up at him. She stated, “You’re distracted Ser Criston.” He sighed in return, “I’m sure you’re quite aware of the rumors. Seven cursed my weak heart.”

“Lucerra’s harmless,” Alicent glared toward the non-green side of the table, “It’s her lying sister, you remained truthful. I’ve been trying to stifle the rumors. Have you stayed chaste? I hope you have on account of your neck, my dear Knight.”

Criston leaned down to murmur, “Agonizingly so. I fear I’ve been bewitched yet again. Harwin Strong was sniffing around the other night.”

Her lips turned to a foul grimace at the mention. Alicent hissed, “The realm’s delight is carting around her bastards like trueborns and she’s deadset on potentially ruining her sister’s reputation to get at you.”

“Always been selfish, hasn’t she,” Criston laughed.

Alicent smirked, placing both of her hands over the knight’s. The green queen spoke plainly, “Please be careful dear heart. You’re a valuable asset to our proud dynasty.” The long-suffering redhead disappeared into the throng of people, ever an ally for him.

Back to scanning the surroundings. Daemon was spinning with Rhaenyra, likely talking horseshit in High Valyrian. He scanned for Lucerra, finding her cornered by the tables with a noble clad in the colors of House Darklyn, known bootlickers.

His chest tightened with jealousy. Criston seethed to himself, chanting internally, ‘I will not make a scene, I will not make a scene.’ The Darklyn lad was too close for his liking. It suddenly felt too hot under his heavy armor. He was close to the brink, gripping the pommel of his sword until his knuckles whitened.

Lucerra seemed uncomfortable, face uneasy and body stiffening. The Darklyn fuck was leaning into her space, lips undoubtedly spewing disgusting things a lady shouldn’t hear. The princess gasped at something he said and turned away, getting yanked back towards the man.

That was enough.

Criston stormed forward, shoving through the nobility, snarling in anger. He yanked the uncouth prick by the collar and dragged him far away from his princess. Parts of the crowd stopped to stare, Rhaenyra perking up to look. The princess blushed and excused herself, quickly finding another dance partner in the more palatable form of Tyland Lannister.

“What are you doing? I have done nothing to the King!,” the black haired teen spat. Criston continued to haul the boy past the columns to a quieter place, anger clouding any sort of judgement. He shoved the noble bitch against an alcove, gauntlet pressed against twitching neck.

Darklyn gasped and writhed for air, eyes wide with fear. Criston hissed, “The Kingsguard protects the family and the king. You should know better than to touch the princess like that. I ought to gut you, throw you onto the spikes of Maegor’s Holdfast and watch you rot.”

The stinking reek of piss filled Criston’s nostrils. He looked down in disgust, muttering, “Weakling piss-ant. Don’t dare come near her-,” his threat was unfinished as he was whirled to face Lord Commander Westerling. His face was hard and eyes flinty— obviously disappointed.

“Come Cole, we need to have a word.”

The walk was quiet and unsettling, only the clank of their gear and footsteps sounding off as they reached the quieter area of Maegor’s Holdfast. Criston apologized immediately, “My temper Ser, I apologize, he was manhandling the Princess.”

Harrold Westerling shook his head with a resigned sigh. He rumbled, “You’ve already toed the line Ser Cole. I don’t want to have a capable fighter like you dismissed or facing the black, gelded at that.”

Criston’s roiling emotions died down into a despairing state— his chest fluttering with fear. He nodded and held his head down in obeisance. Westerling continued, “You must take a step back. You’re of the most elite of elite men, a big step from your beginnings. Princess Lucerra is an enchanting girl, I know this is hard, but as soon as you took the oath— this is your life. You must cease all feelings for the girl or request to be transferred to another.”

Criston fought back the warble in his voice. He wanted to rip his cloak off and shout his love, make someone understand. He swore, “I know Lord Commander, I know. I have never defiled the girl, I would never. This is my calling and I’m shirking it. I’ll think about requesting an exchange.”

Harrold clapped him on the shoulder and regarded him with kinder eyes, “Good. I was struck too once. I had many princesses to tend to with Jaehaerys and Alysanne’s litter of dragons. Just, please, pray on it and keep it in line Ser Cole.”

“Yes sir.”

He sulked about, Harrold ordering him to his chambers until the was called to his usual watch over his Lucerra. Criston hoped she was alright. He guiltily turned dark eyes onto his shrine of the seven. The small flail and beaded necklace awaited. He had been ignoring the faith, so entrenched in sin Criston could hardly bare to look at the Mother’s cold face.

He prayed and prayed to the mother for relief of his twisted desire, depraved lust, uncontrollable need to consume a sparkling untainted virgin. Then to the warrior to ease his temper, make Criston a calm knight, not blinded by rage so he may protect accordingly. Down the list he went until the dead skull relief of the Stranger awaited.

“If I fail, take me into your arms and punish me accordingly,” he whispered, a couple tears leaking onto his armor, shining by the candles. He would confess another time and receive his penance. Bloodletting seemed fit. Flagellation made him think clear, the pain taking away sickness in mind and body.

A sharp knocking snapped Criston out of his religious wallowing. He called out, “I’m coming.” The door opened to the queen and Ser Rickard Thorne. They both were cloaked and Alicent’s doe eyes looked worried. The younger knight questioned, “What? What is it?”

Alicent shushed him and murmured, “Our dear Lucerra and…the heir,” she spat the word like it was bile on her tongue, “Had some intense words after the feast. Ser Thorne escorted Cerra to her chambers.”

Thorne’s gravelly voice was low, “It was quiet and I checked in as she was in quite the state. She’s not in her chambers and the servant’s passage was left slightly ajar.”

Alicent frowned, “I know she’s upset and frightened. I would rather you find her. No one knows of this. I doubt she would leave the keep but gods forbid. We checked underneath the keep and Thorne most of the passageways. I will keep this at utmost secrecy, dear Criston.”

He nodded, quickly gathering his gear and a dark cloak to cover the white of his garb. While fastening his belt he quickly thanked the pair, “I will find her now. Thank you my queen, Ser Thorne. You may rest now. She will be returned.”

He chastely kissed the queens ring, patting his fellow knight on the shoulder and strode forward, urgency at his tail. Criston was fearful, dreadfully so. What did Rhaenyra do? He bit his lip, worked his jaw, making his rounds around the shadows of the outer courtyard. The goldcloaks were obviously not doing their job, playing cards up in a tower.

He worried she finally broke the princess, told Lucerra of the past. She would be heartbroken. He sped his pace, deciding to check the Godswood. Somewhere she would still feel safe. He knew Cerra wouldn’t run anywhere outside the walls, she’d have a fainting spell.

Speeding up he decided to take a turn and clamber up the wall into the Godswood. He must not be seen. Especially after tonight’s mishap. Swinging a leg over the thick red stone, Criston shimmied down and landed with a dull thud. The clouds covered the moon— making it dreadfully dark. Lucerra must truly be upset. He swallowed down a tightening throat. He needed to be the protector, not a weeping craven.

He scanned around the dark trees and arches to the left. It seemed empty. He moved forward, keeping to the brush, listening. Closer towards the heart tree he heard the familiar little hitching of breath. His Cerra. The fear of what came next shivered his spine.

Criston called gently, “Princess, Princess, is that you?”

He slowly approached, holding out a hand like he was soothing a skittish foal. He could barely see her, just the white of hair and a shadow of a figure. He took another step, stopping when she wept, “No Ser Cole, go away, I wish to be alone.”

All of his fears had come true. She’d turned against him. He shook his head. No. This wouldn’t do. The knight would change her mind. Lucerra Targaryen needed him, not Ser Cole, not the loyal dog, just Criston Cole of Blackhaven’s marches.

“Ser, please, I cannot bear this,” Cerra warbled.

He came to her side, kneeling, swallowing another agonized noise when she turned from him. Criston begged, “Sweetling, what’s the matter, why are you distraught? It pains me.” She sobbed, hands wrenching into a now-dirtied dress.

The brunette engulfed her tinier frame into a tight grip, her back plastered to his. Much like they slept many a night. She fought and tried to wrench free, crying, “No! Let go! I’m just a replacement for her! I always come second! Ser Cole!”

He held tighter, exploding, “I love you!”

Her writhing stopped, eyes turning to him, confusion on fine features. Criston swore, “Bythe Seven and my oath, I love you more than anything Lucerra.” She shook her head, confused, “No, no you don’t, Rhaenyra told me why y-you became my shield.”

He hissed, “No, she lied, she lied lied lied! I kissed her yes, but I ran, I knew it was bad. I was an idiot— she merely wanted a fill in for Daemon. I swear it to be true,” he continued in a softer voice, “I never thought I would love so strongly and deeply as I do with you, it’s more than lust. I would worship you until my last breath, chaste forever.”

Lucerra bawled again, curling into him, soft thighs straddling his own as she wept. He held her and shushed and coddled, praising the perfect maiden’s presence. He dumbly reiterated, “Never, never has anyone taken my heart like you have.” Her bejeweled hands gripped into his cloak.

Her face was dangerously close to his, sweet scent filling the knight’s nose. She whispered in a rasp, “Do you mean it? You love me? I love you, it nearly broke me to hear Rhaenyra tell me.” Criston frowned, pressing his forehead to her own. He murmured, “I was dumb, I bolted after it was initiated. I didn’t tell you, b-because, I didn’t want to lose you princess.”

She placed a hand over his rapidly beating heart and said, “I believe you. I forgive you.”

Criston was so relieved he didn’t realize the tear leaking down his cheek, kissed away by impossibly soft lips. She whispered fervently, “Kiss me Criston. Kiss me like you love me, like you said.” He carefully caressed her jaw, peering into those adoring orbs.

He closed the gap, lips finally meeting, the Princess sighing into him. She clung to his chest still, passively letting Criston take the reins. He chastely shared tender pecks, letting Cerra get into a rhythm.

Her lips opened as the kisses got more desperate, boiling tension rising. She whimpered when Criston lapped into her mouth, moaning himself. She tasted like sweet wine and cinnamon, opening for him beautifully. Cerra wrapped her arms around his neck, thin fingers gripping his long locks. He moaned again, lashes fluttering. All guilt was out the window when in the embrace of this goddess.

He tilted her head to intertwine their tongues, Lucerra shivering helplessly, whining his name. She was shy, better for Criston to take her warm mouth. The princess plastered herself tight to his body, breasts pushed up from the movement.

He’d be good. He will not stain her maidenhead, as much as the dark part of him sought to claim every inch of her. The brunette slid his hands down her waist, squeezing soft hips. She mewled again, feverishly smacking her lips against him. Criston felt her overwhelmed trembling, eyes teary just like he fantasized.

She pulled away with a string of drool, panting, “I- Criston- it aches.” His cock jumped at what the implication of that was. He pressed little kisses down her jaw and neck, basking in her cute noises. He purred, “What aches Princess? I shan’t dare to hurt your heart again.”

She blushed so heavily he could see it even in the pitch of the night. Criston smiled gently, breathing hotly against her ear, “You can tell me, sweet love.” The princess shivered again, hips bucking fruitlessly against his garb.

“Y-you know. M-my,” she looked away, “My flower.”

The dog in Criston grinned at that, the innocent little thing. He hummed, “Have you soaked your linens Lucerra? I don’t have to breach your maidenhead to pleasure my sweet girl. Would you like that?”

She practically sobbed, “Please, my knight, Criston. Our little secret.”

“Always,” he said, taking off his gloves and Cerra’s trembling hands undoing the heavy gauntlets. He slid warm palms up her plush thighs, so soft yet strong from dragon riding. She desperately sought his lips to cover an indecent sound.

One greedy hand spread open a thigh, the other swiping thick fingers through her slick cunt, dragging upward to graze her swollen bud. The princess shrieked into his swollen lips, Criston doing his best to cover the noise.

He offered his free hand up, half-groaning, “Suckle on my fingers sweet girl, can’t have you waking half the keep up.” Lucerra shyly opened her swollen lips to let Criston’s calloused fingers in. He pressed slightly on her tongue, earning a cute little garbled whine.

“Now be good my love, I’ll make you feel better, always will,” he promised. Gathering more wetness seeping from her cunt, Criston circled his fingers around that bud, teasingly thumbing too, dragging the roughened digit against her tender untouched flesh.

She seized and cried around his fingers, drooling and sniffling. Criston cooed, “Mm, feels good Cerra? Made for me, swear it, keep singing for me.” He picked up the speed of his fingers, circling and pinching to make her squeal and writhe on his lap.

Soon the princess was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, unable to stop crying and shaking, thighs trembling. Criston suddenly realized his cock was throbbing and twitching, ready to fill his garments like a green boy.

He desperately rambled, “C’mon my love, let it go, let the pleasure take you, I’m so close, together yes? Kiss me, yes, yes!” They gnashed teeth and noses against each other, no finesse in these last moments, the little death.

She gushed over his fingers first, Criston swallowing her suprisingly quiet keen. His belly tightened, balls drawing up, whining out of his nose at the ecstasy. Cumming absolutely untouched, so intense and powerful. They continued to sloppily kiss, stop to pant, kiss some more until the climax passed.

Criston withdrew his hands from her cunt, wiping them on his cloak. The princess was sapped of energy, head tucked under his scruffy jaw. She murmured, “I think I saw the stars.” He smiled, the giddiness of cumming warping his senses, “Mhm, me too sweetheart. But we need to get you back to your quarters.”

He carried her, sharing more intimate pecks and nuzzling in the darkness, all the way back to her quarters. Ser Thorne seemed to sigh in relief before taking in their debauched state and quickly leaving the scene. Criston placed her down and looked around once more before pressing her into the door, taking her bee-stung lips.

“I love you, I love you,” she sighed.

“I love you more, my princess,” Criston praised.

“Do you listen sister? What will they think when they find your maidenhead shredded?,” Rhaenyra stepped out of the gloom. The bitch took a servant’s route. Lucerra’s face reddened in anger, “Like yours was? Good thing Laenor prefers the company of his pretty squires.”

Criston balked at the brazen comment, lips curling up. The elder sister’s hands balled up, pale skin blotching up in anger. She hissed, “Enjoy your night Lucerra,” pointing at Criston she added, “I’ll see you gelded and sent to the wall.”

The future queen whipped around and left with a furious curse. Lucerra looked to Criston for comfort, getting picked up and led into her bedroom. He grumbled, “The Queen won’t allow for that. Rhaenyra has her own secrets to deal with. Relax, relax, let me get you ready for bed.” His lovely girl did so, quiet but still affectionate. Criston ignored the feeling that this would be the close to the last night.

His gut was right. Within a fortnight he stood next to the Queen, tears in his dark orbs. Rhaenyra was absconding to Dragonstone, as she was the heir. Viserys obliged her request to take her sister, indicating she would begin the processes to marry her off. Lucerra gave her goodbyes, hugging the queen, her father, and then him.

“My heart lies with you always, I love you my white knight,” she whispered gently before stepping away to climb upon her white dragon. He remained stony, utter hate in his heart for Rhaenyra Targaryen. He would make sure she never saw happiness, just as she took his.

Alicent grabbed his hand and promised, “Criston, you will have her again. I may not be her, but I will be good to you as my sworn shield.”

He would tear through bone and marrow to get that chance. For now, he would wait, wait as long as needed. Criston Cole always got what he wanted, just had to work for it. There was a war brewing and she would be on the right side. His side.

#hotd fanfic #ser criston cole x reader #criston x reader #criston cole x reader #hotd fic #hotd smut #my shnookums incel knight #incel knight

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jaegeraether · 4 months

Text

Sunsets and footballers (Part 78)

Alexia Putellas x Character (34)

Masterlist (other parts here)

((**Lil one - 1.4k**))

ALEXIA POV

Alexia went still, her whole body frozen. Ridley was there. On her knees. Staring up at Alexia. Those dark eyes troubled, her hair its usual messy and perfect look, and her smell. Fuck. Her lips. Fuck. That scar. Fuck. Ridley.

How did she-? It was an airline. Of course she knew. And she was probably also responsible for their upgrade to first class.

Ridley reached up slowly and pulled Alexia’s noise cancelling headphones down and around her neck with a gentleness that seemed to be only for her.

“La Reina..”

“Ridley..” She breathed. Who was she kidding? She was never going to get over her.

They were silent for a few moments, just taking each other in. Alexia unclipped her belt to lean forward, closer to her. The need to touch her and be touched by her was almost too much to bear.

“You left,” she whispered, hurt.

“I did.”

“You fucking left, Ridley.”

Ridley nodded, leaning closer to her also. “I’m sorry, Lex.” Her finger tips brushed Alexia’s hair from her cheek and just that small touch send shivers down her spine.

“I need to say something, if you’d let me.”

Did she deserve that? “Go ahead.”

“I ran… I ran, and I’m sorry. You deserve better.” Ridley was being vulnerable with her which made Alexia just want to touch her, anywhere, in support. To feel her skin on her own and make sure it was real. That she was real. “Lex… you can’t understand how torn I am… how conflicted. Half of me wants you to leave and find happiness elsewhere, away from me, so I don’t taint your beautiful soul with my darkened one. The other half begs for you, yearns for you, dreams about you and selfishly wants you close to me, always.”

“You always said that you weren’t good for me, but I never believed you. I still don’t.”

Ridley sighed, looking down. “I feel like I’m not good for anybody, and I didn’t want to put that burden on you for simply loving me. I went away and couldn’t stop my thoughts. I was conflicted. But amongst my confliction, I missed one very important thing. I didn’t give you a choice.”

She looked up at her, her heart on her sleeve.

“My soul is tainted, Lex. I’ve done horrible things that I’ll regret for the rest of my life. But I also know that I’ve never felt about anyone, the way I feel about you. You’ll always be safe with me, whether it’s physically, mentally, financially… I’m still working on the emotionally part. You bring far too much out of me in that regard.”

Alexia’s lips trembled at the pure, unfiltered emotion in her voice. She was being so brave and speaking so beautifully. So vulnerably.

A flight attendant tapped Ridley’s shoulder to say boarding was almost finished and she nodded, telling her she’d only be a few minutes.

“Lex, meeting you broke a spell I’ve been under for a long time. Meeting you made me realise that maybe I was worthy of love after all. You took up space in my heart before I even knew it, and now, it seems you’re there to stay. I feel sorry for the Ridley before you because she didn’t realise how much love and happiness she was missing without you. You’ve changed me forever, and I’ll happily spend the rest of my life trying to thank you.” She cupped her cheek and stroked it with her thumb. “Regardless of if you want to stay or go…”

Ridley was giving her a choice. And even though she’d never meant to, it was the one and only choice she’d ever denied her.

Alexia’s heart broke. She leant down, her hands needing to touch her, and her cheek pressed against her own. She just needed to be close to her.

“I’m damaged..” she whispered, her breath soft against Alexia’s cheek.

“You’re human…” Alexia replied softly against hers, nudging it a little as if to wake her from her stupor.

“I’m broken.”

Alexia’s hand travelled down until it rested over her heart, feeling that strong beat. “You feel whole to me.”

Ridley’s hands found Alexia’s wrists and gripped on, as if to keep her there. Wanting her close.

Alexia’s lips brushed their way up to her forehead where she gave a singular kiss with more love and passion than she had ever expressed before. So much so, that it even surprised her. “I’m right here.”

Her hands were either side of her jaw now, Alexia’s cheek resting against her eyebrow. They stayed like that for a time, until the reality of where they were set in. Ridley pulled back and the expression she had on her face affected Alexia so much, that she could feel all of Ridley’s emotions.

That’s the moment Alexia knew she’d completely and desperately fallen in love with her.

“I’m sorry I ran,” she whispered again, her face betraying her pain. Ridley was letting herself be emotional with her, and it caught Alexia completely by surprise in the best kind of way. She knew what it meant. She was letting her in.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not. Not at all. Now the choice is yours, Lex.”

Alexia thought on it for a minute or so until she spoke. “I want you, Lee. In every single way. But relationships are a two-way street, and they start with us as individuals. I want you. I lov-“ She stopped herself and sucked in a breath. Fuck, she really loved her. “I… but right now you need to find that part of you that doesn’t believe you deserve to be loved, and you need to learn to love yourself. To know in your heart that you deserve to love and be loved.. because you do. You fucking do. You deserve the world.”

Ridley’s face broke, and then hardened slightly. It was an honest truth that she needed, but of course it hurt.

“You’re… right.”

Alexia leant forward again, her lips on her forehead and kissed her there. “I know,” she whispered. “And I truly hope you can find that, because you deserve to have the love of your life.”

She pulled back and Ridley was holding herself strong, surprisingly. “Is there any hope for us?”

Alexia’s pride and independence crept up. She knew what she needed. “If you can learn to love yourself, and promise me that you’ll stay. That you won’t run away again. That you’re ready to move forwards, together.” Ridley was paying attention closely like she always did. She was always a good listener. “I need you to be here for me, like I am for you. I need security.”

“How will you know that I’m ready?”

Alexia smiled. “You’ll fight for me. For us.”

Ridley almost smiled. She liked that idea, it seemed. “Until then… can we be friends?”

“Friends who love each other, yes. Yes, please. I’d like that.” She needed Ridley to prove that she was there to stay.

“Hm.” She liked that answer. Ridley looked over her shoulder and gestured to the flight attendant who came by. “No change to the manifest. Please stand the ground crew down. Leave the baggage and pet on board.”

She nodded with a smile at Ridley that had Alexia’s jealousy spike and left.

“You’re leaving Chiquito with me?”

“I can’t take him away from you..”

“He’s yours.”

“I think you’ll find that he’s ours now.”

Typical Ridley sass. She loved it.

“We can share him…”

Ridley smiled her agreement and the Spaniard didn’t realise how much she’d missed seeing that. Seeing her lips curve upwards and her scar move on her cheek. She reached out and touched it.

“Deal.” She said as she rocked back on her heels and stood. “Good bye, Alexia.”

Alexia caught her arm as she went to turn, and pulled her back down, their faces so close she could kiss her without a thought. Though it most definitely was a thought. Their first kiss. “Ridley?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t leave again. Fight for me. Fight for us.”

Ridley clipped her belt up, pulling it tight across her hips. Fuck.

And then her thumb traced her lips ever so gently. Ever the cheeky Ridley. “I will. Do you know why?”

Her thumb was still on her lower lip, and Alexia couldn’t form words at that point. She shook her head.

“Because you’re fucking mine, Alexia.”

#woso #womens football #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso soccer #woso x reader #alexia putellas #espwnt #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #fcb femení #fc barcelona #barca #fc barca #culers

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onskepa · 9 months

Text

Left behind: Prologue

Here is the first of many chapters for the long awaited series! Enjoy!

Left behind series

----------------

Jake’s pov

Earth has always been our home. Us, humans. And like parasites, we leeched off of our provider. Always wanting more and never getting our fill. And now, what made us humans, is dying. There is little to no chance of saving it.

As earth dies, so does the human spirit. Over mass population, consumption, greed. It is clearly taking a toll on all of us. Whenever something pure, something untouched is found, the greed of humanity taints it. Corrupt it.

As is the youth of our children.

With what hopes and dreams the kids have are instantly killed. The adults are blunt and cut throat in telling kids today there is no hope for earth. Being molded to think one way, molded to be fitted in a box and not have any form of creativity. To think of a certain way.

And it is disgusting.

Third POV

After a nasty fight at the bar, Jake went home. He got the money, less than last week but it's enough for the both of them.

Yes, both.

After being discharged from the marines after his life changing incident, Jake sully didn't have a clear vision of what to do. Learning that his new life will contain him in a wheelchair, Jake's mind darkened and stayed like that for a while. Dull and colorless were his day.

Would go to bars and make a fool of himself if it meant getting some attention and money for more booze. Made many mistakes in his dark days. Mistakes that aren't so easy to take back. Many regrets and doubts. But there was one thing that Jake would never see as an accident or a mistake, was his only reason to live.

His daughter.

A little angel sent from above to take him out of his dark days.

Jake could barely remember the women he spent the night that conceived his child. Some faceless lady that gifted him his child. Really the only good thing left in his life. And because of his little star, did Jake push on. Still not making good choices, but hard ones to make it by.

Jake’s pov

The door opened and I pushed myself inside. Home sweet home. A small apartment, not the best, but its plenty.

“Daddy daddy daddy!!” I can hear my little girl call out to me.

Turning, I caught her just in time. Quickly climbing on my lap, her little arms hugging me. “I missed you daddy!” she tells me. I couldn't help but smile widely. My little angel, my little star, a gift from above.

“Oooh I missed you too, have you been good for Misses Morve?” I asked her, moving her little messy hair away to look at her beautiful blue eyes. She nodded fast. And on cue, the kind lady we have as our neighbor came to us.

A nice little old lady across from our door.

“She has been so good, I am surprised she hasn't caused any trouble, '' Misses Morve tells me. “Thank you, you don't have to watch over her tomorrow. I'm staying in” I was informed. Saying our farewells, she left our place.

My little girl turned back to me, “daddy! I saw on the hologram that the tigers came back from the dead! I saw them and they looked so cuuuuuuute!!”

Animals has always been her favorite thing to learn about. I buy second hand books for her. School has become too expensive for an average family. So I try my best to teach her what I know.

“Really? Maybe one day we can go see them together” I tell her. Her eyes sparkle in excitement, cheering and clapping. Letting her chat away of what we can do should one day we go to the zoo.

I know it might not happen, but nothing wrong with giving a little hope right?

Third pov

As the father-daughter duo chatted, a sudden knock was hard on the door. Both stood silent, misses Morve just left, Jake wasn't expecting anyone else.

Jake gave his daughter a look and quickly she left to go hide in a cabinet. Jake grabs a gun hidden from a shelf and preps it. As he got closer, another knock was heard. “Who is it?” he asks loudly.

“Is this Jake sully’s residence?” A voice was heard.

“Who are you?” Jake asks.

“We are from the RDA. We came to look for Jake sully. It is urgent we speak to him”.

Aaaaaaaand that is all for this one! Hope you all like it cause there will be more chapters in the future! Until next time! see ya!

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mermaidgirl30 · 5 months

Text

✨Tear You Apart: Engulf Me In Flames✨

Series Masterlist

A/N: Here’s a little drabble of my favorite duo because I can’t stop writing about them and their little angsty love story 🥹 This drabble was heavily influenced by the song “Together” by The XX and I love this little piece so much! I hope you enjoy 🩵

Word Count: 894

Pairing: Outbreak! Joel x fem! reader

Chapter Summary: It was all a game until it wasn’t anymore. Bodies burning for each other, fire pulling one another to dance in the flames together.

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only MDNI)

Tags: Sexual tension, dancing/circling each other, outbreak au, dark! Joel vibes, no explicit smut, symbolism of Joel being the big bad wolf, so much pining, switching POVs

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

You circle each other, hands brushing against one another as your eyes lock in heated flames. His calloused fingertips graze against yours with every turn his body makes in the covered barn that’s lit dimly with hanging lanterns. His eyes look like fire. Hot, intense, glazed over with dark desire that drives your instincts to continue on.

You dance slowly, intimately with heated stares burning into the other like a flaming sphere. His brown eyes slide down your body and end staring right into the pits of your eyes. Hungry. He’s starving for you, for just a taste. A taste he wants so badly but can’t seem to let himself have.

He’s been watching you for weeks, always staring when you walk into a room, ever since that first night he had you tied to a chair and decided to cut you free. He knows he shouldn’t tempt the flames, yet here he is enticing you to slip into the furnace with him once again. And so you turn in slow motion, arms grazing tanned skin, fingertips skimming the other’s again and again and again with no end in sight. It’s like clockwork, a ticking time bomb that’s about to erupt, simmer into nothing but pleasure, desire, fate. So you continue circling along until one of you breaks. A tainted dance that’ll surely end in nothing but chaos filled with beauty that slips against your bones, turning you to nothing but dust as soon as he takes full control of you.

Your breath is heavy, eyes wide as he narrows his own, slipping down your body as it tells you exactly what you need to know. He wants you, now. His brows furrow, jaw clenches as he flexes his fingertips into a tight fist at the side of his large body. He wants it, wants you, needs you. But he won’t break because that’d make him weak. But he is weak. Weak for you.

He just needs a taste, a lick of your skin, so he brushes the back of his hand over yours once more which ignites sparks low in your belly. Your eyes darken, desire tearing at the seams as you swallow and continue circling, carefully brushing your palm against the side of his button-up flannel that clings to strong arms. His breath catches, but he continues to keep his composure, repeating the cycle all over as you tease each other with just your eyes, your hands, your fingertips.

You watch the way the lines on his forehead move each time he narrows his honey glazed eyes, watch the way strands of greying hair fall into his eyes, watch the faded scar above his right eyes that burns into your vision, watch the way his chest rises and falls in waves every time he circles you. Slow, composed. A repeated cycle that continues until someone breaks and ends up pinning the other to the ground in a frenzy of desire.

It’s a vicious cycle, a dance of wolves that slowly spirals into turmoil. One that can only end with the other covered in nothing but the other person, tumbling against one another as the night takes you away into hot pulses of desire.

Seconds go by, minutes, maybe hours. You lose track as you get lost in the haze of it all. But then he reaches out slowly and grazes your jawline, calloused fingers brushing against your glistening skin as you suck in a deep breath and breathe air filled with whiskey, charcoal, and mahogany scents swirling all around you. His touch is distant, careful, cautious as he slips slowly down your skin. His eyes grow dark chocolate, eyes that want to devour you whole as he slides his other hand around your waist and carefully crushes you against his broad chest.

“What do you say, little lamb? Wanna dance? Get a taste of the flames and danger with the big bad wolf?”he smirks, voice deep and gravelly as he grazes calloused fingers against the side of your neck. All you can do is nod, entranced with the way he moves, his massive form towering over you as he comes in for the kill.

He cups your chin, thick fingers digging into your skin as he slowly, slowly leans down and brushes his lips against your red tinted mouth. He swallows you, igniting flames through your entire body as he licks into your mouth, tongue dancing circles along yours as his hands explore your body ravenously. He thinks you taste so good, thinks you’re exactly the thing he needs to break away from his curse of darkness. So he’ll keep you, devour you till you see nothing but him in the shadows of the night, claw your skin till your veins bleed streaks of him. He’ll take you, night after night, teeth against skin, bodies entwined so tight that you can never escape. You’re his now, his to keep, his to take. He’ll have you until your blood runs dry, until your bodies combine into shades of scarlet red. Claimed. He claimed you.

So you’ll dance, continue the motions as the night fades to black. And you’ll burn. Let him pull you under the flames as you continue dancing with the lonely wolf.

And just like that you belong to the flames. And with him you burn.

Tags: @amyispxnk @littlevenicebitch69 @mountainsandmayhem @survivingandenduring @msjarvis @vivian-pascal @jasminedragoon @lotusbxtch @pedrostories @untamedheart81 @bbyanarchist @sawymredfox @milla-frenchy @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

If you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging and leaving comments or asks 🥰

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel x female reader #joel miller smut #tlou fanfiction #joel tlou #joel miller pedro pascal #outbreak!joel #post outbreak joel #jackson!joel #dark!joel x reader #dark!joel miller #joel miller au #joel fanfic #little red riding hood au #joel the last of us

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whatsnewalycat · 8 months

Text

Psychomanteum / Chapter 16

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella (2nd POV)

Chapter 16: Famous Last Words

Chapter Summary: Revelations.

Word Count: 7.7k+

Content / Warnings: alternating pov, suicidal thoughts and planning, intrusive thoughts, grief, swearing, alcohol use, uncertainty, parker, angst, paranormal/spooky elements, hunger, hangover, driving, psychomanteum, ethan, drug addiction, domestic abuse, journal

Notes: Chapter title from “Famous Last Words" by My Chemical Romance. Babe I told you we'd get one more MCR-titled chapter before this was over. Chapter 17 will be the last chapter, then an epilogue. Huge thanks to @frannyzooey for proofreading and being the best 🖤✨

[ Previous Chapter ] [ Series Masterlist ] [ Next Chapter ]

The sun feels like a spotlight as you trudge your way from the bedroom to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. Nausea grips your sour, empty stomach. Your head throbs, pulse pounding in your ears.

The past few mornings, you’ve become well-acquainted with the wine hangover. It’s a love-hate relationship, you and wine. It numbs the overwhelming emotional pain, emptying your brain at night so that you can sleep. In return, it makes you so fucking sick the morning after, you think it might be plotting to kill you.

You carefully place a few logs in the fireplace and poke the glowing embers in the hearth back to life, then plop down on the couch, draping a blanket around your shoulders as you curl up with a notebook and pen.

You stare at the blank page, unsure what to tell it.

You could tell it that, same as yesterday and the day before, the aftereffects of drinking yourself to sleep have tainted your morning green. Not a cute green, either, like forest or emerald. Think Dieter’s bathrobe or pea soup. Think seasick.

You could tell it that the hangover causing every subtle noise to strike your temples like a ball-pein hammer only incentivizes you further. Nothing makes you want to die quite like a wine hangover.

You could tell it that, really, it doesn’t fucking matter that you’re hungover. If you weren’t miserable in this way, you’d be miserable in another.

You could ask it if this is what Ethan was feeling one year ago today. Sick and determined to end it all. Did he plan it out like you’ve been doing, or was it spur of the moment? When did he decide he would do it?

When did he decide to take you with him? Was it the ink? Had this been his plan all along?

All the things you never asked him in the psychomanteum seem so important now. Especially one: Why?

Sure, things were bad. Fucking awful, even. But there were still little moments here and there.

Like when the gas bill went neglected and they disconnected service. You couldn’t fall asleep because it was too cold, so he set up the only space heater on your side of the bed. He wrapped his arms around your shivering body and held you to his chest all night, keeping you warm. Or like when he was in the neighborhood of your favorite bakery and he stopped to pick up glazed donuts on his way home.

There were days when you couldn’t fucking stand to look at him. It hurt too much to see the physical toll of his addiction. How emaciated he had become, his boyish face all hollowed out and gaunt, dark bags drooping under his eyes.

But there were also days when he still opened the apartment door, calling out, “Louie, I’m home!” Like Ricky Ricardo in I Love Lucy. It was his favorite bit.

He’d jabber on about the customers, or the traffic, or the news. There were still days when he paid you compliments and kissed you like he meant it. When he brought home things he knew you’d like. Little presents here and there, nothing big, but enough to be reassured he was thinking about you.

A week before he died, he gifted you a journal.

He was supposed to pick up groceries, but got sidetracked in a bookstore and forgot the errand. When he came home holding a brown paper parcel wrapped in twine instead of plastic bags filled with food, you were furious.

“What’s that?” you asked, crossing your arms.

He tossed it on the counter as he shucked off his jacket, “It’s for you.”

“Is it edible?”

“Edible? No,” he scoffed, sliding it closer, “C’mon, open it up.”

You stared at him for a moment, at his Cheshire grin, jaw clenched and grinding. At his eyes all wide with intense excitement, the pupils blown-out and black. He vibrated with energy, his long limbs twitching in constant motion.

So fucking high.

Trying to avoid the violent downswing of his pendulum mood, you sighed and unwrapped the parcel, revealing an orange journal embossed with the phrase A New Chapter. The pages inside were buttery soft but thick, lined with delicate margins.

“A notebook?”

“A journal, yeah,” he sniffed and tugged at the tip of his nose, “I came by this rad looking bookstore and poked around a bit, thought you’d like it.”

You didn’t immediately react, so he kept talking.

“When I was out the other night, I was talking to a friend and she said journaling has helped her work through some of her feelings and all that, and… well, I know you used to journal all the time, I thought maybe it would help since you’ve been a little… out of sorts lately.”

You wanted to ask him who this friend was and why he didn’t call her by name. You wanted to ask him what else he bought with the grocery money. You wanted to ask him why he’d rather you spill your guts to a journal than to him.

Instead, you nodded, put on a smile, and said, “Thank you. It’s very thoughtful. I—I love it.”

The words felt dead in your mouth. Foul and rotten. He returned your fake smile with his own, then excused himself to his office.

You remember thinking the whole thing was a farce. A sham. A two-person act where you both pretended not to smell the decay between you.

The journal he gave you went to your bedside drawer. It remained untouched for months before you rediscovered it while spring cleaning.

At first, you didn’t recognize it. Then a gut-wrenching nostalgia took hold. A New Chapter. It felt more like a relic from a past life than a journal for the future.

Weeks went by before you wrote inside.

It felt blasphemous at first, marking the perfect blank pages with your script. Like you were shattering an artifact. But it helped to offload some of your rumination onto paper. It became a central coping mechanism for you.

There are passages going back at least six months, maybe more. Before you and Dieter ever even spent time alone in a room together. When he was just a goofy, handsome guy who lived on the other side of the country. Your long-distance friend that maybe sometimes gave you butterflies every time you talked to him. Even then, his name made frequent appearances on those pages.

The journal contains all your innermost thoughts, the long-winded rambling narrations of your waxing and waning between cynicism and optimism, the whole disgusting freak show inside your head laid out on the counter for anyone to rifle through.

And I forgot it on his kitchen counter like an idiot.

When you picture Dieter flipping through the journal, reading your school-girl crush ramblings and earnest thoughts about him, your face gets hot with embarrassment.

If you’re being honest with yourself, though, maybe it’s better he has it. Maybe one day he’ll look through it and read your crazy thoughts and know you’ll love him until you’re dust and then even after. In the next life, and the next, until the sea of love runs dry and humanity goes bust. Maybe he’ll read through it and know that you were struggling by no fault of his own.

With a sharp inhale, you put your pencil to paper and write: I miss my journal. I miss my Dee.

Then you toss the notebook aside and go to make some breakfast.

—

The first thing Dieter does when he wakes is grab his phone off the nightstand.

One eye squinting open, he plugs your name into a search engine and scrolls through the results. Nothing new, just tabloids recycling old information and speculating. Fucking vultures.

A boulder settles on his chest, cold and massive, squeezing the air from his lungs.

He should be used to this sort of feeling, considering how often he’s felt it the past few days.

Every lead they had came up a dead end. You put up an impenetrable wall around yourself, so the most he can do is scour the internet for signs of you and live in the disappointment that follows each search.

He drops his phone and looks over at the empty spot beside him.

In an alternate universe, maybe one where your apartment wasn’t raided or you didn’t run away, the two of you are probably right here in bed, all intertwined under the covers, murmuring sweet affirmations to each other. Or maybe you’re seated next to one another in some unsuspecting diner, ordering greasy breakfast foods and sipping watered-down coffee. Or maybe he’s leaning on the kitchen island, watching you throw together some kind of sweet treat that the two of you would share throughout the day.

Or maybe there is no alternate universe. Maybe this was the way this was always going to be.

While you were still here, he made plans for Christmas. They weren’t big plans or anything. Nothing too showy, just some stuff to bring you comfort on the anniversary of your husband’s passing. Figured he could make you breakfast, then the two of you could take a bath. He got you a robe, pajamas, and some slippers so you’d be at the height of comfort for a trashy reality show marathon. Smoking pot, ordering takeout, that kind of thing. Low key.

It would’ve been nice. Definitely would’ve beat his long-standing Christmas tradition of going on a bender.

Dieter sighs, reaching across the bed to pull your pillow into an embrace. He buries his face in it and inhales your lingering scent. His eyes clench shut as he tries to picture what you’re doing, where you are, how you’re feeling, but he gets nothing.

Intuition tells him he’s running out of time.

He knows you’re still out there as sure as he knows there’s a pulse beneath his skin. But if you’ve held out this far, you’ll do it today or tomorrow. You’re a romantic like that.

He prays that’s enough time for a miracle.

—

You crouch down at the river’s edge and dig your fingers into the cold, damp sand, clamping down around a gray speckled rock. It comes loose with a firm tug, leaving an indent behind. Turning it over in your hand, you admire its weight and size.

A keeper.

You toss it in your backpack along with the other rocks and zip the bag shut. Hands numb and filthy, you heave the backpack onto your shoulders and jump up and down a little, nodding in approval at the considerable effort it takes to do so.

That should do just fine.

The backpack stays on the beach while you walk back to the cabin. Once inside, you thaw your hands with hot, soapy water, then eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in front of the fireplace, staring at the flickering flames as you chew. Your mind is white noise. A static-screened TV. An engine seized.

After cleaning the minimal mess from lunch, you consult your to-do list, cross off Gather the means of your destruction, and move to the next item: Build the psychomanteum.

—

“I printed all the information we’ve found and put it in here,” Darlene flips open the cover of a black binder and leafs through the color-coded, tabbed off sections, “Inside, I have call logs, typed out my notes from all my interviews, made a timeline of her last known movements, and basically everything we know so far. Table of contents at the front.”

She heaves the binder closed and straightens its bottom edge perfectly parallel to the edge of the dining room table, then takes a sideways step to the manila envelope beside it.

“I printed out some pictures and wrote a detailed description of her in the event that you decide to file the missing persons report. All of that information is in the manila envelope here,” she taps the envelope and looks up at Dieter, “Why did you fly to New York the day your girlfriend went missing?”

“To bribe an elected official.”

She blinks, “Try again.”

“I thought she went home.”

“And why did you go to the opera?”

“Parker and I were following up on a lead. Someone texted me and said they thought they saw her—”

“Who texted you?”

“Uhhhh…”

“Do you have a copy of the text message?”

“I, um—”

“Exactly. Too vague, and traceable. Try again.”

“Parker told me to.”

“Bitch, what the fuck?” Parker swats him.

“Ow,” Dieter hisses, rubbing the fresh welt, “No, uhhh… I went to New York to look for her because she lives there. She always told me about wanting to go to the Met to catch a show, so we went to see if we could spot her.”

“She went missing and you wanted to look for her at the Metropolitan Opera House?”

“It was a long shot, yeah,” he sighs and scratches his chin, “Waste of time, we ended up leaving at intermission.”

“That’s… not bad,” Darlene gives him an impressed nod, then looks down at her folder and straightens it in line with the binder, “Probably enough to keep you from getting arrested, at least. What about you, Parker?”

“I helped him look for her in New York, even though I knew it was a dumb idea and told him so to his face.“

“Do you think he was up to anything, covering up his tracks?”

“No,” Parker scoffs, “Poor boy was worried sick the whole time. He wouldn’t stop beating himself up for going on that goddamn wild goose chase.”

“Good,” Darlene smiles, crossing her arms, and tilts her head at Dieter, “Are you sure it’s ok if I go?”

“Oh, yeah, go,” he waves his hand dismissively, “You’ve done more than enough, really. Thank you for everything.”

“Well… don’t thank me yet,” she mutters, taking another side step to the second manila envelope. She picks it up and holds it with both hands, pausing for a moment before passing it across the table to him. ‘

He takes it and frowns at her, “What’s this?”

“It’s her journal.”

His breathing stops. All the moisture in his mouth evaporates, tongue sticking Velcro to the roof when he opens his mouth to ask a thousand questions. Darlene speaks before he can utter a syllable.

“You gave it to me. Unintentionally, I think, but I jotted down some notes from that first morning when I was calling around.”

Dieter opens the envelope and pulls out the orange, spiral-bound notebook. A New Chapter. He traces the phrase.

“I didn’t realize what it was until last night when I was double-checking I copied the notes down right. I flipped to the front, and…”

As if under a spell, he opens the cover, eyes falling on the first line.

I am the haunted house

He closes it and stares at the cover, then across the table at Darlene, “How much did you read?”

“I went through the last few entries,” she tells him, “Skimmed them to see if she mentioned anything helpful. She didn’t, but you might want to take a closer look at them. Maybe something will jump out at you.”

Dieter glances at Parker. They exchange a look that says neither of them will make a fuss about the invasion of your privacy. Given the circumstances, it’s understandable.

“I worked backwards and marked where I left off with a tab. You should read it.”

He nods and clears his throat, then says, “Yeah, I, umm… I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

—

The Friedman family cabin had limited options when it came to putting together the psychomanteum.

It calls for a dark and preferably small enclosed space, a challenge in itself. The common rooms are open concept, with the obvious exception of the bathroom. Both of the bedrooms on the first floor and the loft upstairs have dressers in lieu of closets. Thinking about setting up in the dirt-floor wine cellar, alongside its long-term creepy-crawly residents, made you queasy.

This left you with one practical option: the cedar linen closet.

After transferring the neat stacks of towels, bedding, and pillows from the shelves, you take out the shelves themselves. You find some dark quilts to line the walls with and, through an arduous process of trial and error, accomplish a mirror-angle combination that creates the desired effect.

Throughout this process, you try to concentrate on what you would say to him, telling yourself that this time you wouldn’t spin out and lose your nerve. This time you would ask the questions that haunt your every waking breath.

Your mind keeps wandering to Dieter, though.

You think about his experiences in the psychomanteum.

About James and the river and the scars left on Dieter’s young heart. You think about the ghost that haunts him, his monster, and how it might whisper similarities in his ear. How it might coax him into the darkness forever.

The thought strikes you hard and heavy, square in the chest.

All the air leaves your body and your hands go numb. You crumple up into a ball on the closet floor and weep. Pained, warbled sobs shake your body. The noises that come out of you sound foreign and animalistic.

You cry for him, and for you, and for all the things that could have been. You cry and cry until you can't cry anymore.

It feels cleansing. Therapeutic. Like a purge to overly-ripe, buzzing nerves.

In the messy afterglow of this release, you stare up at the ceiling and wish Dieter would come barging through the door.

If he found you here, all curled up on the closet floor of your in-laws cabin, he would probably let out a big sigh of relief, then lay down beside you. He would pull you into an embrace and squeeze you tight and make you take a blood oath to never leave him again.

For the first time since you set out on this literal suicide mission, you really consider not following through with it.

Something dark flickers out the corner of your eye. When you hear the faint whisper of a noise, your breath halts.

You fine-tune your ears, focusing on each minute sound that crops up. Wind rustling the trees outside. Your heart pumping blood. The deafening silence in between.

Then you hear it.

A coarse, abrasive noise like fingernails on sheetrock. Scratching.

It sneaks.

Your pulse jumps, muscles going tense with fear. You pinch your eyes shut. Try to stay still and quiet, but each shaky breath sounds louder than the last.

Another scratch, slow and dry, from inside the closet this time.

“Leave me alone,” you whisper, “Please.”

—

I am the haunted house Full of ghosts Myself and others

Living in the past I cannot escape Neither can they

Dieter stares at the page, re-reading that first passage in your journal at least ten times before shaking his head and closing the cover.

This feels fucked up and invasive. It doesn’t sit right in his body, all hard corners stretching out his stomach. He should hurl the journal into the canyon, but something stops him from doing so.

His leg starts bouncing, jaw gnashing back and forth with indecision. He leans forward in the patio chair and flips the journal open a few pages.

I think I like him and I don’t know how to feel about that. I feel like it’s too soon and I’m not ready, but at the same time, I am drawn to him. Almost every time we talk on the phone it turns into a three-hour long conversation and even then I wish I could keep talking to him. He makes me laugh. He’s sweet and odd and insanely fucking hot. He seems to party a lot, which makes me unjustifiably nervous. The other night when I was talking to him, he mentioned another woman and I felt fucking jealous?? I’ve literally met the man twice. What the fuck am I doing. I am actually insane. I think it would be a real problem if we did anything beyond flirting, I would probably need to be committed.

Warmth and affection flood his veins.

You must have written this sometime between the party at Katie’s and the first time he traveled to New York to see you. Probably last spring when the two of you began to contact each other more and more.

He remembers how tedious it was at first.

Getting to know each other was a delicate dance both of you performed without acknowledgment. A text here and there, sporadic communication at best. He didn’t want you to think he was too eager. In fact, he didn’t want to be eager at all.

Past friendships left him jaded and waiting for the other shoe to drop. On top of that, he was going through a divorce and pretty dedicated to a full-time coke habit.

He dreaded the day you would reveal yourself as a snake. But you never did.

As the text messages grew more frequent and reliable, he couldn’t deny the temptation to let his feelings blossom instead of nipping them in the bud. Soon the messages accompanied weekly phone calls and video chats, until it became an almost daily ritual to hear your voice.

He wasn’t sure what to think or feel about you, he just knew that he always found himself wondering about you. What you were doing, who you were with. Like you, he felt a tinge of jealousy on the rare occasion you would drop another man’s name.

It’s comforting to know you felt the same way. Weary, but intrigued. Resistant to the pull of attraction, yet not entirely immune.

The glass patio door slides open, then shut.

Dieter looks over his shoulder and nods in greeting to Parker, who plops down in the patio chair next to him. With him, he carries a navy blue gift bag emblazoned with a shiny gold logo that reads Bizarre Bazaar.

“You boys have fun shopping?”

Parker holds the bag out to Dieter, letting the ribbon handle dangle from his slender fingers, “It’s for you. Merry Christmas.”

“Oh fuck off, really?”

“It was Lincoln’s idea,” he shakes the bag, “Take it!”

Rolling his eyes, Dieter sets your journal aside and takes the gift.

“You really didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know.”

He pushes aside tissue paper and pulls a black frame from the bag. A shadow box. Suspended inside the glass is a moth with an impressive wingspan. Its creamy white wings have dark stripes that zigzag close together to create an almost disorienting effect, making his vision blur into abstract.

“Thysania Agrippina,” Parker tells him, “The White Witch moth, or ghost moth. They’re the biggest moths, typically found in forests of Central and South America. Back in ye olden days, when explorers encountered them, they would try to shoot them like they did with birds and bats, but the moths would evade the attacks, making the explorers think they were witches. Really, their body is just incredibly small in comparison to their wings.”

Dieter nods, unable to tear his eyes away from the specimen.

“People see moths as a symbol of transformation and rebirth. White witch moths are especially considered good luck.”

“I need all the luck I can get,” he mutters and looks at Parker, “It's beautiful, thank you.”

Parker gives him a half-hearted smile, glancing at your journal, “Did you find anything?”

With a sigh, Dieter carefully slides the taxidermy moth back into the gift bag, then picks up your journal and flips through it.

“Not really. I haven’t gone through much, though. Here are Darlene’s notes,” he opens to a page with her sparse, neat script, and flips backwards through the pages, passing a few blanks before finding your last entry, “This is from the day before. I don’t know.”

Parker frowns, “Can I see it?”

Shrugging, Dieter hands it to him.

He watches as Parker studies the blank pages, tilting and turning the journal against the light of the overhead sun. When Parker jumps to his feet, Dieter’s stomach flips.

“What?”

“I think I see something.”

“Something like what?”

“I need a pencil.”

Dieter leaps into action, leading the way inside to a cup of writing utensils on the kitchen counter. He finds a lead pencil and hands it to Parker, who starts lightly shading over a small section of paper. Contrast carves out negative space from idents in the page.

A phone number.

“Holy shit,” Dieter breathes, stunned for a moment before pulling out his phone and dialing the number.

—

The bottle lets out a glug-glug-glug as you pour plum wine into your glass. You tilt your head, watching with dead eyes as the golden elixir fills your cup to the brim, then you set the empty bottle aside and take a sip.

Not bad. Tart well-balanced with sweet. The taste doesn’t matter as much to you as the alcohol content, but it helps.

Staring at the blank page, you remember what Dieter said when you tried and failed to reach Ethan through the psychomanteum. That you were too closed-off. You click your pen a few times, then bring the tip to paper.

I cried myself to sleep that night.

Ethan locked himself in his room after pouring the ink I gave him on the living room floor. I could hear him in there, pacing back and forth and talking to himself. A squeaky floorboard tracked his movements like a metronome.

Even though he was in his own little world, I muffled my sobs in my pillow so he couldn’t hear me. Before falling asleep, I remember feeling hopeless. I loved and hated him at the same time. It was over, I couldn’t do it anymore. That fact scared the ever-loving shit out of me.

It didn’t seem real when I woke up.

He took me by the hair and pulled me out of bed. My legs didn’t work. I kept collapsing and tripping all over the place, which made him even more angry. Each time I faltered, he yanked me up to my feet by the hair. He called me a bitch. A rat. A spineless fucking worm.

Before taking me out in the hallway, he showed me a pocket knife and told me if I screamed he would slit my throat. I believed him.

You pause here, considering whether or not to drink more wine. For a while, you watch the low flames in the fireplace dance around on ashy, glowing logs. You rise to your feet and approach it, pulling open the hearth to carefully stack more firewood atop the hungry beast. It thanks you with a crackle and a burst of heat and light, the newborn fire blazing your face and hands.

Returning to your seat, you cross your legs under the coffee table and re-read what you’ve written. The memories hold space in your chest.

This deep, dull ache starts at your sternum and spreads across your body. Instinctively, you reach for the wine, but pause before your fingertips touch the glass.

It seems important that you experience the pain, not anesthetize it.

You pick up the pen and keep going.

He led me down to the parking garage and threw me in the passenger seat. When I tried to buckle my seatbelt, he threatened me again, told me to leave it. He took off, driving like a fucking maniac. Swerving around traffic, running red lights, going the wrong way down one way streets. It was snowing and the roads were slick. Every time we lost traction, he howled with laughter as he righted his course.

I remember being fucking terrified and thinking this couldn’t be happening, it wasn’t real, it was a nightmare. I don’t remember everything I said to him. I just remember screaming and crying, begging him to let me out. He ignored me. I tried to snap him out of it by punching him in the face as hard as I could. This got his attention.

The car skidded to a stop. He looked at me. His eyes were black and vacant and unrecognizable. I knew then that Ethan wasn’t coming back. It was me and his monster. I asked him to let me out. He said no. He said we had to do this together. I told him I fucking hated him and reached for the door handle to get out.

He grabbed my throat and hit me hard, his fist landing on my left eye. I saw stars, then everything went black.

When I came to, the engine was roaring. Red traffic lights zoomed by overhead. He was looking through the windshield with a blank, emotionless stare, picking up speed fast. It became very clear what he was going to do. Still dazed, I tried to put on my seatbelt, but before I could click it into place, I heard a horrible metallic crunching noise from everywhere. Everything went black again.

Hot tears burn trails down your cheeks. You drop the pen down and bury your face in your hands, releasing a guttural sob from your chest like some kind of rabid animal. It splits you in two, claws tearing at your rib cage and carving you out.

This is what it feels like to be an aluminum can. Drained of utility, crushed for scrap metal.

This is what it feels like to be a jack-o-lantern. Gutted, empty, rotting.

This is what it feels like to have your heart broken for the first and last time.

Eventually, you manage to catch your breath. Then you rise to your feet and start towards the psychomanteum.

Headlights cut through the pitch black night onto the highway ahead.

“In two miles, take Exit 31 to merge onto CA-41 North towards Yosemite.”

Dieter glances at his phone mounted to the dash. It estimates his arrival time as 10:53, putting him 36 minutes and 23 miles out. He punches the gas, watching the speedometer jump from 76-mph to 90.

If he’s gonna shave off more time, it’ll be here, not in the foothills. Pretty soon the roads will get narrow and curvy. Not to mention, they might be slick as it gets colder with elevation, and he’d like to make it to you alive, thankyouverymuch.

His nerves buzz at the thought, tangling in a mess of anticipation and worry and guilt.

He should have figured it out sooner. This should have been a first day call. It would’ve been if he wasn’t so fucking blind. He handed your journal to Darlene, not realizing it had the answer the whole goddamn time.

Nobody answered at first. He held his breath as the line trilled. It rang long enough for him to wonder if he died and went to hell and was doomed to exist in the moment for eternity.

Then the voicemail picked up.

“You’ve reached the voicemail for Sarah Friedman. Sorry I missed you, leave me a message and I’ll call you back.”

BEEP

“Hi, Sarah. My name is Dieter Bravo. I’m calling about my, uhh… Louella Friedman. I found your phone number in her notebook, and she’s been missing for a few days. I’m—I’m worried about her. She left a note, and, umm… yeah. I don’t know. I’m hoping you have information on her whereabouts. Please call me back. Thanks.”

He hung up and looked between Parker and Lincoln, “Sarah Friedman?”

Parker’s eyes went wide, “That’s Ethan’s mom—oh my god—” He gasped, jumping up and down, “Their fucking cabin, Dieter! Fresno—mountains, forest, holy shit—”

“Oh my god!” Dieter started jumping up and down too, only getting two hops in before bolting for the door, “I GO NOW!”

“Wait—shoes! Your wallet! And keys!” Lincoln called to him, making him circle back into the house and grab the items off the sideboard and shove his feet into a pair of crocs.

“And a charger, do you want an overnight bag? What about Lua’s things—her phone—”

His phone buzzed in his hand. Sarah returning his call.

“You have thirty fucking seconds,” he told Lincoln before answering, “This is Dieter.”

“Hi, Dieter. This is Sarah calling you back.”

“Yeah, thank you so much—Is she, Lua, is she ok?”

When she didn’t immediately respond yes, his stomach plummeted.

“I actually, I don’t know,” Sarah sighed, “I’m glad you called, because I wasn’t sure—”

“What do you mean?”

He started snapping his fingers at Lincoln, who was stumbling down the hall towards him, shoving things into a backpack.

“She’s been staying at our cabin and I haven’t been able to reach her.”

“I have her phone, she left it here. At my house.”

“No, on the landline. I’ve talked to her the past few days, but when I tried earlier the call wouldn’t go through.”

“Fuck,” he muttered, grabbing the backpack from Lincoln, “Send me the address, I’m going.”

It took him about two and a half hours to drive the some-odd 200 miles to where he is now. The most excruciating drive of his life, just him and Siri and his anxious thoughts.

“Take the exit.”

He flips on the blinker and glances in the rearview mirror, then over his shoulder before merging.

“Hang on a little bit longer, baby.”

—

Your head swims as you relax into the nest of pillows and blankets on the floor. Behind you, the electric lantern casts a dim glow, reflecting off the frame of the mirror. The mirror shows you a black abyss. You stare into it, letting your vision blur abstract.

Then you wait.

After some time, a strange feeling comes over you. A shifting, surreal sensation like you’re changing gears and reaching a higher plane of existence. Invisible tendrils slither out from beneath your skin and branch out before you, stretching into the abyss. You feel connected to it. Tapped into something larger than yourself.

“Ethan, I need to talk to you.”

Something clicks into place, like a tether coupling you to him. His presence lingers near yours somewhere within the abyss, but you gather the notion that he wants you to come closer, and lean into the strange sensation.

Static energy pulses around you on all sides as you move forward through the darkness. Light years ahead of you, a star twinkles. A single pinprick of brightness in the inky black.

You follow the beacon, gliding through the space with surprising speed.

The light grows from a pinprick to a beam, from a beam to a dinner plate, from a dinner plate to a beach ball, stretching wider and brighter with each passing moment.

You come to a halt when you realize that it’s not just a far-off daydream, but a tangible object.

An orb, roughly the same size as you, glowing with pure white light.

It emits familiar ambient noises, flickering brighter with each sound wave. Muffled car horns. Stomping from the upstairs neighbors. Ethan’s low, quiet humming in the tune of “All I Have to Do Is Dream” by the Everly Brothers.

The orb seems to possess a gravitational pull. You find yourself drifting closer. When you reach out to touch it, your fingertips brush against something warm and inviting.

In the blink of an eye, you appear somewhere else entirely.

It takes a moment to reorient yourself to these new surroundings. Your focus flickers to the steeple of your drawn-back emerald curtains, giving you a peep show of the electric blue sky. Afternoon sun pours in through the window, spilling across the bedspread.

The foreground of your vision clears to a crisp image. Ethan’s bare chest, rising and falling with breath. Beneath your ear, the steady thump-thump of his heart beats true and steady. His fingertips gently rake against your skin in lazy, comforting circles.

You tilt your head to look at him, meeting his gaze. His eyes are clear and present like you haven’t seen in ages. He looks healthy. Full of life. Reaching up to trace the curve of his lips, you whisper, “Is this heaven? Did I die?”

He huffs a little chuckle, “No.”

You grin at the sight of his smile, eyes flicking all over his face, “Then what is it?”

“It’s what you needed,” he shrugs, “What you came here for.” When you arch a suspicious brow, he smirks, “What?”

“I came here to yell at you.”

“Then yell at me.”

He stares at you, his brown eyes both sincere and mischievous. Your teeth catch your bottom lip and you glance out the window.

“C’man, Lou. Look at me.”

You do, and he shifts around a little, rolling on his side to face you, “Hit me with the truth, baby. I can take it.”

“If I ask you something, will you lie?”

“I’ve got nothing to gain from lying to you.”

You search his face for signs of falsehood, but find none.

“Were there other women?”

“Do you really wanna know?”

You nod.

He licks his lips, glancing down, then back to you, “Yeah, there were a few.”

“How many?”

“Three.”

It shocks you a little, his honesty. And soothes you. You forgot it could be like this with him. No games, no bullshit.

“Were they serious? Did you love them?”

“No,” he scoffs, waving his hand dismissively, “They were… distractions.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek and nod, dropping your gaze.

“If you’re waiting for excuses, I don’t have any. It was wrong and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it. Any of it. The cheating, the lies, the… the way I hurt you—”

“You tried to kill me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You did kill me. Slowly. Inside and out.” Your vision swims with tears, but you look up to meet his eyes anyway, “You broke me. You were supposed to love me and you broke me, Ethan. I don’t know if I can even love right anymore, I’m so fucked up.”

“I’m sorry.”

He looks at you with such naked anguish that you believe he means the apology with his whole heart. It still hurts.

“Please say something else.”

“What do you want me to say, Lou?”

A hard knot of emotion works its way up your throat, making your face crumble and your eyes sting with tears.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. Then, as if it’s an answer, you tell him, “I’m… I’m scared.”

“What’re you so scared of?”

“What if we’re just cursed to keep living this over and over? Loving and losing?”

You picture your dad. Ethan. James. Anika.

You picture Dieter. You picture one hundred ways he could break you beyond recognition. One hundred ways you could do the same to him.

It all seems so fragile.

“Lou, look at me,” he tilts your chin up to meet his eyes, “You will never know what the future holds. That doesn’t mean it can’t be good. That doesn’t mean you should hide from it.”

“Is it worth it?”

“Don’t you think?”

You picture the ghost trail of your ink-stained hand clasping Dieter’s and feeling his soul from the inside out. The phone calls. Hours and hours—weeks, really—listening to his voice over one electronic device or another. Him sitting next to you, eating Chinese food and watching shitty tv. His laugh, those dimples. The night at the Plaza. Big brown tootsie pop eyes. Snow angels. The ocean—the sea of love.

He smirks, flicking his eyes around your face, “You love him, huh?”

“I do,” you nod, a knot of guilt tugging at your stomach, “I love him so much. I just… what if he hurts me like you did? What if I hurt him? I—I don’t think I can be put back together if I break again.”

“Tell me something. And be honest with me, I’ll know if you’re lying, ok? If you could go back and do something different, forever changing the course of your life up to this moment… would you?”

You think about it, long and hard. You consider the different paths your life could have taken.

If your dad never developed cancer, you might’ve felt secure enough to stay in Ohio. Maybe you would have attended culinary classes in a local community college instead of running away to New York. You never would have met Parker. You never would have moved to the city. You never would have had the opportunities to establish your culinary skills the way you did. You never would have met Ethan.

If Ethan would have stayed clean, the two of you might have existed in happily-ever-after until your dying day… but you never would have met Dieter.

Dieter.

Your chest aches with love, tears welling up in your eyes. Loving him feels perfect and magical and right. Otherworldly. It feels like forever.

Every passing moment since you met him has felt like you are exactly where you need to be.

Even the bad times, like the first time you tried the psychomanteum and he lost it. You learned so much about him. He revealed some of the most tender spots in his heart. You started to trust him.

Or when you found out he slept with Katie and it felt like your world came crashing down. You learned that, even when you pushed him away, he would fight tooth and nail for you.

Intrusions from the tabloids and your mother, the interview, dinner with Lilly and Jay. All of these instances forced you both to reconcile with parts of yourselves you thought were thoroughly unloveable and come out the other side somehow more intact than you were before.

You realize that even now, with the threat of prison and the destruction of Dieter’s career lingering in your periphery, with you tucked away in the psychomanteum in the middle of nowhere, hiding from everything… it’s where you need to be. And despite the impossible odds, you believe that your love for each other will come out the other side.

You shake your head.

“No. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Ethan nods, brushing his fingertips along your cheek, “So, you tell me. Is it worth the risk?”

—

When Dieter spots the mailbox labeled FRIEDMAN, his heart jumps up and gets lodged in his throat.

"The destination is on your right. Arrived."

He slows and turns the wheel, steering the car down the gravel driveway. Outside, the night is impossibly black. The only thing he can see in the high beams are tall pine trees on either side of the path and an occasional flicker of reflective eyes in the forest.

“Could it be any fucking creepier out here, Jesus Christ—”

Thunk

One of the tires hits a pothole, making him grimace. The car jostles back and forth in protest, then rights its path.

Goddamnit, not now.

If he breaks down out here he might spontaneously combust. Any other time, just not now, he's so fucking close. Steering around another deep gash in the path, Dieter grits his teeth and squints into the darkness.

A light in the distance makes him sit up straighter and lean forward.

It has to be a porch light, that has to be it.

Anxious energy pounds thick through his veins. He can’t clear his head enough to glean anything about your current state. Horrible images flash through his mind, torturing him.

The trees open up into a clearing.

As soon as his headlights graze the cabin, he throws the car into park and jumps from the vehicle, screaming your name as he runs up the steps onto the patio.

He pounds on the door, peeking in through the window, “Lua, it’s me.”

His voice is garbled and frantic.

Inside, he sees a fireplace glowing with warm light. He twists the doorknob and pushes it open, “LOUELLA?”

Dead silence.

White hot panic spikes his blood.

He runs numb, trembling hands through his hair and calls your name again, starting through the house.

There are signs of life. The crackling fireplace. Towels and blankets stacked on the kitchen counter. Your open suitcase in one of the downstairs bedrooms.

On the coffee table in the living room, he finds a full glass of wine and a notebook. He picks it up and starts reading, throat letting out an involuntary dry whimper as he tries again and again to read the words, but they blur and don’t make sense.

The sound of the front door opening makes him spin around.

—

Your exhale fogs in the cool night air as you pull a rock from the backpack and chuck it towards the sound of flowing water.

Ker-plunk!

Squinting into the darkness, you make out ripples on the river’s surface and smile.

The next one is heavier.

You have to grab it with two hands and heave it over your shoulder to send it launching it into the air, crashing through the water with a loud splash.

Delight shivers up your spine.

You tuck your hands in your jacket pockets and look up at the stars. With the expanse of the universe stretching across the atmosphere, you should feel small and hopeless. But you don’t. Instead, a deep sense of optimism and wonder steals your breath.

Somehow it feels like every other time you’ve crawled out of the shit, but different. Like you’re the same person you were, although not at all. Like the good parts stayed intact, but the fear sloughed off at your feet.

You feel weightless. Hopeful. Infinite.

It doesn’t matter that you don’t have transportation, or food, or anything. It doesn’t matter that your return to society might result in your arrest. All that matters is you find Dieter and face this with him.

For the first time in a long time, you have faith that everything will be ok.

The sound of an approaching car draws your attention. A beam of light scans through the night sky, then you hear a car door.

“LOUELLA!”

You gasp, voice cracking as you whisper, “Dieter?”

Your heart skitters in your chest and your feet spring into action, trudging up the riverbed as fast as they can. Chest heaving, vision blurring, you climb up the hill and make a mad dash towards the cabin.

When you reach the door and twist the doorknob, you can’t feel the cold metal on your hands. You shove it open and step into the house, every cell in your body buzzing with shock and awe and fear and excitement when you lay your eyes upon him.

“Dee?”

[ Next Chapter ]

#psychomanteum #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo x female reader #x reader #dieter bravo x oc #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo angst #dieter bravo fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #dieter bravo the bubble #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic

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wangxianficrecs · 4 months

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💙 Symmetry by Vir_Abelasan

💙 Symmetry

by Vir_Abelasan

M, 13k, Wangixan & Lan Sizhui

Summary: Despite what Jiang Wanyin and his Sect had done, despite everything, baba never once cursed them as they did the Yiling Patriarch's name. Mourn as baba did for Sizhui's family, for the family that had become baba's own in all but name, never once did he look upon the cultivation world in vengeance. Instead, every breath, every shred of life in baba's failing body had been dedicated to keeping Sizhui safe, fed and loved, as if the slightest speck of grudge towards the world would have tainted his own boundless love towards Sizhui. But Sizhui is alone in the world now, and he is not his baba - No one else is like baba, and Sizhui supposes that was what had sealed his father's fate, in a world where one is demanded to serve mere ideas of righteousness and honor rather than the people. And so upon seeing the purple robes amidst the crowd, Wei Sizhui decides that perhaps it would not hurt to start his path of vengeance a little closer to home. Kay's comments: This story is so beautifully written and it's my favourite dark!Sizhui story of all time. I really loved that he got to grow up with Wei Wuxian watching over him, though it was also very heart-breaking with Wei Wuxian suffering the side-effects of having destroyed the Tiger Tally and now dying slow death and I also loved the thirst for revenge that was slowly growing inside of Sizhui, absolutely marvelous execution. Sizhui's and Lan Wangji's relationship in this story is something else I also enjoyed. Not a story for Jiang Cheng fans, but also, phew, the angle this story decided to go for in regards to Wei Wuxian's and Jiang Cheng's and then Sizhui's relationship was creepy in the best way possible. Made the end even more satisfying. Excerpt: But Sizhui is all alone in the world now, and he is not his baba. No one else is like baba, and Sizhui supposes that was what had sealed his father's fate, in a world where one is demanded to serve righteousness and honor rather than the people, even if costs them the lives of innocents and loved ones. Sizhui does not blame his baba for wanting to detach them from that kind of world entirely, for wishing Sizhui a life unrestrained by everything that had torn baba's own life apart the moment he tried to do something beyond his given place. Yet again, he is not his baba. For along with the radish leaves that presses on his palm whenever he grips his sword, there is also the sunburst against his skin - Long gone but not forgotten. He had always meant to go for the Jins first, but the sight of the purple robes nudges at something inside of him. Memories of Popo's quiet gasp as a blade went through her chest, as purple flooded their humble home and Sizhui tried not to sob from his hiding place. Of baba's sad smile when Sizhui asked where the pretty purple bell he always wore was, that day he came home to the Burial Mounds with a stab wound on his stomach. Perhaps, Sizhui thinks as his eyes follow the swaying bells through the crowd, it would not hurt to start a little closer to home.

pov lan sizhui, canon divergence, wei wuxian lives, dead wei wuxian, no thirteen years of wei wuxian's death, kinda, good parent wei wuxian, single parent wei wuxian, revenge, dark lan sizhui, fake/pretend relationship, manipulation, power imbalance, torture, not jiang cheng friendly, jiang cheng's thirteen year murder spree, bamf lan sizhui, sect leader lan sizhui, lan wangji/wei wuxian get a happy ending

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

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celestialsun888 · 2 years

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Watching You.

@celestialsun888

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Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!Reader

Genre: smut/ dark romance [18+ MDNI]

Word Count: 2.9k

Synopsis: Some Written from his POV! Simon wonders how you're doing since you two have split and your refusal to speak to him makes him take matters into his own hands.

★ TW: HEAVY DUB CON, STALKING AND OBSESSION! SO PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION! Vulgar language, degradation, forced submission/sex, size kink (ofc), Knife AND gun play, Voyeurism? He gets off to you without you knowing, possession, slight marking, He's really sadistic fr, Primal x Prey (kinda…), Rough sex, humiliation, shoe grinding, YOU vibes ong, ITALICS ARE INNER MONOLOGUE (Let me know if I’ve missed any!)

✒ Authors Note: I've had this on my mind, like he seems so scary and brooding but I wrote him genuinely psychotic and very obsessive. So please take the TWs seriously! This is also barely proof read.... so sorry if there are mistakes!

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❥ Simon's POV

Look at you. Getting your usual coffee before you head to work, sweetly, innocently, saying hello to strangers. I can tell from the cup it’s your usual: vanilla chai tea latte, extra vanilla. Sweet. Sweet like you. So sweet to everyone, but me… Refusing to see me since our breakup, cutting off any and all ties with me. God you are so devilishly cruel.

Standing far enough to go unnoticed, you watched her, sipping your own drink to blend in, meshing with the busy city. Your all black outfit concealed you even more, simply just a passing shadow. You leaned against the brick wall across the street from where she walked, eyes devouring her precious frame. Every morning the same, her routine burned into your mind. Such an accursed pleasure to look forward to each day. Just watching her. Such a detestable indulgence.

7:43 am.

She floated through the busy streets of downtown, occasionally checking the time to make sure she was on schedule.

You chose to wear loose slacks today. Interesting. But that top, mmm. You groan to yourself. That top hugging your body like that. Can you wear that to work? Showing off your plump breasts, cleavage spilling out…you're such a filthy little girl. Who are you dressing for if not me? … It should be me.

You took another sip of your drink, squirming slightly from the perverted and sadistic thoughts that filled your already tainted mind. As she started to walk out of your field of vision, you started to walk with her, slightly slower than her pace. Walking carefully on the opposite side of the street, suppressing your demeanor slightly to adapt to the regular civilians. Broad and tall frame slipping through waves of people, eyes penetrating her as your gaze shifted above them. As you catch up, she stops in front of an older woman.

7:47 am.

You're reading their expressions, a little too far to accurately read their lips.

God, her lips. So soft and plump, the way they felt when she would tease me, sticking her tongue into my mouth. My cock slipping in between her precious lips, watching my cum glissglade out of her mouth. Being so sloppy and sinful. The same lips that let beautiful, gluttonous moans slip from them, my sweet princess, calling out my name. ‘Simon…fuck me just like that..’ Dripping with defiled innocence, just for me. Fuck.

You tried to remain focused on her currently, though, the temptations of the past, the time you two had spent together, drove you mad. Sentiments of arousal making its throughout your body, trying your best to contain the consequences of your demented perversion. You never thought that your love for her would slip so deeply into obsession, the budding feelings growing even while she was yours. But when she left, you realized that no one can have her if it's not you. Even if she hated you, even if she went on to marry someone else, she would never get rid of you. Not until you said so.

7:53 am.

You’re gonna be late doll. C’mon hurry up.

She continued on, you not caring what the silly interaction was about, her pace fervently making up for lost time.

7:57 am.

She anxiously enters the large building where she worked, disappearing behind the sliding glass doors. Just in time.

You made your way back to your car, planning out time until she was done. Waiting to see her again.

You pulled out your phone, clicking on your photo albums eventually settling on one that said: ‘her’. Scrolling through pictures upon pictures of your twisted obsession. Her at the gym. Her walking to and from work. Pictures of her sleeping, barely any clothes on. Her through her balcony window. Her from her closet. She consumed your thoughts as your hand unbuckled your pants, slowly palming your throbbing length through your underwear.

So precious, so divine.

Your lips wet from your tongue trailing over them, biting your lower lip to strain against the urges of indecency. Your fingers stop on a video of you brooding over her as she sleeps, touching yourself hearing her gentle breath rise and fall as you stand there in the dark. Wanting so bad to moan, almost even begging her to catch you in such a vile and horrendous act.

Your hands start stroking your thick shaft, already hard from your lewd fantasies.

Oh, my sweet angel. Why do you want to leave me like this? A needy mess, only having remnants of videos and pictures of you? How you manage to get me so excited I'm unsure, maybe just knowing you have forgotten about me, yet I still cum moaning out for you, fills me with pleasure. Maybe I enjoy the thought of scaring you as you catch me whoring myself out just for you.

Thoughts consumed with thick and prevalent perversion. You edge closer to your orgasm. Scanning over pictures and videos of her, innocent or not, as you pump harder and harder. You love your depravity. How she does nothing, yet every part of her being fucks you up. You start to become careless, bucking your hips up, car shifting slightly from the weight of your frame. Your head falling back in the crux of the head seat, spreading your thighs, preparing for your orgasm. Your balls tighten and your vision blurs as you cum: thick ropes of semen painting over your seat, phone catching drips of your release as you continue to stroke yourself through it, milking out every drop. Your cock twitched and throbbed as you wiped your stained hand on your pants, chest falling deeply allowing time for your foggy thoughts to lift.

“Fuck…” you moan exasperated.

Your thoughts swirled as you tucked your sensitive dick back into your fouled pants. And then, you thought, something so sick and demented.

I have to make her mine.

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❥ Y/N POV

You slipped off your shoes right as you entered your apartment. You gave a large stretch before throwing your keys onto the kitchen island and flicking on the lights.

What a day.

You trailed to your room as you let out a defeated sigh, eager to cuddle up in bed and release the tension from the day. Reaching for the handle you notice your door ever so slightly open.

I could’ve sworn I shut it tight this morning?

Perhaps it was a simple slip up? You chucked it up to human error but you still steadily walked into your room. There was a presence that felt��odd? Not normal? You clicked on the light, illuminating your space, scanning over it to see if anything was out of place. Everything seems fine.

Suppressing your feelings of irrational thought you began to strip, undressing from your work clothes. Inching your slacks down your thighs and having them fall to the ground revealing your bare ass, nicely adorned with skimpy panties. You lifted your shirt over your head, nipples hardening through your matching bra from the colder draft. As your shirt falls to the floor, awaiting to be picked up and placed away, you hear the wooden floor creak. You halt.

You felt the rug that rested against your toes burn into you. You didn’t move. There is no way your floor boards would creak as you barely moved on the rug, centered in your room. The tension in your chest encouraged your heart rate to speed up, your chest feeling like it couldn't contain your heartbeats. Nervousness washed over you as you turned to your closet, slightly ajar. The silence was so loud, ears picking up dead air. You held your breath as you inched towards it as calmly as possible. You jerk the door open to find nothing.

Oh my gosh what the fuck is with me?

A relief sets over you as you step back, still refusing to look away from it, just in case. Your clumsy footing however, causes you to catch on your clothes that piled on the floor. Falling on your back, you recoil to sit up enough to set your eyes back on your closet. Just in case.

“Stupid clothes,” you murmur to the air. That's when you feel it. The presence. Something staring into you, intensely watching you.

It's been watching you.

Your mouth slightly hangs open as you let out shaky breaths. You turn to your bed that stood to the right of you, aligned perfectly to see underneath. Past the slightly disheveled comforter you see the whites of eyes staring at you through the darkness. Pitch black pupils matching the mysterious ambiance. A heavier breath escapes from the abyss.

Startled, you scramble towards the wall across from the darkness as the eyes start to come from under the bed. The skull mask covering the figures face, all except those hollow eyes.

“S-simon,” you sputter, “W-hat are you doing here?” Your voice growing more anxious and scared. His big frame arched from under the bed as he crawled towards you. His eyes never parting from you.

You reached your arm along the wall you were backed into, reaching desperately for the door handle for both escape and support in standing, your fear tempting to paralyze you. Thick calloused hands snatched at your ankles, dragging you to him, fingertips just missing the door. His dark and evil gaze lighting up as he traced over your half naked body.

“Shhhh, shhh, angel” He cooed detestably, sinking his body into yours, “Let's make this as easy as possible.” You fought against his sick advances. Pushing your fingers into his face as he tried to kiss you, legs trapped over his thighs as he sat on his knees. Your back bowing from being so much smaller than him. You tried to bring in your knees to cut off his access to you but his bearish arms held you in place. Your weak protests offer no solace from him.

“Simon!” you yelp petrified, “Why!? Why are you doing this!?” His eyes showed no remorse for his actions. His hand trailed roughly over your body, scraping innocence off of you as he went. Your body continued to squirm getting away from his grasp a little, almost as if he let you. You finally broke free, crawling back to the door as he drew you in again, this time not holding you down. He slams the door shut and locks it. Knowing that getting away would take longer, knowing that he would be able to get to you sooner.

“Behave!” His voice thick and callous. You refused to listen, tears streaming from your eyes as you were dragged into him once more. Body feeling the hard floor grate against your back. His hefty palm gripped your face, nearly engulfing it completely. His other hand reached to his hip pulling out his loaded hand gun. Placing it under your chin, the cold steel meets with your soft, warm skin. Salty streams continued to sprinkle from your eyes, his face drawing into yours. Your cries and pleads meaning absolutely nothing to him. His breath hot on your cheek as his thick tongue came to meet your bitter tears, licking them away sadistically. His gun digging more into your jaw.

“Oh baby, you sweet sweet angel,” You wince at his words, “be good for me, take it. Nice and easy and we won't have a problem.” He glances at the gun and back at you.

"Don't make me hurt you sweetheart." He shakes the weapon disturbingly. He slowly moves the gun down your chest making circles along the way, trailing to your tummy, the loaded gun flirting with you.

His pants already bulging from the rush of adrenaline, he teases his gun onto your pussy, edging it over your panties. Wetness dampening the barrel.

"Your a dirty bitch. You like me playing with your cunt like this?" You try and squirm away again from his harassment. You see him place his gun back on his hip, snickering to himself. Using both hands to lift you from the ground with him he grabs the hair at the nape of your neck, fingers tugging it violently. His body blocking any form of escape from him. You reach for your head, trying to ease the firm grasp he has on you. He forces you towards the bed, burying you into it. Ass facing him, tippy toes barely touching the ground. His heavy hand continues to push you into the mattress, you hear a pocket knife flip open.

"P-lease.." you try and convey through mousy sobs.

The cold metal dragging along your thighs causes you to shudder in fear. The tip of his blade gently applies pressure to the skin of your ass.

“Should I mark you as mine, princess?” His tone was mockingly threatening. “A nice little S.R. right here. Letting everyone know that you once, and will always be mine.” His knife drawing circles around the designated spot, teasing the soft, untainted skin. Your muffled cries seep into the mattress, fearing he would follow through. His hand, tangled in your hair, pulls you up. Ass meeting his crotch vigorously, forcing your neck to tilt back for him, his eyes watching over you. Your innocent eyes were stained with despair. He continued his sadistic taunting, grazing his knife up the front of your hips, watching your tummy undulate from your heavy breathing. You didn't know if begging him to stop would edge him to actually do it so you kept your mouth shut.

“Pretty, pretty girl.” He sighed into your neck. Teeth biting into your flesh, eyes watching his hand guide the knife along you from over your shoulder. The blade stopped at the band of your underwear, teasing the fabric with the sharp tip. You felt him buck his hips into you, slowly grinding his erection into your ass. Sick fuck.

Stringing along fucked up phrases that made you feel him more and more, harder and harder. You could tell his teasing wanted relief, he was getting desperate to fuck you.

"Why Simon, why...why are you doing this?" You plead, hoping some form of humanity would come back to him.

"Oh, my love, you taunt me, watching you act like I no longer exist to you. I just needed to remind you how fucking real this is. I haven't been able to stop thinking about your lewd body, fucking my hand, just thinking about you, isn't good enough anymore." His knife grazing lightly over your clothed clit, tapping the blade over your sensitive lips. He inched it back to your waist band, irritating the gentle fabric.

“Slutty fuckin’ girl. I need to be inside you.” His knife cutting the fabric to your panties. Your bare cunt exposed. The knife shifted in his hand now resting within his pinky, ring and middle fingers allowing for his index and thumb to be free. He rubbed his index finger along your slit, feeling the heat pool, your wetness glistening on his digit. The pleasure he gave to you didnt last long as he saw you were wet enough.

He placed his knife away grabbing your hips, forcing you to bend over for him. Tear stained cheeks buried in the covers. The sound of his zipper coming undone made you whimper, you knew he was going to be rough with you. Even when you two dated he was hard to take and it usually took a while for him to prep you. You knew he was going to be unrelenting.

“Fuck” he exclaimed salaciously as he slammed his fat cock into you, feeling his half opened pants poking along your ass and thighs. You were full: his thick girth stretching you out over him. You struggled to remain calm as your hole tightened from his abrasive advance, back arching to elicit a choked out yelp. Your knees threatened to buckle under you but his hand offered support knowing your little pussy struggled to take all of him. His tense length started to move in and out of you, kissing your cervix. Heavy balls slapping against your puffy clit as you tried to take him. You gripped your comforter hard, digging your nails into the mattress. His strokes are erratic and aggressive.

“You look so pretty on the end of my cock, princess. I’ve waited long enough to have you. Don't cry, baby, it had to be like this. I couldn't hold back any longer.” His tone matching the roughness of his strokes. Your helpless cries being drowned out by the lewd, squelching noises that came from your sloppy cunt. He continued to bully your hole, slapping your ass to add to your pain and his pleasure. Leaving bite marks along your delicate back and shoulders, holding the back of your neck down with his boorish hands, spilling heinous words into your ear. All while you took every inch of his cock.

You feel yourself getting close, tightening around him as he fucks you through your orgasm. Humiliated by your sexual arousal of his mistreatment. His obsessive possession. You feel him smiling through the mask that rubbed into your neck, his breath hot.

“You dirty, dirty little bitch, huh. Cumming on my cock as I take advantage of your fucking pussy? Maybe I should stalk you more, watch you while you undress for me. Touching myself in the dark of your room. You seem to fucking like it.” His own strokes became sloppier.

“S-s-simon,” you whimper, “P-please, I can’t take it.” You whine trying your best to think through the overstimulation. He continues his aggressive pace, knowing how sensitive you are.

“Oh, sweetheart, I know, I know,” he coos, offering false security. “Daddy’s almost done taking your cunt, just be fucking patient.” You feel his thick length start to throb inside you, signaling that he's close. Quickly pulling out of you, he forcefully guides you to the ground, stroking himself above you, face centered under his swollen tip.

He sees you squirm as you wait for him impatiently, your pussy convulsing around nothing. His thick boot meets your tender heat, allowing you to grind on it as he finds his own release, getting off on your depravity. Reaching in his back pocket of his unzipped pants he pulls out his phone and angles it towards you, still stroking his cock.

“Be a good fucking girl and look at the camera while I ruin you, sweetheart. I wanna have something nice and sweet to look back on. I’ll add it to the collection.” His voice became laced with abandonment. The slick sounds of his hand quickly stroking his length echo through the room as he groans. As swears leave his lips, he ejaculates his hot, white cum over you. Streams of his sticky semen drip from your face, covering you wickedly. Waves crashing over him as he finished his sick fantasy. His seed tainting you as you look up at him with empty eyes. His fucked out expression triggering the last few groans to release from him.

“Good, good girl.” He places his phone back into his pocket, zipping his pants. You stand to meet the large man, brooding over your delicate frame. You didn't know why he obsessed over you and why he would go through all the trouble. His thumb glides over the traces of his essence before slipping his thick digit into your mouth. His hand grabbed at your chin, tilting it up.

“You’re mine, forever.” You wince at his words trying your best to break from his grip. And with that he was gone, leaving you to revel in confusion and fear as to when he would be back.

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