#GRABS YOUR ESOPHAGUS

[poppurini]

RINNADH SI SWEEWVE TO KGOFS I WISLL BRJEL INTOT YOYNR HIUSE AT THHRHE EIN HEB EMORNINT TANDB STAND BEISJE YOUR NBED ANDBD STSOROE AT GOU WHILE GIGIVHG GYOU NGIFHRMARES I IWKWLL BE YOULR SLEEP PRAALUSIS DMEIIBY HATS IS WOTNGN WIRHT YOU

THIS IS WHAT I MEAN BY MILLIE DISCRIMINATION ALL I WANTED WAS TO GREET ONE OF MY DEAREST FRIEND ON TUMBLR AND I GET HIT WITH THIS ?????????????????? JUST SAY YOU WANT ME TO DEACTIVATE

bites u

BITES YOU BACKK💕💕💕

also lilimi warning!!!

[poppurini]

awww that's okay, i'll send you asks then!

anyways this

inspired me hehehe

imagine having history class with lilia and fawning and idolising this fae general with eyes dyed crimson with the blood of his fallen enemies who brought victory after victory to briar valley and you get embarrassed when you notice lilia's paying attention to your fangirling and this sketch of a 190cm tall general and he says:

"Oh dear, don't stop now! I'm quite intrigued by the picture you paint of this... general... Enlighten me, dear, what exactly catches your fancy?"

USER HISUI-DREAMER GOVERNMENT NAME RINNA LEECH STOP HARASSING ME CHALLENGE ( IMPOSSIBLE )

[s0dium]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒?!

A/n: Thank you for everyone's patience while I've been on this hiatus. I hope this makes up for lost time Warnings: Dom!xreader, fingering, oral, cum eating, blowjobs, squirting, voyeurism, breeding kink, mating press, doggy, face sitting Characters: Geto Suguru, Gojo Satoru, Sukuna Ryomen, Toji Fushiguro

Toji- Blowjobs/Cum eating

Toji plugs your nose when he cums in your mouth and makes you gargle it until its dripping down your throat.

He is such a meanie:((

He laughs at how your face scrunches up from the bitter taste of him and how glassy tears roll down your puffy cheeks from the sheer brutality of thrusts into your mouth.

You would think that he'd be done after he busted a load into your mouth? Wrong. He pushes his length deeper down your throat almost making you gag.

"F-fuck baby, that's it, j-just keep doing that."

You still your movements for a brief moment, letting Toji's dick weigh heavy on your tongue while you look up at him through glassy eyes and wet lashes. Immediately, your head grows fuzzy and your ego swells when you catch how his face is tilted toward the ceiling, his eyes scrunched closed as if he's too afraid to open them. He's close. You can tell. Toji's mouth is slightly open, and you can see his tongue darting across his lips, wetting them as if savoring every sensation. Oh how you wish you could touch yourself right now, roll your clit with your index finger and savor this moment. Unfortunately, you got your hands, or rather your mouth, a bit too full.

You let the hand on the back of your head push you flush against Toji's groin, shoving his member impossibly farther down your throat and your nose into his dark happy trail. His musk is strong of old spice and salt. Spit slips from your lips, warm and slick, as it dribbles down your chin.

"Did I say you can stop? You trying to tease me baby?" Toji chuckles but you don't miss the way he almost tumbles over his words. You got him good.

He sits on the edge of the bed, hand on the back of your head guiding you up and down his length while you kneel between his legs on the floor. Every second you're fighting the impulse to moan, knowing if you do you'd probably gag. You even have to drop your jaw to accommodate his sheer size. As it moves in and out, there's an unmistakable saltiness and warmth against your tongue, and the way his mushroom tip hits the back of your throat knocks the wind from you. You can’t help but focus on the sensation—the way his cock fills your mouth, the slight friction as it moves, and the way your tongue instinctively curls and flattens around it.

You allow your tongue to flop out, the warmth of your wet muscle gliding across the underside of his dick makes his thighs shudder. Then, all of a sudden, he grabs your hair and shoves your face into him. You gag at the sudden intrusion down your esophagus, but Toji merely groans, reeling his hips back and thrusting into your wet mouth with primal vigor.

"Gonna cum baby, just take it ok?" He curses under his breath before wiping a tear from your eye with his thumb. "You're taking it like a champ."

You sit there helplessly as he uses your mouth like a sex toy. Heavy tears stream down your puffy cheeks and you have to dig your nails into his thighs to prevent yourself from gagging.

"Fuck fuck FUCK." With a loud groan and a particularly powerful thrust, salty fluid fills your mouth. You can feel his dick twitch as it spurts ropes of thick cum to the back of your throat and paints the roof of your throat.

Your instinct is to swallow. But you don't dare to. You're better trained than that.

"Show."

Obediently you open your mouth, sticking out your tongue to showcase his milky white cum covering your wet muscle.

Toji grins. He presses down on your tongue, letting the cum drip onto his thumb before pushing it back in.

"Swallow."

Gojo Satoru- Face sitting

For all his yapping and bragging Gojo Satoru is a service dom (though he will never ever admit it)

He's so smooth talking you into it

"Baby, baby, please, I always make you feel good don't I?"

"Shit baby, you're so messy."

You can barely hear Gojo's voice over your moans strung out on your lips. You can't think, fuck, you can so much as breathe as his tongue laps and licks your quivering hole from under you.

Gojo moves with a slow, deliberate rhythm, each stroke of his tongue sending waves of heat and electricity through your body. The sensation is overwhelming, warm, a perfect blend of pressure and softness that makes you melt. You can feel every movement, every flick and swirl around your clit, every time he enters in you with an unhurried intensity, drawing out the pleasure until it feels almost fucking unbearable. Remember how only a few minutes ago you were terrified of crushing his face under your weight? How stupid were you to think that would stop him, that any of your protests and concerns would prevent the Gojo Satoru from devouring you until you sobbed.

"Stay still f'me wont you."

You feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, a teasing contrast to the cool air around you. His hands grip your hips firmly, grounding you on his mouth, grinding you on his mouth, so your legs rest on either side of his head, your body responding instinctively to ever prod, nip and suck of his tongue.

"G-gojo please wa-" You cut your self off with a low whine when his soft lips wrap around your pearl and gently sucks.

“Mmmmm” Gojo moaned against your pussy making your stomach twist. “Taste like heaven babe”.

Geto Suguru- Breeding kink

As said multiple times before, above all else Geto Suguru is a family man.

Sure, he loves fucking load and load of cum into you until it drips out from your cunt like a milky white river

But what really sets him off is the idea of you fully and round with his kids. Oh boy. He really cant help himself.

Maybe there is something deeply fucking wrong with Geto Suguru. Maybe there is a fuck up in his brain chemistry that makes him think about stuffing you with his cum 24/7 until your begging for him to stop. Otherwise, he is afraid that there is no excuse for how he is acting right now, how he is fucking you in this moment, like an animal in heat.

Honestly, it's was a miracle you even managed to stay conscious.

“Fuh-fuck I-I cant- fuck -please Sugu~” Tears swelled in your eyes, staining the pillow your face is buried in as you struggle to remain on all fours. Fucked good? Try being fucked stupid, you can't even form a coherent thought from the delicious collision of Suguru tip against your cervix. The friction is enough to make you scream but you've been doing that for hours now, your throat is too hoarse to even moan at this point.

"What princess," Suguru coos, rocking his hips into your creamy cunt from behind, doggy style, the fap fap fap sound of his pelvis against your ass filling the air. "You want me to, what? Stop?"

In one quick motion, your body is flipped over, his cock not once leaving you empty for a second. He pushes you into a mating press; knees held against your shoulders to expose your entire lower half to him, the perfect view of the hole Suguru currently has his dick buried inside. The sight of you leaking around him makes his toned stomach tighten from arousal.

“Fuck doll your killin' me.”

You let out a groan of your own at how the curvature of his dick digged itself against your g-spot, scraping against your vaginal walls every time he backed his hips up. The shuddering of his legs against you let you know he is on the verge of going over the edge. You need to be filled, oh god you need his cum spilling inside you.

Eager to be the cause of his orgasm, you buck your hips forward against him helping him to get himself off to your soaked insides.

"Shi-Im gonna-" Suguru cuts him self off with a low groan as he pushes himself flush against your pussy and throws his head back in the air. You can feel the warm liquid inside you, strings and strings of hot cum filling you up as he held you in his arms. It made your body shake, his load weighing at your stomach like it was forming a bulge with how much there was.

Sukuna- Fingering

Sits you in his lap on his throne while he is having a meeting, and fills you with his fingers.

The fingers are so thick and long, two is enough to have you creaming.

You are going insane.

You needed more, more friction, more speed, more impact. One of Sukunas fingers wasn't possibly good enough, at least with how painfully slow he was moving.

You paw at his kimono, slightly tugging on the robs why he continued to discuss with some dumb advisor something you couldn't be bothered to focus on. If it weren't for the blanket covering his movements you are sure that random guy would run right out the door, which is something you were considering.

 More, more, more. The thought consumed you, your toes curling and uncurling over the blanket as you buried your nose into Sukunas chest.

"Kuna..." You let out a low whine, low enough so only he could hear. "Please..."

Sukunas expression doesn't change, he doesn't even look at you, but his hand movement does. Without warning he slips another thick finger into your creamy cunt and curls, massaging your spot with the pads of his fingers.

You can't help but rock your hips back and forth, trying to suck him in deeper. You don't even notice that the advisor has left until you feel Sukunas breath against your ear.

“Greedy little thing.” Sukuna chuckles, intently watching the pleasurable facial expression you make as you fuck your self on his hand. He starts pumping his hand in earnest, covering your mouth with one large tattooed hand when you start crying out, jerking in his hold. It’s too much, the feeling of his thick fingers pressing into your sensitive walls, the wet little pap pap pap of his palm hitting your clit, the blinding ecstasy that’s coming closer and closer.

Your about to warn him that something feels weird when it hits you. As the wave crashes within you, it radiates outward, a ripple that electrifies the air, catching you in its grip. Your breath hitches, a sharp gasp and a loud moan escapes your lips, and suddenly everything around you pulses with the same rhythm, each beat perfectly aligned with the surge of ecstasy rushing through your body. You don't even notice the water gushing out of your pussy, soaking the blanket and Sukunas hand. Your skin tingles as though you’ve been swept up in the aftershock of their orgasm, and you have to bury your head into Sukuna's robes to ground yourself from the pleasure.

"Such a good girl," Sukuna coos, "Now I just have to fuck you don't I?"

[shotmrmiller]

response to this but it got so long and ig im in my throuple era rn

@xoxunhinged i listened to one (1) song on repeat while writing this on the phone

okay yeah wait or just

it's ghost x price first.

Big burly men taking up too much space in the little coffee shop you work at or something and they're there like clockwork too. Every wednesday and friday, 8 am, usually the first clients of the day and all they order is a regular cup of joe. Plain. You offer alternative sweeteners, powdered creamer, but no dice.

Plain black. Like the occasional smudge of eyeliner(?) around the bigger one's eyes.

They're cute, in their own way. John is a blend of rugged charm and seasoned wisdom. The other, Simon, is mysterious. Guarded. Speaks only to his companion.

The pet names start to get to your head. Of course, you reason that John's just not from around here. His calling you sweetheart from across the room to grab your attention must be English.

But logic cannot stop the heat from licking up your cheeks when he does. or when Simon calls you something different altogether eventually.

"Mornin', pet."

It's even more gut-twisting when you catch glimpses of the occasional PDA: A large hand curling around an even bigger jean-clad thigh. Faces so close they could kiss (Waterboarding couldn't get the fact that you've rubbed your thighs together at the thought of them actually kissing out of you) and the fact that Simon's usually sharp gaze softens around the edges, pale gold whispering against the puckered pink of a barely visible scar beneath his face mask.

A couple. They're a couple. It's bittersweet, that feeling settling in your chest. Like dark chocolate coating your tongue. Honeyed nectar of love, the bitter bite of it not being your own.

Maybe it's time to go out with your friends to the bar.

Things take a nasty turn when Simon, out of the both of them, had come in alone and propositioned you on crisp, saturday morning.

Oh, the acid in your stomach felt like it was corroding the walls of your esophagus as it rose. You don't remember much of what you said but it'd been loud, vitriolic. You'd been so furious. Hurt that they had something so sweet, something they could call their own, and here comes this big dumb oaf looking for a piece of warm meat to stick his cock into on the side.

Your manager sent you home for the day.

And home you were headed, well more like the bus stop, stomping away and across the street but the hand that wraps around your arm to keep you in place is John's. (You'd been actually fighting to get away and he hadn't even tightened his grip enough to hurt. embarrassing.)

He clears things up. Tells you to forgive Simon, he's not the most verbose or eloquent with the words he does choose to speak. "He's good at receivin' orders instead of givin' 'em. isn't tha' righ'?"

The "yes, sir" that comes out of Simon is immediate. Obedient. Submissive. (gagging, i actually slammed the desk with my fist rn) A man who knows his place because it is etched in stone. Your teeth grind like rusted gears to keep from turning into a pool of liquid in broad daylight.

"What he meant," he roughly clarifies, "is that we would like you to share our bed." your face burns hot enough to sting. "If you want," John continues, limpid blue eyes fixed on your own.

He looks rather handsome in his uncertainty.

They don't even let you go home to wash and clean up when you nod. (Or shave. Simon had very audibly scoffed at your complaint about that. Said something crass about eating lollipops off the carpet)

The dynamic had been exactly what you'd expected it to be in the bedroom. When authority spoke, Simon listened. Intently. Without hesitation. When John ordered Simon— who'd sat with his broad chest curling around your spine, cocooning you in warmth and the faint scent of smoke, mahogany, and leather— to hook his hands behind your knees and pull your legs up to your shoulders, he'd done so in an instant.

The subtle burn of your hamstrings stretching pulled a hiss from your kiss-swollen lips.

"Bit o' pain with pleasure never hurt anyone, eh, sweetheart?" The deepened rumble of John's voice vibrated in your chest and made your toes curl.

Simon's steady breaths are drowned out by your shuddering ones when John puts his mouth on you, the prickle of his facial hair tickling your sensitive, heated skin.

The burning stretch of your muscles is nothing compared to the sweet sting of two fingers sinking into your hot sex. Pleasure wells in the corner of your eyes when he curls and scissors them while his slick tongue swirls your clit languidly.

He sends you over the edge with practiced ease, shaky limbs, and unsteady mewls. The kiss he plants on your still pulsing cunt is tender, as are your now unrestrained legs.

And he slants his lips-- still dripping slick, dewy beads collecting on his beard-- over Simon's whose mask is now long gone, his erection coming to sit heavy on the fatty mound of your pussy. You can feel the heat of his cock even through his clothes.

A saliva strand connecting them two snaps as he pulls away, glancing down to look at you, sweaty and unkempt, glassy eyes shamelessly staring back.

"I'd let Simon get his turn but," hands weave up your shirt and inside your sports bra while John's grab your legs and wrap them around his thick waist, "gotta prep ya first."

(?)

That comes back to mind after your limbs feel like cold syrup, warmth dribbling from your puffy lips and falling onto the damp bedsheets beneath your arse cheeks.

The question answers itself when Simon slots himself between your aching legs, uncut cock fat and hefty.

(dis)Respectfully, you feel thoroughly used and even now, that doesn't look like it's going to go in easy.

"Easy, love," John's voice comes from above you, "He won't hurt ya. Isn't tha' righ', Simon?"

Simon, who's dark eyes hadn't moved from where John's spend still steadily flowed, cut to him instantly. "Yes, sir."

He hums, a low, raspy sound. "How 'bout you tell our bird tha'?"

A rough hand wraps around your neck, thumb pressed on your fluttering pulse. "I won't hurt ya." His grip tightens, and the swoosh of blood roaring in your ears is deafening.

Much.

The world around you fades, senses attuned only to what's currently wrenching your swollen walls apart, going in, in, and in, it feels never-ending, it's so much, too much, until--

Your stomach clenches, it feels like it's folding in on itself, and a sharp feeling radiates below your navel.

Lips kiss your sweaty temple. "That's all there is. Did so well, eh, sweetheart? Took 'im real good, like you were meant for it."

His cock drags along your over-sensitive, raw nerves in a way that has fire licking up your spine as he pulls back. "Easy, Simon. You'll get your fun from me," John assures.

Your cunt clenches unbidden at that, vise-like around Simon who quietly groans.

The first roll of his hips pushes the air from your lungs, the second blanks your jumbled mind, the third has your nails sinking into whoever's forearms are beside your head, and the fourth has you confusing John's glittering eyes with stars.

And then he places your feet flat on his chest, his weight folding you in half, pinning you in place. Nowhere to run.

Your teeth clack when he thrusts firmly, tip of his cock sitting firmly against the plug of your womb.

"Easy does it, love. Jus' be good 'n take it," John mutters into your ear.

As if you had any choice.

After, when you're completely spent, they tell you to lay back, head propped up by a mountain of pillows, but to keep your legs open, let them see that pretty pussy, they want to see their cum spill out of you.

You thought the fucking Simon gave you had been rough. What John gives him from behind is attempted murder. He grabs at Simon's hair like it's the scruff of a bellicose dog. Pins him in place with his words, growled, thunderous, then his grip. Simon doesn't bare his crooked teeth once.

When your tired hand slithers down to between your legs, tips of your fingers smearing cum around your swollen flesh, arousal surprisingly panging deep in your core, the sheer force of John's thrusts rocks the bed with enough force to crack the wall and Simon whines like a dog in heat.

[funnyexel]

what if your stalker loses the remaining piece of human decency he has left

okay.

he was scaring you, acting extremely scary and out of character in your eyes. even if that's who he's always been under the mask...

"no. stay longer." he demanded said.

"it's getting late, and I've been with you for a few days." you replied back, still trying to be polite and understanding in some way. you kept a comfortable smile on your face as you continued, "remember what I said about having time to miss me?"

he didn't want to hear that shit. you said this so often that it actually made him not want to hear your voice. even with the rampant thoughts of wanting to grab the nearest fabric and shove it in your mouth to shut you up, he brushed his hair back to express mild frustration with your words.

and with all this conversation, you still didn't make a definite move. you didn't get up, you didn't sternly say you were leaving and you definitely didn't get up to automatically pack up your things.

"stay." the shorter his phrases got, the shorter his temper got as well and your patience was getting worn too. you try to be a patient person but when he acts so entitled and childish, you can't help the awkward yet strained laugh that comes from your chest.

"I can't do it. I need to go back to my house." you were stern and here comes the attempt the remove yourself from the premises.

you got up from your laying position on the bed and closed up your already packed bag, you planned this, you planned to leave today and you were executing it.

you could feel the adamant stare on your back coming from him. you rolled your eyes and shook your head. you have a minuscule understanding of what's going on in his head, quite minuscule compared to what is actually going on.

"I won't say it again." you look over to him and tilt your head, you were perplexed by his word choice.

"oh, don't be so dramatic." you utter as you put on sweatpants and you thought he was simply trying to intimidate you with his harsh tone and odd wording. but you were naïve to the obvious signs.

he considered letting you go but the way you looked in those sweats, his sweats. he couldn't. not this time.

he grabbed you by the neck, his thumb on one side of your jaw while his four fingers are on the other side. with his chest pressed up against your back, he pushed the bedroom door closed. he was breathing heavily.

like breathing uncomfortably down your ear.

you mistakenly utter his name and his thumb that was fitted on your jaw, pressed your lips together firmly.

he was clicking his tongue as you felt his head shake next to yours. as your chest was raising and falling noticeably, his icy hand slithered up your shirt and you felt a chilling sensation from your sternum to the top of your esophagus.

you felt your resolve shattering under him as he ripped the bag from your hands and spun you around. he couldn't even began to forge together any words as he brought your face close to his. your scent intoxicating him once more and he feels that certain emotion snap inside of him.

something that held him back from taking in all of you.

pushing you down onto the bed, it didn't feel like how it usually did, soft and welcoming, it felt hard and stringent. he grabs your wrist harshly and you couldn't take your eyes off of him. but his actions were still full of intent as you felt your wrist binded to the bed.

you don't know how to feel. one moment you are protesting loudly and kicking at him and the next you are moaning when he so much as squeezes and twists your nipple through your shirt.

he refused to prep you and give you that sense of pleasure, like this was supposed to be pleasureful, it wasn't. as he had you on your back—right wrist tightly tied onto the bedframe—he made you put your feet on his chest. sadistically, wanting to feel you push away from him as he pushed into you raw. it hurt. like hell.

your free hand pushed your hair harshly out your face as you threw your head back on the bed and in this specific moment he felt your resistance the most. but at the same time he felt the way you were desperately pulling him in and in. like you were just begging him to touch your cervix.

he was pushing in slowly, slow and shallow thrusts into you and rubbing your clit ever-so-often even if you obviously didn't deserve it. he wants to hear those sweet moans, even if those whiny pleads are ruining the experience.

he can't focus on your walls suffocating his dick when all you're doing is crying your heart out. with a clear irritation he pushes down on your stomach as he leans over to get a piece of tightly woven rope. you didn't get a moment to slap him away as he was already looming over you, forcefully putting the rope over your mouth and around your head. tying it tight enough so it won't come off and it will effectively muffle those loud and annoying cries.

"I don't want to hear you speak."

you were expecting a quaint 'understand?' from him but the question would've been a waste of breath because of the way your body forced itself to relax under him.

at this moment he straightened your bent legs and put them on his shoulders, folding your body in half as he stayed at an acute angle. the tears and snot running down your face shouldn't have egged him on into ramming into you harder, faster, and dry especially.

but by the time he was leg up and full on pounding into you, you were wet enough for it. you were turned on by this, by him and his authority.

at least.

that's what he was getting from this.

you bite down on the rope as you whine through yet another orgasm and you sniffle up the snot as your free hand claws into the bed. its like you were scared to touch him. and that did hurt him a bit when he realized but the warmth. the look of vulnerability in your eyes as he does nothing but bully your gummy walls, is as addicting as drugs to him.

panting like a dog above you, he completely stops for a moment. clearly getting lightheaded as he puts one hand next to your head for stability. your eyes shoot open at the suddenness of his movements and as your eyes lock, he gives you such a conceited smirk.

pleased with his actions.

even when he's clearly overexerting himself from how pussy drunk he is.

he takes a huge breath, sitting upright and running his fingers through his hair. yanking your lifeless legs to his chest, he shifts his technique to quick and shallow thrusts. your body jolting violently against your will. but this is what he wants.

against your will.

this is his will.

this is what he wants from you.

he wants you to cum, over and over and over again until you get it into your thick head.

you have no will.

and because you have no will to control your bodily functions, your bound hand clenched in a tight fist as you cum again.

you had a wicked imprint across your face and your wrist was blood red. you couldn't didn't leave. not until he said so. and he didn't say so.

not yet.

leaning down to your ear, his hand squeezes your arm tightly as you sat in his suffocating embrace. stiff in his arms as you didn't want to engage in any touch with him. it angered him.

"do I need to use the rope again."

the dead tone he used in combination to his slow pace of words sent a sharp shiver down your spine.

with a soft exhale of a shaky breath, you hesitantly shake your head and his draped arm tugs you impossibly closer to his side.

"good." he gave you a small belittling pat on your forearm as he kissed your forehead and he's quite proud to call himself

your boyfriend.

a/n: someone pls take this trope away from me. anyway thats all for now, literally can't stop thinking about the possibilities for this. thanks to the anons that were asking for more! honestly made me more incline to post.

more writing

[leighsartworks216]

Blood Washes Out

Sylus x gn!Reader

Had this idea and had to spend like a week writing it

Warnings: hurt/comfort, blood, injury, murder, swearing, vomiting, panic, pet names, sharing clothes, cuddling, crying, guilt, broken bones, guns

Word Count: 2,801

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

The phone rings by your ear, waiting to be answered. The copper stench of blood latches itself to your senses. You can taste it on your tongue, against your teeth, at the back of your throat.

The call is picked up and a whimper of relief rips from your mouth against your will. “Sylus!”

“What’s wrong?” he demands. His voice is stern. You’re glad for its strength right now. “Are you alright?”

What a shit question for him to ask.

“I need you to pick me up.” You turn your head to the side to spit out the blood pooling in your mouth. You wish it would just fucking stop.

“Send me your location, but don’t hang up.”

You feel blood stick to your ear as you pull the phone away. The touch screen is covered in red fingerprints. You’re shocked it still reads your input as you go to your messages and send him your location. You feel a burn at the back of your throat as you put the phone back to your ear, disgust wrapping its hands around your esophagus and churning your stomach.

He says your name. It’s so rare to hear him say it nowadays. That’s how you know he’s really worried. “I’ll be there in five minutes. I’m sending Mephisto ahead of me. Stay on the phone.”

You nod even though he can’t see, squeezing your eyes shut and curling into yourself as you wait on the curbside. If there’s anybody else around, anybody else who witnessed what happened…

Panic floods your veins like ice.

What if someone did see what happened? Or- Or maybe someone who didn’t and just stumbles around the corner to find-

You clamp a hand over your mouth. Bloody fingers aggravate your nose. More blood pours over them, warm and wet, sliding over a layer that’s already congealed. The metallic twang stings your eyes.

You can’t tell whose blood is whose anymore.

“I’m coming, sweetie. Just a few more minutes.”

You gasp out, “I’m gonna be sick.”

You don’t get a chance to hear his response before you drop your phone to the sidewalk. Your body moves on its own in a mad dash to turn and hurl into the gutter. It burns. It burns so fucking bad. And the taste-

Your body convulses and shakes, acting against you until your stomach is empty and you’re coughing around dry heaves.

A motor pulls up nearby. Heavy boots scuff the pavement as they rush to you. A gloved hand pulls your hair back, collecting it at the base of your head. An arm wraps around your chest, keeping you upright. A caw sounds from above you.

“I’ve got you. Don’t fight it. I’ve got you.”

Sylus surveys the scene around you. A body lays several feet away on its back. A dark red trail worms its way through cracks in the sidewalk and follows the uneven ground to a drain intended for catching floodwater. A gun hangs limply in its hand. Yours is discarded nearby.

He ducks his head to look at your face. Your eyes are clamped shut, lips trembling as you try to catch your breath. Tears glide down the curve of your cheeks.

Your nose is broken. Blood oozes from it slowly, dripping into your mouth and down your chin. It mixes with your bile and saliva as you weakly spit it out. More blood covers your clothes and your hands. It’s hard to distinguish what’s all yours, or if your broken nose is your only injury.

He grabs a handkerchief from his pocket. It cost more than your apartment and he couldn’t give a damn as he uses it to gently wipe at your mouth. “Just breathe, sweetheart. Can you stand?”

You take in a deep, uneven breath, and nod. He lets go of your hair and grabs your phone, sliding it into his pocket without worrying about the blood. He tucks the handkerchief right next to it. His arms are strong and grounding as he helps you to your feet, putting himself between you and the body as he leads you to his bike. If he’d known what state you were in, he would’ve brought the car. As it was, he was more concerned with getting to you as fast as possible.

He doesn’t force you to put the helmet on this time. As much as he’d normally insist, he didn’t want to trap you in a helmet if you were still nauseous. He slips it over his own head as he gets on first and gives you his arm for support as you climb on behind him. Your arms wrap around him tightly, bloody fingers clinging to his shirt under his leather jacket. Your body rests heavily against his back.

“My gun…” you say quietly, halfheartedly, like your concern for it is only a distant afterthought.

Sylus squeezes your hands reassuringly. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll get it back for you later.”

You nod against him. The engine purrs beneath you as he turns his bike around and peels off back home.

-

The ride is a blur of passing lights and buildings, a collage of Linkon City and the N109 Zone meshing together until you relent to just keep your eyes shut. You don’t open them again until he slows to a stop in front of his mansion.

The twins are rushing out the door to greet you. “Boss! Woah, what happened to you?” Luke winces as he catches sight of you. Kieran smacks him upside the head and rushes to help you off the bike.

Sylus gets off after, pulling his helmet off and resting it on the seat. He pulls out the phone and handkerchief, and passes it over to Luke. “Get this cleaned up.”

“Sure thing, Boss!”

He takes you gently away from Kieran, wrapping an arm behind your knees and back and lifting you into his arms. “Follow Mephisto. Deal with it.”

Kieran nods. “On it, Boss.” Mephisto’s metal wings slice through the air as Sylus leads you past the twins and inside.

“‘M sorry,” you mumble. You turn your head from his shoulder, trying not to get blood on his shirt. Your hands sit limply in your lap.

“Don’t apologize, sweetie,” he assures. “Can you tell me what happened?”

The mansion is warm and familiar, dark and comforting in a way the night outside isn’t. He carries you all the way to his room and the ensuite bathroom where he sits you on the countertop. He removes his gloves, grabs a white washcloth, wets it under the faucet, and gently works on cleaning the blood from your face. The pristine white cloth stains pink, and eventually red.

You stare at his shirt. Despite it being black, you can see the remnants of blood you left on him.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.” He holds your chin delicately in one hand, tilting your head up to look at him. “Talk to me.”

Fresh tears burn at your eyes. You want to forget tonight ever happened. Want to find someone with a time-traveling Evol just so you can go back and do everything different.

It’s a fruitless wish. Everything already happened. It was already burned into your mind. There would be no do-overs.

Your voice cracks as you speak. He frowns at the sorrowful sound. “I was going to the convenience store to get some snacks. I-I wanted some chocolate, and I didn’t have any, so… B-But I guess one of my neighbors followed me. A lot of them are Hunters, too. Said they heard me talking to you.”

“They recognized my name from the Association.” It wasn’t a question. You nod. He folds the cloth over and brushes away some splatter from your face, gently wiping away some stray tears in the process. “Did they threaten you?”

You don’t need to answer. He already knows. That gun in their hand wasn’t just for show.

“They…” You swallow uncomfortably. Your mouth feels tacky. “They said they were gonna turn me in, but wh-when they approached, I freaked out. I just started fighting back, I-I didn’t know what else to do. They punched me and I fell to the ground. Th-Their gun was aimed at me, I couldn’t think, a-and I…”

The weight of the weapon in your hands never felt heavier than in that moment. Tears fell freely now. Your lungs shudder, gasping for air you can’t seem to get enough of. Your face crumples into a horrible grimace as you sob. Sylus cradles the back of your head and pulls you into his chest. He drops the cloth in the sink to wrap his arm around you. You grab onto his shirt. The blood on your hands is dried and crackly, seeping deep into your pores and staining your flesh.

“I tried saving them,” you whimper. “I tried, but there was just so, so much blood, I- I couldn’t do anything.”

He hushes you softly. “You were threatened and you protected yourself.”

“What if the Association finds out? What’re they gonna do when they find out someone’s missing? Fuck, Sy, what- What’s gonna happen?”

“Nothing’s going to happen. They’ll put up missing posters around the block, wondering where they went off to. It’ll remain an unsolved mystery, a story to tell the grandkids.”

It’s not reassuring. He sighs.

“What do you want to happen, sweetheart? You tell your boss what happened: you don’t get tried for murder, but you have to come clean about sneaking into the N109 Zone and being besties with the big bad leader of Onychinus. Or you don’t say anything, and nothing happens.” He pulls away slightly to look down at your face. You stare at the glass door of the shower, eyes glazed over and distant. “Which option sounds better to you, hm?”

You wrack your brain for a third option. Something that doesn’t take away the job you love and permanently ruin your life, while giving the Hunter you killed some grace in death. But there is none. Not really.

So you sigh. Long and drawn out. Will this guilt ever get any easier to carry?

You pull away from Sylus and he lets you. You cringe at his shirt. “I got blood on you.”

He chuckles. “Blood washes out, kitten.”

“Not very easily.”

“No,” he agrees. “But I have my ways.”

This is no longer a simple conversation about laundry.

Sylus picks the cloth back up and wets it again. The excess water that isn’t squeezed out drips into your lap. He wipes the fresh blood coming from your nose. “We need to set this. Do you want something to bite down on?”

-

Your nose still stings as you stand under the shower spray. The heady scent of his shampoo saturates the air, swirling in tandem with the steam. There’s no more blood in your hair, on your ear from the phone, or on your face. And there isn’t any on your hands, either. But as you look down at them, water collecting in your palms and slipping between your fingers, you could feel the hot blood that had been there.

A knock on the door startles you from your revelry. It opens before you can say anything, and you can see the blurry silhouette of Sylus as he sets something on the counter.

“Here’s some fresh clothes. I’ll be out here when you’re done.” His face doesn’t ever glance at the shower door, even when you call out his name to stop him while he’s leaving. He just stands there, head ducked slightly and ear turned your way, listening.

“Thank you.”

He chuckles softly. “It’s just clothes, sweetheart.”

You sigh bitterly. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

The door closes with a faint click as he leaves.

You put some soap in your hands and scrub until the skin is raw. Until you can’t trick yourself into thinking there’s still blood on them. Until the water begins to run cold. Only then do you feel clean enough to turn off the water and step out of the shower.

The clothes are large, practically drowning you in excess fabric. The familiar athletic shorts only stay on because of the elastic waistband and a hidden drawstring that ties on the inside of the shorts. The sweater’s sleeves go past your hands. You can’t imagine wearing anything else right now.

Just as he promised, he’s sitting on his bed when you open the door. The deconstructed parts of your gun lay spread out on the blanket, neatly sorted out. He diligently cleans every piece, ensuring he gets every speck of blood while giving it basic maintenance.

“Sorry about the clothes, sweetie. I’ll have some tailored for you.”

You pad across the floor and carefully climb up onto the bed, doing your best not to disturb the array. He doesn’t stop you when you snuggle up to his side. Rather, he allows you to wrap your arms around his, adjusting how he works for your sake. You shake your head and rest it on his shoulder.

“This is fine,” you assure him. The silence goes on for a beat or two too long before you add, “I might just steal this sweater from you.”

He chuckles. “Go ahead, sweetie. I can get more.” He sets down a cleaned part and picks up another one he hasn’t tended to yet. “Tell me what materials you like and I’ll have a whole closet of them you can steal, if you’d like.”

You smile slightly. He only notices when he glances down at you. He sets the piece down and begins to quickly assemble it all back together. You inhibit his movements somewhat, so it takes a few seconds longer than he’s used to, but he doesn’t complain. Your gun looks brand new, just as pretty and perfect as it was when you first got it at the Academy.

He flips it to offer the handle to you, a silent question. It’s all too reminiscent of your first meeting with him. Even then, even after you’d pulled the trigger, frightened for your life, you’d tried to save him. If it hadn’t been for his Evol…

Well. Lightning never strikes the same place twice.

You hide your face in his shirt, the casual grey one he usually lounges around in. The clinking of the gun disappears with the sound of a drawer opening and closing. His hand brushes your hair.

“You should get some sleep, sweetie. It’s late for you.”

“I’m not tired.” Your body says otherwise. You’re practically melting into him, into the bed. If you stay there for just a few minutes longer, you’ll be fast asleep.

“Now why don’t I believe that,” he teases.

You sigh and force yourself off of him, beginning to slip off the bed. “Let’s watch something.”

He sighs, too, but at your unrelenting stubbornness. It’s almost reassuring. At least you weren’t in a heap under the blankets, sobbing. He follows you into the living room, to the couch directly across from a large TV. You grab a blanket and wrap it around yourself until you are securely cocooned and tucked against an armrest. He sits next to you, drawing you into his side. His Evol carries the remote to his hand.

You command him along through menus and catalogues until you reach one of your favorite comfort films. The lights automatically dim as it starts playing.

You’re not even three minutes into the movie before your eyes are drooping closed. He knew it would happen, knew the exhaustion would catch up with you eventually. Still, it was quite cute, watching you fight to keep your eyes open and your head off his chest. Slowly, slowly giving in. Resting your head on his chest. Listening to his unusual heartbeat. Losing the battle against consciousness.

Still, he lets it play through to the end. It’s not a bad movie, he decides. You enjoy it, so it must have some merit. And you can always tell a lot about someone based on their favorite things.

Careful not to wake you up, Sylus lifts you into his arms, cradling you close to his chest. He carries you back to bed, not bothering to unwrap you from your cocoon at all. Despite being wide awake, he lays down beside you, continuing to hold you close to him. If you have a nightmare, he wants to be there. If you wake up in a dazed panic, he wants to be there.

As accustomed as he’s become with taking lives, he’s unfamiliar with the crisis you’re facing and how to comfort someone through a crisis of any kind. He wants to help. As best as he can, he wants you to be okay. He needs you to be okay.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow

[yvesolace]

JOYRIDE - ALCINA DIMITRESCU

this is gonna be my first time writing something like this so i hope i do well! this is also kind of self indulgent i've been having alcina brainrot for a few weeks now and the urge to write something about her is about to burst so i figured i should put it here. there may be some mistakes as it's my first smut and i didn't proofread it before i posted it but i hope you enjoy <3 (divider by anitalenia.tumblr.com) word count 1,074. content warnings dom!alcina, sub!reader, hardcore filthy smut, alternate universe-modern setting, spit kink, rough sex, size difference, degradation kink, strap-ons, strap referred to as cock, orgasm denial, overstimulation, biting, marking, age gap (reader is in her 20s while alcina is in her 40s), pet names, choking, dirty talk, gagging, squirting, cunnilingus, pussy slapping, vaginal fingering, little bit of a belly bulge, blowjobs, slight mistress kink

there you were writhing underneath her just like you always are her grip on your throat so tight you can see stars. "alci.. please" you say through choked sobs. her strap is buried so deep into your cunt you can see it bulging through your stomach, she growls under her breath.. "come on be a good slut and take my cock." her tits bouncing and swaying with each deep thrust into you, you whine as you desperately try to bring one of her gorgeous tits into your mouth but she pulls away and makes a tsk sound with her tongue. "open." she says demanding you to open your mouth, you oblige she grips your jaw and spits into your mouth. you moan at the feeling of her warm spit falling onto your tongue, she chuckles.. "you're such a filthy whore, aren't you pet?" you nod, she grips your throat once more "use your words." "yes! yes i am. i'm your whore mistress." alcina's eyes glow hearing this "that's right all mine. all fucking mine." she says as she rams into your aching cunt even harder, pornographic squelching sounds come from your pussy, you feel like you're on fire. a warm coil growing into the pit of your stomach and clit "mmh i-i'm close.." she stops her movements immediately and pulls out, you buck your hips and whine at the empty feeling. "you're not going to cum yet kitten." she chuckles lowly.

your juices spilling out as you clench around nothing, your chest heaving up and down begging for her to be back inside you, filling you up with her thick cock. she slowly jerks herself off while looking at you- "do you like being my little fucktoy, huh slut?" she asks with a sly smirk, "mm i love it so much mistress." you reply your face flushed with ecstasy... "get on your knees and open your mouth for me pretty girl.." alcina tells you still stroking her cock, with no hesitation you get onto your knees and open your mouth wide. without warning, she thrusts herself into your mouth hitting the back of your throat making you gag. "come on pet, take it like a good slut" she says through gritted teeth- tears fill your eyes from the feeling of your esophagus being abused by her but at the same time you love it. you love the feeling of being used by her, by being fucked stupid until you can't think anymore.

she sighs "mm fuck.. you look so yummy on your knees, taking my cock like a good girl." she grabs a fistful of your hair thrusting forcefully, pushing herself farther down your throat, tears sting your eyes threatening to spill over and drool dribbling down your chin. she pulls out of your mouth with a 'pop'. you take a deep breath through your nose trying to regain some composure, your wetness spilling onto the sheets below, you look up at her beggingly "mistress please.. i need you.. it hurts." you say "what does my slut want? hm? i need you to be more specific darling." alcina gives a soft smile with an eyebrow raised. "i.." you start as you can feel yourself getting light headed at the thought- "please fuck me, use me until i can't walk anymore mistress." you say humping at nothing. "you're absolutely fucking pathetic." she snickers, "you're going to regret asking for that sweetness." she grips you forcefully and pins you to the bed, with her being much much taller than you she has an obvious advantage. she grabs your throat and slaps your pussy making you yelp. the sweet stinging of her palm hitting your clit makes your flesh feel like it's on fire.

alcina slides her middle and ring finger into your aching hole. "mmf.. fu-fuck" you moan out, alcina hisses as she starts leisurely pumping her long thick fingers in and out of your cunt, "does my slut like this?" she asks you staring directly into your eyes- you nod aggressively "i love it ss..so much alci,, more please.. mm" she quirks an eyebrow up at your request but obliges she slides her index finger in and starts rubbing your clit with her thumb "FUUCK yess" you yell out, "you better fucking tell me when you're close love." she says biting her lip watching you squirm under her touch, thrusting into you faster curling her fingers at just the right spot, it feels like she's tickling your insides with the way her fingers maneuver inside you. alcina leans down and starts biting and nipping at your neck while growling under her breath- "mm.. mine all fucking mine. you look so pretty with my fingers knuckles deep inside of you." you whimper in response, your breathing getting rapsier the coil in the pit of your stomach is back- you grip her arm "i- i'm close.. fuck." alcina starts thrusting into you faster curling her fingers even more and without warning you squirt all over her arm and stomach, convulsing as you cum onto her fingers whimpering her name along with curses.

she slows down her pace slowly removing her fingers from your pussy, moving slightly at the feeling. she goes down trailing little kisses from your neck to your tits, down your tummy until she reaches your cunt. "hhm you look divine.." she gives little kitten licks to your labia causing you to close your thighs to stop her but she pins them down holding them open. "m-mistress.. please i'm too sensitive.." she growls into you not listening to your plea she continues licking and sucking on your clit "fuck i could taste you forever." alcina says, you're still squirming but you feel yourself heating up again- your thighs start shaking and you cum into her mouth, her tongue lapping up all your juices as if she was dehydrated. she gives you a few more licks before pulling away licking her lips and fingers in the process, she moans "oh sweetness you taste so good.." you look up at her with stars in your eyes, you sit up and give her a feverish kiss tasting yourself on her tongue making you moan into her mouth. she pulls away holding the back of your neck and says "i love you, so so much darling." she smiles you reply "i love you more alci." you smile wide giggling, "come on love, let's get you cleaned up, hm?"

[mockerycrow]

Frozen Fingertips [1/2] (Ghost x GN!Reader)

ghost masterlist - crow’s mega masterlist - part two

Summary: You and Simon are in an extremely cold and snow covered area of Russia and manage to get separated from everyone else when a blizzard comes out of nowhere. Ghost helps keep you alive.

[WARNINGS: Light descriptions of developing hypothermia and frostbite, angst, hurt/comfort, ghost is actually worried.]

THE EXTREMELY COLD air bit at the little skin that’s exposed on your face and invades your lungs, nearly feeling like it’s sending frost to bite at the most inner corners of your esophagus. Dressed in snow boots, a snow suit as well as a snow jacket with a bullet proof vest, a thick scarf, two layers of gloves—a pair of thin gloves and then your snow gloves—as well as a beanie with your hood up. You tried to tie your scarf in such a way where it covers the lower portion of your face, but movement has made the fabric crumble down. The conditions of the snowy forest you’re trudging through are harsh; the snow is several feet deep, nearly up to your mid-thigh, causing you to have to quite literally pull your leg through dense snow, and of course you forgot your sunglasses for this trip. The bright sun is shining onto the snow surrounding you, successfully blinding you, causing you to squint until you give yourself a headache.

You have no idea what temperature it is, but all you know is that the fact that you’re moving through the snow is the only thing getting you through this. Your nose burns from the cold and so do your cheekbones, and any other skin that is exposed. You hold your rifle tighter to your chest in an attempt to maintain warmth, and despite all of your protective clothing, you don’t feel warm at all. You’re traveling with Ghost, while Soap, Price, and Gaz are infiltrating a nearby safehouse, owned by Makarov. You and Ghost are making your way to the exfil point after providing overwatch—the weather was beginning to pick up, blocking your line of sight. You shudder as some snow lands on the tip of your nose and melt, but nearly immediately freeze due to the temperature.

You keep dragging your feet through the snow, one foot after the other, trying to think warm thoughts to keep you going. Your radio crackles to life and Ghost’s muffled voice comes through; he’s only in front of you, but the snow can act as a sound muffler. “Doin’ alright?” His voice is like a wave of warmth washing over you, and you close your eyes for a moment as you walk. You open them and mumble, “Freezing my ass off, sir.” Ghost lets out a huff that almost sounds like a chuckle. “Keep moving, sergeant. You’ll keep your strength and warmth up.” You don’t bother to respond as you continue to trudge on. The wind begins to pick up as well as the falling snow slowly turns into a mini blizzard. “This is Price to Ghost and [Name], how copy?”

You don’t bother to respond as you’re focused on keeping yourself upright—when did you begin to feel so tired? “Loud and clear, Price. The weather’s pickin’ up.”

When did you begin to feel so.. warm? ..What?

You blink and suddenly you find yourself collapsed into the snow. You don’t question it, because you’re quite comfortable. The coldness of the snow feels good against your suddenly warm skin. You’re violently shivering, but you don’t mind. You’re warm. A pair of hands grab your coat, flipping you over so you’re no longer face down into the snow. You whine and weakly try to push whoever is touching you because their gloved hands are on your face, brushing snow off of your skin. “Stop,” You slur, your voice wobbling. Your hearing tappers out for a moment, and apparently so does your vision because the next thing you know—you find yourself in a cabin.

The first thing you feel is warmth—and then extreme coldness, and then numbness, and it’s a repeating cycle, causing you constantly shiver where you’re laying. Your limbs feel so heavy and you just want to stay laying down, but you’re hit with the thought of Ghost. Did he bring you here? Or did something happen, causing someone to take you? Your thoughts are in disarray, that much is clear. You can’t even form a coherent thought. You blink slowly as to focus your gaze, and you see a tall and bulky figure bent down by a fireplace, which you’re laying near. Huh. You’re somehow stuffed inside your sleeping bag. The figure’s back is turned to you, so whatever they’re doing, you’re unable to see. “C’mon,” The rough voice hisses. Oh, it’s Ghost.. Duh. You let out a choked noise as a weird pain of blistering pain radiates through your skull, and you’re vaguely aware of the feeling of your blood quickly rushing back into your fingertips, the humming sensation in your fingers nearing painful. They were lightly tingling before.

You blink again; time has passed. There’s a fire going now, a steady one, but it’s clearly not enough. Not with the way Ghost’s intense eyes are staring into yours, him saying something about you staying awake, something about how he knows you want to sleep—which he’s right about—but you can’t, and that you shouldn’t. You nearly wanna reach over and smack him about that, and you would have if you could move without the sluggish and heavy weighted feelings in your limbs. Who is he, to tell you, what you can and cannot do?? “I’m tired, Ghost.. Lemme sleep.” You croak out—your voice is trembling and you don’t understand why, but your body doesn’t give you enough energy to properly question it and you lay your head back down, trying to turn it away.

“Need you to keep those eyes open, [Name],” Ghost’s voice is suddenly.. very, very, very close to your ears. Your eyes flutter back open—you don’t even remember closing them—and you’re face to face to his mask. His brown eyes burrow into yours, nearing unreadable, but one thought pops up when your head allows it; he’s worried. Ghost is worried. “M’here,” You mutter, feeling yourself shake in your sleeping bag. “I’m here.” You watch as Ghost gets up from his position, which was looming over you, to add more fuel to the fireplace. The fire cracks and sparks alive once again, and you never noticed it died down. Must’ve been a while, of you being in and out. Your head is finally allowing you think more clearly. “How..” You lick your dry and cold lips before continuing. “How long has it been?”

Ghost looks over at you, pausing for a moment before poking at the burning wood with a fireplace poker. “You don’t know?” He questions, his voice tense. Bad sign. You not remembering how much time has passed is a very bad sign. You shake your head, tugging your sleeping bag closer to your body in a sluggish manner. Ghost’s quiet as he moves back over to you, grabbing his own sleeping bag which is tightly rolled up and attached to his backpack. Ghost begins to unravel the fabric and unzip it, in an attempt to make a blanket. “Well, a big blizzard started up as we were headin’ to the RV. Found you face down in the snow a bit behind me, and knew you..” He trails off as pulls the zippers down, hesitating in his movements. “..knew you needed to rest, needed help.”

You press your lips together because it’s so clear Ghost is avoiding what he wanted to say; what you both know what he meant. A harsh shiver rolls out through your body, harsh enough to make your vision spin, causing Ghost to huff. He drapes his unzipped sleeping bag over your body, tucking the extra fabric under your body. You groan quietly and you shut your eyes for a moment. Ghost is shifting stuff around and you his gloves fingers push your hat up ever so slightly and then you feel.. skin pressing against your forehead?? Your eyes open sleepily to the sight of Ghost’s mask pushed to above his nose, exposing his scarred lips and cheeks. You open your mouth to say something but a quiet whimper leaves you as your vision swims again—not giving you a moment to think about his kiss against your forehead. “Cold.” He mutters as he grabs the edge of his mask and pulls it back over the rest of his face, down to his neck. You watch as Ghost takes off his scarf and wraps it around your neck instead, and then he lays down next to you and wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer. You try to question why he’s doing this, but Ghost is already three steps ahead of you. “You’re not of any help if you’re dead, love.” His voice is steady, but it’s on edge—like he’s scared.

You shut your eyes and you lean into his everlasting warmth, and you decide to not point out how his gloved fingers are stroking the exposed skin of your face in a soothing manner.

[two-white-butterflies]

★ — and ignite your bones | carlos sainz and multi

Description: Trying to find love after your ex-fiancee told you that his mistress makes him happier. How hard could it be?

part three of it was all yellow

Pairing: actress!singer!reader/multi (undecided), actress!singer!reader/carlos sainz (past).

Trope: Secret Baby Trope

Disclaimer: Everything written in this fanfic holds no truth about anyone's personality or actions. It is made purely for entertainment.

The bitter taste remained in your throat - vomit threatened to puke out of your esophagus. There were three billion people in the world, yet Carlos' sister decided to invite his new girlfriend to the party. It was greedy to expect them to shun the new, in favor of the old.

You take a sip of your wine.

The Sainz Family never accepted you as part of them. To them, your family wasn't as prestigious as it came from relatively new fame. To them, your father was just a country bumpkin that was lucky to make it big in Hollywood. They always spoke Spanish around you.

They never bothered to warm their hearts to someone as 'cold' as you. Of course, your other ex-boyfriend was also Spanish and you could translate the few words that they said.

That was when you realized that the family didn't like you...at all. They thought that you were strange despite your gentle disposition.

They ignored you.

And like a knife was getting twisted inside of you, they welcomed Because with open arms.

"Are you okay?" Pom stood in front of me. "- I feel quite left out, what ever is happening over there." she chuckled, pointing at the group of friends laughing and speaking in another language. "Its been a long time since I've been around them. I know how you feel." you smiled.

"I'm sorry for intruding but, Carlos was your ex-boyfriend, right?" she narrowed her eyes, watching as your ex-lover paraded Pablo around the boat - showing everyone his son. "Yes," you answered, throwing your attention back to the ocean waters.

"- and that woman is his new girlfriend?" she vaguely stared at the other woman and you nodded. "Holy mackerel." she scoffed.

Pom Klementieff sat beside you.

"I think he downgraded." she whispered, you knew that it was the alcohol speaking in her behalf. "You're only saying that because you want to be my friend." you teased and she shrugged.

"I'm sorry, I say things sometimes and they're not appropriate." she apologized, earning a small chuckle from you.

She could be a good friend.

.

.

.

Thankfully lunch rolled around quickly. There weren't many things that you could chatter about after four hours of chatting. Pom looked seasick and you were exhausted with all of the cleaning.

Pablo was being stubborn, he didn't want to eat his vegetables.

"Pabs, just try it once." you pleaded, knowing better than to force food down a toddler's mouth. "No." he stubbornly answered. He inherited his father's stubbornness.

"You like the broccoli that Nana makes, this one is made by your other Nana." you explained, seeing that there was no difference between the broccoli made here then the broccoli at home.

"No." he responded pushing the spoon away.

Carlos, sensing the tension quickly made his way to the chair beside his son. He placed a guiding hand on his back. "Is there something else that you want to eat?" he inquired and Pablo shook his head.

"I want to go home." the boy replied, jumping down from his seat and sprinting towards you - burying his face on your chest.

"We'll be in our hotel room, soon. Once we land in Mallorca, we'll grab ice cream." you promised. "- but you have to eat something first." you added and only then did the young boy relent.

Carlos' eyes narrowed watching as the both of you ate. It was funny to think about the different outcomes of life, maybe, if he didn't fuck it all up and decided to stay - this would happen in a daily basis. He'd have a quiet life where all he worried about was food, children and what movies you'd watch on his days off.

He could've had a quiet life.

He didn't want a quiet life back then. He wanted to be taken off the ground by a hurricane. But like a rabbit hiding under a car in fear of the lights, he is ran over by fate and dead before he could think twice.

.

.

.

yn.ln: one last night in this lovely boat. @pomklementieff @lovelyemilia @krumbasis @lordemusic

also @lewishamilton thank you for watching sprinkles while we're away.

liked by lewishamilton and 723,923 others

>comments

thatonegirl: ohh she's not posting @because.official HAHAHA

deftonesmusic92: Leaving out Because is so funny 😭

danielricciardo: See you in Mallorca!

maxverstappen: Have fun ❤️

lewishamilton: No problem, as long as you watch Coco and Roscoe next time. 🙂

.

.

.

Because takes a deep breath, feeling his arms wrap around her waist. At night, she thinks about his son and his baby mommy. She looks at your face sometimes, the curve of your nose, the distance of your eyes, your quirky personality - all parts of you that were better than all the parts of hers.

When Carlos chose her instead of you, she found love. She thought that something about her must be unique. But then she sees the way he looks at you and finds that respect diminishing.

Love should belong to herself, but why is she reaching for the horizon looking for love that comes from him?

Most of all, she doesn't understand why Carlos chose her.

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yn.ln: Happy birthday Blanca!! Thank you for inviting Pablo and I. We had tons of fun, wishing for more birthdays to come. ❤️ te amo @blancasainzvasquez

liked by maxverstappen and 91,238 others

>comments

ynworld: happy bday!!

emymei: The cutest duo

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because.official: Happy 27th Blancs! here is the family picture that i took of yous ❤️ please enjoy your day. @blancasainzvasquez

liked by carlossainz55 and 82,329 others

>comments

ilvermonhyhigh: HAPPY BIRTHDAY BLANCA SAINZ!

blancasainzvasquez: Aww post the one with you in the pic. Thank you for the birthday greeting Brezzie ❤️

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lewishamilton posted to his story.

caption: mallorca/happy birthday pablo

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rileykeough posted to her story.

caption: Thanks for the pic birthday boy!! I love you so much

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carlossainz55 posted to his story.

caption: Happy birthday P! Double birthday celebration.

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maxverstappen: Happy birthday pobla pablo 🦖 I held you when you were baby and now you're so big. I wish that you grow big and strong. Have a happy happy birthday 🥳

liked by yn.ln and 1,283,093 others

>comments

victoriaverstappen: Happy birthday baby dino!

yn.ln: thank u sm uncle maxie !!

maxverstappenworld: MAN WHY YOU POSTING PABLO LIKE UR THE FATHER 😭

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danielricciardo posted to his story.

caption: Happiest birthday to the future racecar driver!!

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[ma1dita]

about you

this was a request! read it here

words: 4.3k (longest one yet ohmy)

summary: james potter takes ‘easier’ for granted and finds out he now has a living reminder of that

warnings: none! sort of au, everyone lives and they win the war— angst angst angst, maybe open ended!!! groveling james and reader is a MOTHA (afab!)

a/n: guys i missed writing angst…i’m a deeply sad soul at heart so i enjoyed this a lot. I listened to ‘night shift’ by lucy dacus writing the first half, and ‘about you’ by the 1975 for the second half,,,,, both on repeat. i don’t mean to post at ungodly hours but i hope you enjoy!

posted: 11/11/23

—-

Insecurity is an ugly thing. It tugs at your frame, holding your shoulders hostage and your countenance shriveled in a scowl as you slink forward in your seat. But what should the rational reaction be when your boyfriend, the one you’ve planned out the rest of your life with— takes you out to dinner on a random Tuesday and then decidedly backtracks on everything you’ve built together? Your ears are ringing loudly, and you dumbly ask him to repeat himself when he says he wants to take a break.

“So that’s it then. You’ve made your decision and I just have to be okay with losing a year and a half of my life because you aren’t sure if you love me?” Your tone cuts through the fraying tether that holds you two together in the corner booth.

James for once, is at a loss for words. He wasn’t really sure of what to expect when he brought you here tonight, but any reaction to his admission was bound to hurt the both of you. You had to have known about his hesitations. Graduation was three weeks away, and everything was about to change, whether either of you liked it or not. Stupidly enough, James does love you, but that’s not the problem. The proximity he’s had as Head Boy working with Lily Evans makes him wonder if the life he lives is what’s meant for him. It keeps him up at night, gnawing at his resolve and comfort in being with you. He feels ungrateful to have it so easy. Loving you is easy. But the imposter syndrome sneaks into his room late at night in the form of ‘what if’.

“I…it’s just the timing of it all. We’re about to leave Hogwarts, and I don’t want to tie you down if I know I’m unsure of my—our future.”

He reaches out to grab your hand, and many a time ago, his sense of awareness was what you admired about him. You’d both get this familiar feeling of needing comfort, and within a minute, your fingers would intuitively find the other’s like it was second nature. Now, the thought of his touch might make you break his hand off to serve on a silver platter.

“Fuck your timing. If you think it’s as easy as making the decision to just quit while we’re ahead…. I love you. Don’t you…Is that not—” 

You clear your throat, the fire in your indignation being stifled by the whimpering feeling of knowing this was going to happen. The understanding of his plight, the knowing that he wants more. You could see it in the way his eyes wander when you all hang out, and you could feel it when he needs time to himself before bed, letting you back to your common room in the late hours alone. Screw your heart for appealing to his indecisiveness, his fear, when the final blow is aimed at the relationship you both once wanted together. Head Boy and Head Girl share living quarters after all. What chance did you stand against the girl he fell asleep a room away from? Maybe he dreams of her too, what you couldn’t give and what more she has to offer. 

“Tell me something James,” you choke as your body heaves with something akin to nausea. Being lovesick isn’t as romantic as it seems. The hopeless feeling in your tummy throbs as you clench your fists to keep it all down.

“Whatever you want.” 

His reply makes you laugh, desolation gripping your esophagus. Who knew feeling empty would feel like drowning? There is no more air left in your lungs that it almost incapacitates you, your last breath spilling out your final ask of him.

“Do you love me? What did I do?” 

The noise and chatter around you seems to fall silent as he zeroes in on your face, crestfallen from the words that leave your lips. It isn’t your fault, but how can he tell you that? At 18, he’s feeling stifled by the privilege of having his life all planned out for him. He knows people spend their lives searching for contentment but James can’t decipher if he’s right for all of this pressure falling upon his shoulders. The societal heir of his father’s business empire. The face of the upcoming war, bringing in a new generation of soldiers to fight. 

Deep inside, he’s a wild spirit just wanting to live, to be free. And it scares him that you’d follow him to the ends of the Earth, that there isn’t much thinking involved, just doing. The lack of autonomy stifles his soul. How does one know if they’re meant for more? James doesn’t want you to have to suffer the consequences if he can’t figure it out himself.

“I love you honey. So much it hurts me. I just wonder if it’s enough.” 

Your hands clatter onto the table, bumping your half-empty pint of butterbeer as you gather your things, shoving them into your knapsack as his final blow hits your senses. And all he does is watch you, face transfixed as if he sees nothing, like he isn’t making the biggest mistake of his life.

There’s no going back after this, you think silently as you steady your trembling hands. There’s also no way in hell you’ll let him see you cry. Fuck that. Your eyes fall over the curls that drape over the frame of his glasses, his face cradled by candlelight and dear Merlin, do you love this boy. All of him, even the parts that don’t reciprocate the feeling. This is the final snapshot in your memory of him, because this fleeting moment will have to be enough.

“I hope you get everything you ever wanted James. For my sake, I hope I never hear a thing about it.”

Perhaps having the last word will absolve you of the feeling that desecrates your entire essence as you put one foot in front of the other, pushing past the door of the Three Broomsticks and out into the unknown. But it’s not enough.

—

The break in routine absolutely shatters you, if we’re being honest. A year and a half of loving him, and three more before that of liking the slow steady burn that is James Potter…. It’s like looking at the world with new eyes and this window of opportunity with graduation nearing is your chance of starting anew. There’s also the custodial aspect after the end of a relationship, and it’s hard to separate the rest of what’s yours and his in your mind. Your friends are his, and his are yours. It makes quite a predicament to not have things so easy as they consider who to eat lunch with, or who’s dorm to hang out in. Hopefully, things get easier with time but you’re not as confident as you once were.

A part of you feels like you don’t belong anywhere anymore. James is the sun, after all; a natural leader— everyone revolves around his ingenious ideas and the light he brings. He’s the one who always has a plan, and everyone follows in his stead. Where do you fit in all of that? Where do you go?

His parents are likely the loveliest people to ever grace the wizarding world. Euphemia catches you by the arm after the graduation ceremony as you’re about to take the 7th year boat back across the Black Lake. With no family in attendance and no boyfriend to dote on, niceties were expended quick enough to want to run out of there and never look back.

“Darling, are you leaving without a goodbye?” Mrs. Potter smiles, calling her husband over both with grins made of sunlight. 

Somehow it resonates in your brain that it’s finally over, and your lip trembles when they pull you in for a hug that rivals your hunger to be loved. You think that even if your parents showed up today, it wouldn’t have felt this kind.

“Congratulations dearest! We’re so proud of you,” Fleamont rumbles, a big man with an even bigger heart as he brandishes flowers out of thin air to hand to you daintily. You’re going to miss them terribly. Is it wrong to want more of this? But you remember why it’s not as James’s cologne floods your senses and his silhouette creeps into your periphery. Your smile grows smaller as you two stare at each other and breathe the same air for the first time in almost a month. Whatever’s thrumming in your being, he holds the key to. Mr. and Mrs. Potter try to loop you into a photo together, the magical kind that moves to capture a memory so intimately but both of you stand perfectly still as his and your hesitant dismissals go unheard.

Loving hands fuss over both your caps and the way hair sticks out until you feel your shoulders jostle together for a moment and his hand lands on the small of your back. The flash goes off as you two look at each other in something that still resembles love. You can’t unlove him, not in a day, a month, or ever, you think. Not if you’ve bared your soul to him, even if he hurt you. 

You look away first, urging your heart to come back to reality. He’s not yours anymore, and you still love him. Alice told you earlier that he asked Lily out on a date for next Tuesday. What you were supposed to do with that information you’re unsure, but the feeling in your belly helps you say goodbye to the Potters, and clarify that they can keep the picture since you’re not James’ girlfriend anymore. An awkward silence settles over all four of you.

Euphemia rubs your cheek, hushed promises of keeping in touch while Fleamont looks at his son in confusion. James’ hand flexes in the absence of your body against his. He simply watches you walk away again, alone, while he’s surrounded by his friends and his family. The beating of a tiny heart matching your own as you hop onto the boat proves otherwise.

—-

A baby.

You think back to when it must’ve happened, the weekend before that Tuesday, when everything still felt right. With your last exams of your academic career finally done, both you and James were tangled in his silk sheets until dawn, an amalgamation of passionate whispers and lingering touches you could still feel in the days that followed. As you stared at the flutter of his eyelashes and relished the way he pulled you closer in his dream state, you were quite sure that he is, too, tangled within your soul to let go. That your doubts were residual anxiety from preparing for the future. For the first time in a while, you were reaffirmed that the boy sleeping next to you was your forever. Not being careful was a consequence of feeling safe in his arms, and subconsciously, you both hoped that everything would work itself out. As you walked out of the Head Students’ Lounge past noon with James’ hickeys as a necklace and donning your boyfriend’s shirt, you noticed the blush on Lily Evans’ face. You were just so sure, but that felt like forever ago.

Your parents weren’t happy when they came back from their business trip two months after graduation to find you four months along with a prominent bump and filled with so much fear. All plans of getting a job, of moving out, and joining the Order were now replaced with the startling fact that you are 18 and don’t have a single clue on what to do next. Your childhood bedroom feels smaller tonight, with both your parents standing at the door, all of you unsure of what to say. You can’t remember the last time they tucked you in, but as your dad takes a seat on the edge of your bed, it seems possible that maybe you won’t be alone in all of this.

“Whatever decision you make will be the right one, sweetie. If you love that baby, then we do too,” he sniffles, and you don’t recall having ever seen him this emotional before. One thing you are sure of, is this baby is loved, and made from love. The next is that England is not a safe place to raise your baby. 

Somewhere far away, in a hidden place guarded by some of the most experienced wizards, the Order of the Phoenix meets again to determine the future of the wizarding world. James’s eyes dart back and forth from the door to whichever adult is talking about the next mission. You didn’t show up again. All of the meetings so far where he was always the first one to arrive and the last to leave in hopes of getting a glimpse of you, and you never showed. There’s a deep worry that haunts him as the months pass by, and he knows that it would be easy to send you a letter, or to show up at your door, but he’s probably the last person you want to see. 

“We’re going out for a pint, you ready to leave James?” Lily whispers into his ear, arms curling around to his chest. But he’s not ready at all, sat on the sofa with his eyes on the door, just in case. Trying to love someone who’s still in love is a losing battle, Lily thinks, as she watches her boyfriend look like a child missing their favorite blanket. But in a war like this one, no one would be foolish enough to decline company.

“I’ll meet you there,” he smiles, leaning back to kiss her cheek. It’s cruel to both of them, the way he’s acting knowing that Lily won’t ever be you. Every chance he gets to have a moment to himself, he thinks of the despondent look on your face as you walked away from him and his parents that day. No more anger at all, no biting words or the fighting spirit that he knows and loves. Both of you just accepted what was to come.

Sirius and Remus approach him later after everyone’s left that they got word that you moved to America. He thinks of what could’ve been, and the thought of your safety is the only thing that lets his mind rest as guilt pushes and pulls at his heartstrings like waves.

He’s spent these months fighting in the war, loving and losing that he thinks this isn’t anything like the white house and picket fence fantasy you both used to cook up. As he grabs his coat to leave, James wonders if by being away from all of this you’ll get to live the life you want. 

—

“Okay honey, hold on tight to mama.” 

Your little boy was almost bouncing off the pavement with a chocolate covered grin, and it makes you laugh harder than it should. Maybe Florean Fortescue’s was not the way to start off your son’s first trip to Diagon Alley, but your new job at the Ministry starts tomorrow and you’ve been missing your favorite stationery. The town was packed with people with the war having ended and trying to start anew. You haven’t seen any familiar faces and maybe years ago that was a bad thing, but hope spreads over Diagon Alley with strangers smiling at Christopher as he skips on the cobblestone, almost tripping over his own feet at the entrance of Flourish and Blotts. 

He runs forward to explore the store as you smile at your creation, letting him wander along the aisles as you have done years before. Being back here is like walking through a memory, and though it used to be home, you know yours is walking around in tiny bright red shoes that light up like his smile. Your fingers flip through the different quills and parchment on display, and after finding everything you need, you hear your son’s laughter in the opposite corner of the shop. Motherly instincts always prevail as your feet guide you to the sound of his voice, since he’s never been one to shy away from a friendly conversation.

“Did you find everything you were looking for, honey?”

James’ head whips up from the tiny boy he was entertaining with color-changing quills to see you, and he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose to make sure he’s seeing properly. The both of you go quiet as time stands still, with Christopher chattering at your feet. 

“Mama! Look at this one, it goes rainbow!” he says, tugging at your coat to see the quill in James’s hand. The pieces start to fit together in James’ mind, looking at your pursed lip, then to the sight of this boy smiling with the innocence he had a lifetime ago. This boy, his son, has your eyes. You shake your head rapidly as he intakes a breath of air.

“Honey?” he whispers, knowing that was his name for you.

“So what, he looks like a honey,” you say defensively, grabbing your son’s hand.

He looks like my son, his eyes say—both of you look down to the child who’s all grins and none the wiser piping up.

“My name’s Topher!” 

“Yes it is, and now it’s time to say goodbye to the nice man, okay?” Topher pouts and looks up at his father without even knowing it, handing him the quill. 

“Keep it. I’ll pay for it, and then you can write to me,” he says almost desperately, losing grip of everything that he’s been trying to convince himself for the past 7 years. 

“Don’t be weird, Potter. Don’t…” you shake your head, eyes misting over. Seeing him again brought back everything. It was already overwhelming to have a kid that’s almost the splitting image of him, to learn of a love so pure after one that’s wrecked you to your core, but being here, within arms reach… You’re 18 again and scrambling away from the corner booth trying to get away from the man you love most not wanting you in return.

“Honey, why don’t you give us a minute to talk? Go find me some cool enchanted stickers for me to bring to work tomorrow, okay?” Your baby runs off without even questioning it, his sense of adventure also inherited from his father.

“I’m…so sorry.” James moves closer to you, and you take a step back sighing humorlessly.

“For what? He’s an amazing kid. Even though… he wasn’t planned, I don’t think I could ever see my life turning out any other way.” You shift your weight to your other foot. He looks, successful, if that’s something he would be proud of. He’s wearing an impressive suit, and his eyes are a bit hardened by the past few years, but his charisma, his smile…. He’s still the boy you fell in love with all those years ago.

“I feel foolish. I was so scared to live my life and then here you are raising our child…” 

You blink softly at his words, and it reminds him of your youth, all doe-eyed and full of want. You used to want him like he still wants you. In front of him is a grown woman, a mother who’s strong and filled with memories and love that he should’ve been a part of.

“Things happen for a reason, James. We both did what we had to do.”

His hand brushes yours, and you realize you’ve been without his touch for 7 years. 7 years of being scrubbed clean of James Potter, and not a single regenerated cell in your body has been touched by him. But your son is of him, so you think that no matter how this ends, there will always be a part of you that loves James too.

You extend an olive branch to have him come to your apartment this weekend and get to talk. He knows he doesn’t deserve this kindness, but you know he deserves to meet his son.

—-

The doorbell rings and you take a deep breath as you open the front door, looking up at him holding a teddy bear for Topher.

“He’s still down for a nap. Let’s go sit in the den.” You say quietly. The hallway is filled with pictures of your boy, and of you in different stages these past few years. He stops at a portrait of your parents with Topher being swung between them.

“Your parents….”

“Were supportive; I wasn’t alone,” you muse, knowing he knows of your strained relationship with them back then.

“They actually just retired early last year. Overworked themselves and finally comfortable, so they help out when they can. What about yours?” Trying to make conversation with your ex is terribly hard, but it’s in good spirit and there’s not much to do until Topher wakes up.

“They passed, actually. Mum at the end of the war, and dad 6 months after. Never wanted to be apart, you know that.”

Your face falls at his revelation, “I’m sorry for your loss. They were amazing people. Taught me what it meant to be a parent, for sure.” Amicable silence fills the living room before you clear your throat.

“I have to be blunt, James. What do you want from this? You must be married and busy, so if Topher can’t fit into that….”

“I’m neither of those things, honey. I want to try and see where this goes,” he says scratching the back of his neck. 

Your heart stops at his endearment, catching yourself looking at him seriously. 

“You can hurt me, but I’m not letting you do that to him. Back then, you were all I ever wanted love to be. And then I had my beautiful baby, and I suddenly knew my love meant more.”

“I never wanted to hurt you. It was a mistake, because I was too proud to accept that I had it good. That what I had was meant for me.” James grabs your hands, begging for you to understand. The lost boy he was is a lifetime away from the man sitting in front of you now. Though it’s touching, you keep your heart guarded because the little boy sleeping down the hall is your biggest priority. You hope he can understand that too.

“He’s not a placeholder for your dreams of wanting a family. You have to build that, I did that myself. I’m not going to let you string him along and then once you have a family of your own, you just up and leave.” 

“I know. I was hoping the both of you could be my family, if you give me the chance.” You bite your lip as your thumb runs against his. It’s easier to forgive than to forget. But for Topher’s sake, you can try. 

“Tell me something James,” you whisper, having needed to know this for the past 7 years.

“Why did you throw it all away? Was the idea of loving me…so terrible?” He tilts your chin up, and you think that the earnest look on his face is the closure you needed to properly forgive him.

“I’ve never stopped loving you. Loving you is the best part of knowing you. Do you think I ever forgot about you?” He chuckles lowly, brushing back a strand of your hair, and you think this could be dangerous if you let yourself get too close. 

“I’ve thought about you everyday for the past 7 years, I just didn’t think I deserved you after everything I’ve done. I was so stupid, I am still. But I’m trying to be better.”

“You think of me but dreamt of her. Was it guilt?” Your hand grabs his as you move it away from your cheek, settling onto your lap. The air around you is suffocating.

“It took time for me to figure out that it was intention. Lily was a distraction. You’ve consumed me since the day I met you. My dreams, my thoughts… All of it is you. I choose to think about you as much as I can, because if I didn’t I was scared I’d forget all the good things about us back then.”

You both hear a thump from your son’s room and realize you’re wiping tears away. James stands up when you do, and both pairs of your socked feet pad closer to your son’s room. 

“We start this slow. We make decisions together, and if there’s any inkling I get that he doesn’t want this, it’s done. You understand?” Your hands are firm on the doorknob as he’s standing close behind you, hanging onto every word.

“Every word. There’s no turning back from this.” He wants to ask another question, but before he can, your hand unconsciously finds his and your grip is so comforting that he notices himself sniffle. 

“If it all goes well, and if you want, we can try again. But that’s in the far distant future, James Potter.”

“Anything you want, honey. That’s the future I’ve been dreaming of.” With you. Your lips quirk into a smile as they brush against his cheek.

Slowly opening the door to both watch your son wake up from his nap, your hand pulls James into the room behind you. Quietly, he sits on the edge of Christopher’s bed, and when his son looks up at him, you both notice the little boy beaming like the sun. 

—-

“Everything you love is very likely to be lost, but in the end, love will return in a different way.” -Franz Kafka

taglist: @jsjcue

love me some tunes! i listened to this while writing:

night shift by lucy dacus & about you by the 1975

[bunji-enthusiast]

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐝.

☀︎︎ || With a long awaited reunion, Jayce finally gathers the courage to do something he should’ve done a long time ago.

C/W || nothing nsfw honestly, just lots of fluff, Reader’s gender isn’t implied here, appearance isn’t descriptive, Jayce is just awkward with feelings.

Word Count || 3,433

Note || I feel I should clarify that my whole driving force behind this was inspired by all the jayvik scenes (however you view them lmao), and the song ‘young and beautiful’. Some other things inspired this but mainly these things.

This is also a first I’m posting a fic about a character from Arcane, or arcane at all honestly so some honest criticism for my writing would be appreciated.

That scream repeated over and over in his mind, again and of course – again. Jayce was becoming tired, worn down. His heart began dulling out the environment around him, causing him to look forward, no baggage weighing in on the astral shoulders of his that bore a weight so greatly, for the reality of the supposed great arcane. He was trapped in it for so long. 

Red, all he saw was red painting the calluses of his hands. His hands grabbing desperately onto yours, feeling the warmth, the sensation of that beloved warmth leaving your body. 

(All he could do was choke out a cry. Silent in the loudness of the world crashing down around the being of you both.)

Another fabric of time, which would have also been his reality. In which you were enemies, Jayce, he wasn’t sure what side to be on. All he knew was to destroy what was necessary, you otherwise wanted to destroy him. Jayce tried to converse with you, yet his growls fell on deaf ears. He was trying to end things, he really was. His want clashed with yours, the need to end things. Jayce just wanted you to not be in pain anymore, and that look in your eyes, the tense stance, pained breathing punishing sharply in the cavity of your chest – that confirmed it for him. 

But what was he becoming this time? (Man, or beast?) 

He couldn’t tell. 

A remaining constant rang true for him each and every time he was chained down in each memory, stone marble cracking in the face of your memory, he was almost beginning to forget what your face looked like. But that scream, it never left him. Your scream was the constant variable of which he experienced each and every time, and you almost always looked at him in fear.

Jayce hated that, he really hated that so much. Looked upon in unease, the sweat on your palms accumulating, and the trepidation rapidly beating in the confines of your ribcage; that heart of yours about ready to jump out, easily because of him. 

On that cobblestone floor, cracked by death and echoes of explosion. 

He couldn’t tell if you loved him–maybe as a friend–yet either way it was, once. He probably missed it, only looking past you right at others, Viktor, Mel, or even the face of the Hextech Gemstone. The way you were always so kind to greet him even if he didn’t remain a figure of importance in certain situations, you had always made an effort to include not only him, everyone else as well. You brought people together in a way he seldom noticed. But now that he was trapped in the belly of the beast, he thought about it more often. 

Jayce truly realized that you had. (But did he ever deserve it? He was beastly toward you often.) 

One step after the other, and he realized harshly–being brought back to the now. Something, or someone was far ahead of him. In this void of darkness, and even the occasion of the beautifully loud rainbow swarms, he had never come across someone real. So he began to rush forward, keeping a vice grip on his hammer. 

He choked out a shout, feeling his esophagus sore and weak. His body creaked, bones clicking against each other softly, and every which way he twisted himself — he could hear it. Jayce could clearly feel the way his joints had sanded, slowly creaking under the weight of herculean effort to press forward. 

The dull ache pressed in his chest, but he couldn't help the youth that springed him forward for a momentary transition in time.

A voice echoes, so strikingly similar to someone he holds dear. And he wonders if that was really the real deal, but he was easily proven wrong once the being speaks; “You must not fail, Jayce.”

Not Fail.

Must, not fail. The accursed organism had repeatedly told him that same mantra over and over again. He was pushed through the time lapse, and forced to relive the gruesome experience of being a human. The poor decisions made, the hope (and the false).

It was easily his driving force as he made it through the dark glowering of magicks that cursed his downfall, and the others around him. Jayce tried not to open his eyes as the sharp pains followed his limbs, intakes of breathing that punished him with every step he took. Yet it was sudden as he felt a ghostly touch impressed into his upper back, causing him to twitch, swerving his head nearly off the hinges as he looked to see whom the cause of the touch was. The crinkles beneath his eyes expressed clear frustration, as he was tricked once again. Jayce cursed himself mentally as he trudged forward, the onslaught of surprises resuming once again when the light gleamed – jarring as can be for a low fluorescent tone. He recapitulated his position, standing firmly into whatever ground there was irrespective of the pain. Jayce’s hands were worn with exhaustion, each and every ache screaming at him to fall down, rest. 

Imaginably he could, but he dared not too. (He couldn’t rest, not again.)

This was his last resort, he was not capable of letting it happen again. He needed to make sure nobody died, he needed to make sure it wasn’t out of bleeding, feeling cold. He knew it far too well, and he was going to make sure he was doing everything in his power to–

Oh wow. 

It was painful–painless–for a few moments, leaving him disoriented as he grunted, trying to accumulate to his new surroundings. He wondered where he was now, what would it show him next?

He blinks for a few moments, struggling to stand up as he supports his weight on the hammer. Inevitably cracking his neck, easing himself of the sore pains that riddled his neck and even the rest of his body. His leg was where it had really hurt for the matter, but no reason to worry, he was ready for whatever was gonna come next. 

“Jayce?” A gasp escapes his throat, ebbing it raw, his eyes blurring into clearness for the first time. He furrows his brow, attempting to get a clearer look at the source. The man was worn from battle–he tenses, fully rising to his height. 

(He heard a voice, and it was yours. Not an illusion, not a past memory. It was really that same cadence that not even the arcane could replicate.)

His throat bobs, churning with a burn that reminds him that he really is here. Where he had first disappeared in the first place, the accursed base of the HexGate facility. Jayce really, really had begun to hate HexTech. His eyes briefly scorn the intricate designs, almost weaved like the stories in tapestries. The stories were wrong, they always had been wrong. He should’ve listened to Heimerdinger, he should've listened to the professor. 

What was he doing?

Oh god.

“Is that you?” His eyes flicker back over to the one other person in the room, right in front of him. Jayce attempted—couldn’t—to look you in the eye, it was a difficult thing to do. His brows furrowed, a headache came to the forefront of his pain, and he closed his eyes. He heaved a heavy sigh–he was ashamed. 

Killing came so easy to him now, so why is this now any different?

Deciding to test the waters he quietly muttered your name, followed by a gentle greeting; “Hey.” Jayce murmurs, his bottom lip quivered for a moment.

You could see how cracked his lips were, and it made you almost worry for him. Of course, you should be. But you didn’t want to rush him, the way he had carried himself, you could see he was still far too tense and on edge. Both of you were thinking the same, worried about the other, still wanting to embrace each other–even so used to the touches of danger. It was in consideration, that made it all too painfully slow in this reunion. You nodded your head, taking a step forward. 

“You’ve been gone quite awhile,” You verbalized with a tilt of your head, gesturing about the length of his absence. “I was… worried.” He gave pause to your comment, a slight widening of his eyes as he lifted his gaze, albeit shortly enough to reach your torso. You looked different from what he remembered, just right there was enough to make him realize the passage of time. 

“How–I, how long have I been gone?” He internally winced at the way his voice sounded, his throat felt so sore. Jayce wasn’t sure himself, he felt it best to ask you. He understood that time had passed extensively, not how much for the matter, he felt it passing entirely differently during his time within the core of the arcane–whatever its physical being is. Something entirely reminiscent of a curse. He despised it so much for leaving you and the others without warning. But yet again, he hadn’t taken a step back to think about his words and actions, and how easily he could hurt others. Jayce knew better than that now, atleast. 

He could almost feel the hesitation radiating off of you, as if answering would be the end of all things. Jayce heaved a mournful breath, letting his eyes close. 

(Maybe it would, he wasn’t sure. Jayce didn’t want you to be afraid of him, is all.)

The room was cold, cold as the winter storm of the day he crossed paths with the arcane, he had almost forgotten that. Yet it was useless when he felt the warmth of something inexplicable touching his cheek, leathery he must feel. Jayce felt the way his skin hardened, the way his body tenses when he’s touched. But–that wasn’t the case here, no. 

A small gentle pad of the thumb swiped over the area, leaving him to open his eyes – inextricably locking gazes. Jayce was left surprised, almost recoiling for a split-moment. You kept a firm hold, your gaze all but gentle. Which was the last thing he expected, he searched any inch of your expression, and not once did your eyes falter in that interval of time. Jayce was tempted to stray away from your touch, every nerve in his being telling him to do so. However, it was something else that let him stay in the same position. That same stance, and he was unable to run away from it. 

Jayce grimaced, holding his head. Another episode, what he’s seen. Far too much of it, you concluded. 

He could see flashes of something unholy, far too close to the sun, or perhaps far too close to the moon. Jayce could see the debilitating deflections of creatures, something supernatural, the coarseness of rainbows. It was the way his lungs squeezed upon itself, twisting in a macabre manner of gestations that left him breathless for a meager few moments. You simply held him through it, and gently murmured, drawing his attention to you once more. Whatever he saw, it was the countless hours of death, it was inescapable. Blurry had it appeared to be once over, as he never wanted to recall the things he experienced. The last thing that had never been blocked out were those memories of you, dying over and over again, especially by his hands. It was in repetition that he blacked out so many times over, constantly finding himself in new arenas. Having to raise his hammer against someone else, seeing their blood splatter against the coldstone of the ground. Jayce wasn’t sure how he hadn’t–broken. 

It always felt far too real to him, he was sure it had. The heavy heart that corones his emotions, the way he acts. Probably in that alone that he had caused the deaths of so many innocents so many times, even for a different fabric in the space-fold of time, it still happened. Jayce didn’t want that to happen to you–not again–to anyone else. 

With the impossible decisions, and the road he had walked so far. There was nothing short of a future, or a dream for him anymore. He had to fight, even if that meant physically. Jayce knew there was something different in this life of his, he just wished this wasn’t the truth of it. He grieved it even, but he couldn’t truly be given time to process that. Life does not slow down for anyone, not even you, and not even him. One is only human after all, and you sure as hell make the most of it, the best you can, even if people may hate you for the smallest thing. It is innately the most human thing that truly makes each and every person kind, despite their supposed repugnant nature that makes mankind so infamous. 

“Jayce,” You murmured, a tone so soft, he didn’t deserve it. “Can you please look at me?” Almost to your whims, he felt so commanded. A rarity in such matters, that he didn’t mind it. Such a simple action, and it seemed so difficult though. But he tried, and succeeded. 

For the second time now, he locked eyes with you. His gaze was colored by bashfulness, leaving you to laugh. A tender touch, revering the inches of encroaching warmth that crawled back into his skin bit by bit. You breathed a puff of air, noting the cold atmosphere. 

‘He must’ve been cold before he came back out.’ You scrutinized the details for a moment, and considered how much time he spent. How long he went without proper warmth, the lack of temperature. Whatever or whomever it may have been that was his captor, you were glad he was finally freed for good, hopefully. You just were relieved that you could finally just see him, and know that he’s truly there (instead of just a delusion). Even if he appeared differently, he was still here. 

“I really did miss you.” You mentioned, seeing the flicker of surprise, surmising the life that brought back the color in his eyes. Less dull now, and far more colorful within the beautiful amber–almost had you wishing you could stay trapped in it forever. Not forever maybe, that would mean you’d never be face to face with him directly, like now, where you stood stronger than ever. As you were more than willing to be a pillar of support for the broken man, who you guess appeared to see so much, it nearly broke his mind. For the brief moment of pause, you could see his jaw tighten, as if he was contemplating something, but wary to air out the thought. 

He held the expectation that you would’ve been more fearful of him. Or at the very least angry, god knows he fully deserves that. 

Your brows tighten, almost wincing at the knot in your forehead. You’ve done that especially way too much lately, even since Jayce’s sudden disappearance. It was a question of your own, nothing short of anger, all it really was confusion. 

Jayce seemed to notice this, drawing you out of your short-lived predicament; “You… alright?” He muttered, somewhat hesitant to draw his hand over yours. He didn’t see himself deserving enough for that yet, not until he knew that it was by all rights okay with you. Only then you nodded to reassure him, biting the inside of your cheek as the moment passed. 

Finally garnering the courage to the breadth of your chest, “How… or why have you been gone so long?” Jayce simply looks at you with a half-unreadable expression, as if he had expected this question. One way or another, he was always going to be faced with such a question. After all, he had been trapped inside the palace of the arcane, a presumably long life-time of experiences; enough to age him noticeably. 

“I'll explain it,” He paused, a waver in his tone. “In time.” Jayce’s reluctance was more than easy to notice, so you nodded, not fully satisfied with the answer. But you had to wait for answers another time, there were reasonably far more important things to deal with right now. Whatever that may be considered. 

So you opted for a hug (entirely and completely out of the blue).

The affectionate gesture, which could mean many things, surprised him. He didn’t count for this happening—it made his knees buckle, the weight hounding you to fall with him. Even with the vice grip he previously held on the handle. He let go of his hammer, wanting and using both arms to just utterly hug you back with the whole of his heart, and he was fulfilled. Nose buried in the crook of your neck, it was filled with your scent. Your own hold on him didn’t vacillate at all–which in retrospect–it gave way to a level of solace he never felt before. 

He tightened his hold on you, a silent way of giving thanks, if nothing else. You were glad, happy even that he accepted your inhibited sudden gesture. 

You leaned back, slowly but surely, just to check that Jayce wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a failure however [as good as you were at reading expressions], there was naught a hint of it at all. You tilted your head, eliciting a soft laugh from the man. 

‘Mission successful!’ 

His soft laughter elicited a pavlovian response from you, leaving you to move your hands, cradling his face with both hands once again. Anything and everything seemed to fall short around you, for the long while you began to realize, lord you were far from attached to the thought however. His brows furrowed with a small grin, still finding it somewhat amusing with your subtle acts of nature. In spite of what preceded, the decedent time of passing made him begin to freeze. 

Color began creeping up against the patches of his skin that crawled from the beginning of his mandible, nape of the neck, and now up to the cheek bones. Expression faltering. (“Hey, uh…”) He tried to muster, but despite that, it fell on deaf ears. Your gaze made him hot, and he was always on the fence on whether or not how he should react. Jayce wasn’t sure how to handle it really, cause you look at him as if he was all that was there in the room. The spark of motivation behind your learning, or even the nights and transitions of time where you listen to him talk about what makes him so inspired. Of course, he always made the effort to do the same, but it had made him wonder if you felt so similarly. 

Yet, when he allowed his overthinking to fester, never bringing it up, he was afraid and just simply decided to not ask about it at all. Jayce was always a bit afraid about these things, but with what he's been through, he fears this may be the first and last time he’s allowed to see you. 

With that being his driving force, how his heart raced, it gave him a burst of confidence. Jayce lowered his left hand to your hip, the other to holding your face. His eyes were soft, brows raised as if he were asking. It was first and foremost, but his heart continued to beat right up against the cavity of his chest. 

There was a flicker of astonishment gleaming in your eyes, but it slowly disappeared, as if you ascertained what he was wanting, and frankly you found it sweet that he had asked for your permission. Nonetheless, you were more than delighted to oblige with his request. 

Warmth blossomed exuberant in his chest, as if fireworks were being set off. The sensation it ignited in him was soulful. A first tentative brush, then a second time, more sure than ever now. Jayce’s breathing almost labored when he pulled back, and he could figure the same for you. In a way, it was as if a weight was lifted from his shoulders by such a simple act of love. Even with the moments passing, the two of you leaned against one another, relishing in the feeling that heightened your tension. 

Though it did wear off quickly enough. 

Jayce watched with patience of a thousand men as you leaned back, re-adjusting yourself as you spoke. And wasn’t it ever the truth. 

“If you’ve done that earlier, then i probably wouldn’t even be here right now.” You remarked, causing him to laugh quietly. 

(No shit.)

He should’ve done this sooner.

[ellieswyfe]

A Little Lower…

(tw): anal, oral (f recieving), slight overstim, usage of daddy (orc), pure porn no plot. MDNI

"w-wait..." you moaned out, pulling on your lovers long brown hair, which currently rested in between your thighs. red, low, blue eyes staring back at you while his head was tilted in confusion.

eren, now being disturbed from finishing his desert prior to the meal you cooked earlier, was irritated and didn't pay you much mind while you talked. almost immediately looking back down at your pussy, before he spat on it once again. the thick saliva dripping from your clit to the lower crack of your ass.

"too low b-baby, i can feel it on my.." you trailed off, not wanting to finish your words. eren might've still been high, but you almost sobered up immediately after feeling his long wet tongue prod at your lower hole.

eren has been wanting to try butt stuff for awhile now in bed. its not like you completely opposed of the idea of anal, its just that you didnt wanna gross him out, even if he begged and pleaded you for it.

"can you feel it here?" he smirked, circling the cushy bud with his tongue, right before running it straight back up your cunt and down again to suckle on your clit. moaning into your soaked folds.

"mmhmm- s-shit daddy!" you moaned at the sensation of his pink lips licking and sucking you up. his tongue spreading your folds again, then traveling a little lower to your core. he grabbed into your plush thighs when you tried to escape his grasp. crescent marks forming into them, turning into a painful pleasure. "why you running from daddy baby… huh?" he questioned, husky voice teasing your use in the pet name while continuing to eat away at your juices.

“not running…s’ jus..toooo m-much.” you whined out once again. right before cutely rolling your eyes back, and curling your toes to have a mind blowing nutt. mouth opened forming the shape of an “o”. cream and juices covering erens mouth and chin while he continues to eat you through the gasm.

eren staring down pussy drunk, begins licking and eating up all of the evidence of his work and sucking on your stiff-prodding clit once again.

“mmph…anhhh-” your strangled moan barely makes it’s way out of your esophagus before a new wave of pleasure takes over. almost immediately being hit with overstimulation as eren wanders his tongue and begins to suck and lick at the plush brown hole of your anus.

eren slowly begins to push his tongue inside of the wanting hole and you can feel yourself melt. pussy juices gushing with every push and prod he makes. the action alone has you squirting all over erens lower face. some of it finding its way into his gruffy stuble. (which has him going crazy for you all over again the next morning)

“think you can do that for me one more time ma?” eren smugly questions from his position in between your thighs. “i-“ and before you had the chance to fully answer him, eren resumed his work devouring your holes, twirling his tongue back n forth until your creamy, wet, and whining all over again.

(no mood song tdy my spotify isnt working :/)

♡⇢⇢⇢⇢⇢⇢⇢⇢⇢⇢⇢⇢⇢⇢⇢⇢⇢⇢⇢⇢⇢⇢⇢⇢⇢⇢♡

hey yall sorry for the long wait- uni has been kicking my ass since my classes started back up n im kinda busy now… 😣

but like whaa im so surprised my last one blew up like it didd tysm for all the support🩷 so yk i hadda post sum slight

(AND MY TWO FAVS NOTICED MEEE LIKE WTHHHHH 😩💁🏾‍♀️)

[bighungrywolf]

Do you want to jump right inside? The whole thing of keeping my mouth open waiting for you to slide over my mouth is making my lips dry and filling everything with the saliva that drips little by little, from all that I'm salivating at the thought of how delicious you'll be.

What, you don't think I can do this, you don't think you can fit inside my mouth? Ooooh, squirt, you don't know how wrong you are. I've devoured all kinds of people, twinks, bears, muscle bunnies, bodybuilders… you name it, I've had eaten it at least twice. Many of them were much bigger than you, and believe me I had no problem in swallowing them whole, sometimes with a little help giving them a little push to make them take the first step to get to my stomach. You know, there are people who at the moment of truth see the lion's ears and back down, but here there is no escape, when I have been promised to gobble up a yummy treat that's exactly what I'm going to do.

A prey like you should learn some manners, this questioning my ability as a pred is not cool at all, naughty boy. You know what? I think I'm going to make a last minute change of plans. I was going to let you slide into my mouth at will, letting your body slowly slide down my esophagus, enjoying how you feel your body slowly sinking into my digestive system, but I think I've come up with a much better idea, well, better for me, of course. I'm going to grab your weak body and throw you up in the air, and watch you fly straight into my mouth. This makes it much easier, as by flying directly into my maw, you'll slide straight into my stomach, with hardly any swallowing. Oh, and now don't give me that you don't see me being able to do this, thinking that I won't be able to throw you up in the air and make you fall straight into my mouth, because right now I'm going to prove you wrong. 1, 2, 3… there you go (the preys goes flying) and… sluuuurp, here I come (Guuuuuuuulp).

[vorishthings]

The Last Delivery

This is my first vore story, and I hope you like it! Let me know if I can improve my writing by liking it, or just message me. If you want more send me some ideas or writing prompts. Enjoy!

It was any average Tuesday. Bryson was hungry. Not hungry in a simple, “I will eat food” sort of way. No, he was hungry for prey. He didn’t feel like going on a dating app and seducing his way into eating his prey, or finding some other convoluted way to go about getting his dinner. He decided to simply call in a pizza and have it delivered to his home. What a simple easy way to get his prey delivered to him. 

Eventually, the pizza arrived at his door, with a hot delivery guy to accompany it. Man, and he is hot too? I love hot prey. Hot prey for Bryson made it all the more appealing for him, as he loved the hot of someone gorgeous becoming worthless belly fat on him. Bryson opened the door, and the delivery guy greeted him. 

“Hello, I have a pizza for a…Bryson?” 

“Yes, that's me.” GURGLE. Bryson’s stomach must have had a mind of its own as it must have known its prey was nearby, and it grew upset in waiting. “Oh, excuse me, I haven’t eaten all day.” 

“Haha! It’s all right! I hope this will satisfy your hunger. One large pepperoni pizza with a liter of soda.” 

“Thank you, wait, hold on for one second.” He took the pizza and the soda bottle and set it down on the table, ran over to his desk and grabbed a ten dollar bill from it. He ran to the door. 

“Here is your tip, and…oops!” Bryson purposefully dropped the ten dollar bill on the floor. “I am so sorry…” 

“Oh no, it is okay. I can get it.” The delivery guy bent down and went to grab the dollar bill from the floor.  

Now was his chance, for his prey was distracted. Seizing the opportunity, Bryson grabbed the delivery boy by the back of his shirt and dragged him inside the house, slamming the door behind him with his foot. 

“Hey, what the fuck was that for? Let me go!” The delivery guy questioned and moved around to get him to let go of his shirt. Instead, Bryson took the delivery guy and put him in a chokehold. 

“Don’t worry, you will be fine…I promise. Just let me do what I need to do, and it will all be over.” Bryson tried to reassure the delivery guy. But the delivery guy was not reassured, and instead acted in a fighting response, kicking Bryson in the balls. “Oh, fuck!” Bryson yelled out loud. “Ok, that is it! You are going in there right now, so you can think about what you just did!” Bryson opened wide, his huge mouth leaking with drool to help maneuver his prey through his esophagus. He quickly shoved the guy’s head into his mouth, and removed his arm from the guy’s neck and put both his hands around the guy’s arms, forcing them to stay to his side. Mmmmfff!  The delivery guy was yelling, but his voice drowned out, as Bryson’s body made it impossible for any voice to be heard clearly from the outside.

Now, Bryson got his head down his esophagus, it was time for the shoulders, and eventually the guy's chest. Bryson was enjoying every second of his prey squirming, and his dick immediately got hard. The same could be said about the delivery guy. The guy’s dick was hard as a rock, and once Bryson got to the guy’s crotch, he started playing with the guy’s dick with his tongue. Mmmmffff! The delivery guy immediately moaned and orgasmed, with a cum stain appearing on the outside of his khaki pants.

Bryson could taste the cum with his tongue, and wanted to continue playing with his prey, but couldn’t, as the guy’s legs grew stiff from pleasure, and he stopped fighting. Pulling the guy’s shoes off of his feet, Bryson seized his chance, put his hands around the soles of the delivery guy's feet, and sent him with one final push to his stomach. GULP! Bryson’s neck bulged as the guy was being pushed by his insides to his stomach. 

“There, was it really that hard?” Bryson asked him. “Well, your job is now accomplished. You delivered my meal straight to my gut. Technically, you are the meal, but the little details don’t matter.” 

The delivery guy was pounding on the sides of Bryson’s stomach. “Let me out! Please! I will let you have the pizza for free! I will do anything! Just please don’t let it end like this!” Unfortunately for the delivery guy, Bryson’s stomach covered the sounds of his words, and it could only be heard as muffled voices from outside. “Oh, fuck! Your struggling is making me hard.”

Bryson’s dick was vibrating from the pleasure of having prey in his stomach. He took out his dick from his pants and started aggressively, pumping. Bryson couldn’t handle it anymore, and thick, gooey cum erupted from his cock and got shot all over his stomach, and the couch. He admired the orgasm he just had, and was too lazy and tired to clean it up. His stomach however, was not lazy, its job was just getting started.  Grrrrrroan. “Wow, my stomach must be having a field day with you in there, my friend.” 

Bryson went to sit down on his couch and took the pizza box that was on his table that the guy delivered. “Don’t worry, I won’t let this food go to waste. Here, why don’t you try some?” Bryson rolled up a pizza slice, and swallowed it whole. Once it got to Bryson’s stomach, it unrolled, making it more cramped and less air was inside of Bryson’s stomach for the delivery guy to breathe.

Bryson downed more pizza slices, and followed it with some sugary soda, which his stomach received with enthusiasm. Grrrrrrrrrrooooaaaaan. “Hey man! Not cool! I can barely *cough* breathe.” He kept punching at the sides of Bryson’s stomach, and it only made it more upset and aggressive.

Bryson moaned. “Just give up, and make yourself comfortable. You can’t escape your demise.” He patted his belly in an attempt to make the delivery guy calm down. “Your life will serve as a matter of sustenance. I mean you did wish earlier that my hunger would be satisfied didn’t you?” 

“What? I didn’t mean me! I meant the pizza, and I…*cough* *cough*” Bryson’s stomach rumbled, as it contracted and splashed acid all over the delivery guy and the pizza. The delivery felt the acid burn through his clothes and eventually his skin. His shirt fell off of him, and so did his pants. He felt himself becoming deformed, and he tried to stop it. He aggressively used all of his might to pound on the outside of Bryson’s stomach, to no avail. He grew weaker and weaker, and eventually, he gave up and subsided to his fate of becoming his customer’s dinner. Well, at least I made a customer happy. At least I did my job right. Sort of. 

Bryson’s warm, smooth stomach walls started squeezing around the delivery guy, mushing him into whatever form it desired, almost like the stomach was playing with clay. Soon, the delivery guy became just soup and miscellaneous piles of flesh and bones. Bryson felt his stomach grow peaceful and quiet. The delivery guy stopped thrashing around his stomach, and his stomach stood still. “What? Gone already? Man, prey always digests so quickly.”

Bryson felt pressure rise from his stomach, and braced himself, and let out a huge belch. BURRRRRRRRPPPP. With a splat, what seemed to be what was left of the delivery guy’s uniform: his pants, his shirt, and his socks, got thrown to the floor. Bryson assumed that the guy’s underwear must still be inside his stomach, but that was fine with him, as he could just collect his underwear when it passed through his body as a keepsake of his victim.

He slapped his stomach, and started playing with it. “You are now a part of me, as useless body fat and energy that I can easily just exercise and burn right through. I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay there, because my metabolism goes through things fast, and next thing you know, you will end up as undigested remains in my toilet. Thanks for feeding my hunger.” Grrrooaannn. His stomach erupted with groans and gurgles from within and kept eating away at the pizza and the remains of the delivery guy. As for Bryson, he went back to watching TV, while the delivery guy was stewing in his powerful stomach, along with the pizza he delivered.

[blackdollette]

"i know what the boys want." — r.c. & j.m.

lolita. - lana del rey

⊹₊⋆ synopsis: ...like sweet and sour, with just a drizzle of cream...

⊹₊⋆ pairing: hard!dom!rafe x sweetheart!jj x female!reader

⊹₊⋆ word count: 1.0k

⊹₊⋆ contents: double penetration ( spitroast position ), blowjob, unprotected vaginal penetration, slight degradation, slight praise, creampie, slight roughness, masturbation

the aroma of sweat, the feeling of flesh, and the overwhelming presence of the buzzing hormones in the room cloaked you like an cold blanket, leaving all your nerve endings standing on edge. fast and painful thrusts discoloured the soft flesh of your ass just a tinge, an equally fast thrusting causing your throat to bulge and throb. you gazed up at jj, your big and teary eyes begging for just a second of relief while secretly hoping he would never stop. he groaned deeply, his lip tightly tucked underneath his teeth as his aching balls slapped against your chin, leaving stray drops of spit and precum trailing down your neck.

the headboard of the bed thumped against the wall with each synchronized thrust.

 “c’mon man, she puffing up like a blowfish. you don’t wanna kill her, do you?” rafe taunted as his calloused thumb tortured your puffy clit. 

the irony of his statement laid in the fact that he was the one who was rearranging your guts, making sure your pussy would remember every vein, curve and crevice of his cock for days, even weeks to come. 

jj snickered in response, using a calloused thumb to stroke your flushed, tear-strained cheek.. “i’m not worried about her. our princess can take it…”

rafe’s grip on your ass only tightened more as he tossed his head back in ecstasy, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face as he buried himself inside of your uterus.

“...you pogues like it rough, huh, kid…?” he muttered between moans, not missing the glare jj swiftly shot him.

your muffled moans and stifled whimpers didn’t go unheard by the two blondes, only fueling their impure intentions further. 

rafe was a classy man, his ironed polo lying neatly on the floor with his jeans to his knees whilst he fucked you, with jj contrastingly stripped naked to the bone, save for the dangling lanyard that hung from his neck, his loaded cannon playing peek-a-boo with your esophagus and nearly meeting rafe’ cock on the other side. he had a fistful of your hair in his grip, watching thick bubbles of spit and precum cascade down your neck.

gasping for a breath of air, you pulled your swollen lips off of jj’s expanded length, lazily stroking the girth to make up for the absence of your mouth. you buried your face into the mattress, your brain going dumber by the second as rafe ruthlessly invaded your guts.

the juxtaposition present in the room was not lost on you, even more so as jj’s ring-adorned fingers gently wiped away your tears.

“...goddamn… atta girl. look at me for a sec, mama… wanna see that pretty face…” jj cooed as he ran a hand through his sandy, tousled hair, his other hand gently encouraging your face to angle upward.

rafe, his thrusts not having reduced in force in the slightest, leans forward and locks your neck between his forearm and bicep, his arm toned form years of violent tendencies.

“...y’heard what he said, bitch… fuckin’ look at him.” rafe’s low voice growled in your ear, his breath against your skin sending a shiver through all your nerve endings.

pushing you back down, rafe grabs yet another handful of your hair, forcing your gaze up to the man in front of you, who’d been sloppy getting himself off, watching the mess you’d become with infatuation.

he brought his cock back to your lips, tracing them with his tip and lubricating them with his salty seed before pushing in the girth once again, his hands gripping the sides of your face as his thrusts resumed.

your tight pussy clenched around rafe’s girth, pleading for him to keep his rabid pace. “you want this cock real bad, don't you?” he tossed his head back as your gummy walls swallowed him whole. “‘’ts all yours, baby… all fuckin’ yours.”

though jj wasn’t speaking much, his actions spoke louder than any word he could manage to utter. with every thrust, slap and push from him was followed by a gag, whimper or spit from you. his hips ground into your mouth as he brutally fucked your face, your throat bruising quickly from the friction but being soothed by the precum that lubricated his path.

“...s-shit. you’re somethin’ else, y’know that? …somethin’ real fuckin’ special…” he groaned lowly, the praises being laced with more fondness than he knew how to deal with.

rafe toyed with your pussy from behind, trailing his thumb up and down your wet slit as it swelled from overstimulation. your back arched as you pushed your hips into his, wanting to feel him in every part of you. 

the men groaned out slurred profanities in unison as your body contracted from the pleasure. you flicked your tongue along jj’s tip, your pussy pulsating around rafe. jj forced your jaw open a little more, wanting to make a lasting impact on his final blow.

rafe pushed your legs even further apart, cum spilling down the inside of your thighs as your limbs began to tremble. your eyes sealed shut, all your senses disabling as a discombobulating wave of pleasure and release hit you like a freight train. rafe’ nails dug into your flesh as he landed one last thrust, your hole swelling from being filled up like a sweet, creamy dessert.

as jj was about to reach his climax, he whipped his cock out of your mouth, shooting his strings onto your face and aiming specifically for your dangling tits. you collapsed onto the mattress, mind buzzing as you felt your insides pouring out of you.

the feeling was divine, so surreal that you found yourself wondering if the moment really happened. all the buzzing hormones, your pumping heartbeat, and swollen holes dripping as a result of synonymous could’ve all been nothing but a particularly ideal dream. but your doubts were dismissed as you felt one soft pair of lips graze your cheek softly, murmuring one last, soft praise, but receiving nothing from the other.

[merakiui]

[1] 𝔴𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔥.

yandere!twst x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, brief nsfw, non-con, restraints, mentions of murder and adultery, religious imagery, choking, violence masterlist // prologue // one (you are here) // two

You wake to fingers in your throat. Not on your throat, as one might assume in association with asphyxiation, but in your throat.

Fingers with pointed nails that burrow into your esophagus, scrabbling for a handhold as if whatever’s inside is trying to climb out through the only passage it knows.

It begins with a simmering itch, hardly noticeable, but then it’s insistently scratching, choking you from within. With a dying wheeze, you jerk up out of bed like a corpse reanimated. You can only claw desperately at your neck, helpless like a dove with clipped wings. Bent over the mattress and shuddering with every dry heave, you force your own fingers into your mouth in a futile attempt to pull whatever’s inside free from its fleshy confines.

In a shocking struggle, you manage to brush something coarse just before you remove your fingers, now slick with saliva. Much like the rain falling in a steady curtain outside the little window, the hellish sensations from within persist just as incessantly. You scrape at the back of your throat, your eyes wide with manic terror. Miraculously, you manage to grab hold of it—the wicked offender!

In one rough tug, the lodged object comes spilling out of your mouth in dark tendrils. It’s magical like a trick from a hat.

You pull lengths and lengths of soil-clumped human hair from your throat, choking all the while. It forms a sizable lump on the bed.

What is this madness? you think in a blind panic. Before you can even register the wetness on your cheeks, you’ve already coughed up enough hair to fashion into an elaborate coiffure.

And just when you think you might lose yourself in this never-ending torment, a brilliant flash illuminates the dark. Someone places a hand on your shoulder, and it ends all at once. The hair vanishes in a blink. With it, the creature attempting to crawl out of you is banished to a forgotten sliver of shadow. 

Hasty in your movements, you perform a perfunctory pat-down. Nothing is amiss. It’s as if the previous ephialtes and its accompanying fright never occurred.

Surely an omen birthed by foul temperaments, you reason, turning to face the person.

The person.

Reacting on instinct, you feel around for your dagger and, seizing it, drive it towards the trespasser. They catch your fist in both hands. Their palms are unnaturally soft.

“You need not be afraid.”

Now faced with their pure countenance, so full of white light, you discern traces of humanity in their figure. Four pairs of grey eyes blink back at you. The rest of their face is obscured in dazzling luminosity. Wings unfurl from behind, stretching wide enough to encapsulate you in a feathery embrace.

“Do my eyes deceive me? It cannot be, yet it is! Right before me—an angel!”

The divine being hums in acknowledgment. 

Overcome with a fierce shame, you lower your blade and scramble off of the bed to bow before them. “Forgive my barbarity, angel. I acted on an impulse driven by baseless fear. I implore clemency.”

“Lift your head so that I may look upon you and know of your honesty.”

You do as instructed. Your heart pounds ruthlessly inside your ribs, fueled with newfound anxiety. “I thought you to be an intruder,” you confess. “Of this I am earnest, but I shan’t resist should you seek to punish me.”

“My child, you are a lamb full of faults. Even so, you are deserving of forgiveness. That is why I have come.”

The angel lowers to sit on the edge of the straw mattress. They gesture to the space beside them.

“You’ve…come for me? Surely you jest. I have been condemned to isolation for a crime I am wrongly accused. I am an innocent prisoner, angel. You must know this.”

They extend a wing in sympathy. Soft feathers kiss your cheek, drying tears you hadn’t realized were there.

“Be at rest. You need not scramble.”

“Am I saved? Will you free me from these vile stone walls? Truly?”

Before you can beg for revenge against Father Flamme, you clamp your mouth shut and remind yourself to uphold a pious disposition. The angel’s wing shudders and withdraws to fold against their back. You watch a loose feather float to the floor. It’s rendered ash before it can come into contact with the grime.

“Indeed, child. Come.” They offer their hand next. “There’s no need to bow in reverence. I am aware of the veracity of your faith. Rather, I shall deliver a message on behalf of Him.”

“Him…” You flounder with wide eyes. “Oh! Oh, can it be true? Has He recognized my efforts? Have my prayers been answered? Am I saved—forgiven?”

The angel nods. You almost cry from the relief. All of your doubts… They are meaningless in the presence of God’s heavenly messengers.

“Take my hand, child, and I shall free you from that which entraps.”

Your hand twitches towards them, but then it halts.

Wordless, the angel gazes at you.

“Aah, so that is the net you intend to cast.”

You rise from your position on the floor and, slipping your rosary off, you drape it around the angel’s neck. Before they can question your behavior, you shove them onto the bed. They fall in a startled flurry of feathers. Guided by suspicion, you move to sit atop them. They lie flat on their back, watching you carefully. It’s in that single second that you see something new flash in those unassuming greys. Something malevolent. You grab hold of your dagger and yank at the rosary to bring them closer. The iron blade is poised at their chest.

It is a threat and a warning—a sincerity. You will not hesitate to spill unholy blood.

Such a shameless mask of blasphemy! 

“My child—”

Your knuckles ache from the tight enclosure your fist forms around the beaded chain. Again, you drag them towards you when they resist.

“You dress yourself in flesh and feather so that I may be blinded by purity, but beneath such flimsy pageantry is the odious effluvium of the Devil!”

“My dear child, I come peacefully.”

“How dissonant a nightingale sings when its mouth is filled with treacherous filth. Foul beast, your tripe is of no value to me.”

Their eyes darken, and suddenly they’re looking through you rather than at you. The dreamy lilt falls away, and with it comes a churlish snarl. 

“And what of you, Sister?”

“There is no angel in this world who would spare me a glance.” The tip of your dagger pokes through the faux angel’s robes, almost piercing silvery skin. “No angel, no matter how authentic, would dare embrace these sinful, blood-bespattered hands of mine.”

The creature remains silent, studying you with all four of its beady eyes.

“You cannot fool me, demon. Reveal yourself! I shall look upon your monstrous countenance when I drive this blade deep into your heart, and it will bring me impeccable satisfaction to have triumphed over your temptation!”

Gradually, the light dims enough so you may espy a mouth twitching into an impish grin. And then a cloud of thick smoke envelops you. It stinks of rot and death, of dank cellars, of mildew and monstrosity. You stumble away in an effort to escape its clutches, swatting through the haze before it can choke you with its filth.

In the midst of the shroud, a pair of pointed teeth wink back at you. Blood leaks into the creature’s irises, and every soft, saintly feature twists into something rough and hard. A sickly pallor spreads over his body, coated in sticky obsidian that drips like drool from a cursed mutt’s mouth. You squint through the fog, searching for the monster.

“So you’ve come to test my faith, have you?” you demand, clutching the handle of your dagger with unfaltering tenacity. “You’ll find your attempt is in vain, for I shall never accept anything from a demon!”

“Oh, I’ve come for more than that, Sister.”

Clawed hands part the smoke. It disperses in seconds, allowing you the opportunity to observe the fiend in his flesh. Twisted horns sprout from a head of crimson hair, curling into a crooked crown. A leathery, spade-tipped tail flicks to and fro. The creature’s clothes are queenly in design, albeit torn with time, stained black with execrable blot. A dark band encircles his throat, and when he tilts his head stringy tissue snaps in place to prevent his decapitated head from rolling.

You inhale sharply and catch a new scent on your nostrils. This devil, with his inky Medici collar, each pointed tip a dagger itself, smells distinctly of dead flowers.

Large, black wings shred through mottled skin, unfurling in a grand, demonic display. A mysterious liquid drips from the thorns lining his wings, landing in scalding plip-plops on the floor. He stands on blackened hooves, not nearly as tall and intimidating as you once imagined, but he’s still a grotesque effigy all the same. 

Gingerly, the demon plucks the rosary from his neck and casts it at your feet. Just before the wounds are healed, you make note that the holy object has left his skin singed.

“You intend to kill me?” he taunts, laughing. “With such a feeble blade? Hah! Why, that would hardly leave a blemish. Human tools are no match for me.”

Ink drools from the exquisite tattoo on his face, and he gathers some on his thumb to paint his lips in the ghastly smear. 

“I should expect nothing less from a wrathful Sister such as yourself. You’d sooner drive a blade through me than allow yourself to bask in the forgiveness of an angel, an imitation though it may be.”

To make such a brazen mockery of a divine being… Rotten devils do not possess a glimmer of shame!

“You talk freely, but your every promise has a heavy price. There is no forgiveness to be had from a foul creature like you.” You swipe your rosary from the floor and fasten it around your neck. “Begone, or I shall pray you away.”

“I should like to see that valiant effort. Alas, you’ll find it rather wasteful.” He strides your way, his hooves clicking an ominous rhythm against the stone. “I’ve come to collect you, my wrathful Sister. There is no negotiation to be had, nor a debate of what and who is right or wrong. This is a fate as final as death.”

“You talk of nothing but rubbish!” You stumble away, brandishing your blade with halfhearted courage. “You… You cannot take me.”

“And yet I already have,” he answers simply, smiling wickedly. His tail traces a path from your stomach to your breast, lingering just above your heart. “Did you not wonder who might dwell in your shadow? Who accompanied you in your madness at a time when you were most vindictive?”

Utter tripe! It cannot be true. He intends to lead me astray. 

He’s quick on his hooves, sidling up to you from behind. His hands settle upon your shoulders, inky claws drumming calm rhythms. “I’ve watched over you, Sister. Longer than you could ever suspect. I know of your transgressions—every incident of wrath, each inscribed in permanence on your very soul. Which, as you might already know, is quite the potent delicacy for those of the same station as myself. So while I may don angelic trickery, you play a deception that has since become wholly unsuitable for your oh-so-virtuous character.”

“I’ve no inkling what you’re referring to. Not the slightest inkling!” you protest, shaking yourself free of his grasp. 

He chuckles and steps forward. His tail brushes your jaw, leaving a slick trail of sludge in its wake. In a furious shiver, you scrub at it, but it sullies your hands.

“It was you! You’re the fiend who has cursed me so. That trick—the hair. Your malevolence knows no bounds.”

His eyes crinkle in amusement. “I am the very sin you deny. The very sin you run from even though you once embraced me so tenderly.”

“You’re wrong… You’re wrong! I would never lower myself to your devious standards.”

“But you have, and you continue to flee, seeking shelter under a roof that cannot provide the solace you’re after. Not anymore.” He indicates the room—your prison cell—with a sweep of his tail. Moonflowers and roses curl around the bed, blooming beneath silver light. You can’t estimate when they may have appeared, but just as the light falls upon the demon you know it must have been his doing. “The flock you have vested so much trust in have abandoned you, left you for dead at the edge of the pasture, and just beyond beautiful safety is a world of wolves waiting to feast.”

Peace, you remind yourself, steeling your frazzled nerves. He provokes me intentionally. A weak heart is susceptible to minacious influences. I mustn’t succumb.

“Father Flamme would never do such a thing. This is merely a test of my abilities as a lady of the church.”

Alas, those words do not sound right in your mouth because Father Flamme has done such a thing, even though you’d rather not confront his lustful betrayal. 

The demon’s nose twitches, and his red eyes shimmer with irritation. “You wear on my patience, Sister. Denial and delusion are shrouds befitting fools, and you are no fool.”

“You are aware I would never content myself with the likes of you. Rather, it is you who is the fool for assuming I would accept you so blindly. My faith is sturdy as stone. You will never sway me.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“It is a fact.”

“Sister, you should know your confidence is pitiful and misplaced.” The demon lowers to sit proudly at the edge of the bed. He folds one leg over the other, and you watch the drip-drop of ink slip from his hoof. It puddles on the floor, burning through the grass now sprouting up through stone. “If not myself, the truth of tragedy will reveal all.”

Rigidly on your guard, you frown. “And that might be?”

“There is a beautiful woman lying slain and scattered amongst the hogs. A brutality of which your village has seldom seen. Might you know something?”

You hold his fiery stare with an unshakable determination. “I do. Everyone adores her.”

“Not everyone,��� he corrects, his tail flicking from side to side, as if he’s entertained with this dissection of the obvious. “Not a certain Sister, perchance?”

“I’ve no association with her.”

“How skillfully you dance on the tip of a needle.”

“That is the truth. I’ve no association with a woman like her.”

“Not anymore, for she’s good and gone. The living can never visit the dead just as the dead can never return to the living.” The demon brings his fingertips together to illustrate his next point. “In the moments between life and death, those worlds nearly touch.”

“As they might on All Hallows’ Eve. An erroneous argument.”

“Ah, but this instance is far more tangible than that.” He waves his hand in the air and from nothing comes something—a fistful of darkened hair torn right from a scalp. He holds it up to the light and hums, turning it over just as slop drips from the clump. “Well, Sister, what say you?”

You click your tongue. “Surely you’ve plucked your humor right from the filthy recesses of the hog pen.”

“Then you must have been there before me, otherwise our penchant for such morbid mischief would not align so celestially.”

He tosses the dark cluster at your feet. You nudge it hesitantly, as if it may spring up at any moment. 

“What is it you want?”

His tail flicks in your direction.

“You cannot have me.”

“Your approval is not a requirement. If I must, I shall take you by force.”

“You are nothing but a foul, empty dream. Come morning, I will be rid of your presence.”

His clawed hands curl into tight fists, and he inhales a long breath. “But not my influence. Never my influence.”

With a swish of your habit skirt, you turn your back on him. “Your voice wears on my ears. Begone with you and take your tricks whence you came.”

“Deceitful Sister, you cannot rid yourself of me so easily.” A shadow slithers over to you. From the floor, he rises to meet you. “You’ve exhausted my patience, and thus I shall resolve to scrape the truth from the corners of your very heart!”

You jerk away from him, but a vine snaps forward to wrap around your ankle. You’re pulled onto the grassy stone floor by accompanying vines, each one lined with thorns. They pinch at your clothes, threatening to tear fine fabrics and render them rags. 

“Then I must say farewell to our cordial conversation now that you’ve shown your true colors, impatient devil.”

He smiles down at you, fanged teeth shimmering in the light, and his red eyes look small and beady like an insect’s. “I shall tear you apart just as you desire. Perhaps I should use your method if I wish for effective results? Then the hogs will know the taste of human twice more.”

You bark out a bitter laugh. Any attempt of struggle is met with resistance from the plants. They’re curled around you like botanical shackles, tightening their coils every time you squirm. A thorny rose rests upon your breast, beautiful beneath the moon and dangerous in the dark. You know better than to give in to its scarlet temptations.

“You want me to confess to my crime when it is quite clear it never could have escaped your omniscient eyes! If you’ve known all along, your plot has been ineffective from the start. So I’ll say it now and spare myself the vexation: I put that woman there—in a grave amongst the hogs—and I’d do it again should she somehow return for vengeance. I’d do it a hundred times over if I must! However much it will take to prune her blight from the flowers in my world!”

For a beat and then a few breaths, no words are exchanged. The both of you watch the other closely. You school your scowl into something serene and soften your once thunderous intonation.

“I am not afraid to admit my terrible transgression here. You should know I feel no such remorse for that wicked woman and her lies. That witch.”

The demon towers over you, a curious lilt to his stern voice. “Do you expect to remain free now that you’ve met me?”

“I can’t be certain of that, but I do know I will fight you until my last breath.”

“Ah, is that so?” His tail curls around the handle of the dagger and he dangles it above your face, just out of reach. You grit your teeth and struggle against the vines, but they hold firm in their entrapment of your limbs. “There’s still one detail you’ve forsaken. You’re not yet absolved of your rage. Rather, it’s still festering within your heart.”

“Open your mouth wider and perhaps I’ll be willing to hear your nonsense.”

The demon grits his teeth. “I’d rather not cast pearls at ungrateful swine.”

“How your warped perception honors me so!” You tilt your head in mockery. “If you must know, foul beast, the sins of a hollow-hearted husband are unforgivable. It is only because he is my father that he knows the blessing of another day. Know that I’d sooner cut him down with just the same amount of rage if these familial ties were not so entangling.”

The vine that had once snaked around your throat falls still, its pressure lessened only by way of the demon’s piqued curiosity.

“It burned a hole through me every waking moment I remained shackled to this forbidden truth. Is marriage not an oath—to be forever fond even in sickness? And yet he would rather leave my mother to rot in her chamber than keep to the promise seared onto his heart! So I thought there was no demise more fitting than the execution to which I condemned the witch he adored so ardently. My mother has always sought to provide for me. It is only fair that I return her goodwill and guard her heart when she is unable to.”

He looks at you differently now, as if learning this forbidden knowledge has somehow excited him. Perhaps, rather than that, it is the feeling of having been proven correct that incites a delicious thrill from deep within.

“It is as I assumed,” he says after a beat of silence. “Your loyalty is certainly meritorious. There is nothing sweeter than wrath-fueled obsession mired in the candied glaze of a woman’s choler.”

“I am guilty and irredeemable, but I am no fool. You tread lightly, demon. Is there something on my person that requires prudence, perchance?”

His lip curls in a soundless snarl. The vines slither away from the beaded chain wrapped around your neck. Bearing the Holy Cross, it’s been carved from the finest rosewood and blessed by Father Flamme himself. If there’s anything that can shield you from a devil’s sinful tyranny, it’s your rosary.

But then a thorn-studded vine reclaims possession of your neck, curling roughly in threat. You choke on your surprise.

How can it be?! Impossible!

Steadily, still minding the religious hindrance, his vines explore the clothed expanse of your restrained body. Your rosary has minimal effect. When he reaches to touch you, he pulls away with smoldering flesh. And then, turning to look you in the eyes, he laughs. It’s loud and victorious, shot through with a cold, crazed strain.

“I see!” he exclaims, lifting his hand to the moonlight to inspect the damage. The wound closes up slowly, skin stitching together with gooey strands of blot. You wrinkle your nose in disgust. “You’re not so invincible now. I may not be able to lay a finger on you myself, but my precious flora certainly can. Whether it withers, shrivels, or burns away, it matters not.”

You struggle around a retort. Peace. Be at peace. I mustn’t let my anger control my actions. If I’m unable to fight with my body, then I shall battle with verbosity.

“Oh, I imagine this is quite disheartening for you. To have placed so much faith in this pitiable pendant… There, there.” Petals brush your cheek in faux comfort, catching invisible tears.

The moonlight spills across his face and you see him for what he really is: a contemptible creature of impiety.

A shiver bolts up your spine. You are helpless beneath the beast, but you refuse to act so and give him the satisfaction.

“What do you aim to achieve with your trickery?” you ask, contorting your expression into a sneer. “My faith is much too sturdy to crumble at your influence.”

“Ah, but even the sturdiest of foundations can be eroded with time, Sister.”

“Then I suggest you return at a date in which such a feat is sensibly plausible.” Glaring up at him, mummified in thick vines, you add, “I’ll have long departed the earth by then, so perhaps you’ll find the answer to that assumption in the mouths of worms.”

“Enough!” he snaps, seething so much blot spews from fangs bared. “I’ll hear no more of your impertinence!”

Just then, the vine around your throat constricts. Thorns burrow into your flesh. A choking noise gurgles from the depths of your esophagus, and you thrash wildly on the floor, eyes bulging and mouth opening in a silent scream. The tendrils curled around your knees part them in impatience, and perhaps if he was of a pious temperament he might have fallen to his. More vines slide beneath your habit skirt, prodding relentlessly like weeds in a flowering garden.

Again, you find yourself questioning your god. If He is so benevolent—if He is meant to embrace, love, and protect all as they tell you in the church—why is it that you are prepped for slaughter, shut away in a slice of shadow where salvation can never hope to reach? 

Leering at you, the demon seems pleased with his gruesome handiwork. A demented smile sharpens on a countenance most cacodemonic. 

“How tranquil and still the world is when insolence and disobedience are extinguished. You cannot fight against me. Although it’s risible you think you can, foolish Sister.”

As if slicing through skin, the thorns tear at your pantalettes, inching dangerously close to a sacred space—a space you vowed to keep virginal with an oath of chastity. This gives way to a fresh form of terror—one that is reminiscent of lechery, wearing the face of Father Flamme.

The breath that would have stuck in your windpipe is snuffed by the demon’s thorny stems and vines, all stabbing at you and drawing blood. It stains porcelain moonflowers in cutthroat claret until they resemble the prettiest of roses.

“K-Kill me,” you cough out, “and then you—you shall—you’ll never—never—know an h-hour of serenity.”

“Oh, I shall do more than that.”

This, you know, is a promise that can only foretell the worst.

Death is fair in mortal acumen, but wrath is not. And the foulest sort of death is the kind that chews through you after you have been hollowed by hellish hands.

When there is nothing left for wrath to chew through, how can you expect to remain whole?

Bracing yourself, you recite prayer after prayer in your head. Your vision dims and with it comes the release of all manner of feelings: regrets and triumphs, moments of misfortune, the inconsolable, mulish notion of survival.

You meet the tyrant’s crimson stare and refuse to shed tears for him, readying yourself for defilement as one might a beheading. The act itself shall be swift and painful, but it’s the time in the aftermath that shall stretch onwards and leave you searching for safety in your own body. Perhaps it will take the arbitrary forever to find that peace.

There is a lapse in action that stuns parasitic invasion just before it can spread petals previously untouched.

From the very bottom of the tower, a faint shout resounds. Louder, then, as if echoing a certain authority. You strain to place a name to the familiar tone, but your heart recognizes it well enough. The demon ceases his assault at once, his pointed ears pricking as he listens. And then the vines slither away and he retreats into the shadows of a now-bare room, lit only by the rays of the rising sun. Air rushes into your lungs. You take in gulps of it, ever-grateful to have survived.

You lift yourself up from the frigid floor next. Your heart thumps in time with the distant toll of church bells. Shakily, you clutch your rosary and stagger towards the tiny window. As you watch the sun cut across the horizon, every stroke of light banishing last night’s evils, you wrap your arms around yourself and mumble your appreciation in relieved repetition.

All that is left of your encounter with the demon is your dagger stuck into a crack in the stone, its elongated shadow warped against the wall.

You point at nothing when you whirl to face your nonexistent foe.

“Begone with you, demon dross, and never return! Your perfidy is naught but worthless under the divine shadow of the Lord!”

It is Father Flamme you heard. Surely! Yet even as you await his appearance it becomes impossible to fathom. 

There are no visitations granted for a seven-day sentence.