#(halo)smoke break

[cecilcastles]

whoever made these whispers i love you

[awxcoffeexno]

ain't gon' ever deserve you

mutant!loganhowlett x human!reader one shot

fic masterlist | nsfw claw worship

summary: logan has a nightmare and hurts you by accident - or - the one where you worship his claws the way they deserve.

content: mostly family-friendly claw worship. logan believes in the animal accusations but reader fixes it. reader is human, logan and reader have an established and v loving relationship, lots of reassurance and comforting for logan.

warnings: logan has nightmares, mentions of blood, logan self-hate, family-friendly knife play??????.

word count: 2.1k

a/n: listen, claw worship has been on my mind for a looooooong time. I'm too chicken to put up any of my nsfw writing yet so here's an sfw version with affirmations for poor baby lo-lo. also this is super inspired by logan and kayla's relationship and even uses some quotes from them.

you're deep asleep, dreaming of everything and nothing when you feel the sudden sharp sting in your arm.

eyes flying open, you open your mouth to hiss in pain but logan's lips are at your ear, snarling and grunting in his sleep again.

you look down to find his claws out, the metal tips digging into your arm. you exhale sharply, watching the warm blood seep down your arm and onto the new white sheets.

"no! n– no!" he growls, and you're forced to bite your lip as you try to pull away from his vice grip. when that doesn't work, you sink your nails into his arm.

"logan–"

"victor, NO!" he screams and sits up, yanking his claws from your arm and stabbing at the air in front of him.

victor creed. logan's brother and the bane of his existence. victor who haunts his dreams every single night, victor whose name you can never forget, victor who is now the reason logan's hurt you.

you sit up with him, aching for him, wrapping your arms around his torso. the burning pain in your arm an afterthought, you hear him swallow and gently let out a breath. he's sticky with sweat and the dry radiator air in the room isn't helping, the moon glowing through your glass walls, creating a halo around his head.

"nightmare." you state, letting him catch his breath and take in his surroundings.

he nods even though what you said wasn't a question but a statement. he twists around and pulls you into his lap, hugging you like he does near every night – chin tucked into your shoulder, arms wrapped all the way around your torso. he smells of soap and cigar smoke and the faintest hint of your shampoo. you smile to yourself and press a kiss to his hair.

"you're so cute." you mutter and a small smile spreads across his lips.

"cute?" he repeats, amused. "that's new." he pulls you closer, further down his lap and you can feel his heartbeat start to steady again.

"you used my shampoo again, and don't you deny it this time."

he scowls at you but lets you kiss him anyway. "reminds me of you," he sighs when he realises you won't stop until he admits it.

"but i'm right here," you giggle, running your thumb over the shell of his ear.

he opens his mouth to explain further but that's when he smells it. the blood he's drawn from your arm in his nightmare-fuelled anger at victor. his jaw tightens as he looks for the source of blood, finding three uniform slices on the outside of your forearm.

"no," he gasps, a thousand emotions crossing his eyes.

you try to wiggle your arm out of his grip, the blood running down your arm now. "hey... i'm okay."

"like fuck you are," he snarls, angry at himself.

how could he have possibly hurt you?! was this a thing now?? was he a danger to you even in his sleep?! god, he'll have to put you to sleep and then figure out a way to declaw himself. maybe if he just slices the back of his palms open–

"james..." you break him out of his thoughts, hand on his cheek. "baby, i'm okay. really. it looks worse than it feels."

"i'm going to rip these out." he whispers, holding his fists up, the back of his palms facing you. his words are as much a promise to you as a command to himself.

you grab his fists and glare at him. he blinks at your expression, looking at you over his hands.

"don't you dare say anything of the sort. these are a gift."

"a gift," he scoffs, "you can return a gift."

"these are a gift," you repeat sternly. "and i will not let you do anything to them."

he opens his mouth to protest but you aren't done. how dare he even think of hurting himself, of declawing himself when you love his claws as much as you love every last part of him.

you run your fingers over the back of his palms and whisper, "take them out."

"sweetheart..."

"take them out, my love" you repeat, kissing his knuckles because you know it hurts every time he does.

he carefully and very very slowly bares them and you look at him from between the blades.

not breaking eye contact, you lean in and press a soft kiss to the base of the middle claw on his right hand. you catch him shuddering and your eyes widen in surprise.

"you felt that?"

you can see him redden even in the dark. "'course i did," he grunts.

"what does it feel like?" you ask, fascinated. everyday you learn something new about him and it never fails to delight you.

you kiss the base of another claw on the other hand and see him inhale sharply.

he groans deeply, humming to come up with the right words. "like... you're stroking every nerve in me to life."

that makes you sit up on your haunches and wrap your fingers around his wrists. he freezes, bracing himself to yank the claws back in the second he thinks you might hurt yourself on the sharp ends. you carefully lick along the length of the claw between his pinky and ring finger on his right hand, making him exhale shakily.

"tryna kill me, sugar?" he says through gritted teeth, every muscle in his body tense.

"trying to show you how much i love your claws, lo. even if they hurt sometimes."

you loop your right hand between both of his, gently pressing the tip of your thumb against the sharp end of a claw. you run your finger up the blade, making him whine in protest as you draw blood.

his eyes implore you, pleading, but you simply take your hand up to his mouth, pressing your bleeding thumb against his lips. he relents, sucking it into his warm mouth and licking it clean.

"logan?" you whisper and he hums around your thumb.

despite the heat in your core, pooling between your legs, you need him to hear this. you'll have time to fulfil that need later.

"every part of you means everything to me. but your claws, especially your claws, have the most special place in my heart. they protect me. they make you feel good. and most of all, they're fucking cool."

and that finally makes him crack a smile again.

"y'think so?"

"mhmm."

"c'mere." he says finally, pulling his claws back in and tugging you back into his lap.

he makes you straddle him and kisses you warmly. he looks into your eyes with such fondness, it squeezes your heart. carefully he pulls his first claw out on his right hand and uses it to gently push your hair out of your eyes. your eyes flutter shut in response, leaning into his metal touch.

he brushes the back of the claw across your cheek and your lips part prettily for him. the air doesn't feel so thick anymore, the quiet humming of the refrigerator in the kitchen not overwhelming him the way it was when he snapped awake.

ever so carefully, pushing his own boundaries, he turns his wrist and pushes the flat of his claw onto your tongue. it's warm and tastes of him, salty and musky and like metal.

"that okay for you, pretty girl?" he mumbles and you can hear the strain in his voice. he's terrified but he so badly wants to be brave for you.

you wrap your lips around the claws and suck softly in response, drawing a groan of pleasure from him.

he shudders beneath you, every inch of him tense and trembling with restraint. you slide your tongue along the metal, tracing the edge of his claw with reverence, savoring the taste of him.

logan’s breath catches in his throat, and you feel the warmth of his exhale ghost across your face. his other hand, free of the adamantium blades, finds its way to your waist, gripping you tightly.

"god," he breathes out, voice rough and filled with a raw vulnerability you hear only at night. "you have no idea what you do to me."

you slowly release his claw from your mouth, letting it slide out with a deliberate slowness that has him biting back another groan. his eyes are locked on you, dark with need.

you reach up, cupping his face with your now clean thumb, and brush your lips against his in a featherlight kiss. "i think i do," you whisper against his mouth. "i want you to feel how much i love every part of you, logan. even the parts that scare you."

his claws retract with a soft snikt, and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you impossibly closer.

"you're something else, darlin'," he murmurs into your hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. you can feel the smile playing on his lips. "you make me feel... whole."

you nestle into his embrace, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest. "and you make me feel safe," you reply, closing your eyes and letting the furnace heart of his presence envelop you. "always."

you feel his grip tighten, his hand trembling slightly against your waist. he's always been the warrior, the weapon, the animal, but here in your arms, he's just logan, just a man who’s been through more pain than anyone should endure.

"people see the claws and think i’m nothing but a beast," he murmurs, his voice thick with self-doubt. "like i’m more metal than man. they look at me and all they see is the damage i can do."

you pull back just enough to look into his eyes, your hands framing his face. he tries to look away, but you won’t let him. you press a soft kiss to his brow, then his cheek, and finally, to the corner of his mouth.

"they don’t make you an animal," you whisper, your voice even and filled with conviction. "they make you strong. they’re not just weapons, they’re part of what makes you you."

his breath hitches at your words, and you feel him struggle against the years of conditioning, the years of being told that he’s nothing more than a killing machine. but you won’t let those words hold power over him anymore.

you reach down, gently taking his right hand in yours. with care, you press a kiss to each knuckle, feeling the warmth of his skin under your lips. then, you look up at him and slowly, deliberately, coax his claws out again.

you run your fingers lightly over the metal, tracing the curves and edges with the same care you’d give to a delicate piece of art.

logan watches you, his expression shifting from uncertainty to something deeper, something like awe. "you don’t see me like everyone else does," he says, almost to himself.

"no," you agree, leaning in to press a kiss to the tip of one of his claws. "i see you, logan. the real you. and what i see is a man who’s fought for so long to protect the people he loves, even when it’s cost him everything. your claws, they’re not just about hurting or fighting. they’re about protecting. they’re about survival. and they’re about who you have been for so long."

his chest rises and falls with each breath, the tension slowly easing from his body as your words sink in. for once, he doesn’t feel like an animal. he feels like a man, just a man. and it's nice.

"besides," you say, tone lightening. "so you really think I'm such a baby i can't handle three little cuts?"

you both know you're underplaying it and though he would never admit it in the day, the moonlight across his face betrays his grateful expression. it's easier to believe that he hasn't hurt you too much when you're saying it yourself.

you lower his hand, resting it against your chest, over your heart.

he swallows hard, holding you as if he’s afraid to let go. "ain't gon' ever deserve you," he whispers, his voice thick.

"you deserve everything," you murmur back, holding him just as tightly. "and i’m going to keep reminding you of that, every day."

for a moment, he’s silent, just holding you close. then, in a voice that’s barely more than a whisper, he says, "you almost make me feel human, darlin’."

you pull back just enough to kiss him again, only because you know he'd much rather feel than hear. your kiss is slow and tender, letting him feel the truth in your touch.

he doesn’t say anything more, but the way he kisses you back, the way he holds you, tells you everything you need to know.

he'll be okay. you'll make him okay. you gently push him to lie down and rest your head on his chest.

you love him, you love how he wants so badly to believe you, and most of all, you fucking love his claws.

--

this stemmed from a very nsfw thought™ but here we are, all warm and fuzzy. a mostly non-angsty fic is new for me!!

hope you liked this x

love, d <3

--

edit: i wrote an nsfw claw worship fic too 🤠🤝🏽 >> unholy

[fox-guardian]

[ID: A five page black and white comic featuring Anya, Jimmy, and Curly from Mouthwashing. The only colors are in their speech bubbles and Curly's blue eyes. The comic opens with a shot of a space rest stop with billboards and advertisements of food, drinks, fuel, etc.

Anya steps out of a "Polle-Mart" carrying a pack of cigarettes, and walks past Jimmy leaning against the side of the building, half in shadow.

Jimmy, smirking: A nurse with a smoking habit, huh? What has the world come to? They stare at each other for a moment. Anya: Just means I can make a more informed choice.

She goes to light a cigarette as Jimmy flicks his hand at her, asking for one. Curly jogs up behind her.

Anya, grabbing another cigarette: Ugh. Curly: Hey, guys! Mind if I bum one? I'll buy you some snacks?

He gives her big shiny puppy eyes. Anya glances in Jimmy's direction as he stares at her before she smiles at Curly, a halo over her head.

Anya: Sure, Captain! That's so sweet of you to offer. Jimmy glares at Curly. He looks at him before turning to Anya again. Curly: Er, can I make that two for two? Anya: Deal.

She passes him the pack as she lights her cigarette before lighting his for him. Curly goes over to Jimmy, handing him one as Anya stands around the corner to smoke hers.

Jimmy: You hit my fucking cig. Curly, smiling: I started it for you!

The last panel shows all three of them smoking calmly, Jimmy and Curly both shadowing by the building.

end ID]

~~~~

a cigarette break between coworkers off the clock

[fireater]

SOFTER, SOFTEST !

ft. curly x fem!reader

tags. piv, body worship sort of, rimming, big dick, tit job for like 2 seconds, creampie, size kink, scent kink, balls…

note. hai.. will get back to leon soon and I think mw fandom is lacking noncon and incest fics severely.. so i will get on that with jimmy. don’t know how to characterise him yet so ooc .. just infatuated with his breasts tbh i don’t know anything works in this universe LMFAO like idk just take this with a grain of salt.. for miss @pupwashing please ignore typos !! unedited :3

You miss Curly.

You miss him more than you did yesterday, more than an idiot misses the point, like a dick misses a wet pussy–You just miss him.

It has been four months. Twenty-one weeks. One-hundred and forty days. Three-thousand, five-hundred and twenty hours. Too many minutes, a hell of a lot more seconds, the closer he gets the further he seems to be.

Big numbers make it feel like you’re getting nowhere so you cut those twenty-fours into one day. One day and he’ll be home. One day and you’ll be in bed with his stomach crushed against yours, the warmth of his flesh searing yours, fucking him into next year, until he loses his halo.

Videos aren’t enough, photos don’t do him justice, toys don’t live up to the feel of a real dick. You miss that face he makes when he cums - it’s a block away from his crying face. You miss him face down, ass up, punching holes into his dignity one thrust at a time. God, you miss that dick, how he goes red all over, him in nothing but that stupid fucking smile.

One day, you tell yourself in the mirror that morning. One day, you tell yourself when you take your lunch break. One day, one more microwaved meal for one, one more lonely night.

It used to be a big deal, you think. The whole going to space thing. Curly says it’s no big deal, but you’re pretty sure that in your great-grandpa’s heyday it was impressive. You’ve seen videos of hoards gathering to watch a ship take off, to greet crews when they landed. Today, it’s you and a plump, older woman in her bathrobe waiting in the cold.

You could spot him in any crowd, glowing like a ray of light, mostly because he’s tall, partly because everything fades into abstraction when you notice how tight his uniform is. Good god. Did he get bigger? You’re starting to sweat, it’s hard to focus when your boyfriend is making a long-sleeved jumpsuit look naughty.

Curly’s hair is a little longer, blond curls licking the nape of his neck, falling onto his forehead, his eyes are so bright and his smile is white. He looks like a policeman’s emotional support dog. A really busty support dog. He scans the sad scattering of friends, family and drivers. You’re so taken off guard by the sight of his buttons popping you almost forget to wave at him.

He beams when you spot him, suitcase dragging behind him as he jogs over. Everything is in slow motion. Like that old movie - Baywatch. He’s so excited to see you, taking you into his big arms, shoving your face in his chest like he knows just where you’d like to be. You’re disappointed in your lungs when they beg for air, lifting your head and placing it on his shoulder instead. He smells like sweat, hotel shampoo and something metallic.

“Oh.” You open your eyes and spot Jimmy skulking behind him, an unlit cigarette between his lips. You narrow your eyes at him, and Jimmy does the same. Real shady guy, the type you’d cross the street to avoid. He’s always trailing after Curly like a bad omen. “He can’t come home with us, honey,” you tell him gently, not wanting to sound like a bitch.

Which you are.

You don’t want him smoking in your car, you don’t want Curly to invite him over for takeout because that means it’ll go on for hours and you won’t get your mouth on his big, stupid dick for another day.

“Hm? Why not?” Curly asks, pressing a kiss into your hairline, the tip of his nose bumping yours tenderly.

“I don’t have space in my car for both of you and the luggage, she’s small. What if she tips over? You’re heavy enough as it is.” You smile at him, cheekily, giving his newfound hips a squeeze. They’ve always been there, but now they’re like wow. It’s only been four months, is he on steroids? Did he get pregnant? He is glowing… God knows what’s up there in the atmosphere, some cosmic horror waiting to knock up your poor boyfriend.

Curly shrugs, offering an apologetic smile to his friend. “You heard the lady.”

Jimmy’s permanent scowl seems to deepen, cementing itself in his dermal layer. “Whatever, man.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, shoulders slumped as he makes a beeline for the phonebox.

He lifts his suitcase and loads it into your car and you watch his biceps flex. You see through his clothes, you remember every freckle on his back, mapping them out like stars, leading to those dimples low on his back, the perfect resting spot for your thumbs when you grab his ass. His body is so convenient. Like he was made to be fucked every which way.

“I missed you, I thought about you everyday,” he says against your lips, leaning in to kiss you over the gearshift. “I put your picture in the cockpit actually, Jim didn’t like it, but it kept me going.”

Always so earnest. You almost feel bad for missing his body more than him.

“Aww, Curly, honey,” you coo, pinching his cheek and cupping the other, “I missed you even more.” He nuzzles into your hand, eyes closed as you comb your fingers through his messy hair.

As much as you would like to indulge his sentimentality, you have no patience to spare. If you sit here any longer, you’re going to soak through your jeans and onto your leather seat.

You put the car in drive—

“Captain? Open up!” There’s a younger man knocking on the window, leaving his grubby handprints behind. “I wanted you to meet my mom!” His voice is muffled through the glass.

You lock the windows.

“Did you lock the windows?” Curly asks, lips downturned like he’s about to pout.

You unlock the windows.

“Of course not, baby.” You pat his head and grit your teeth.

They talk for fifteen whole minutes.

Thank you for taking care of him, he can be such a handful—Oh no, not at all, he was a joy to have—I’m glad he came back in one piece—He’s a good kid—Oh, I don’t know about that—Mooom—I’d be happy to have him back for our next long haul—Seriously, Captain?—

You squirm in place, shifting from side to side, thighs pressed together as your panties stick to your core. When Curly introduces you to his crew mate, you offer a strained smile and nothing more.

The window whirs shut. You make it home in record breaking time with four tickets and only a few points taken off your license. It doesn’t matter. You’re home, inside with the curtains drawn and Curly still has clothes on.

That’s not right.

“Take it off.”

“Huh?” Curly pushes his luggage into the corner, the top few buttons of his jumpsuit have come undone and you see the tuft of blond hair on his chest.

“Take it off, please?”

“My clothes?”

“No, your wig, baby.”

He laughs, good-natured, mild-mannered, and so fucking hot.

If he won’t do it then you will.

“I haven’t even showered—“ He starts, but you shush him with a kiss, murmuring a ‘good’ against his pink mouth.

When you part, spit keeps your lips connected, the string of fate or whatever. You go in for another, hands fisting the fabric of his collar, forcing him down towards you. Curly lets out a keening noise somewhere in the back of his throat like a dog scratching at the bathroom door.

“I know, my baby, I’ll give it to you.” You pout at him, thumbing his kiss-swollen lips and watching his eyes droop. “Oh no…” The buttons on his uniform when you try to open them.

“It’s okay,” he mumbles through a mouthful of his own spit, “cheap stuff.”

“I know, but you looked so good in it.” It’s a shame, but you need to see him bare, sweat as his only accessory.

“You think?” He near bats his lashes at you, stepping out of his uniform, and you swoon.

“God, yeah.” You push him down on the couch, Curly falls back with a soft grunt. It’s not very big, especially for a man of his size, but it’ll do for now.

His cock swells in his boxers, you feel it beneath you as you sit atop him, admiring the view below. The wide expanse of his chest, the sweat pooling in his collarbones, those tits. You don’t know what else they could be.

“Wow.” You take a handful of his chest, plucking his puffy pink nipple. “Look at these, I might have some competition.”

“Shut it,” he huffs out a laugh through his nose, and the tips of ears redden.

“I’m serious, baby, you’re, like, huge.” You can’t tear your eyes away from his soft flesh, moulding beneath your fingertips like dough, you could fuck them if you really wanted. “What happened out there?”

“Had a lot of spare time, I guess.” Curly smiles sheepishly, expression contorting when you bend your neck to suck his nipple into your mouth with a wet pop! His jaw slackens, and his cock jumps like it’s been given quite the fright.

You only have one complaint. His tan lines have faded. Floating through the galaxy for months on end can do that to you. You miss them, but you missed Curly more, so you’ll make do with what you have.

And you have more than enough. More than you can handle really. You can’t even get a grasp on his bicep, he’s stupidly big and your hand is on the smaller side.

You shift backwards, wet cunt dragging over his impossibly big bulge where only his underwear keeps you from him - you kind of admire your pussy for being able to take it. Your mouth moves on, hands still groping as much as you can of his chest as you lick the ridges of his stomach, it’s like he’s forged out of marble.

Softly, Curly rubs the back of your head, trying his very best to keep his eyes on you and not let them fall shut. You feel his stomach muscles rippling under your tongue. They contract when you trace around his navel, placing a sloppy kiss just below it, where a patch of curly hair leads to his wet cock.

His cock is drooling through the white fabric of his boxers, they’re soaked enough to be see-through, you spot the fat, pink head that has been missing your kisses. “You’re so wet, baby, is it all for me?”

With a pitiful noise, he tosses his head back and nods sadly. It’s funny to hear a man of his stature whine, but it suits Curly so well.

Your fingers hook in the waistband, tugging his underwear downwards until his fat cock springs out, it’s so fucking fat it weighs itself down. The leaky head twitches, pre dripping down his thick shaft, leaving a moonlit trail to his heavy balls. So full of seed they might burst.

“Oh… Poor baby.” You give them a gentle squeeze, and Curly’s eyes roll back into his skull, hips jolting upwards.

The urge to take it into your mouth right then and there is tempting, you hold back, you want to take your time with him. Make him feel special. You seat yourself between his thighs, one leg thrown over your shoulder so it’s easier to fit on the sofa. Your thumb runs along his pink slit, dribbling out pearly strands of pre that web between your fingers. Curly whimpers, biting down on his fist.

“These are cute.” You take note of his meaty thighs, how they’ve only gotten bigger, a comfier place to sit. The stretch marks don’t go unnoticed, streaking purple and pink along the milky flesh of his inner thighs like faded brushstrokes.

“Mmmph.” He blinks at you, pouty, lashes wet with impatient tears.

“Yeah, mmmph, I know, baby, be patient.” You’re a big, fat hypocrite.

His scent is stronger down here, clean and soapy, but the tang of sweat prospers, and the underlying smell of him. The smell of his pillow, the smell of his few-days old clothes, the smell of his towel after he works out.

A few more kisses here and there, using the flat of your tongue to lave over strips of his sinewy skin, leaving him spit-slicked and breathless and flushed. You hoist his other leg over your shoulder, he’s heavy, but you’re horny and it’s given you a sudden burst of vitality.

“Fuck,” he gasps out, gripping the top of the couch, one arm over his face as you lick up the seam of his balls, mouth latching to the swollen underside, where they feel heaviest.

Curly’s cock leaks into your hair, the weight brings it down to rest on your face, tip pressed into your hairline, dripping down the bridge of your nose like sweat while you make a mess of his balls. Stuffing them into your mouth one at a time, using your hand to give the lonelier one a squeeze when your lips are kissing up on another.

The kiss to his perineum is enough to make him moan. Curly knows what’s coming. You go lower, nose nestled into his balls, breathing him while your hands spread his ass cheeks apart to get to the spot you love most.

Curly’s hole is darker than the rest of him, not quite pink like his cock, ruddier. He’s tight and he smells good. So good. You’ve never minded the hair, you think it’s pretty cute. Curtains match the drapes.

Affectionately, you kiss his puffy rim, and it throbs.

He lets out a groan that is half mortified and half ready-to-blow-his-load.

“Sure,” Curly says, voice breaking as you circle his hole with the tip of your tongue. He tastes like him, musky and sweet and coppery. Curly is home and your tongue is in his ass where it belongs, wriggling its way past his pulsing rim, hopefully all the way up into his heart.

Your thumb and middle finger stretch to meet around the girth of his cock, stroking him slowly as you work open his asshole, tongue pushing back in when he pushes you out. Once you deem him wet enough, you push a single finger knuckle-deep and he cries out, hips bucking up off the couch.

Much to his dismay, which he shows in the form of a pained whimper, your hand leaves his cock to splay over his stomach and hold him down to the best of your abilities. “You have to stay still, honey.”

You feed a second finger into him, his hole squelching as you curl them inside of him. Curly clenches tight enough to cut off your blood circulation, sucking you back in when you ultimately pull them out with a lewd noise. He opens his mouth on instinct, pupils so blown out his light eyes seem dark, you push your fingers down his throat and he sucks.

“You’re so cute,” you mumble, watching him intently, he’s like a pin-up model of some sort. An X-rated action figure. “Taste good?”

“Not really,” Curly says. He’s so honest it makes you laugh. He shuffles back to rest his head on the arm of the couch, cock bobbing, still leaking like nobody’s business, leaving little droplets of wet in its wake.

It’s ready to burst, but you’re not done with him yet. You haven’t had your fill. When you spend half your time with your head between his thighs, you miss out on all the faces he pulls. So you spit on your tits to get them wet, his cock is slick enough, nothing should chafe when you squeeze his cock between them.

“Christ,” Curly grits out, brows knitting together, the second coming and he hasn’t even had his first.

“You wanna cum like this?” You ask, kneading your tits on either side of his cock, each time the tip pops up past your cleavage, it bumps your chin and leaves it slick.

“No…” He shakes his head, curls bouncing, sticking to his forehead, the hair near his nose is curlier with the added sweat. “Inside.”

“I can do that for you, babe.” You smile at him, acting like that wasn’t your plan in the first place, like you haven’t been dying for a warm creampie since he landed back on earth. You give the fat head of his dick one sloppy kiss, making sure to tongue his slit before you clamber on top of him.

It should be an easy task to get him inside, you’ve been wet for the last twenty-four hours, your pussy is throbbing like it’s got a heartbeat. Slick dries on your inner thighs and your clit is buzzing, a rush of arousal passes over you like a cold wave when you lift your hips to guide his dick into you.

Oh. Wow. That’s a stretch. 

In theory, you know big Curly’s dick is. It’s a fucking horsecock, and you have eyes bigger than your stomach. You always overestimate yourself. You think you’re gonna be just fine, then his fat tip breaches your little hole, no matter how wet, and you lose it, scrambling to grasp his shoulders as your body is racked with shivers.

Curly’s kind enough to steady you, big hands finding purchase on your hips. His needy noises get through to you, and you push on, sliding down and taking him to the hilt. His dick curves upwards into your cervix, rubbing the fleshy opening as you adjust to his dick after four whole months of nothing worthwhile.

He’s so big. You’re so wet, slippery pussy slicking up his cock, and making things easier for the both of you.

“I love you.” Curly shudders, looking right into your eyes like he’s afraid to blink and miss a single thing.

“I love you too,” you tell him, eyes on his tits.

He’s so deep, feet planted on the couch as he fucks into you, unable to help himself. You get it. You’re tight, warm, and wet. Better than his fist. Your pussy is noisy, squelching each time you bottom you, grinding your clit into his pelvis, feeling his cock twitch each time you tighten around him. The plap of his balls hitting your ass when enough momentum is built up.

Curly’s helpful, when he sees you tense up, throwing your head back and rolling your hips over and over, you want him deeper and deeper, he wets his fingers with your slick and rubs figure eights into your clit.

It’s just enough to make your toes curl—Oh, who are you kidding? You near blackout when you cum, moaning so loud you scare yourself. You see black. Like someone’s drawn the curtains in your mind, ending the show. Your nails dig into his skin, but he’s always put up with that like a champ.

“Holy fuck.” Shaking still, you blink to clear your vision, you’ve wet his navel and his tummy and the couch might be ruined. You don’t even remember when he came inside you. What a shame. Feels good though, still warm. Sighing, you lay against his chest, Curly’s soft cock slips out of your hole, resting on his thigh. “Welcome home, Captain.”

[ghoulphile]

wish you'd make me cry | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 2.3k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; rough, dom!cooper, frottage, sitting missionary, dirty talk, degradation kink, pet names, teasing, dacryphilia, bareback, drug/chem use (jet), shotgunning, high sex ➥ summary | "You’re such a needy fucking brat." :3c ➥ notes | drabble (that's no longer a drabble lol) request for @tearueful, thank you bby!! this one really got away from me... i had to stop myself from writing lol. un-beta'd atm. masterlist | feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | feedback is always appreciated ❤️

Setting up camp for the night in an abandoned warehouse, you and Cooper wait out a radstorm that blows in off the horizon. Because while he loves sitting outside with a smoke, soaking in the rads until he’s buzzing with frenetic energy, you don’t feel like hunting down RadAway tomorrow.

It’s quiet apart from the distant sound of super mutants and ferals roaming the city, the sporadic roar of thunder, and rain tinging off the sheet metal roof. There’s still hours left until daylight, and it doesn’t seem like the volatile weather will break soon.

Unfortunately, you’ve read all the Grognak comics you could get your grubby hands on three times over, and there’s not much else to pass the time besides scuff your boot along the concrete floor, and pluck at a stray thread hanging off your tattered sleeping bag.

Meanwhile, Cooper lounges on his side, unbothered. His hand - bare for once - props up his head, the unscarred skin of a commandeered digit stark against angry rad burns and ropey scars. Between the knuckles of his other hand, he rolls a vial of chem over and over in a mesmerizing flick of deft fingers.

A lantern sputters between you as the old battery struggles to keep it lit. Its jaundiced glow banishes the thick darkness; a fuzzy halo of light that elongates shadows and deepens the cuts of his face.

You kiss your teeth, and say, “Hey, you got any more Jet?”

Lazy eyes slide towards you. A hairless brow quirks. “And if I did,” he asks, the vial pausing between his fingers, “why you wanna know?”

“Dunno, I’m bored… wanna get high?”

“Well, shit,” he whistles, bares his teeth. A low, crackling laugh rumbles from his chest. “Why the fuck didn’t you ask sooner.”

You shrug and crack a knuckle.

To be honest, the idea hadn’t occurred to you at first. Now that it has, anticipation curls low in your belly. Not only has it been a long, long time since you last got high (the sensation a hazy, half-remembered dream of fuzzy warmth and whirling thoughts), you know Cooper always carries a top-notch stash.

The little chem fiend, you think fondly.

“So,” you prompt. “Wanna get high together or what?”

“Sure as shit, darlin’. Let’s party.”

He settles against the pockmarked wall beside you with a soft grunt, the grit of concrete digging into his back. Thigh to thigh, his body is a rad warm line of heat. A bloom of suffocating heat in the otherwise biting chill of a wasteland night. Gunpowder and smoke tickle your nose when he leans over to rifle through his bag, leather creaking.

Muted, mellow; everything fades into a silent companionship as you pass the red inhaler between you. With every puff, whorls of smoke curl from your mouths until a murky gray cloud hovers in the air; defining the edges of your crafted universe.

The acrid vapor of chem burns its way through your lungs and into your bloodstream. A bitter taste coats your fattened tongue, lips tingling as your palm smothers little coughs. A flood of static rushes down your nerve endings, sends your head spinning.

As your vision blurs, the tension leeches from rounded shoulders with a bone weary sigh. And with every slow clicking blink, colors spark to life in a distorted kaleidoscope. Head lolling to the side, you watch through heavy eyes as Cooper rattles the inhaler and takes a shallow hit.

When he exhales, little tendrils of smoke caress the plains of his cheek. Dance along the hollow nasal ridge. “Almost out.” He grunts, your fingers brushing when he passes the cartridge back. “Go on, now. Finish it.”

The kind gesture (for him) touches you.

Then a faraway thought flutters.

Snags - settles into a nebulous desire.

And before you can second guess yourself, a rumble of thunder shakes the building. Wipes away the last of your common sense, and reservations. After all, why not? He was nice enough to share. You can too.

To his credit, Cooper doesn’t startle when you slink into his lap - not that you expect him to, even without being chem-addled. He tracks your movements from beneath a heavy brow bone, the dark Nuka Cola of his eyes glittering like shattered glass in the wane light.

“Heh, this that kinda party then, darlin’?” he asks once you settle, your thighs draped over his hips and your ass flush with his crotch. “‘Cuz you’ll be wanting ta extricate yourself if it ain’t.”

—Before I do it for you.

Humming, you dip forward until your breasts brush over the wide expanse of his chest. Interest flickers to life behind your navel; cinders cracking and popping along your spine. While you’d never considered Cooper a sexual availability beforehand (what with his never-ending search for family), the laden weight of his gaze as it pauses on your chin before dropping lower sings through your blood.

Kickstarts your heart into a galloping stutter that thuds against your ribcage as longing hooks behind your navel, tugs sudden and sharp. The world spins.

Maybe, you think, peering at him from beneath the fan of your lashes. Maybe…

“Pervert,” you murmur, biting down on a small smile.

The knife-sharp smirk falls from his lips faster than a comedown from Psycho when your fingertips ghost over the curve of his jaw, turning his head towards you. Like this, you share breath, the scant space between you thrumming with energy.

So close you can see flecks of gold in the amber whiskey of his eyes.

Your forehead brushes over his; the rough drag of gnarled skin sending a shiver through your limbs. “Let’s share the last hit. S’only fair.”

Pausing, he considers you for several long moments.

His gaze bounces from yours to the playful curve of your mouth and back. A small eternity passes like this. And then - when you’re about to crawl away to lick your wounded pride - the most imperceptible of nods grants his assent.

There’s a hiss of aerosol, a lung burning inhale, and then you’re exhaling into the open gash of his mouth.

Wisps of smoke dance off your tongue onto his, the bow of your lips glancing off the swell of his top lip as you squirm closer. You feed him chem in a slow, steady stream until all the air has left you.

He groans - a wounded, low-throated sound.

Your eyes flutter open to find him already staring, his iris a thin ring around the Blackhole of his wide blown pupils. Hooded, hungry: a caged predator. You lick your lips, and in doing so, flick your tongue over his.

Your stomach swoops, “I --”

“You’re such a needy fuckin’ brat, y’know that, sweetheart?”

Whether it was an apology or some other retort stuck to the back of your teeth like hard candy, you’ll never know because in the next moment a rough hand knocks the Jet out of your hand. The inhaler cracks against the concrete with a plastic smack before skidding off into the darkness.

A burning palm curls around your wrist, calloused fingers digging into your fluttering pulse point. “Hey — hngg!”

He yanks you close, and you taste the violence in his kiss.

Harsh lips map out the softness of yours as teeth pinch and roll until your mouth is a swollen mess of tender flesh and smeared spit. Keeping up with the frenzied scrape of his tongue and the deep pulls of his kisses is like trying to weather a hurricane or fight off a Yao Guai with a single bullet.

“W-Wait,” you gasp, fingers twined through the lapels of his duster. “I don’t --”

“Shut up,” Cooper growls, worrying the swell of your bottom lip until a bead of blood bubbles to the surface. He sucks it away with a stifled moan, his hips kicking up against the plush of your ass.

“Shut the fuck up right now. You know what you was doing - trying ta act innocent when you’ve been gaggin’ for it.”

Flustered, you pull back, “No, that’s not true!”

It’s hard to keep your balance with chem pumping through your veins, and you sway to the side. The only thing keeping you upright is the bruising grip Cooper has on your wrist. “I haven’t been — you’re wr-rong.”

He spits out a mean spirited chuckle. “If that’s what you need ta tell yourself, sweetheart.” A critical eye drags down the pathetic sight you make, crumbled as you are in his lap. “But I know the truth. I felt you looking - pantin’ after me like a bitch in heat.”

“...”

Panic grips you by the throat, your pulse thundering against the thumb he strokes along the curve of your shoulder. You should’ve known better.

Of course, he’d notice.

He was The Ghoul after all - best bounty hunter from this coast to the next. It was his job to perceive everything around him, sus out friend from foe.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

What else can you say?

He brought you along (for whatever reason, fuck if you know why), and you’ve caused nothing but trouble every step of the way. It’s a wasteland miracle he hasn’t kicked your ass and left you bleeding in the dirt by now.

I have to fix this. Whatever it takes.

“I ain’t wanting you sorry.”

Gulping, you will away the sting of tears, and say, “Please, don’t kick me out.”

“Y’know, sometimes I think it’s a miracle you survived this long at all.”

“You don’t have to be so rude about it…” 

“Listen good and well, sugar,” he says with a roll of his eyes, that tender hand brushing over your neck turning into a collar as he drags you close. His lips whisper over yours with every word. “I didn’t go through all of this bullshit just ta get rid of you. Now--”

Hips rut up into you, dragging the firm line of his growing erection along the soft globes of your ass. “Stop teasin’ and make yourself useful,” he says. “Or you will be sorry.”

Everything after that flicks in and out of focus like a zoetrope: the burning clasp of hands, the slick glide of hungry mouths, the frantic rock of your hips as you both chase after dry friction with a desperation that borders on madness.

Your hands don’t know where to settle, fluttering from the nape of his neck to the breadth of his shoulders to the rippling muscle of his stomach as he rocks into you. Bites at any exposed skin that he can until his teeth leave marks you’ll carry for days.

All the while the hard edges of his body crash into your softness like waves against an eroding shore. Liquid fire blazes in your belly like a raging wildfire, scorching you from the inside out until you’re dumb and dripping.

The chem snaking through your body enhances the littlest of sensations until you feel like one giant exposed nerve. Slick drenched and sweaty, you moan weakly and rest your forehead against his cheek.

“Please,” you slur, thighs trembling where they squeeze at his live-wire hips. “S’not enough - need more. Wanna cum. Please, please, please. Make me cum.”

Cooper bites out a curse, his fingers biting into the fat of your ass. “Yeah, s’that right, sweetheart - d’you think you deserve it for bein’ such a lil brat?”

“Yes, yes, please, I’ll do anything. Just - hhahh, fuck!”

The fabric of your panties clings to your folds, and your pants chafe.

Your clit throbs with every thud of your heartbeat, every firm grind of his cock and low husk of his voice. Want him seated so deep inside you choke - your poor pussy struggling to take his cock as he rides you so hard you cry.

“Anything?” he asks with a breathless chuckle.

The devilish gleam of his eyes rattles your bones, shivers of electric anticipation fizzing through your veins like Quantum.

“Well, shit. Don’t come cryin’ ta me when you regret it. Now, take off those fucking pants and ride my cock like a good girl.”

And when he bullies his way inside, those thick ridges dragging along gummy walls, you almost swallow your tongue. He’s so big - the biggest you’ve ever had.

Every inch is a struggle, a victory. He’s not patient, he’s not kind. You don’t want it any other way, spread so wide your pussy flutters pathetically, trying to push him out.

Then the fat head grazes past the rough patch of your g-spot, sliding home to kiss your cervix. Your knees lock around his ribs, your head tossing back as a high-pitched whine punches its way out of your throat.

“A-Ah! I can’t — oh shit — you’re so,” you babble. “Too much!”

An ache spears deep, roots behind your navel.

“Heh, you asked for it, sweetheart. Look at me.” A scarred thumb wicks away a tear as you peel your eyes open with a sniffle. “That’s it. Shit, you look s’pretty when you cry.”

He licks his skin clean, uses his wet thumb to reach between you and roll the pad over your abused clit. You jump, sliding up on his shaft only for gravity to drag you back down with a solid smack of skin, your limbs jello soft.

The motion slams him deeper and slick drips from you in a sticky gush to soak his balls. You cry out, reedy thin.

Cooper grunts, warns, “You keep doing that and we’re not stoppin’ til you’re dripping cum.”

Though the thick haze of chem and syrupy sweet pleasure, you cobble together a grin and lick your way into his mouth. Tangle your tongues and suck as your hips arch into his. “Please, ruin me,” you breathe.

A possessive greed glints at you from the depths of his hangman eyes.

“Don’t go sayin’ I didn’t warn you, sweetheart,” he promises.

[luetta]

capturing angels is easy. snipe them from the skies, break their halos, and watch the divine light fade from their eyes as you turn them into fleshlights.

capturing a seraph is harder.

they live in the upper atmosphere, far beyond reach. luckily nothing grabs their attention better than desecrating nature. you’ll have one hovering above you the moment you start pouring oil into the river.

but they’re invisible, they don’t actually do anything. they just watch with seething rage. but you can tell where they are, if you look carefully at the ripples in the sky. and they can be speargunned like any other piece of meat, they’re not intangible.

but they’re fast. once they get hit they’ll try to fly away, faster than you can blink. but it’s against their code to break something holy. that’s why i soaked the speargun rope in the blood of that drunk priest. it simply can’t snap the rope.

it’ll try attack you now, lifting it’s veil of invisibility and showing you it’s form. it’s beautiful, it’s blinding. that’s why we wear these industrial goggles to block most of its rays.

after the initial blast of light, you can see it’s true form. a 3m tall body of white porcelain, with undulating red spirals flowing from her talons. 3 halos, 2 pairs of wings, 6 uncaring eyes. it tries to attack us, shred us to pieces. but with a few more unbreakable spears, she’s essentially pinned in place.

it lets out a screech, attracting other seraphs. they come, but they just watch from afar. the leaves of all the trees nearby shrivel up. putting 2 pikes into her main wings, she can’t move. turning her head to look at us like an owl, she starts to speak.

“SURRENDIPITY. AMALGAMATION. DESECRATION. VOLITION. QUINTESSENCE.”

it’s best to just ignore them during this part. and instead just focus on the halos. that’s the target.

striking it with tools - sparks flying off - it’s amazing how much these floating discs feel like they’re anchored in place. they simply don’t react. but that’s a boon in our favour, not theirs. it means, eventually, they’ll shatter. if they warped it’d be exponentially harder to destroy.

eventually, the first one breaks with the help of a winch attached to the truck.

the seraph starts to struggle against her binds now, strange new feelings of danger making it panic.

“LIGHT FLOW BEAUTY RESIST ERODE TRANQUILITY. WATER AIR SPLIT GROW RECEDE. MAPLE LIMESTONE WIND TIDE BLOOD.”

the second halo breaks.

“SMOKE FIRE WAR WAR WAR. SHARK DARKNESS DEATH. MISERY. BLOODSHED. FEAR. TERROR. ACID BLINDNESS DECAY.”

the last halo cracks, it’s about to give out. the seraph is straining against the spears, shaking, desperate emotion in her eyes.

“LOVE WISDOM HAPPINESS. JOY PROSPERITY ENDLESS. RAINDROPS. YOURS. OWNERSHIP SUBJUGATION FREEDOM. LOVE EMPATHY ENVY PLEASURE RESPITE. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE. HOSPITALITY. INTIMACY. MERCY.”

the halo shatters to a million pieces. the area is no longer illuminated by some unseen source. the ripples in the sky disappear, the watchers retreat, uninterested now. the scared creature is speechless, her eyes wide and unbelieving. dirt now sticks to her body, instead of just sliding off. flesh instead of ceramic. we take the spears out, but bind her with ropes much harsher now. she’s still has strength, but it’s no longer unfathomable like it was.

now she’s just another fallen angel, about to learn the one thing divinity lacks, and humanity excels in. physicality. we have a lot of breaking in to do before she’s ready to join the other angels downtown. or perhaps i’ll find a private, permanent buyer. something like this would probably fetch enough to let us get out of this shithole finally.

as we throw her into its new room, a cold, stone room, with hooks in the walls to attach chains to, she speaks again.

“hurt. sadness. freedom fear anxiety. lost indecision hubris. mercy pain silence. separation beauty uncountability. exploration … limitations. unknown darkness fear. ”

“don’t worry darling. we’ll have you singing again in no time.”

[r3starttt]

I'M HERE

Caitlyn Kiramman x reader

The world was a graveyard. Empty bodies sprawled wherever your eyes dared to rest, their forms eerily still against the broken earth. Smoke lingered like ghosts, weaving through the crimson-soaked air, and the silence—it was deafening. A silence that rang louder than the echoes of distant screams and the fading clash of steel. Every step was a battle. Your heels ached, and each hurried pace clawed at the fragile thread of breath you’d managed to reclaim. Muscles screamed, ribs throbbed, and yet your heart felt heavier than all the pain combined.

It was over, but the echoes were alive, ripping through every fiber of your being. Blood painted the ground like a second skin, mingling with tears on faces frozen in grief. Uniforms you recognized too well lay in heaps, torn and lifeless. Your own mirrored their ruin: fabric ripped, knees bleeding, and the once-pristine material soaked with blood and dirt.

She had been here.

Caitlyn. The thought pierced through the haze, sharper than any blade. You had let her go, trusted her to do what only she could. You’d clasped her hand, pressed your forehead to hers in a silence that spoke louder than words. Her hair, always neatly pulled back, had fallen loose in soft, disheveled strands, catching the light like a fleeting halo. You had laughed then, despite the weight crushing your chest, at how something so ordinary could feel like salvation. Her lips had lingered on yours, warm and hesitant, as if trying to memorize the taste. Neither of you dared speak, fearing the finality words might bring. Instead, you held her tighter, prayed harder, and let go.

Now, the world felt colder. Your legs carried you without thought, stumbling over shattered armor and the crimson pools glinting in the dim light. Bodies of the red-cloaked guards lay scattered, lifeless faces hidden beneath hardened masks. And then you saw her—Ambessa, draped in her own destruction. Her fall should’ve felt like justice, but it didn’t. It felt empty, like the cost had been too high. Blood stained your boots, but you couldn’t tell whose it was anymore—hers, yours, the innocent you might have taken in your desperate bid to end this.

And then, there she was.

Your breath hitched, stolen by the sight of her crumpled form. Caitlyn. Her body lay broken, crimson streaking her uniform, and for a moment, the world shattered around you. A scream clawed at your throat, but it never came, swallowed by the surge of adrenaline that propelled you forward.

“Caitlyn!” Her name tore from your lips as you fell to your knees beside her. The coldness of her skin bit against your shaking hands as you cradled her face. Blood streaked her features, and her right eye… Gods, her eye. The jagged wound cut across her face, fresh and raw, and it took everything in you not to break. She stirred, murmuring your name—a sound so faint you thought you’d imagined it. And then she was in your arms, her weight collapsing into you like she’d been waiting for you all along.

“I’m alright…” she whispered, the words brushing against your ear like a fragile promise. Her arms wrapped around you, trembling as they pulled you close. “I’m alright… It’s fine.”

But it wasn’t fine. Not to you. The image of her crumpled body, blood pooling beneath her, burned into your mind. Even now, as you held her, as her warmth seeped into your skin, it haunted you.

“I know,” you choked out, though your voice betrayed you. Tears blurred your vision as your fingers cupped her face, lingering near the wound you couldn’t bring yourself to touch. “Caitlyn, what happened? We need to—”

“No,” she interrupted, her voice soft but firm. Her hands rose to cradle your head, grounding you even as her own strength faltered. “It’s fine.”

Her reassurance should’ve calmed you, but all it did was break you further. Yet, you nodded, because what else could you do? The love in her gaze—her single, piercing blue eye—was unwavering, even now. Her cheeks, flushed with exhaustion, and the strands of hair plastered to her forehead only made her more real. More human. More hers.

And you loved her all the more for it. The fat of your thumb traced her cheek, avoiding the wound as your heart screamed to make her pain your own. “I thought I lost you.”

“I’m here.”

Her arms tightened around you as if to prove her words. Slowly, painfully, she shifted, wincing as the adrenaline faded and the pain of her injuries set in. You rose with her, supporting her weight as she leaned against you. The war was over.

TAGLIST: @Kaimythically @lewd-alien @greysontheidiot @jolyne @sapphic-ovaries @tlouloser @prwttiestbunny @visobsession @kiki5gigi @thesevi0lentdelights @lvlymicha @stickycherritart @rob1nbuckl3ys @femininologies @dinakisser @viajeros--sin--destino @GodessAgrona @patronagrona

[littlexdeaths]

thinking about eddie who is your older brother’s best friend.

who you’ve been madly in love with for years. and maybe, just maybe he finally realizes that he really wants you too.

he realizes it one summer eve when you show up on his doorstep after your shift at family video. when your piece of shit car overheats and breaks down on the side of the road by forest hills trailer park.

and who else can you go to but eddie?

eddie who opens the door in a cut off black sabbath t-shirt, and a pair of boxers. his hair is tied at the back of his neck in a low bun, but his curls are still damp from sweat.

the summer has been much hotter than usual, and the lack of a/c in the trailer has him ready to melt. but then he hears a soft knock on his front door, and there you are.

your skin is covered in a thin layer of sweat, the setting sun casting a halo around the crown of your head. you look like an angel, or maybe a devil, come to tempt him.

because how could he feel this way about his best friend’s sister?

despite his inner struggle he remains casual as he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest which shows off the muscles in his biceps.

but he can’t help but notice the way your eyes roam the expanse of his arms, and your thighs press together. and oh boy, he’s really in trouble, isn’t he?

he keeps a cigarette placed between his lips, the cherry end igniting as he inhales deeply. eddie looks you up and down with a small smirk, before letting the smoke billow out from between his lips.

“well, well. what can i do for you, sweet cheeks?”

[spiicii]

jimmy uso / sweet leaf

x fem!reader   word count → 3.1k summary → fights between the twins always ends badly. with jimmy in a bad mood, he needs his sweet girl to help him relax. links → masterlist / taglist tags → recreational drug use (marijuana), smoking, shotgunning, oral fixation, cockwarming, daddy kink, light dom/sub, unprotected piv sex, sex under the influence, mentions of violence, mentions of minor injuries (cuts, bruises, etc.)

The twins didn’t fight often, but when they did things got ugly. It almost always ended in blows, their words vicious and cruel. Roman was usually the only one who could get them to calm down. He had a way of soothing their inflamed tempers, a skill he’d picked up from their many years travelling together, and, if it came down to it, he was usually the only one strong enough (and brave enough) to pull the twins apart if things got physical. 

But Roman hadn’t been there this time. 

You weren’t entirely sure what had happened after the show, but when Jimmy came home with a cut above his eyebrow and a split lip, you knew it hadn’t been pretty. He’d been too angry to speak at first, barely casting a glance in your direction as he threw his bag down and stomped to the bedroom. 

You watched him with a raised eyebrow, considering your next move. Whenever he got this mad you knew it was best to give him space. Jimmy wasn’t one to get angry often. Sure, the two of you had experienced your share of arguments in the past, but Jimmy was never mad. For a long time, you didn’t think it was even possible. He was too unserious, too goofy, too easy-going to be angry. Except when it came to his twin. 

Jey seemed to be the only one who could push him to the breaking point. In all your time together, you had never witnessed Jimmy’s raw, unfiltered rage. It had shocked you the first time you saw it, though Roman had been quick to reassure you that this was normal for twins. They loved each other fiercely. It would make sense they would hate each other fiercely as well. They were just too alike. Two sides of the same coin. They’d spent their entire life with the same face, the same mannerisms, the same everything. No matter how much they loved each other, things would eventually boil over. 

As you mused on this, Jimmy finally exited the bedroom, his curls wet from a shower. He’d changed into a pair of sweatpants, his chest bare as he made his way to the balcony. He avoided your gaze, saying nothing as he opened the door and slammed it behind him. You watched through the blinds as he collapsed on one of the cushioned chairs outside, his head turned to take in the sprawl of the city far below. 

You gave it some more time. 

Eventually you saw smoke begin to curl around Jimmy’s head, his body relaxing further and further into the chair, and you knew it was probably safe to approach him now. 

You grabbed the first aid kit from under the bathroom sink and made your way to the balcony. The night was chilly and you shivered, dressed in nothing but one of Jimmy’s old t-shirts that was far too big for you. Despite his bare chest, Jimmy didn’t seem to mind the cold, leaning back against the chair to let out a long exhale of smoke.  You considered going back inside to grab him a jacket, but you quickly abandoned the idea when he lifted a hand and beckoned you to his side. 

You offered him a small smile as he allowed you to straddle his lap, though he didn’t reciprocate, his face impassive as he took another drag from the blunt in his hand. You noticed that he was careful to keep it away from the cut on his lip, smoke circling his head like a halo as he let out another exhale. You noticed too that his knuckles were bruised and swollen, though he made no comment about them when he caught you staring. 

As he kept you perched on his lap, you couldn’t help but reach out to touch the miles of golden muscle beneath you. Your fingers traced the tribal ink that circled his left pectoral, following the ink up to his shoulder and arm. His skin was soft, but the muscle beneath was hard, the result of hours in the gym and the ring. He watched you carefully as you kept your hands on him, his face giving nothing away. 

You felt his free hand creep up your side, his touch warm as he curled his fingers into the soft flesh of your hips. Still, he said nothing, his eyes dark as he stared at you. 

“Will you let me clean it?” You murmured, motioning to the cut above his eyebrow. Jimmy didn’t seem pleased, but after a moment’s consideration he gave you a begrudging nod. 

You felt him tense beneath you as you disinfected the wound, the fingers on your hip beginning to dig into your skin. Eventually he relaxed, keeping his eyes on you and ignoring how the blunt in his hand was beginning to burn out. He seemed to have forgotten about it, making no effort to reach for the lighter beside him. Instead he seemed to be memorizing every contour and line on your face, the smoke on the balcony beginning to clear. 

And when you were done, you made sure to place a butterfly bandage above the cut to hold the skin together, your eyes flickering down to catch Jimmy’s smoldering gaze. It was too dark outside to tell if his eyes were red yet, but his gaze seemed a little too sharp to make you think the weed had done its job of relaxing him. When you motioned to the cut on his lip, he waved you away, plucking the first aid kit from your hands and tossing it to the side. 

He placed the unlit blunt between his soft lips, now using both hands to pull you deeper into his lap. He kept his arms wrapped around your waist, one of his hands reaching up underneath your shirt to caress the soft skin of your back. His hands were rough and calloused, but his touch was gentle, almost teasing. 

As he pulled you closer, you could feel his clothed erection beneath you, your pussy already spasming at its close proximity. You felt your body begin to relax, though you weren’t sure if it was from the smoke or Jimmy’s intoxicating touch. He looked so beautiful tonight, his dark hair cascading down his strong shoulders, his eyes glinting with an emotion you couldn’t name. And when the rough pads of his fingers ghosted across your spine you felt goosebumps explode across your skin, your empty hole continuing to pulse and thrum just from Jimmy’s touch alone. 

“Gimme a light, baby,” He rumbled, nodding his head to the lighter resting on the table beside you. 

You were quick to obey, flicking the wheel and allowing the glow to illuminate his features. His dark eyes reflected the flame, making him look almost sinister as the joint sizzled back to life. And when you shut the lighter off you could still see sparks dancing in his eyes as he stared at you. 

He took a long drag, filling his lungs before releasing with a long exhale, smoke swirling around you once again. You couldn’t help but stare at his lips. They looked impossibly soft and you watched as they curved around the blunt, the sight beautiful, before he reached up to remove it, breathing out more smoke into the night air. 

You couldn’t help but reach out to trace the shape of his lips, careful to avoid the cut where Jey’s fist had connected. Jimmy continued to watch you, his hands warm against your back as he kept you balanced on his lap. You could feel the hard length of his cock press against your core, but he didn’t seem too concerned about it. Instead, he kept his eyes on you before taking another drag. 

You gasped when his hand shot out and grabbed your jaw, pulling you closer to him. 

“Open.” His command was soft and you were powerless to deny him, your body obeying on instinct as your mouth fell open and he blew the smoke past your waiting lips. 

You had already begun to feel the effects of the smoke from being out here for so long, but inhaling the earthy blend, mixed with the sweet smell of Jimmy’s breath, had your head spinning. You felt your eyes water, though there was no burn as you inhaled. Jimmy kept that firm hand on your jaw and you waited, holding the smoke in the expanse of your lungs before finally exhaling again. 

“Good girl.” Jimmy’s words were a soft croon and your eyelids fluttered at his praise, a warm feeling beginning to spread through your body. Jimmy kept his hand on your jaw, the rough pads of his fingers caressing the skin there. He seemed to be admiring you, your body soft and pliable beneath his capable hands. 

A gust of wind blew through the balcony and you watched as goosebumps broke out across Jimmy’s chest, the air seemingly growing colder by the minute. He didn’t seem to notice, his dark eyes fixed on you as you shivered in his lap. 

“You’re cold.” It was more of a statement than a question, Jimmy’s voice an octave deeper than usual. He moved his free hand to your exposed leg, gently rubbing the skin there in an effort to simulate warmth. 

“So are you.” You whispered, your fingers tracing the flurry of goosebumps near his collarbone. 

Jimmy hummed noncommittally, shifting again so that his hard length was pressed even more firmly between your legs. You couldn’t help but gasp at the feeling, amusement glinting in Jimmy’s eyes. 

“Keep me warm then, ma.” 

The implication of his words was clear and you were quick to reach for the strings of his sweatpants. While it would be in his best interest to help you along, he seemed content to lean back and watch instead, taking another hit from the joint as wispy plumes of smoke danced in the air around you. 

You didn’t miss his low chuckle as you pressed his length against your soaked hole, seemingly pleased to learn how wet you already were. He kept his hand on your leg to keep you balanced, watching with hooded eyes as you began to sink down onto his cock. You let out a small gasp, your toes curling at the slight burn you felt as your body struggled to accommodate his size. 

You kept your hands on your strong chest in an effort to stay grounded, trying not to writhe at the feeling of his massive cock splitting you open. Jimmy moved his hand back to your torso in an effort to keep you still, his grip firm as you continued to lower yourself onto his length. 

“There ya go,” Jimmy crooned, allowing you to take your time until he fully bottomed out. 

You shivered again, though this time it wasn’t from the cold. You felt impossibly full, his wide cock brushing against that sensitive bundle of nerves inside you as pleasure began to unfurl in your core. You felt your hips move to instinctively chase the feeling, but Jimmy’s grip on you tightened and you stilled, a small whimper escaping your lips. 

“Be a good girl and keep Daddy’s cock warm, sweetheart,” Jimmy hummed, his voice calm but his tone leaving no room for argument. “You can do that, can’t you?” 

You nodded, forcing your hips to stay still even as your cunt fluttered and spasmed around Jimmy’s length. Jimmy didn’t seem to notice, keeping that firm hand on your torso as he reclined in the chair. Your eyes flickered to the blunt in his hand and he gave you a knowing smile. 

“Want another hit, baby?” 

You nodded and Jimmy’s hand was back on your jaw. 

“Open.” 

You obeyed, your lips forming a small ‘o’ as Jimmy took another pull from the blunt. The joint sizzled, sparks dancing in Jimmy’s eyes again, before he leaned up to meet your parted lips. Your noses were almost touching, his lips ghosting yours as he passed the smoke to you. His dark eyes were mesmerizing, the hand on your jaw firm as he pulled you closer. And when you finally exhaled, Jimmy closed the distance between you, his lips soft against yours as he offered you a kiss. 

You felt your body relax at his touch, euphoria already beginning to cloud your mind as your limbs grew heavy and your cunt swirled around Jimmy’s heavy length inside you. 

His kiss was tender and sweet, a stark contrast to the dominant hand on your jaw, and when he pulled back you could see desire gleaming in his eyes. 

“So sweet to me, honey,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Too sweet.” 

Your brain was already foggy, both from the weed and from your own desire, but you still had enough sense to shake your head, disagreeing with him. 

He smiled at you and it was far more vulnerable than you were expecting. 

“Too sweet for anyone, baby. I don’t deserve you.” 

You made a distressed noise at his words and he was quick to shush you, flicking the blunt, which was now nothing more than a small stub, to the side. He wrapped his strong arms around you, pulling you impossibly closer and pressing his lips to your neck. 

You felt dizzy, letting out a small whine as his cock brushed against your g-spot again. 

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” he breathed, his hands warm again on your back. “Daddy’s gotchu. Just relax fo’ me, baby.”

You obeyed, allowing all the tension to bleed from your muscles as you leaned into him. His lips were warm against your neck, peppering sweet kisses along the delicate skin of your windpipe as he held you close. And when he reached up to tangle his long fingers into your hair, tugging gently on the scalp to expose more of your neck, you allowed it, your body pliant and submissive for him. 

You could feel his teeth scraping against the pulse point beneath your jaw and he tensed, seemingly resisting the urge to bite and stake his claim there. Instead, he forced himself to move on, licking a hot stripe beneath your ear just to watch you tremble with need. 

You felt like you were floating now, Jimmy’s touch the only thing keeping you from drifting off into the stratosphere. Your body seemed to be singing beneath his warm hands and you struggled to keep your eyes open as Jimmy continued to press adoring kisses into your neck, his beard scratching against your skin. 

“So perfect.” He mumbled into your neck, his cock twitching inside you as he kept you close. “My perfect girl.” 

You hummed in appreciation, watching as he leaned back again to stare at you. His gaze seemed less sharp now, his body more relaxed as he held you in his arms. And when you met his eyes, he couldn’t help but beam at you, his smile a burst of sunshine on the dark balcony. 

“You look so beautiful like this,” he murmured, his hands running appreciatively across your exposed skin. “All relaxed and sweet fo’ me.” 

You offered him a dazed smile of your own, watching as he reached out to grab another joint from the table beside you. He placed it between his lips, his tongue darting out to roll it from side to side, and you were enamored by the sight. 

“Gimme another light, honey,” he murmured, once again reclining in his chair as he kept his free hand on your hip. “Be a good girl.” 

You obeyed, allowing the sweet aroma of the smoke to completely overtake your senses. He continued to blow more smoke into your waiting mouth, his firm hand on your jaw the only thing keeping you from falling out of his lap as the world spun around you. 

And when he finally did move his hips, shallowly thrusting up in your leaking hole, you couldn’t contain the moan that tore from your throat. The feeling was otherworldly. Your senses were heightened, your body sensitive as Jimmy slowly fucked into you. You could see shapes and colors dance across your vision, your body pliable and loose in his strong arms. 

Jimmy’s thrusts begin to speed up, your pussy drooling around his cock as you struggle to keep your eyes open. 

“Look at me, baby.” Jimmy’s voice was breathless and you forced yourself to open your eyes, feeling untethered and listless despite his arms wrapped around you. “You gonna come, sweetheart? Gonna make a mess fo’ me?” 

You nodded as best as you could, the movement slow and syrupy. You could feel the pleasure building inside you, a new kaleidoscope of colors flickering across your vision as he began to aim for that sweet spot inside you with every thrust. 

“Go ahead, angel. It’s alright. Daddy’s gotchu.” 

Your body didn’t feel like your own as the tension snapped, the orgasm so euphoric that you felt as though you might melt into a puddle on the floor. Your body went limp, your muscles spent as Jimmy held you close, his breath warm in your ear as he cradled you against his chest. 

“Almost there, baby.” He gasped, his balls smacking against you with every thrust. “So good fo’ me. Always so perfect, sweet girl.” 

You hummed lazily at his words, pressing open-mouthed kisses into his neck even as the world spun around you, still dizzy with the ecstasy he’d given you. 

Jimmy let out a low, creaky moan, the sound beautiful as he spilled into you. You could feel your walls continue to spasm and contract around him, your body determined to milk every last drop from his softening cock. Your brain was still having trouble forming a coherent thought, your muscles still tingling from pleasure. 

When Jimmy leaned back to look at you, you realized that your vision was fuzzy, your mind struggling to focus on Jimmy’s lazy smile as he brushed some of the hair from your face.

“You alright, baby?” He murmured and you could only nod, your tongue heavy in your mouth. 

Jimmy's smile was dazzling, stars practically twinkling off his white teeth as he held your faraway gaze. For the first time tonight you noticed that his anger was completely gone now. There were no signs of stress or worry across his handsome face, his body completely relaxed now as he kept his large hands encircling your torso. 

“Sweet.” He slurred, his eyes hazy. “So sweet. My sweet girl.” 

He kept you there, his cock still plugged inside you to keep the mess from dribbling out. And when he kissed you again, that was the only word you could think of too: sweet.

_____

besties: @acute-crashout-jeyuso @mindairy @amandairene88 @askullasunflower @partypoison00 @brianochka @femdisa @luvrsluxe @zephyrazzz @scorpiochaos @gardencottage @minteagalaxea @annyanse @nbanenefrmdao @wishyouloveme @glittergirl7 @bloodline-fanacc @key05marie @mzv11 @neytiri-20

[cecilcastles]

thank you, thank you king. I need a new printer anyways ❤️

what scanner do you use 🙏

dude i wish i could say i bought a nice scanner of my own volition so i could be artsy fartsy but the truth is i actually just use like. the built in scanner of an office printer. im not sure how we acquired it.it’s an officejet pro if u were still wondering🦄

[zeroxxlhero]

Hello 👋, can u do Vi x Reader. Where Reader finds Vi in the living room and she cuddles with her but she finds her hands in Vi’s sides and Vi giggled a little bit. Reader then smirked and she tickled Vi like crazy and she was laughing like crazy and they fell on the floor. After that, Reader is just admiring her.

Peace • Vi

Warnings: fluff, tickling

Pairings: Vi x You

Fandom: Arcane (League of Legends)

The night was calm, the muffled hum of the city outside fading into the background. You padded softly into the living room, your footsteps barely audible on the wooden floor. Expecting nothing more than a quiet, empty room, you paused mid-step when you saw Vi lounging on the couch. Her head was tilted back against the armrest, her signature pink hair messy from running her fingers through it. She looked relaxed, the dim lighting accentuating her sharp features, though there was a slight furrow of thought in her brows.

"Hey," you said softly, your voice breaking the silence but not startling her. Her blue eyes turned to you, and a smile—small, lazy, and utterly warm—spread across her lips.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked, her voice low and soothing, as she shifted to make space for you. She patted the spot beside her invitingly.

You moved toward her and sat down, the couch dipping slightly under your weight. As soon as you settled, she draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. You leaned into her, resting your head against her shoulder, and wrapped your arm around her waist. Her scent—a mix of leather, faint smoke, and something distinctly hers—wrapped around you like a comfort blanket.

"You?" you asked, your fingers absentmindedly trailing small patterns along her side.

Vi sighed. "Thinking too much, I guess," she admitted. Her tone was casual, but you knew her well enough to hear the undertone of exhaustion.

For a while, you stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, letting the quiet moments stretch and fill the space between you. Your hand, still resting on her side, shifted slightly, brushing against her ribs. That’s when it happened—a tiny, soft giggle escaped her lips.

Your head snapped up. "Was that a giggle?" you asked, your tone light but incredulous.

"No," she said quickly, her voice too defensive to be convincing. A faint flush crept up her neck as she avoided your gaze.

Your grin widened. "Oh my god, Vi, are you—"

"Don’t even think about it," she warned, her eyes narrowing in playful defiance. But it was too late. You’d already moved.

Your hands attacked her sides with relentless precision, fingers tickling her ribs and abdomen as she burst into uncontrollable laughter. Her voice, usually steady and confident, was high-pitched and full of unrestrained joy. She squirmed under your touch, her pink hair falling into her face as she tried and failed to push you away.

"Stop it! Seriously—stop!" she gasped, laughing so hard tears formed at the corners of her eyes. Her words were broken by squeals and hiccups of laughter, a sound so rare and unguarded that it made your heart swell.

"Never!" you declared with a laugh of your own, doubling down on your assault.

In her thrashing, she managed to hook a leg around yours, and the two of you tumbled off the couch. You landed in a heap on the floor, Vi beneath you, still laughing breathlessly. Her cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath.

"You're... impossible," she said between gasps, her voice laced with exasperation and affection.

You rested your weight on your elbows, hovering just above her, and took her in. Her hair was splayed out like a halo against the floor, her skin glowing faintly in the moonlight. The way her lips were parted, still curled into a smile, made your breath hitch. For a moment, time seemed to slow, and all you could see, hear, and feel was her.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmured, your voice soft but steady.

Her laughter faded, and she blinked up at you, her blue eyes wide and vulnerable. A faint blush spread across her face, and for once, Vi looked almost shy. “You’re ridiculous,” she said, her voice quieter now, tinged with warmth.

You leaned down, brushing a stray strand of pink hair from her face before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Ridiculous for you,” you whispered against her skin, the words carrying all the tenderness you felt.

Vi’s arms wrapped around your back, pulling you down so you were fully pressed against her. "You’re lucky I love you," she teased, though her tone was so soft it made your chest ache.

"Lucky, huh?" you replied, your lips curling into a small smile. "I’d say I’m the luckiest."

She chuckled lightly, shaking her head as she shifted slightly beneath you. The two of you stayed there on the floor, wrapped up in each other, the world outside forgotten. All that mattered was her—her laughter, her warmth, and the way she looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

[cecilcastles]

i’m trying to think of more art ideas i swear

(this drawing was partly inspired by @/c4tspl4sh)

[magicalmutants]

I’m All Run and You’re All Fight

Suguru Geto x Reader

wc: 1.3k

A/N: concepts of this have been floating around my drafts ever since I screamed with @gothsuguru about Ethel Cain (ty for matching my freak Kairo <3) and tonight I finally had the time to finish it ! A very late happy new year to you all, my loves, I hope you’re looking after yourselves <3

Two years

You knew what day it was as you lay awake in bed. You knew it was the middle of the night, that if you turned and looked at the clock, it would say 3:45am. Wide awake thinking about him. You wonder if he thinks of you too.

It had been two years since you had been roused from a fitful sleep to be told that your world was fissuring into something broken and ugly. You squeezed your eyes shut as you tried to block out the memory.

“He’s gone. Wiped out the whole village. He’s not coming back.”

You sit upright as you hold your head in your hands. Trying to shove those memories back into the little box you contain them in somewhere in the back of your mind. Somewhere where they couldn’t hurt you. Breathing shakily, you reach into your nightstand and pull out the pack of cigarettes and lighter you keep there and climb out of bed to pad softly over to your window.

You hold the cigarette between your lips as you light it, the harsh taste of burning tobacco filling your mouth. You wrinkle your nose, always forgetting how much you despised this brand. But menthols taste like kisses and summer and a life you’re desperate to forget. These will have to do.

“Here, since you’re so desperate to follow Shoko to an early grave. Try one of these, they kinda taste a little better,”

“You smoke them too! Besides what if I like these ones?”

“You don’t. You always pull a face.”

So much of who you are is an amalgamation of everyone you’ve ever loved. The way you take your coffee because that’s just the kind that Shoko brought for you when you were exhausted from studying. The way you still cut your hair the way that celebrity you idolized when you were a teenager used to cut hers.

But so much of you had been shaped by him. His ghost always floats in the corner of your eye, just out of reach. You’ve buried him, feeding the corpse that you stuffed full of memories to the night inside your heart. A cold place. A dark one. A dead one. And still he persists, still he lingers in the shadowy reaches of your sense of self. The parts that are jagged and bleeding from how hard you’ve tried to sever them off. They say the body holds memories that the brain forgets, and if you could peel back your skin and go bleeding, raw and bloodied into the world, vile and unrecognizable, you think you would. You would forget yourself and become something entirely different; something entirely separate from him. Could you still be yourself if you replaced every single part of your soul that he had touched? At what point was the ship of Theseus no longer the Argo when every part of it had been replaced?

_____________

Suguru loved watching you when you were like this. Pretty frown on your face as you tried to block out the memories he knew were trying to break through the prison where you had confined them. Here is where you were different: he let them wash over him, relishing in the pain they caused him. He loved the way it felt to miss you. The chest-splitting feeling that made it hard to breathe and brought that lump to his throat that he sometimes hoped would suffocate him. The nausea at the feeling of some cavernous, gaping hole in his soul, somewhere where his heart would be. The anxiety that he felt, knowing he could never fill it. His torment and your pain were the thorns that decorated the crown on his head. The halo that left him scratched and bloody.

He watched as you swore, he could almost hear the whisper of your voice on the wind as you put out the half smoked cigarette and threw it out the window before slamming your fist into the frame.

There you were.

His violent girl.

Suguru had always been in awe of how easily violence came to you, and how hard you tried to hide it under your soft spoken words and tender smiles.

He remembered the first mission you had ever gone on together in your first year, teeth bared in a snarl as blood dripped out of your nose.

He remembered the moment he noticed the flash in your eyes as the corner of your lips ticked upwards into something that looked more like a smirk.

He remembered how divine you looked as blood and gore flew around you, the air seeming to crackle as you danced at the epicenter of a terrible storm of death and cursed energy. Goddess of rage and terror. Goddess of beauty, because after all, how could you know beauty without knowing terror?

And he remembered how suddenly you stopped. How your eyes softened and you asked if he was okay. How you had sounded almost bashful.

“Where have you been hiding that?”

“Don’t be stupid,”

“Why are you embarrassed? You were beautiful,”

Maybe you were destined to be a perfect paradox. Suguru walked a path of violence, forcing step after step, knowing each one made the rot inside him fester a little more. You tried to bury violence deep inside you to quell the rage that had threatened to consume you all your life, burning up your insides and begging to be let out.

Two sides of the same coin, two people with the same curse, wasn’t it Shakespeare who said these violent delights had violent ends?

Your head snapped up and Suguru felt the blood freeze in his veins as your eyes seemed to lock directly onto him.

“Are you going to kill me?”

“Is that what you think of me?”

“I don’t think of you,”

“I do. I think of you every minute of every day,”

“Is that supposed to make me feel something?”

“You might not understand, but I’m doing this for you. I’m saving us, all of us,”

“Ha. And when you’re done saving everyone, and all you’re left with is whatever stares back at you from the mirror, Suguru, who will save you then?”

He remembered the torment in your eyes as the violence you spent your life concealing threatened to burst forth, he caught some of it in the harsh sound of your laugh as you spat venom at him.

He still didn’t have an answer for you. When all was said and done, and his hands were covered in blood that he could never wash off, and the decay that putrefied his insides befouled the rest of his body, and all he was left with were the words of his mother and the cold look in your eyes, what would he do then? Saviors had always suffered their torments, but he was no saint. The devil walked by his shoulder and forced his mouth open every time he consumed another curse and guided his fist every time his knuckles split against another face.

Crack.

You had closed your window and gone back inside. Suguru took a deep breath and tried to mask his disappointment with smugness. You still loved him, of that he was sure. So he would come back next year to make sure, and perhaps one day you wouldn’t slam the window closed when you sensed his cursed energy. Perhaps one day you would confront him. Perhaps one day you would finally let loose the fire of the rage that you had always used to cleanse foul things. Perhaps one day he would be worthy of being purified by it. Suguru had once dreamed of getting down on his knees and asking for a life with you. Would it not be so much sweeter to die at the feet of the only person who had seen flowers grow where he saw only rot?

[historiaxvanserra]

In Hades I Am With You | Chapter Three

Pairing: Azriel x Hewn!city reader

Word Count: 3k

Summary: Reader is the ill-fated daughter of a cruel Lord of Night; plagued with prophetic dreams and cursed with rare, arcane gifts. Azriel is the stoic spymaster; forged from violence, lethal and honed to a fatal sharpness. The pair find themselves bound to one another through readers strange, prophetic dreams.

Tags: Forced proximity, strangers to lovers, Night Court lore, Priestess reader, discussions of SA and abuse, discussions of sex work, criticism of misogyny, sexism, and general abuse in all its forms, eventual smut, slight corruption kink, reader is incredibly romantic and horny.

I hold my hands up, as if in prayer, steam coils in feverish tendrils around the exposed curves and divots of my breasts and shoulders. The dark waters roil and spill over the lip of the turquoise pools as I surrender myself to their warmth.  From here, the world is obscured by the gossamer haze that glitters like spun spider-silk.  Like the veil between two worlds. An oppressive breeze cuts through the chamber like a shroud and the scent of wisteria and moonflowers smothers the putrid smell of the city in the wet heat of a summer storm. 

The cruel laughter of the other court ladies rings like a siren song in my ears. A symphony of high-arching sound that echoes off the moonstone pillars. I filter it out; focused instead on my own trembling hands, turning them to admire my fingers which are adorned in rings of amethyst and onyx, mined from the bowels of this wretched mountain that I call home. Then another's fingers interlock with my own, breaking my reverie.

Melinoe’s voice is lyrical and velvety as she wades through the waters before me. Steam rises in columns about her hips and waist, becoming entangled in the damp lengths of her silver hair. It curls over her sloped shoulders like a white raven’s plumage, casting her in a halo of opal light.

“Where were you last night?” 

Melinoe is one of the Lord Protector’s favorites. She is tall and graceful with beautiful smoke-kissed skin and glassy, onyx eyes that mark her as a daughter of this court. Melione was once the companion of Morrigan; The Lord Protector’s only daughter. Though she had been exiled from the Court long before I was born. She had been assigned to my household when I came of age. My eternal companion. 

Though we are bound by duty, there is still something of me that is kindred to her, a shared pain perhaps. She had grown up here, as I had, she too knew the anguish and oppression of this wretched mountain. The longing it can bring. It is why when I decline to answer her question she doesn’t feel the need to interrogate me further. 

“There are whispers amongst the Darkbringers.” Melinoe starts, a conspiratory gleam in her eyes as she looks around the room. The low cadence of her voice echoes dangerously off the mountain stone when she moves through the waters with a serpentine grace. She emerges from the bubbling pools like the image of some dark Goddess, born from the sea to lure men to their watery deaths. Her voice is laden with malice as she eyes the younger girls. How they hunger after every whispered word, circling her in merry rings like dancing water nymphs, or the coiling tendrils of some monstrous chimera.

“That the High Lord will return to court by the moon's turn.” The dancing tide turns volatile and the ladies eyes glint with something dark and predatory in the pallid light. 

Long ago, the first Princes of the Night Court had made their home here, in the cruel depths of the Mountain. The Moonstone Palace had been hewn from onyx stone of the mountain. Hence its name. The facade of the palace itself was adorned with great stalactites of opal that form a series of dark coronas that line its gothic archways, and its stained glass ceilings cast the palace in a wretched emerald light. When Rhysand had ascended the throne, after his father before him, he had abandoned his ancestral seat in the Palace in favor of his ‘Court of Dreams’. 

For millennia Velaris had been shrouded by ancient night magic; kept hidden from us here, under the mountain. Even as war ravaged these lands, and Amarantha made slaves of us all. A city shaded in veins of lavender, amethyst and violet, and saturated in perpetual starlight. 

The people of Hewn City had been afforded no such grace. Left to rot and ruin under the oppressive stone of the mountains. The forgotten vestiges of a dying regime; clinging to the archaic traditions of our forebears, coveting the dark whispers of power inherited from ancestors long dead.

Now, we cower in the cruel, emerald light of the Moonstone Palace, like shadows.

“The High Lord has no tenderness in his heart for us, why would he return if not for ill?” I ask, looking up at her through dark, curious eyes. 

“Because it pleases him to impose his wrath upon us,” Melinoe shrugs, running a fine-boned hand through the tresses of her hair, that refract like smoky quartz in the cold light. 

“And because it serves him to appease the Lord Protector.” Medea insists gently, leaning down to cradle my jaw in her slender hands. The mere mention of his name is enough to bring forth the ferrous taste of blood and hatred to my mouth, and yet, any ill I’d speak against him lives and dies upon the tip of my tongue. 

“Or to bring him to heel.” I interject, parroting the words I had heard from the Darkbringers in the Jade Pearl. 

After a few aching moments, Melinoe agrees as a smoke-skinned wraith drapes her body in a robe of fine, dark silk. The garment is held together by iridescent emerald ribbons that cinched around the curve of her waist, its lapels and cuffs are trimmed with black lace and the hems adorned in the black, floral embroidery favored by the Velarian tailors. A gift from her Lord husband, and my barbarous keeper. 

None of my own garments are nearly so beautiful. My dresses are the austere, high-necked gowns of a novitiate; dark swathes of fabric that cover me like a shroud and veils of silver and alabaster to conceal my face. 

“Perhaps the High Lord and his Illyrian dogs have already fucked their way through all of the dreamers in the so called ‘City of Starlight’ and hope to find some solace here, in the dark where they belong.” Venom laces her words, though her tone is pleasantly breathy and she smiles prettily when she speaks. 

Melinoe only ever speaks to me like this here, in the quiet of the bathing chambers, where the words we speak are our own. Her mother had told us once, a long time ago, that a woman’s first blood does not come from between her legs, but from biting her tongue. I hadn’t known what she meant then but I think I do now. The women of this infernal court are like well trained bitches; obedient, meek, and loyal. I was taught young not to bite the hand that fed me. Taught me how to beg prettily, how to crawl on my hands and knees and throw myself down upon a man’s mercy. 

And there is so little mercy in this world for women like us.

“He is afterall, his father’s son.” I hum lightly, musing on her words and I sink further into the misty wakefulness that usually speaks to a coming vision. 

A few beats of silence pass between us and then the bathhouse is a cacophony of liliting voices and girlish chatter as the other girls dress; whispering and dancing across the tiled floors of the bathhouse at the prospect of our High Lord’s return. 

“So…are you going to tell me where you were last night?” 

“I was here.” I say lowly, as I gesture to the bathing chambers. These apartments are one of the view places I am permitted to be without one of my sworn Darkbringers.

When I was a girl I wandered the Moonstone Palace at my pleasure; I knew every narrow corridor of these hallowed halls. The statue of Astarion that lay beneath the Palace itself, the desecrated temple at the foothills of the mountain, the botanical gardens which held blossoms of foxglove and dhalia’s, and arches of wild flowering jasmine and climbing ivy, the atrium with its stained glass ceilings, through which I observed thousands of constellations that painted the black tapestry of the sky like threads on a loom, and the High Lord’s personal libraries, its high paneled walls holding tomes and scrolls as ancient and arcane as the palace itself.

Over the years. Those freedoms had been stripped away from me for one infarction or another. 

“I came here - after Aelios left - you weren’t here.” Melinoe says dangerously, a thin brow arching towards me. My heart hammers traitorously against my chest. 

If Aelios had sent her it would be under the instruction of my guardian and the Lord Protector of the city. If Keir had the slightest idea of my transgression I would have been summoned by now.

“Did Aelios send you?” I ask tentatively. 

“No - when do I ever do as that barbarous fool asks?” Melinoe retorts, an air of offense on her beautiful face.

“I thought I heard you leave your apartments. I wanted to make sure you were well.” Melinoe approaches the lip of the tub and takes my hand in hers. She touches me gently then, her eyes full of care and affection. 

“The dreams have been getting worse, haven’t they?” She was right, though, that was not the reason I ventured out unseen last night. 

Melinoe runs a fine boned hand through my damp hair, and coos softly. 

“Please don’t tell Aelios.” I beg her, feeling guilt coil in my chest for the sympathy that lights her eyes. 

These visions that plague me are prophetic and dangerous, they speak of sacrifice and sacrilege, of war and ruin. I know that Keir covets the power I possess, I know what this foreknowledge could bring about, in the wrong hands. His hands are mottled with rage and cold with death. 

“I won’t,” Melinoe swears solemnly, “and where did these visions lead you this time?” 

I look up at her through dark, curious eyes from my place in the bubbling pools. Unsure if I should tell her. 

“Th-the lower city.” Melinoe’s eyes widen, sparkling like starlight in the blue light. 

“You mean…you went to the pleasure houses?” She asks aghast. She takes a deep breath and pushes away from me, pacing in circles on the tiled floor. 

“How?” 

“I-I borrowed some of Leda’s clothes - left through the servants quarters - no one saw me.” 

“How can you be so sure?” She asks her voice low. 

“If anyone recognised me I would have been dragged before the High Council and exiled before I even had the chance to tell you.” 

After a few aching moments of silence Melinoe softens, her head tipping towards me. 

“What was it like?” She begs for something tangible to cling to. Some small sliver of knowledge of what lies beyond these castle walls. So I tell her and the whole while she stares at me enraptured. 

I tell her of the whores, who swarm merchants like sirens, singing sweetly to them. I tell her of the sailors and the smell of the ale, the bawdy songs they sing and the vulgar words that color their language. I tell of of the games, coins minted with the faces of our High Lord glint in the light as it changes hands. 

“I-i can’t believe you went out there,” Melinoe sighs enthralled. “Did you see anyone from the Palace?”

“I saw a few of the Darkbringers - I didn’t speak to them though - and…” I hesitate, unsure if I should tell her about my encounter with the Shadowsinger. Who touched me with reverence, whose lips had claimed mine so devoutly. 

That night, I returned to the Moonstone Palace filled with such strange…longing. For what, I am not entirely certain but the Shadowsinger has opened something within me, some old wound, festing and aching for touch.

“And?” She asks. 

I want to tell her. I want to kneel at her altar and confess that his kiss tastes like cedar and night-blooming wisteria. That his eyes hold the darkness from which we were born, and to which we will one day return. The confession dies when she looks at me again. 

The vows I had taken were solemn ones. Last night, I had forsaken every one. If my keeper ever discovered my treason I’d be exiled as Morrigan had been. Disgraced and forced to debase myself amongst the High Lord’s court of whores and tyrants.

What’s more is that kiss, sacrilegious and sacred as it was, belonged to me. A secret contained between myself and the city.

“The soldiers were talking about the war.” I exhale slowly, swallowing the fallow lump in my throat. “An-and the High Lord’s return.” 

I cast my gaze out of the large, gothic archway that exposes the city in the wet heat of the storm. A dark mass of shadows bleeds across the vast black tapestry of the sky until the world is veiled in black. 

Was the Shadowsinger out there? 

Somewhere in the depths of this mountain with the same longing in his black heart?

Melinoe strides towards my discarded clothes, draped over the tiles as she coaxes me out of the baths. Her slender hands glide over the heavy swathes of fabric and she procures my veil from the pile. The elegant spider-silk is almost iridescent in the sapphire light of the Moonstone Palace. It is a cruel reminder of my place here. I feel its heaviness settle over me like a shroud.

Beneath my faded robes I observe the champagne silk of the slip I had worn last night. It was trimmed with lace and tailored to fit my body. It had been a Solstice gift. Imported from Velaris. I wonder if its usual scent of jasmine and bergamot had been tainted with something darker. 

Wisteria and frozen pine. 

“The City Watch said that there had been trouble on the borders,” Melinoe offers. She did this a lot; always hearing whispers of one thing or the other. “Apparently the Princes on the Continent are working with him.” 

“With who?” I ask, tucking back a loose curl.

“The Death Lord.”

“The Priestesses say that The Lord Protector is willing to join them…for a price.” Melinoe says grimly. 

“What could possibly be worth such a betrayal of our traditions?” My stomach turns, a warring and violent storm. Anxiety coils around my throat like the tendrils of some monstrous creature borne from the depths of the ocean. 

“That’s what it is to thrive in this world, sweet girl.” Her voice is softer now, a whisper of gentle night. 

“To make your black deals in the dark and decide what you will trade for power.”

I knew very little of power. 

But I know this: I had forsaken sacred vows at the mere suggestion of it. So what might desperate a desperate man desecrate to know the kiss of that dark, ancient power that bleeds from the infernal heart of this land. 

“I probably shouldn’t have brought it up.” Melinoe turns away from me.

“It- it’s just that with the High Lord’s return…” She stalks towards the open windows, taking in the view of the city from this height, “and your dreaming…does it not speak to something - a coming storm?” 

In truth it had never occurred to me that my foresight might serve as anything other than a shackle. That it might be a warning from out of time. Of things yet to come. 

“Come, sweet girl,” Melinoe coos kindly, turning from me, “it is not for the likes of us to worry about.”

“I will follow in a moment,” I acquiesce, reclining further into the water, running a cloth over the junction of my neck and collarbones and loosing a sigh as the steam envelops me once again, “I will take the waters a while longer.” 

She lingers for a moment more before taking her leave, the other court ladies following her in a daze as they trail out of the bath chamber; in a throng knotted curls and flashes of laughing violet eyes that glint in the seraphic light.

The vision comes with the quiet, fleeting images of the blue light of a bleeding star and a dark-winged angel.

“Are you quite alright, my Lady?” The voice of my handmaiden, Leda, cuts through the arid heat of the bathing chamber. The young wraith's fingertips dig into the tender flesh of my arms as she drags me upward and out of the scalding waters. Leda is a lithe creature, with yellow eyes and thin, arched brows that she furrows when she casts her amber gaze on me in the cruel light. Her features twist grimly at the alabaster film that shrouds my vision, a testament to the fleeting visions and prophetic dreaming that haunts me in my waking hours. 

“Another dream?” Her voice is accusatory and laced with concern. The wraith’s touch is careful and deliberate as she cradles my chin in her cupped palm. A reflexive hand tightens around her as she runs a hand through the loose tresses of my hair as my ragged breaths soften to a gentle exhale. 

“The worst of it has passed, I think.” I assure her, smiling lightly, though I am sure it does not reach my eyes. The wraith looks at me warily and there in the darks of her irises I find a small flicker of courage that coaxes sound from me again.

“I- I dreamt of a winged angel -- a blue star that bleeds over the mountain.” I say gravely, my voice wane and ghostly. My body feels like a conduit of someone else's pain. A vessel of nerve endings and synapses that sear white hot with the last tremors of the dark power that lives in me. 

“Dreams may yet be just that, sweet girl.” Leda embraces me thoughtfully, the crease in her brow deepens and the set of her jaw falls into something akin to sorrow. She wraps me carefully in a dark navy robe, the soft cotton against my skin working to untether me from the ether. 

“Now get dressed.” The wraith speaks gently into my unbound hair. Leda’s voice is stern but her face unserious, one brow arches high and her eyes glitter with devilment in the fireglow.

“The Lord Protector wishes to speak with you.” I falter then and Leda watches carefully as my fingers descend upon the discolored flowering bruises that mottle my skin.

TAGLIST: @bravo-delta-eccho@tiredsleepyhead@that-one-bibliophole@azzyslittleshadow@lalaluch @laramcflyyyy @teenagellamaangel

[leighsartworks216]

All This And Heaven Too

Demon!Sylus x gn!Angel!Reader

Based on this post

Title from "All This And Heaven Too" by Florence and the Machine

This fic possessed me and would not let me go until I wrote it tonight (which is bad cuz I'm sick). Very very very vague spoilers for the end of Sylus's story

Also I'm not religious and I do not smoke but the vibes, y'all, I simply had to (I looked up a wikihow for smoking)

Warnings: heavy angst, angels + demons au, major character death, unhappy ending, hurt no comfort, blood, injury, crying, kissing, drugs + smoking, underage smoking, pet names, religious imagery + symbolism, swearing

Word Count: 2,557

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You sigh as you feel the oh so familiar sensation of a cigarette being shoved into your halo’s golden glow. There’s an inhale behind you, and the sensation is gone. Sure enough, when you turn around, the demon stands proudly, taking a long drag from his cigarette.

“Thanks, angel,” the demon, Sylus, purrs. The smoke blows into your face and you fan it away with your hand. He chuckles. “You haven’t changed one bit.”

“Well, it’s only been 3 centuries. How much was I supposed to change in that time?”

He studies you lazily, tilting his head and taking another drag. He settles down on a low stone wall, worn on the edges and covered in old paint. “Not interested in small talk today, angel?”

You cross your arms defensively over your chest. It’s been a long time since he’s seen you this on-edge around him. “I don’t know how you can think about anything else.” You look at the people passing by.

Teens in helmets and knee pads rolling past on boards or skates, others with no protective gear at all trying to pull off complicated flips and tricks. A couple sat under a curved wall, passing a blunt back and forth. Sylus had teased you relentlessly the first time he came across you in a place like this. Watching all these young souls take up vices so early in their lives, put their bodies on the line and break bones for a bit of fun. You didn’t notice the drugs and alcohol as much nowadays. You just saw the smiles.

“All of this will be gone in just a few days… Doesn’t that…” You glance at him. “Doesn’t that upset you?”

A kid walks up to Sylus, gesturing with his messily rolled up joint for a light. Sylus presses the end of his cigarette to the end without a word. The revolting stench of marijuana filled the air as the kid walked away. “Why should it?”

You glare at him and he chuckles.

“Oh, I’m sorry. What I meant to say was, ‘Heavens above, it’s a terrible tragedy! The horror of it all!’”

“I could smite you right now. One less demon for Hell’s army would be no loss to us.”

“But it would be to you.” He sighs, scanning the skatepark. A melancholy settles in his expression. “I suppose I will miss it. Humans know the best ways to have a good time.”

You hum. “I did always enjoy their weddings.”

“I was thinking something along the lines of lust, greed, and pride.”

“I know.”

You glance at the spot beside him. He holds the cigarette in the corner of his mouth as he takes off his leather jacket and lays it across the stone. You perch primly on it with a nod of thanks. He takes the cigarette from his mouth and holds it out to you. You stare at it with a grimace.

“This could be your last chance to try it,” he cajoles. “I promise you won’t get sent to Hell for a little thing like this.”

You glance at his face. Piercing red eyes stare at you, but you know he wouldn’t lie to you about something like this. Not anymore, anyway.

You begin to reach for it but he pulls it just out of your reach. He holds the butt end to your lips, but you look at him with that sweet little look of innocence, utterly helpless.

“Shall I demonstrate first?” He puts it between his lips, the corners curled up into a devilish grin. The ashes on the end trail a little further down the paper as he inhales the tobacco smoke. He takes it out of his mouth, pauses for a second, and blows it out, away from your face this time. He holds it back to your lips. “Don’t do too much. I want this to be a good experience for you.”

“Your temptations are hardly enticing,” you scold, but there’s no venom behind it. You carefully put your lips around the filter, where his were just seconds ago, and suck in. You can’t help watching his face as you do, searching for instructions through his expressions. He nods just slightly and you pull away, holding it in for a moment like he did, and exhaling.

He brings it back to his lips. “Well?”

You scowl as you try to get the taste out of your mouth. “How do you like that?”

“Oh, angel. People don’t like the taste - not really, anyway. It’s the chemicals that trick you into thinking you need it, pulling you to it over and over again.” He leans in. His eyes gleam. “Addiction.”

“Hmph. Should I try to find something pure for you to try now?”

He shakes his head. “I already know what the holy experience is like. I’m just fine not going back to it for a second.”

A drugged-up teenager with no protective gear goes down the old wooden half-pipe. It’s been in disrepair for years. The local governments don’t care at all about trying to keep anything here in good upkeep; they haven’t for decades. His wheel catches on a broken board and sends him flying. His body scrapes against splinters and bent nails, tearing at his clothing and flesh. To add insult to injury, his skateboard goes up the other side and comes right down on his head. You can tell even from a distance that he’s broken something. He lays there for a while, groaning.

Sylus isn’t surprised when an ambulance arrives a couple minutes later, despite nobody having called for their services.

“Do you know where you’ll be stationed?” you ask. You try to seem cool-headed about the thought of going into war, but there’s a waver in your voice that he catches as easily as recognizing a lie.

“Linkon City. On the frontlines.” He passes the nearly-gone cigarette back over when he sees your hands fidget restlessly with the hem of his jacket. “What about you?”

You take it from him with inexperienced fingers, but you don’t cough this time either as you take a slightly deeper draw from it. He could almost say he’s proud, if he ignored the omen of a smoking angel.

“The same for me.”

He takes the spent cigarette from you and puts it out against a spray painted yellow smile. “So I’ll see you there, then.”

You watch the ambulance pull away with the kid on a stretcher in the back.

Sylus stands up. It’s only when he gestures to his jacket that you follow, stepping away so he can retrieve it and put it on. It’s a hot summer day, but even dressed in all black and leather, he says it’s too cold. If Hell wins… you wonder if you’ll understand what he means, then.

“If we fight each other-”

“Why do you sound so upset about it, angel?”

You take a deep breath. Your golden eyes, blessed by the light of God, stare at him with a deep seriousness. “If we fight each other, we can’t hold back. You know that, right?”

He nods slowly. “I know.”

“I… I won’t hold back.”

He nods.

“Not even for you.”

He nods again. “I know, angel.”

You nod, settling that promise into your brain. Your frown hasn’t faltered at all.

“For what it’s worth…” Red eyes look at you with no waver in confidence, but that melancholy hasn’t faded yet. “Of all the angels I could have had the displeasure of knowing, I’m glad it was you.”

-

The city was a husk of its former self. Where once people walked to and fro, going to work or the movies or the arcade, demons and angels fought in a holy war. It was chaos at every turn. Armies donned in white and black, fighting tooth and nail to win.

You had your orders. They were easy to follow: kill any demon in sight. You prayed for God to end this war before it could begin. You prayed for the final days leading up to it for this to never come to pass. You prayed until someone ripped your hands apart and shoved a sword into them.

If your body functioned like a normal human’s, you would have been panting, gasping for air as you stole through a wrecked lobby and into a courtyard, surrounded on all sides by tall buildings. Your body would have ached from exhaustion, and you think a normal human would have fallen unconscious by now.

Your body does not function that way.

Your breaths are even as you turn in a slow circle, watching for any intruders. The fight rages on mere feet away, but in here you can almost forget.

A tree stands proudly in the center. Its branches overhand a small, tiered garden. Flowers decorate the wooden boxes, spilling out over the sides from care and dedication. You gently lift one of the hanging blossoms and bend down to smell it.

Something sharp touches your neck.

You’re frozen in place. Caught off guard, staring at the flower, memorizing it so that when the killing blow comes, it is the last thing you see. The last meaningful reminder of the humans’ blessed existence.

“Hello, angel.”

You turn your head so sharply you almost cut yourself on his blade. Relief and dread swell in you all at once, a miasma of discontent. Sylus grins at you as relaxed as ever and lowers the black sword to his side.

A hollow breeze swishes his hair across his forehead. The longer strands catch in his eye, but he doesn’t brush them away. The horns on his head are sharper, crueller than usual; as dark as the deepest pit of Hell.

The golden glow of your halo highlights the planes of his face.

“Don’t hold back, remember?” he says. “Don’t lose that conviction on me now.”

Your hand shakes as you tighten your grip on your sword. You raise it in front of you. The sharpened point raised to the heavens, a symbol of your devotion. You swallow. “I won’t.”

He mirrors your position, the end of his sword aimed for the hells below. His hands are steady. He nods. That damned grin widens on his face. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “I know, angel.”

Sylus attacks first. He has to. You’re paralyzed, unable to make the first offensive move. You defend instead, blocking and parrying his every move. The tree stands watch. A silent aegis to your battle.

He cuts your right cheek, and you jump away to collect yourself. The pain feels too real. How is this the natural end of the world? How can your God sit idly by and witness you crossing blades with the one creature across the Heavens, Hells and Earth whom you called friend? What merciful God would want this?

Blood drips slowly down your jaw from the small wound. Sylus paces around you like a wolf hunting wounded prey. You know he will destroy you.

You take a breath and raise your sword again. Your hand does not shake.

You strike first, reigniting the fight he lit.

It’s grueling. Neither of you dares to give in now. Hesitating would be to die. And not only did neither of you want to die, neither of you wanted to kill the other. It’s a battle built to be a stalemate. A war never meant to be won.

At least, you wish it was.

Both hands grab the hilt of your sword, holding it steady. Sylus grabs the blade.

He chuckles. It’s weak. Strained. His eyes match the blood pouring from his chest as he looks up at you. He falls to his knees. You follow.

“Well done, angel.” He wheezes, eyes squeezed shut in pain as he hunches over your blade. The sides dig into his hand, slicing his palm and fingers. “You… You won.”

All at once, the reality of the situation hits you.

“No…” You support your sword with one hand as you scramble on your knees to be closer. You grab his shoulder, sitting him up so you can see where you’ve impaled him. You let go of the sword to rest both hands on his chest on either side of the wound. “No, no, no, no, don’t- You can’t-”

Golden light shines in your hands, but black and red tendrils block your healing. You try harder, until the light blinds you, but the demonic powers within him refuse to relent. Sylus watches you with soft eyes and a grin.

“Angel,” he mumbles. You grunt in frustration as you press harder against the wound. His hand slides off the blade and covers yours. You’re panting from exertion as you finally meet his eyes. “I think… I think I wanna try somethin’ holy now… You got anything in mind?”

The glow fades. The darkness fades. You cradle the back of his head with a blood-soaked hand. It stains his hair. Your other hand grips his like a lifeline, squeezing blood from the cuts there. He doesn’t stop you.

“Something holy?” You search his face, wracking your brain for any ideas. “Okay… Okay, I can do that.”

You begin stroking his hair tenderly, scratching at his scalp, scraping sweat, blood and oil under your nails. He sighs, head resting heavily into your care. His eyes are half closed. He forces them to stay open.

You scoot yourself closer, until your knees are touching his. You lift his head up and bring your lips to his forehead. This close, you listen to every breath he takes. Every rasp and groan he exhales. You pull away reluctantly, ducking your head down so your forehead rests over your lingering kiss.

“How’s-” You clear your throat after your voice cracks. “How’s that?”

“Isn’t kissing… a sin…?”

You shake your head. “No, no, it’s not.”

He hums quietly. “You ever… kiss anyone… angel?”

You laugh despite yourself and shake your head again. “No, I haven’t.”

“Shall I… demonstrate…?”

“I’d like that.”

He abandons his sword on the ground beside him. It clatters against the carefully laid brick of the courtyard. His hand is agonizingly slow to find your cheek. His palm is cold. His thumb strokes the cut he gave you.

“C’mere… angel.”

You follow his weak guidance as he tilts your chin, pulling your lips to his. His lips barely move. You press against them a little harder.

His hand slips from your cheek, knuckles scraping over the bricks and jostling his sword. You pull away.

His eyes are hollow. Red irises staring into nothingness.

“Sylus…?” His head lolls in your hand when you try to adjust. “Sylus, please-” Your eyes fill with water. “Please, it’s not funny. I don’t need your tricks right now. Please-”

You let go of his wounded hand to hold his face with both hands. Blood from your touch stains his cheeks. Hot tears slip down your cheeks.

“Please, I- I can’t do this without you… I don’t want to do this without you…”

He doesn’t respond.

You press your forehead to his again, leaning over his body as gravity stakes its claim on him. Your tears land on his face, falling down his cheekbones and jaw as if he was the one crying, not you.

“Please… Please…” You kiss his cold lips. “Please…”

Nobody hears your prayers.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover

[casuallyanidiot]

Yantober Day 4

Homemade Meal [Yandere Girlfriend x Gn. Reader]

Using @ozzgin's prompt list!

yeah I'm like totally behind on yantober at this point, but I'm going to keep trying to write for it because I don't like the thought of quitting lmao. This one is kind of boring but I wanted to try something a bit different from what I usually do

Tipjar :)

TW! MDNI ! DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT! Abusive relationship, manipulation, isolation, toxic af relationship, yandere

You're girlfriend isn't really happy about the fact that you've got a job...

2.7k words

Recently, Dannica was obsessed with this domestic shit, and it was pissing you off big time.

“One of us should stay home and look after the place.”

Oh please. Like either of you could afford to take care of two people. You worked a night shift at a convenience store, and your on and off again girlfriend did god knows what. She could be whoring herself out for all you knew. It didn’t matter. You couldn’t survive on your own, and she always managed to bring in just enough cash every couple of weeks to make sure neither of you starved. 

“Dis’ is bullshit…” You grumbled out, an unlit cigarette pressed between your lips as you held a lighter in one hand and your phone in the other. It was blowing up like crazy, eating up your already precious break time. 

Where are you?

Send me a photo.

Are you with someone?

Are you cheating on me?

Pick up

Now

I’ll seriously leave this time if you don’t

I love you

“Ugh, shut up,” You huffed as you put your phone on do not disturb and slid it into your pocket. Shielding the stick of tobacco with one hand, you lit up your menthol infused vice. Your bleak eyes stared out into the near empty parking lot, only occupied by your beater of a car, a raccoon digging through a nearby dumpster, a swarm of moths enveloping a street light like a halo, and yourself. Everything was bathed in an eerie, cold glow from the buzzing LED sign from the store. You inhaled before you let out a plume of smoke into the open air. You tilted your head back, letting it rest against the concrete wall.

Dannica had been getting worse recently. 

It wasn’t like you didn’t know what you were getting into when you first started going out with her. She hit all the boxes of a crazy chick. Split dyed hair, tongue piercings, eyeliner so sharp it looked like it could kill a man. She had this look in her eye that had you drooling along like an obedient dog, pinning her to the wall and laughing at every other word she said. 

“You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

She was right, but you were far too drunk at the time to realize that.

You sighed and rubbed your eyes as you stepped back into the store after grinding the last of the embers under your muddy, stained shoes. The bright, cold lights sucked up any last vestiges of your mind. Check the cameras, check the register, check the shelves… you had done everything that you needed to for the rest of your shift. Well, at least until the small amount of people would trickle in after all the local bars closed. 

3am. You only had to wait until 3am before you could go home. You would normally be excited, but there was a familiar seed of dread that was blooming into a full blown nausea. You stared down at the old, faded clock, watching with a bleak stare as your free time dwindled.

You just didn’t understand why she was so fixated on having someone be home at all times. It’s not like your place was nice. All the furniture was shitty and second hand. If anything was stolen, it would be a pain in the ass to replace, but it wouldn’t be impossible per se. You had no pets and no, god forbid, kids, so what was it? Why was she putting so much pressure on this whole thing. Plus, although she acted like she would be fine with either of you staying home, cooking, cleaning, and waiting eagerly for the other to return, you knew that the one person she wanted to have as little contact with the outside world wouldn’t be herself.

You blinked as a paper was slid onto the counter in front of you. You blinked in surprise as you looked at the intimidating man standing before you, wearing a black face mask and a dark gray hoodie. The random tightness of the fabric as he moved suggested that he was probably fucking jacked underneath his baggy attire. You looked up at him with a slow blink. When had he come in? The bell to the front door hadn’t even chimed.

“Bring these home.”

“What?”

You jumped slightly as he spoke. You looked down at the paper. It was a list of ingredients all scrawled in Dannica’s handwriting.

“Bring those home with you when you close up for the night,” He repeated before lighting himself a cigarette. Your nose wrinkled. There were like 50,000 no smoking signs in here. “If I were you, I’d shutter down and head back right now. I mean, if you don’t wanna lose all your privileges and all… Here,” He said and slid another item across the surface. This one was an envelope filled with a wad of cash. “She doesn’t want you paying.”

So you ended up sitting in front of your apartment complex, your car’s shitty engine still thrumming. There was a bag of the groceries she wanted in the passenger seat, and you gripped the plastic bag with a shaky sigh. 

It was like you were in a trance like state. Turn off the car. Go up the steps. Put the key in the lock. Turn it. 

The bag felt heavy in your hand, and the faded number painted on the door before you seemed like it was growing blurrier and blurrier by the second. You didn’t want to open this door. You didn’t want to go inside and face her and whatever this was. You hadn’t even mustered up the will to turn your phone back on. 

You could only imagine all the things she had sent you. Would she call you a slut again? Or threaten to destroy all your shit? Would she go through with it, like she had one time when you found your clothes all shredded?

Dannica hadn’t done anything wrong today.

Yeah, your girlfriend had been a bit annoying, sure. That was putting it lightly, honestly, but she really hadn’t fucked up crazily. She’d only… She’d only sent someone to your job… and threatened you with some vague punishment if you didn’t come home…

That couldn’t be good, and it certainly wasn’t healthy. After all you put up with, she thinks she can push you around by sending some lackey or friend or whatever after you? Not to mention, it pissed you off to no end that she got someone else involved in all your toxic, messy shit. That was it. You couldn’t go through with this when you were so aggravated. It would only make things worse. She made you worse.

You turned away to go back to your car, to figure out where you would go tonight, to really process the fact that you probably, most definitely, were done with all of this-

“[Name]? What are you doing out here? Come inside already.”

You listened. You didn’t know why but you did. Dannica stood there with her hands on her hips and a slight frown on her pretty face. You just stared at her, unmoving for a couple of seconds, before she huffed and reached out to grab you by the wrist and pull you inside.

“Are you dumb or what, baby? Ugh, see this is why I’m telling you that you should be the one to stay home… That place has got you all spacey and shit… not listening to me…,” she grumbled and shut the door behind you with a resounding click. The apartment was dingy for the most part, but it had touches of where you tried to make it look and feel more cozy with some cheap fairy lights strung up haphazardly. It used to feel more vibrant and homey, but after every argument, you’d find that another trinket would be shattered, or another photo of a loved one would mysteriously disappear. 

“Did you at least do what I asked you to?”

“Huh?” You finally snapped out of it and looked at her. She was all up in your space, caging you against the cheap, linoleum counter. Her manicured nails drummed on the surface, and she narrowed her eyes. You cleared your throat and shrugged.

“Dunno’... you kinda lit me up there so I just turned off my phone…” You answered and brought the bag up to set it down and start putting away the fresh stuff. Dannica’s expression brightened when she saw it, though, and you paused as a big, cheshire cat grin stretched across her lips.

“You did listen!” She gushed and hugged you suddenly, and you had to stop yourself from flinching too much.

“Oh.” You said, standing there a bit stupidly. Oh, indeed. It was like you didn’t even want to really consider that she had sent someone, that she had gone that far.  “Yeah that… Danni, what the fuck was that?”

“What was what?”

“Don’t play dumb. What was with that guy that showed up at my work? Who was he?” You asked and shook her shoulders just a bit to emphasize how seriously you were taking this. As much as Dannica hated the fact that you worked so late, in such a ‘dangerous’ area, and really the fact that you worked at all, she had never stepped over the line that you had firmly set once she started showing signs of her paranoia and clinginess. 

Never, ever show up to your work unless it was something serious.

The only time she had even come close to doing so was when she followed you to and from work one day to make sure you weren’t off cheating somewhere, so having her do this felt too much. You couldn’t not bring it up. You couldn’t not be angry.

“Hmm? Him? Oh… he’s no one, really. Just a … colleague,” She hummed as if she was bored, like you shouldn’t even bother to ask in the first place. Her gaze sharpened all of a sudden, and you could’ve sworn you saw a thought be processed in her mind in real time. “Unless… unless you want to know more about him? Why? Is it because you think he’s cute or something? What did you two talk about, huh?” 

“What? No it’s not-! You know what? I’m not even going to answer that. This is fucking stupid…” You muttered despite how pissed her expression was. Her grip grew stronger, and you shrugged it off as you moved to start putting away the groceries.

“It’s not stupid. I’m just trying to make sure we’re okay. Don’t you want that?”

“I didn’t realize me going to work meant we weren’t doing well. You know usually it’d be a good thing if the other person in a relationship isn’t a deadbeat…” You snorted, and Dannica put her hand over yours to stop you from dumping the vegetables into the Crisper drawer. A frown was etched on her face, mirroring your own. She wordlessly pulled out a piece of paper and slapped it down in front of you. Your lips curled back in disbelief as she tapped it with a sharply filed nail.

“Look…” She relented, or at least pretended to. “Just make this for me, kay? You can do that, right? I just want a good night, baby. No more fighting, no yelling. Can’t we just have a good meal?” Her words were like honeyed poison. You didn’t understand how someone could switch their tone so quickly. You turned your head away, just to escape from having to look at her, and actually read what she was trying to prompt towards you. It was a recipe for a meal. It wasn’t anything complex, just roasted vegetables and pasta, and it fit what she had made you buy to a tee. You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose.

“Babe…” You mumbled. Your anger was being stamped out with every breath you forced yourself to take. You just needed to calm down. She wouldn’t stop bitching until you calmed down. “I’m tired-”

“You’re not that tired,” She jutted in, and you huffed. She brought out some pots and pans. “Just start the oven and cook,” she gestured to the crockery with an impatient, patronizing wave. You bit your lip in frustration.

“I don’t even want to eat right now. It’s 4 am. I just wanna go to bed.”

“So you don’t want to spend time with me then?” She accused, and you found your hands instinctively reaching for the cutting board and knife.

“What? I didn’t even say that.”

“But you meant it.”

“No? Danni, quit doing this shit. Just because you don’t get your way doesn’t mean I have to deal with you being all pissy. Look, I’m fucking making it, okay?” Each other word was enunciated with a swift thunk of a vegetable being sliced. You just wanted her to stop talking, to leave you alone, but you felt Dannica press up to your back. You felt her pouty lips against your shifting shoulder blades, and suddenly your already tiny apartment became a thousand times more cramped. Your skin crawled, and you tried to ignore how trapped you felt.

“Quit your job,” She said, not asked.

You stayed silent, though your muscles tensed and your heart hammered in your chest like a motor revving up. Your entire body was ready to spring, ready to just leave. You didn’t want to do this anymore, but it was like you couldn’t do anything but move with a molasses-like pace, grabbing the right ingredients, filling the pot, turning on the oven. You gripped the handle of the knife tightly.

Her hands slinked down over your waist, settling on the bones of your hips and clinging as a second skin. Her breath was hot on your neck, and you felt her teeth nibbling gently. Her efforts soon grew larger, and you couldn’t help but feel like she was just trying to get a reaction out of you, so she could have an excuse to smush you further down into whatever she wanted. Her bites became sharper. She was eating you alive.

“Hey, baby, answer me,” she said again once you stood back from the stove. You were at the point in the recipe where nothing else could be done except to wait.

“I like working Danni,” you stressed, and you flinched when you heard how desperate you sounded. 

“I know,” she cooed. You felt like you were crazy. Why did it sound like she was the reasonable one here? While you were what, a hysterical thing that she was so kindly taking care of?

“I know, but it’s not good for us. And I think I’ve been pretty patient and good about it so far, but I’m not going to let you just ruin everything because you want a little extra money. I know you like being independent, but I can take care of you. You know that? You don’t have to worry with me, baby,” she murmured. Dannica was calm, almost even elegant, while she was shutting down your life.

“But you don’t earn enough to support two people-”

“I do,” She insisted, and her arms looped around your waist and squeezed ever so slightly. You wheezed, and you felt her smiling. You just stared at the wall, hoping that if you blinked and turned around, magically she wouldn’t be there anymore. 

“I can, baby. You don’t even know what I’d do if you would just let me.”

The pit in your stomach grew despite the warm, inviting aroma that started to waft up from the oven, the little clock you hand winded up ticking away merrily. Her nails drummed over your clothing, teasing with the waistband of your pants. You jerked away, and she pressed her sharpened digits further in. You hissed out in pain, and she let out a disapproving hum.

“Quit your job, baby,” she repeated. This time, it felt like more of a placated threat. “Or else.”

By the time the timer finally chimed out, and the meal was ready to be plated, you knew that you had no more room to argue.