#Sorry for this post but truly has made me so miserable | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

that-sarcastic-writer · 3 months ago

Text

A Ballad of Lost Souls

Eric Draven (2024) X f!reader

Summary: what happens when two lost souls find each other? Cling to each other? Love could be a very dangerous drug indeed. You and Eric meet during rehab.

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, p in v, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, brief handjob, hair pulling, choking, size difference, size kink if you squint, bit of inexperienced!reader, Eric is actually a sweetheart, unhealthy coping mechanisms, mentions of substance abuse, addiction, mentions of suicidal thoughts, this movie is dark what do you want me to say

Reader has tattoos, but has no further specifications, y’all get to be tattooed girlies today, you’re welcome

WC: 5.7K I’m sorry

Inspo creds @kingkat12, she also posted an Eric fic with the same concept and some of the elements of this story like some of the dialogue bits were inspired after reading hers. Please give her some love! She’s a great writer

A/N: NOBODY LOOK AT ME. idc, I love Eric okay, stfu. I just had to write him. He just needs love man. That’s all. I want to give him love. So here you go. I might make a part two if there’s enough interest. When I tell you the Eric fic supply is LOW, I’ve never seen one so LACKING. So I just had to yk? Enjoy and don’t cancel me alright.

You didn’t often dwell on the past. You had a live in the moment kind of mindset. You didn’t know where you’d be tomorrow so you made the best of the moment. But sometimes, you wondered just where your bad decisions were taking you. You didn’t mean to end up here, in this awful bubblegum pink sweater and sweatpants, surrounded by people who didn’t care why you were here, or if you got better or not. The disappointed words of your mother played in your head, and the angry words of your father hammered in the back of your head. You were a fucking disappointment, and that’s why you were here.

You thought about ending it. This mess your life had become. It wouldn’t be too hard to find a razor around here if you truly tried. Who would miss you anyway? What even was the point of it all? By day two you couldn’t take this shit anymore. And then you saw him in the yard. You were almost entranced by him. He was so tall, he towered over everyone he walked past, you couldn’t imagine how ridiculous you would look standing next to him. You could see his ink cover his hands and fingers, and you wondered just how far the ink traveled. You were intrigued by him, he was quiet, morbidly so, he didn’t say a word to anyone, no matter how much they pressed or tossed him around, he just stared. Whether it was the doctors, the counselors, the guards. He always chose silence. And he always had this look of defiance, of apathy, he took everything with a locked jaw and deadpan eyes. And that intrigued you.

Should you try to entertain anyone in this facility, let alone the loner covered in tattoos? No, absolutely not. But lord, something about him drew you in.

You caught glimpses of him for a few days, in the cafeteria when you walked past him to your table, maybe he thought you didn’t notice, but you caught him turning his head to watch you walk by. One time, your eyes met, they were a pretty shade of green. It was brief though, as soon as he realized you caught him, his eyes were in front of his plate, but not before you managed to flash him a tiny smile. Welcoming, playful.

Eric remembered that.

The next time you saw him was out in the yard. They encouraged exercise in this place, for some dumb reason. The most people did around here was stand in a corner, feeling completely miserable under the scorching sun. But much to your surprise, after some time walking around the yard you found Eric, lingering by the gym equipment. It wasn’t much, just a pull up bar and that was barely tall enough to accommodate him. No weights, of course, because someone could hurt themselves, or someone else with them. It wasn’t much, but you couldn’t help but watch as he pulled his sweatshirt over his head, revealing even more tattoos going up both of his arms. You stood in a corner like a fucking weirdo, watching as he did pull up’s, as best as he could having to bend his long legs to accommodate the short bar. Why were you just staring at this man you’ve never even spoken to? Of that you had no clue. But you couldn’t take your eyes away. He had his back to you, but even under the material of his white t-shirt you could see the muscles in his shoulders tense, his arms flexing with each pull. And you could only I magine the true sight of him. Sweat dripping down his forehead, lips pulled between his teeth as he did each pull. God, you felt like such a pervert. You shouldn’t be eye fucking him like this, but you couldn’t help it, something about him twisted the most secluded corners of your mind.

Ultimately your trance was cut short, since it didn’t take long for a group of guys to take interest in whatever Eric was doing and went straight to push him around some more. You frowned, almost upset by the sight of him getting tossed around and hazed like this. You couldn’t hear what was happening, but Eric had his head down, chest heavy as he clenched his fists at his sides, but he otherwise did nothing. You didn’t care, any fucks you still had to give were gone the moment your parents and your ex-boyfriend conspired to send you here. You were about to walk over there, not caring about what weird opposite sex rules this place had. But when you started walking, Eric did too, getting shoulder checked as he pushed his way past the group of guys. You felt awful, you wanted to say something to him, but you were frozen when he walked past you, his green eyes shooting a quick glance at you, a bit of curiosity laced in them. But you were more focused on how his shirt was clinging to his sweaty chest. And just like that he was gone.

The next time you saw him was during a group meeting that afternoon. You were almost disappointed at first when he didn’t show. You sulked into your seat for the first minute or two, upset you wouldn’t get to see him today again. And then you saw him. His expression as apathetic as ever, like he would rather get beat up than sit through this bullshit. His hair was soaking wet, small droplets of water still falling from the tips of his raven hair. Great, now the image of him in the shower was ingrained into your brain. As if you didn’t feel filthy enough.

You bit your lip softly, sitting up as he sat across from you, his expression blank with disinterest as his tattooed fingers played with the hem of his pink sweater. You weren’t paying attention either, you were more entertained by the way his long legs spread open as he slouched on his chair, taking as much space as possible. You thought about how nice it would be to sit on his lap. You glanced at his hands, they were huge. How easily he could grab a hold of your ass, or hold you still by your neck. How his long fingers would feel so deep inside you. You thought about how easily he was doing those pull ups, and you thought just how easily he could hold you down, throw you around to as he pleased with you. Truly, you would happily let him use you. You could feel heat rush to your face as you crossed your legs, trying your best to ignore the heat pooling between your legs. Why were you lusting so hard over him? You didn’t even know his name.

Almost as if he could hear your pounding heart, Eric looked up to find your eyes lingering on him, one leg crossed over the other tightly. He tilted his head with curiosity, and his fingers twitched around his sweatshirt as your eyes met. He didn’t feel like looking away this time. The longer his hooded eyes were on you, the more nervous you became. You could feel your breath hitch in your chest as his eyes burned you. You only looked away when the counselor said your name, followed by stares.

Shit, were you supposed to say something?

You opened your mouth, immediately closing it as you had nothing to say. You didn’t even hear the question. You pursed your lips and shook your head lightly. The counselor sighed softly and looked to the girl beside you instead. It was common for most people here to refrain from speaking so he didn’t think too much about it. But when your eyes found Eric again, there was a small hint of amusement in his eyes, a ghost of a grin tugging at his plush lips. For the first time since you’ve been here, you saw something other than disinterest on his face.

Perhaps he was just as drawn to you as you were to him.

~~~

You pulled your lips into a disappointed pout as you searched around the cafeteria for his black mullet, not being able to find him. And here you thought today would be the day you finally spoke to him. You were about to sit at the nearest empty table when you found him. Even sitting down he stood out. You smiled to yourself, your heart pounding in your chest with anticipation. You looked around for guards, none were paying particular attention to you so you did it.

He lifted his head slightly to glance at you, a quick second before his eyes were back on his plate. You saw the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. You smiled to yourself.

“I like your ink.” Were the first words out of your mouth. You said them in one breath, afraid he would get up and leave. His eyes lifted from his hands to meet yours, his eyes then fell to your own hands, one of them covered in distinct patterns and colors from your wrist up to your fingers. He wondered what else you were hiding under your sweater, like him.

“Hm.” He gave you a small nod, his plush lips pulled between his teeth in a way that had you clenching your thighs. “I like yours.”

You smiled, the first genuine one since you’ve gotten here.

“I have more.” You whispered, leaning close to him, like it was some secret only for his ears to hear. His eyes flickered with amusement and he gave you another hum, his eyes now looking everywhere they could in hope of finding said secrets.

“Me too.” His lips curved up the slightest bit as he lifted one of his sleeves up enough to reveal more tattoos going up his arm. Your eyes lit up as you excitedly leaned down closer with the excuse of getting a closer look. Your proximity was certainly way too close for this facility.

Leaning impossibly close to him without actually touching him, you looked up at him and with a playful smile you pulled down the collar of your sweatshirt to reveal more designs along your collarbone, the rest of the design hidden by your sweater as the colors continued down your shoulder.

“But don’t tell anyone.” You chewed on your bottom lip, trying to hide your smile. He gave you what sounded like a chuckle and he shrugged.

“Who would I tell?” Though his face remained expressionless, his eyes had a glint that mimicked your eagerness, he welcomed your proximity. “Here he comes.”

You were confused by his words and you opened your mouth to question him as he sat back, his head lifting in the direction behind your head.

“Males and females can’t sit together!” One of the guards, one you had noticed had a particular thing with Eric shouted, roughly grabbing the back of his chair to force him up on his feet.

“Huh? Wait, why are you taking him?” You talked back to the guard. “Hey, he didn’t do anything! I was the one that sat here. I—I’ll move. Don’t be such an asshole! Leave him alone!” You tried to help, even going as far as standing up but the guard was already taking the new owner of all of your attention away. Your heart sank as you watched the guard shout at him as he dragged him away.

He had managed to turn his head back for a second, and when your eyes met, he half smiled at you. He was almost proud of the fact that you tried to stand up for him. “I’m Eric!”

You smiled.

~~~~~~

“Found you.” You skipped into Eric’s room, finally seeing his door open.

You hadn’t seen him since you got him in trouble at their cafeteria the day before. You got in some trouble too. You had a one on one meeting with a counselor about your choice of words and your “temper” but it was nothing more than just a slap on the wrist. Truly, you felt worse about getting Eric in trouble more than anything. You didn’t mean to, you just wanted to talk to him. He must have gotten punished because you didn’t see him during gym hour. You leaned against the doorframe as he turned around to find you. Curiosity filled his otherwise empty eyes, and a glint of amusement replaced the usual apathy in his gaze.

“I never left.” He answered with a shrug as he shuffled through the mess that was made of his artwork. Sketch papers were scattered all over his room, torn off the walls. Perhaps after getting in trouble during lunch they used that as an excuse to go through his room.

“I’m sorry for getting you in trouble.” You expressed with genuine regret, shooting back a glance to the hallway before inviting yourself into his room. Much to the protest of the rational voice in your mind. You looked at the floor as you almost stepped on a piece of paper, you happily picked it up, admiring the black charcoal coating the page before you set it on his bed.

“Is that why you’re here? To apologize?” Eric asked almost cynically as he glanced over at you, not moving from where he stood.

“Well yeah. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.” You said sheepishly, a bit intimidated under his intense gaze. There was always a look of defiance in his green eyes, determination even. He gave you a sarcastic hum, which made you roll your eyes.

“Why did you yell at the guard? You got in trouble too, didn’t you?” He asked lowly, his head slightly tilted as he searched for that little thing you did around him, when you clenched your hands at your sides, or your thighs on your seat. His eyes irked with amusement when your fingers twitched at your sides and your lips parted open.

“‘Cause… You didn’t do anything wrong. You never do anything, or say anything. And everyone around here always pushes you around. It’s fucked up.” You answered quietly, daring to meet his eyes. He pulled his lips into a small pout and nodded slowly. His silence was always so nerve wracking to you.

“Yeah, so?”

You scrunched up your face, sighing heavily at his questioning. What did he what you to say? You didn’t know why you cared. You shrugged, picking up another piece of paper by your feet. You half glanced at it as you spoke.

“I dunno.. I just.. Oh my—” You cut yourself off as you gave the drawing in your hand a proper look. You narrowed your eyes, giving the drawing a closer look, and your jaw fell open. It looked like you, your hair falling over your face, dark scribbles covering your body symbolizing the unknown designs on your body, the only intelligible one being the patterns on your collarbone, the same one you had shown Eric. But what truly caught your eye was that you were in fact, completely nude. Truly, his imagination surprised you, he had imagined every curve of your body well, despite not having seen any part of it.

Based on your flustered expression, Eric could only assume which drawing you had picked up. He swallowed, his cheeks flushing pink being caught red handed. But he didn’t look apologetic, at all.

“This what you do in your spare time? Draw naked girls?” You asked with big eyes, the still working rational part of your mind screaming alarms, but a part of you also filled with excitement at his perverted mind. Almost as if you were on his mind as much as he was on yours.

He shook his head. “Just one.” He answered with a shrug, a challenging look in his eyes.

Either you walked out right then and there, and that would be that, or you would go all in. He was trying to figure out which one it would be.

“You are very talented, this is—” You dragged your tongue over your lip as you walked closer to him, catching glances at his other artwork. Your heart pounded in your chest as you approached him, his gaze making you shudder. He said nothing as you stooped in front of him, now having to tilt his head down to meet your gaze. God this man was so goddamn tall. “You could totally sell this for some money.”

“But,” you continued, swallowing hard as you looked up at him, and the way his green eyes looked at you made your mind all fuzzy. God, you haven't felt this euphoric since you got here. This rush of adrenaline made you dizzy, but you pushed through it. “I see one flaw in your creativity.”

“Oh?” He bit down on his plush lip, head tilted with curiosity. You hummed and nodded, daring to bring your fingers up his chest. His breath hitched in his chest, but he said nothing.

“I fear you don’t have the full picture. My tattoos are more than just a scribble of ink.” You stated matter of factly, making him breathe out a small laugh.

“Sorry. I work with what I have.” He shrugged his shoulders, trying to ignore the feeling of your hands itching up his chest.

“Maybe I should give you more to work with?” Your hands found the back of his neck and you instinctively stood on the ends of your toes, itching to get closer to him.

Eric glanced down at you, his eyes lingering on your own for a split second before glancing at your parted lips, soft breaths escaping you as you anxiously waited. He didn’t have to think about it, he didn’t want to. His mouth was on yours so hard you whined. His large hand found your hair, tilting your head back to meet your lips better.

You weren’t sure when you ended up against the nearest wall, your legs wrapped around Eric’s slim waist as he held you up. You were right, he could hold you up like you were nothing. Truly, the oversized clothes you were forced to wear didn’t do him any justice. You wondered what he was hiding under his sweatshirt.

His lips were messy on yours, his heavy breaths joining your soft whimpers. You were so caught up in the delicious feeling of his mouth claiming yours and his hands touching everywhere he could, you didn’t hear the loud voices of guards calling your name and patient number. Reality dawned on you when you heard shouting down the hall for everyone to get out of their rooms. You patted Eric’s shoulder, forcing your lips away from his.

“Eric—Eric.” You said his name with urgency, making him look at you, eyes filled with greed as he chased your lips. “I have to go. I don’t want to get you in trouble again.”

He nodded after a second, setting you down on your feet after pressing one last kiss to your lips. You had a stupid smile on your face as you successfully sneaked out his room, the guards being distracted as they probably ransacked some poor bastard's room like they had done Eric’s. You glanced behind you as you hurried down the hall, catching a glimpse of Eric peeking his head through his door. He smiled. And it made your heart race.

You could not wait to see him again.

~~~~~~

“Eric!—” You slapped your hand over your mouth, attempting to quiet the desperate sounds leaving your mouth. But the way his tongue lapped at your sensitive clit and his long fingers rubbed against that one spot within your walls that had you squirming.

You didn’t mean to end up in this position, ass naked on top of one of the washing machines in the laundry room, with Eric on his knees and his face between your thighs. Truly you didn’t, you knew you would be in a lot of fucking trouble if you got caught. But the way his lips claimed yours, his tongue lacing with yours, his large hands grabbing at every part of your body like he didn’t know which one he craved to touch more. He just wanted you so fucking bad, your kisses and little rubbing here and there for the past few days wasn’t enough for him, or for you.

“I wanted to taste you so fucking bad.” He muttered against your clit, a groan rumbling in his throat when you pulled at the hairs on the back of his head, inadvertently holding his face closer against you. Not that he minded, he would stay here, with his fingers scissoring you open until you dripped on the surface underneath you.

“Please—fuck. That feels so good.” You didn’t remember the last time someone made you feel this good. Not that you had much experience in this area, but this sure felt right.

Eric wrapped his free hand under your thigh, pulling you to the edge, closer to his mouth. He lapped at your pussy like he needed it, like it was the air in his lungs. The sounds leaving his mouth as your juices seeped around his fingers were almost as filthy as yours.

You felt like such a slut, chasing his mouth with your hips, heaving like a bitch in heat, and quietly begging him to grant you your release, as quiet as you could be with his fingers so deep and his tongue drawing delicious circles around your clit.

“Just like that baby… Just like that.” Eric mumbled, his fingers slipping and crooking against that perfect spot.

Your release was so sudden, and it hit you so hard you were shaking, sobbing violently into your hand. Your head was thrown back, eyes rolled into the back of your head. Eric dug his fingers into your thigh, his tongue slipping into your hole when his fingers left you.

“Shit—Eric—” You gasped, your thighs shaking as you weakly reached to grab his face.

With a grunt he peeled himself from the warmth of your thighs, he stood to his full height before leaning down to capture your lips. The taste of yourself lingering on his tongue made you moan. Disoriented, you reached down to rub where his cock was straining against his sweatpants. He groaned into your mouth, his large hand flew to catch your wrist.

“It’s okay.” He gave your lips a soft kiss as he pulled your hand away. You gave him an adorable frown, your mind still spinning from your orgasm.

“But you—” He pressed another kiss to your lips, shutting you up. He moved his lips to your neck, latching on to that one spot that had you whining. Neither of you cared if everyone saw the mark he left.

“We’ll have time for that.” He mumbled against your skin. The way he slurred the words made your breath hitch. “Right?”

He pulled back to meet your eyes, blinking slowly as he waited for your response. You licked your lips softly, breath soft as you thought, how could he still question it. You were past the lusting. This was something else. You needed more of him, and it wasn't just sex you were craving. You wanted every part of him, even the parts of himself he didn’t want.

“Of course.. This isn’t.. Can’t you tell? What you do to me. I’ve never..” You couldn’t even form the right words, your mind still fuzzy with all these feelings you had no name for. You didn’t need to explain. Whatever it was, Eric felt the same. And he smiled, he genuinely smiled. And what a pretty sight that was.

“We should go.” He pressed his lips to the side of your head, smoothing down your hair and fixing your sweater. “Can you stand?”

You half nodded, gasping when he set you down on your feet and you instantly leaned on him for support. The sly smile on his face made you want to slap him. But deep down, you wanted to smile too.

~~~~~

The next time you saw Eric, he was walking down the hallway, his tall frame towering over the majority of people he walked past. He wasn’t hard to find. You bit your lip, unable to contain your excitement as you hurried after him. Your fingers brushed his, and almost as if he knew your touch by heart, he wasn’t startled, he didn’t flinch either. When he turned his head, his eyes grew big at the sight of you, the corners of his lips curving into a tiny smile. You flashed him a whole smile, unapologetic about how happy it made you to see him. Your obsession with him over the past two weeks wasn’t something you could explain, you knew it probably wasn’t healthy. But when were you ever known for having healthy coping mechanisms? You found something that filled you and you clung to it.

“Where are you going?” You asked him quietly as you walked beside him. He walked slower, but didn’t look at you much, as not to bring unwanted attention to yourselves.

“Laundry room.” He said quietly, his eyes dropping to meet yours. And you shared that knowing and malicious look. You couldn’t hide the smile on your lips. This time of day usually meant you could sneak off for a little while since most patients were having their once a week visitor, or phone call, which meant less guards were in every corner.

“I’m supposed to be out in two weeks.” You told Eric in between kisses, his lips trailed your jaw as his hands grabbed at your ass.

“I’m out in four.” He answered as he pressed you against the nearest wall. He grabbed your face between his large hands, pulling you to meet his eager mouth. You whined, fists clenched around the front of his sweatshirt. You couldn’t go two weeks without seeing him, you would go fucking mad.

“I don’t want to wait a month to be with you.” You breathed out, your chest heavy as the words left your mouth. “I’m supposed to go back to my parents when I get out. They agreed to take me in to follow my treatment, but I don’t want to go. They’re the ones that put me here.”

“I don’t have anywhere to go.” You barely heard him as he spoke, almost as if the words pained him, broke something deep inside him. It broke something in you, too.

“You can come with me. I have a little place and some money saved. It’s not much but.. If you want.. We could.. We could try something for real?” You trailed off, afraid he would reject you. It was one thing to mess around in here, where neither of you had anything else, anyone else to cling to, but this being anything other than a desperate bond by two lost souls was a different story. Outside of these walls, he could find anyone else, he didn’t have to keep the broken girl he fingered in a shitty laundry room.

“I would like that. I would like something real, with you.” His words were soft, as were his hands holding your face as he pressed his forehead against yours. You breathed out a laugh of relief. “Fuck this place. We’ll do it tomorrow, during shift change. There’s a vent up here that leads to the yard.”

You pulled him down by his sweatshirt, your lips crashing against his. He laced his fingers in your hair as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. You welcomed it, lips parting as you locked your arms around his neck.

“Eric.” You said his name softly in a quiet plea. He opened his eyes to find your desperate gaze. He told himself he wanted to be better, he knew you deserved better, but when you said his name like that, when you looked at him like that. He was no better. “I don’t think I can wait anymore. Please, I… I need…”

“Need what?” His words were coated with arousal, he knew fucking well what you meant. But he wanted to hear you say it.

“Fuck—” You kissed his lips roughly, any sanity and restraint you might’ve once had, completely. You can’t trust an addict to have good self-control, now could you? “Take me. I’m yours, just take me.”

“Fuck.” Now it was his turn to lose his sanity. He gave your lips one last kiss as he squeezed your cheeks between his fingers, licking your lips before he spun you around to face the wall. “You’re a sweet girl, don’t forget that. I swear I will fuck you properly on a bed, with flowers and shit.”

His words were rough in your ear as he pressed his lips to your jaw, his hands making quick work of pulling down your sweatpants and panties. They pooled around your ankles as he kicked your legs open as far as they went.

“I like carnations.” You gasped as the cool air hit your exposed cunt. You heard him chuckle beside your ear.

“Those are pretty. They’re pretty like you.” He hummed as he brought two fingers up to your lips. You happily took them in your mouth. Eric almost moaned at the sight. One of these days he needed to have you sucking his cock. One of these days.

Eric pulled his fingers from your lips and with a kiss to the back of your head, he sunk his coated fingers into your hole. Your mouth fell open, your forehead falling against the wall. You were instantly chasing his fingers, soft whimpers leaving your lips as you happily rode them. You didn’t know how he did it, how he could have you dripping around his fingers in a matter of a minute or two. You were clawing at the wall, silent moans spilling from you when he pulled his fingers from you. He watched almost proudly as your slick coated your thighs.

“Can I take this off?” He asked quietly, tugging at the hem of your sweater. You made a humming sound, as best as you could. As if he needed to ask. Eric was happy to rid you of your sweater, more happy to find more hidden tattoos going all over both of your arms. He craved to find every single one of your tattoos, and kiss every one. But he knew it would be best to be quick.

His own sweatshirt met the same fate, and with a kiss to your cheek, he grabbed one of your hips as he pulled down his sweats enough to free his cock. A groan left his lips as he dragged his cock between your folds, coating himself in your slick. You gasped, not being able to see him, but already knowing he was big.

“Let me know if it hurts, hm? I’ll take it easy, I promise.” He pressed his lips to your jaw, inhaling your sweet scent as he slowly sank himself into you. Only his tip was in and you could already feel the sting of his cock stretching you wide open.

“Fuck. Fuck, oh my god—” You squeezed your eyes shut, fingers clenching around nothing as he slowly filled your further, inch by inch.

“It’s okay. You want me to stop?” He asked, shushing you softly as he sat still, allowing you to adjust to the burning feeling of his size. Fuck, you should have known someone as tall as him would be this big. Somehow, it didn’t occur to you.

“No. ‘m okay. Keep going.” You reached behind you to touch him, your fingers gracing over the side of his face. He nodded into your neck, one of his hands sneaking to the front of you to play with your clit to ease you as he sank into you until his hips rutted against your ass. He sat still, speaking filthy words into your ear until you were whimpering, needing to feel more. “Eric, please.”

You didn’t need to tell him twice. His pace was slow at first, slow strokes that allowed you to revel in the feeling of his cock in and out of your walls. But as you both began to grow desperate, pathetic sounds leaving your lips and groans of pleasure leaving him, his pace picked up. It was grueling, how he fucked you against that wall. You braced yourself with one hand, the other holding his face behind you as he leaned his head to capture your parted lips into a messy kiss. He swallowed your sweet sounds as the sting of his cock had you squeezing the life out of him.

“Fuck, I have been dreaming about this since I saw you. You always looked so pretty when you looked at me.” He whispered in your ear, his hand wrapping around your hair as he forced your head back, exposing your neck. You cried out, his roughness making you clench around him. He cursed, covering your mouth with his large hand. “I need you to keep it down for me, baby. You don’t want us to get caught, do you?”

You shook your head, doing your best to contain the sounds he was pulling from you. His hand slowly left your mouth, trusting you could keep your sounds to a minimum. You bit down on your lip, eyes squeezed shut as his cock split you open. You swore you had never been this utterly fucked out, so cock drunk before. You had never needed anyone so badly. You had never felt so strongly about anyone. You had always found something to cling to, pain, tattoos, in your more miserable and recent years—drugs, and now him. But him? This feeling he gave you, it was like nothing you had ever felt before. You wanted to hold on to him until your final breath of air left your lungs.

“I wanted this—you—so fucking bad. I needed to have you.” Eric grunted, lips latching on to that spot on your neck where the previous hickey he had left was starting to fade. “I’m so crazy about you, no amount of rehab could fix me.”

You moaned at his words, letting them sink in. He was down so bad for you, probably as much as you were. Two addicts, seeking refuge in each other, craving this adrenaline, it was a kick you had never felt before. It was a kick only lust and passion could bring. And he ignited that deep within your soul.

“Me too.” You panted, lips parting in ecstasy as one of his tattooed hands loosely wrapped around your throat. Fuck, the way his whole hand covered your entire neck made you gush all over his cock. “I’ve never wanted anyone this bad. You—ah!—I need you all the fucking time.”

“Then you can have me,” His fingers squeezed your throat tighter, his thick cock so deep you swore you could feel him in your fucking cervix. “All the fucking time. Forever.”

Tears filled your ears as you could feel your release near, your thighs shuddering as you felt your legs start to give out. Eric was quick to press you further against the wall, his back flush against your chest, sweaty forehead pressed against your cheek as his cock rutted against you, over and over, until you were chanting a string of uh-uh-uh’s, your mind too overcome with the pleasure he was giving you to even speak.

“I want you to come on my cock so fucking bad. I need it.” Groans fell freely from his chest as he once again slipped a hand to your swollen clit. The pressure of his rough fingers made you gasp, your throat closing under his grip. Your release hit you so hard you were sobbing, though mostly muffled by his tight grip. Tears fell down your cheek as your orgasm left you a shaking mess. You had never felt this way before—so overcome with pleasure you cried.

“Shh, it’s okay baby. Good girl.” The hand on your throat left to wipe at your tears, soothing you as you came crashing down.

Eric fucked you through your release, frantically chasing his own. His name left your lips with praise, sobs of your remnant pleasure as he pushed you to the point of overstimulation. But it wasn’t until he felt his own release near that he pulled out of you. Without saying a word, he grabbed one of your hands and wrapped it around his thick cock, his own hand guiding yours up and down his slick length, sweet praises leaving his lips until he was spilling himself.

Heavy breaths and pants of exhaustion filled the small laundry room, the air smelled like sex, and the remnants of your forbidden times were left as evidence. Eric eventually spun you around to face him, a soft smile on his lips. You had only ever seen it once, after he ate you out days ago. It was rare to see Eric smile, but you made it a vow to yourself that you would always make him smile like this.

“How fucked up are we? Finding comfort in each other like this. Did it ever cross your mind?” You said softly as Eric helped you dress. He was bending down to grab your sweater and he stood up to his full height, towering over you, and his eyes were laced with an indescribable feeling.

“When I first saw you, I didn’t know what it was, but I was so drawn to you, I looked for you everyday, and I thought I would go mad if I didn’t have you. And right now, I can tell you it’s not just lust. I’m entranced by you, I need you all the time. And if there’s one thing I learned from this fucking place is that you have to latch on to something, otherwise you’ll drown.”

You were speechless, nothing but your soft breaths could be heard. A smile fell on your lips and you leaned into his chest. Eric sighed softly, wrapping his arms around you, holding you close to his chest, he’d be damn if he ever let you go anywhere but here.

“Addicts will be addicts, no matter how much they try to fix us. But it’s not always to drugs we’re addicted to.” You sighed softly, closing your eyes as you sank into the feeling of his arms. “This feeling? I never want it to stop.”

“It doesn’t have to.” He mumbled into your hair, in his head reminding himself of your limited time, but he refused to let you go just yet. “Forever, right?”

“Yeah, forever.”

#eric draven x reader #eric draven smut #eric draven 2024 #Eric Draven #the crow 2024 #the crow

1K notes · View notes

peachsukii · 7 months ago

Text

stitched muses ꒰ tangled hearts series - kiribaku x fem!reader ꒱ ⇢ bakugo's stumped on inspiration for his upcoming fashion line, the deadline fast approaching as he's working day and night to meet it. he's frustrated at his lack of ideas, stuck in his home office while you and kirishima are enjoying your weekly movie night. he's pacing the house, putting too much pressure on himself to excel. little did you know you'd be the solution to his temporary dead-end creativity.

꒰ content ꒱ bakugo's a grumpy goose, fluffy domestic goodness, bakugo has that little "eureka!" moment, kirishima is cute & cuddly, mitsuki asks reader to lunch cross posted to ao3 // wc; ~1.4k ✿ tangled hearts masterlist ✿ ↶ | previous entry (sweet like honey) ↷ | next entry (one-way ticket)

The rain pattered against the Bakugo-Kirishima household, echoing as the droplets bounced of the roof in an off beat rhythm. Spring has truly sprung, the rainy season coming in full force over the course of the week.

“Goddammit!”

Bakugo’s frustration traveled from his office and through out the house, accompanied by the sound of his chair forcefully retreating from his desk. He despised the rain, the miserable storm only adding an unnecessary layer of irritation to his long work day. He trudged out of his office, shoulders slumped as he makes his way into the kitchen.

Kirishima and yourself are sitting on the living room couch, snuggled under a blanket and watching a romcom on tv for your weekly movie night. Bakugo was supposed to join you two, but he’s been shackled to his laptop all day long. He’d step away for a minute, thinking he could take a break, and then shuffle right back to his desk to pace like a caged animal.

“I’m gonna check on him,” you whisper to Kirishima, giving him a quick peck on the cheek as you peel the blanket from your lap.

Sauntering into the kitchen, you see Bakugo making himself tea, silently staring at the countertop and tapping his fingers against the laminate. His gaze shifts sluggishly from the tea kettle to you when you approach his side.

“Hey sweetheart,” he sighs, turning to pull you into his chest. “Sorry for workin’ late. I know you and Ei have been waitin’ for me.”

“It’s okay, Kats, we know you're working hard. Here,” You break away from his embrace and take his mug from the counter, using your hip to playfully bump him out of your way. “Let me finish this and make you something to eat.”

"S'fine, baby, I can—"

"Katsuki," you interrupt sternly, followed by a sweet smile to soften the bite in your tone. "I made dinner for all of us earlier, I'll get you a plate with your tea and bring it to you."

Bakugo grumbles under his breath, not having it in him to fight your stubbornness. He leans down and meets your lips for a brief kiss before moving to the living room, hovering behind the couch for a moment.

"Hey babe," Kirishima says, flashing his toothy grin backwards toward him. "Try and call it a night soon, yeah?"

Bakugo bends over the couch, cradling Kirishima’s jaw in his hands and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. “M’tryin’. This deadline is killing me.”

“Mom hounding ya again?”

Hearing Kirishima call Mitsuki “mom” made your heart flutter from the kitchen, such a simple sentiment making you melt. Watching your boyfriend’s love for one another naturally flow will never get old, even though they’ve been married for years, it still was new to you to witness casually.

Bakugo rolls his eyes. “She’s been bitchin’ at me all week.”

“She loves ya and knows she can push your buttons to get you to succeed,” Kirishima assures, kissing the tip of Bakugo’s nose. “Anythin’ we can do to help?”

He releases Kirishima’s face from his grasp and steps back from the couch, shaking his head with a frown on his face. “Unless you suddenly have a knack for fabric and textiles, don’t think so.”

You round the corner of the island in the kitchen, a plate in one hand and cup of hot tea in the other, making your way to Bakugo’s office. Kirishima sighs contently as he watches your silhouette disappear down the hallway.

“That woman is a damn goddess,” he swoons, deflating back into the couch cushions. “Go eat and wrap up. We can start another movie when you're done.”

Bakugo nods his head and turns to head back to the office. He peers in the doorway to find you mesmerized by the designs scattered across his desk - multiple sketches of clothes, scribbled notes about fabric choices and design suggestions on every page. You glance toward the door, catching him staring.

"These all look great, love. What's got you stumped?" you ponder aloud while organizing the papers back into their proper piles.

Bakugo crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe. "It's too bland, shit's been done a thousand times. Need somethin' that'll be versatile."

"Maybe you're thinking too much into it."

He blankly stares at you for a moment - you can see the wheels turning in his head while he processes your statement.

"...Do y'know who you're talking to?"

You can't help but laugh, walking around his desk and to the doorway. "I do, hotshot. You're an incredible designer, but not everything needs to be fashion week quality. Most people would just walk around in a t-shirt if they had the option."

Something in his mind clicks the moment you mention 't-shirt,' immediately sending him bolting upstairs and to the bedroom without another word. Bakugo comes barreling back down the stairs with a few t-shirts in hand moments later, tossing all but one onto the back of his office chair.

"Strip," he demands, hands on his hips impatiently.

You quirk your eyebrow at him, but discard your sleep shirt and sweatpants as ordered. Once you do, he shoves the shirt he grabbed over your head, threading your arms through the sleeves and taking a step back to analyze it in full.

"...this is one of your shirts? What does that—"

"Gimmie a sec to think."

The t-shirt is worn out, heavily loved over the years with a faded band logo over the chest and spotted with bleach stains. It was slightly too big for you, cascading over your figure and ending around your mid-thigh area.

Bakugo clicks his tongue while pushing up his glasses back into place. "Turn around."

You obey, turning your back to him. He cinches the back of the shirt with one hand and pulls at the hem by your thigh with the other, as if he's fitting you into his imaginary garment.

"Think ya just solved my problem, sweets," Bakugo says with excitement, letting the t-shirt fall back into its natural state before scooting past you and sliding into his office chair. He turns to the screen, opening a new e-mail and begins furiously typing, paragraphs flowing from his fingers in the matter of minutes.

"Don't forget your dinner and tea," you remind him, turning on your heel to head back to the living room. "I'll leave you be."

"Don't let Ei finish the popcorn without me."

Returning to the couch, you plop down next to Kirishima and fold your head into his lap. He looks at the shirt your wearing, noticing it's definitely not the one you were in 15 minutes ago. And that you're not wearing pants.

"Ah, so he needed that kinda motivation," he snickers, ruffling a hand through your hair.

You chuckle and wiggle in his lap. "No babe, not this time. He should be done soon."

Half an hour later, Bakugo comes into the living room, sighing dramatically as he falls onto the couch, head landing on Kirishima's thighs.

"Made it with three days to spare," he rasps, putting up a victory fist with exhaustion. "Ma approved it, too. S'goin' to be expedited to production tomorrow."

"Way to go, superstar!" You exclaim, bending down to kiss his forehead. "Knew you could do it."

"Good work, Kats! What did you end up going with?" Kirishima asks, a hand massaging Bakugo's shoulder to help him relax.

"She was right, I was thinkin' too hard about it. You'll see it when it's released next month."

"Aw, you're not even gonna tell us after all that?!"

Bakugo snickers, turning to face the TV. "Nah, you two can wait like everyone else. S'nothin' out of this world, but I'm proud of it."

───

Later that night, your phone pings a few times with multiple messages while you're getting ready for bed back in your apartment - they're from Mitsuki.

How did she even get your number?

"Hey sweetie, it's Mitsuki. Thanks for being patient with my brat. Even at 30 he's still a pain in the ass sometimes! He's lucky to have one, let alone two, people tolerate him long enough to stick around." "Are you free for lunch sometime? I'd love to get to know you better. Katsuki and Eijiro talk about you a lot."

Mitsuki wants to meet for lunch? You've met her a handful of times, but she doesn't...know about you guys yet.

Right?

You respond with a simple "Sure, I'd love to!" and leave it at that.

You're not sure why, but there's a bundle of nerves knotting in your stomach over the thought of having to impress Katsuki's mother.

No, it's not like that...yet.

mitsuki's always been perceptive...you think she knows about you and the boys? and what'll happen when you celebrate katsuki's new fashion line with friends in a few weeks and you tag along? 😉 ⇢ wildflowers; @maddietries @smolbeanzzz @camila2201 @lik0 @pixel4ffecti0n @moonlight-dreamer04 @lumi-cent @pastelbakugou @hannahk @camryn-ciel67 @c4prisuna @perfectsukii @screechingpeachdelusion @lightsgore @cuntpiercedprincess @aphrodite-xoxo

#kiribaku x reader #poly kiribaku #KiriBaku #bakushima #bakugo x kirishima #kiribaku x reader fluff #kiribaku x y/n #bakugo x reader #kirishima x reader #Eijiro Kirishima #Katsuki Bakugo #bakugo fluff #kirishima fluff #my hero academia #☆.rei writes #☆.tangledhearts

508 notes · View notes

celuere · 4 months ago

Text

(I‘m so sorry anon, I deleted the request because I accidentally posted the unfinished part two on here, luckily I made a screenshot beforehand😭🙏🏼) BUT I THOUGHT ABOUT SOMETHING SIMILAR! As for the happy ending- I can’t guarantee anything🔥

My Hearth

Pt. 2 of The Hearth is now extinguished.

pairing: Arlecchino x fem!reader

context: after Pierro announced to you Arlecchino‘s sudden departure to Fontaine, you were sent off on an mission yourself. Little did you know that your paths would soon cross once again.

content: mentions of blood, arle is desperate actually, angsty, French Arle has my heart you don’t understand, pathetic lesbians in love, sesbian lex at the end (reader receives oral)

word count: 4.3k

Tried my best to create a good plot, so sit back, enjoy, and let me know if you liked it! <333

MDNI!

The Fatui had many ways of earning their income. Ranging from regular Business Deals, weapon trades to offering services such as personal security and assassins.

So that’s what brought you to Port Ormos. One week after Pierro broke the news of Arlecchino’s transfer to Fontaine, you were sent off to Sumeru for a mission of your own. There has been multiple recordings of Fatui Members going either missing or being found dead with the trading goods nowhere to be found at several secret routes all around Port Ormos.

You liked the Sumeru, the people were always nice and welcoming, the food was amazing but if it weren’t for this awful weather… It has been scolding hot the past days only for the sky to let all hell break loose right on the day of a very important step in your investigation. It was pouring down with no end in sight, making it hard for you to actually make out the faces and the number of persons present that gathered at the Harbor underneath the bridge you‘ve been spying on at them for the past 30 minutes.

You knew for a fact that one of these persons had to be Phillipp, the salesman from Mondstadt that has been providing the Fatui with firearms for several years now. The organization never really had any problems with him up until a few weeks ago when one of his guys got found dead on his trade route. Now he was demanding more money as compensation and only delivers now every once in a while instead of twice every week.

It seems like they were discussing something, conversation getting more heated with every minutes that’s been passing. Are they perhaps waiting for someone…? In the distance you could make out one of Fontaine‘s boat settling in the harbor. Your wet clothes were already clinging to you like a second skin, having to wipe the water out of your face to keep at least a slight overview on the situation. You were pissed to put it mildly.

This sucked huge ass.

In miserable moments like these your mind went back to her. To the way she looked at you. The way she held you. The way her hands roamed over your body in the dead of the night after you sneaked into her home or vice versa. You missed looking into those beautiful crimson eyes. Missed the way your hands always were secretly intertwined at every meeting underneath the table. Missed how her eyes would always find yours in a crowded place first.

You tried protesting against Pierro‘s demands but of course to no avail. His decision was already set in stone so next thing you knew you were shipped off to Sumeru with all the necessary information you needed and a small suitcase.

That was now eight months ago. Eight months filled with endless intelligence gathering, writing reports to your father, shadowing suspects and so on. You hated it. It‘s not that it was hard for you, not at all. It was just so, so dreadful and annoying. The only truly valuable information you got out of your intelligence network was that only trading routes to Fontaine were affected and that Phillipp was about to end his cooperation with the Fatui if his delivery guys keep dying. You knew there was important key information missing but for hells sake you were strictly prohibited to talk to anyone else outside of your network or else someone might catch wind of the investigation.

You were snapped back out of your thoughts as you noticed another person joining in on the conversation. They probably just got off of the ship that halted at the Port a few minutes ago. Just as everyone else, you couldn’t make out a face or what they were wearing since they were holding up an umbrella. They exchanged handshakes and probably introduction before they headed towards Djafar Tavern.

That was probably the person they were waiting for…

Along with the arrival of the mysterious new person, you also took notice of how Port Ormos seemed now much more… livelier despite the harsh downpour. The streets alongside the river that leads into the heart of Sumeru was suddenly bustling with guards. Fatui Guards. Usually this wouldn’t be a problem. But if people found out that Pierro sent his daughter to investigate, shit would be going up in a bright bonfire, so who exactly is interfering with your investigations? You pulled the mask of your hood back over your nose, ignoring how the rain already drenched the fabric and made a move to follow the small group of businesspeople to the restaurant.

That’s where your Cryo Vision came quite in handy because freezing the flooded floor underneath your footsteps silenced almost completely any of your movements and allowed you in most cases to follow suspects without being noticed. Sliding down the wooden surface of the big trees that’s been growing right through you landed silently right behind the destination. You quickly looked around you, taking in and analyzing your surroundings, noticing the several guards talking at their boat and obviously not really caring much how vulnerable they are right now or whatever task was bestowed upon them.

Around the corner on your right was the entrance, a Quick look around you proofed your suspicions: The place is already heavily guarded. You cursed underneath your breath, for the first time in months you were onto something and now you had no chance of checking things out. But you weren’t stupid, nor were you someone who gave up easily. So through some eavesdropping on the guards nearby you found out that they were actually going to stay a while in Sumeru City, probably until they wrapped up whatever deal they were working on. You decided to wrap things up for today and head back to your place before anyone might catch wind of your presence.

But still… on your way back home you couldn’t shake off the strange gut feeling that you already got noticed by a certain someone.

After taking a much needed bath you sat down at your desk and dipped your father into the ink. Much to your dislike, your father wanted you to write at least two reports to him, each week. For the entirety of your stay. You groaned as you massaged the bridge of your nose, this whole thing was ridiculous. For months you‘ve made absolutely zero progressions and all you‘ve been writing about lately is the weather, the food, when you woke up, went to bed and most importantly how many of your efforts went right down the drain. At least you could tell him about the arrival of a mysterious Fatui Official now. You had to make progressions soon or this whole situation will soon start making much more problems than just a few missing weapon and dead people.

When you finished you letter and reading through it one more time you realized how messy your handwriting has gotten over the last few months… You stood up from your desk either way and took the carrier pigeon out of its cage, attaching the Papier to its chest and securing it before opening your window sending it off. It would to be too risky right sent the letter off by post when it‘s addressed to the Jester himself.

Resting your arms on the windowsill with your head on top, you looked over Sumeru‘s beautiful green scenery. The rain just stopped a few minutes ago, leaving huge puddles and the wonderful fresh scent of moist earth and grass in the air. That’s when she started tormenting your thoughts again for the now millionth time in the last eight months. Celestia, you missed her. You missed her so much it actually sent a sharp pain through your heart anytime you thought back to her. You stopped wearing the color red ever since that day. It hurt too much. It reminded you of her too much. Everything was just too much at that moment.

The clouds above Sumeru City broke loose once again as the sheer reminder of her absence ripped through your heart like a bolt of lightning.

She was just about to head straight to bed as it knocked on the window of the secret Fatui HQ in Sumeru City. Arlecchino glanced over only to to see her pitch-black carrier pigeon waiting for her to open it up, a bloody harness along with a rolled up sheet of paper secured to it between its beak. She didn’t actually expect the bird to be of use tonight but it’s always better to be save than sorry so she let the small animal in, allowing it to rest on her arm as she loosened the dry sheet of paper from the harness and unrolled it.

Her eyes narrowed as she saw who the letter was addressed to. Wrinkles further forming on her forehead as she read through its contents. Arlecchino realized two things.

One: The stranger the she noticed spying on her and Phillipp earlier this evening was a spy of the Fatui themselves.

Second: She had to take care of this individual. As soon as possible.

The reason Arlecchino arranged a meeting with the fellow Mondstadter was because the House of the Hearth has been greatly affected by whoever is terrorizing the trade routes connecting the Court of Fontaine and Port Ormos. As Father it was her and only her responsibility to look after the children under her care and that they’re cared for, feed with a roof above their head. But that turned out to be rather difficult if someone decides to kill the damned delivery guys with the audacity to steal her goods. It was one thing to disrespect the Knave like that. It was a whole another topic if it came at the cost of her children’s health. So that’s why she ordered Philipp to meet her at Port Ormos and to be completely honest: That man didn’t have one clue what he was talking about when he tried to justify why exactly he is accusing the Fatui of tempering with the routes, just spouting tons of nonsense. He wasn’t playing stupid. Nobody in their right mind would play stupid in front of Arlecchino herself. So it left only one option on the table:

A third party being involved. She noticed one of the other businessmen, Rainer, at the table acting suspiciously quiet, only speaking up when spoken to but never actively providing useful information. But once Arlecchino mentioned the involvement of an outsider, Rainer almost immediately excused himself and left the Tavern altogether, earning himself a spot at the top of her list as Nr. 1 suspect.

But who exactly was that person she spotted on top of the bridge? Reading through the letter, she was 90% sure that it‘s the same person who wrote it but last time she checked there weren’t any high ranking Officials stationed in Sumeru lately.

So it‘s most likely a secret investigation.

This was starting to get on her nerves more than she‘d like. As if the whole trading route drama wasn’t enough already, she now had to deal with a secret investigator too and since she was already spotted, playing nice wasn’t an option anymore because according to Pierro’s demands, she‘s supposed to be in Fontaine. That’s why she didn’t ask for permission nor did she take any of the kids with her, leaving Lyney in charge for the time being.

Arlecchino set the pigeon free again. Contemplating her next steps as she gazed up into the dark-orange night sky. The sheer beauty reminded of something or rather someone. She‘d be a fool to admit it openly but ever since Pierro forbade her to ever do as much as look into the direction of you and promptly discharged her to the Nation of Justice, she felt hollow. As if something was missing. Probably the way she always held you close to her chest at night, fingers combing through your soft hair as she felt her mind settling down. Nights with you were always… peaceful. Not nearly as cruel and gruesome as usually and now that she is forced to stay away from you for a certain timeframe… it was a miracle for her to get more than two hours of sleep per day. She yearned for you. Yearned so much it was getting unbearable at times. But never in her right mind would she stay willingly away from you. Once she earned the Hydro Gnosis, she‘d make her next move. You.

And nobody will manage to stop her. Not even the Jester.

This was terrible idea. And a suicidal one at that. You knew better than to follow a strange woman into unknown territory, unarmed, the only thing at your disposal being your Cryo Vision.

It has been now raining non-stop for the past days ever since your observation in Port Ormos. And you‘re following someone. In the dead of the night. In your Pyjamas. How did you end up this situation? You overheard Philipp and one of his assistants outside of the window of your residence how they wanted to meet up with „her“.

So not wasting any time you slipped on your shoes and sneaked out of your window before following them silently outside of the city until you had to hide behind a rather large tree as they came to a stop, likely because they reached their meeting point. The only thing you could make out from this rather large distance where some hushed whispers and cursing before they retreated back into the City. And this was your chance to finally find out who this mysterious woman might be.

So daring a look behind behind the tree, the only think you could make out was a cloaked figure slendering the muddy path down. Did she want to maybe clear her head? Nonetheless you got your ass moving after her. And goodness you were freezing to death, you were throwing every possible insult at your own head for the amount of stupidity.

She knew someone was following her. Someone who was about to take their last breaths as she wandered down into the nearby forest. The rain was making it difficult for her to see much but that wasn’t any of her concerns. The main problem was the leaves of the various trees preventing any moon light from illuminating her surroundings. She could barely make out the direction of the path she was walking on. But Arlecchino decided that they were now far enough away from any possible witnesses so raising her fingers, a snap echoed through the woods.

Quiet. Everything was quiet. Not the bustling of leaves in the wind was to be heard, nor the downpour from above the trees. Not s single thing. The only sound you could make out was a snap. And now steps. From behind, in front, left or right you couldn’t determine until you felt a strong hand covering your mouth and a sharp object pressing against your throat. You winced against the strangers skin and felt a shiver so cold running through your body, you could feel aftermath still lingering in your bones as you felt a breath against the shell of your ear. You were careless. And you knew you had the to pay the price for it.

„Title. Occupation. Superior.“, a low, dangerous voice in your ear. An all too familiar one you almost fainted as you recognized it with ease.

Arlecchino. It all clicked. The sudden Fatui operatives scattered around Port Ormos. The boat from Fontaine. It wasn’t just any Fatui Officer. It was her. It took every fiber in your body to not make any sudden movements of start crying.

As she slowly lowered her hand from your mouth to let you answer, your voice was shaking with anticipation, „Is that really how you greet your girlfriend in a dark forest, in the middle of the night…?“, and just as fast as those nails were pressing against your throat, they were gonna in an instant as you were whipped around to face her, a small fire hovering now next to your face as you looked into those deep-red x‘s.

It was rare of the fourth Fatui Harbinger to be surprised for once. Even shocked. But out of all things she didn’t expect to hear your voice. To look into those beautiful eyes when she turned you around by your shoulders. To see the tears slowly starting to form the longer she looked at your face. No words had to be spoken as she pulled you into a tight hug. So loving and warm, you couldn’t help but start crying into her neck, fingers digging into the fabric of her cloak.

„It was you… It was you all along, my sweet…“, she pressed a kiss to your ear, hand desperate gripping onto your waist as if she was afraid you‘d slip out of her hands if she held onto your cold figure too loose.

„My goodness, you are freezing, Cherie…“, she broke up the hug before taking off her cloak and wrapping it around your shaking body. Now cupping your face in her hands she took a closer look at you. And her breath halted. Even when your wet hair was clinging to your skin with those tears tainting your face, you were simply breathtaking, it was actually taking all of the Diplomats self control to not kiss you stupid until your lips were all swollen and hurting.

„Shhhhh… stop crying now… you know I don’t like tears… especially on your beautiful face, mon amour…“, gently wiping the tears away with her thumb, Arlecchino pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

„What are you doing here…?“, you managed to blabber out between sobs and sniffs. It was like waking up from a fever dream. Feeling her touch against your skin after so many months felt like a missing puzzle piece being finally found. You couldn’t help but cry even more at the sensation of her lips pressing a kiss to your wet forehead.

„Not here, my little dove, not here… you‘re going to catch a cold if we keep on standing here out in the wild…“, another kisses being pressed to your wet skin, you could tell by the grip on your face that Arlecchino was trying her best to not devour you here in the middle of the night against a wet tree trunk like a starved animal. She scooped you up into her suspiciously warm arms and carried you all the way back to Sumeru City until you reached your residence.

„How come you live right across from me but I never once saw you…?“, since you left your keys inside she had to pick the lock with her nails. As Arlecchino was concentrated you couldn’t help but still notice her middle- and ringfinger on her right hand still being neatly filed down.

Goodness.

„I… have no idea… I mostly left the house late in the evening or afternoon…“, a soft click in your door and she was pushing it open and gently dragging you inside with her. „But what are you doing here, I thought my father stationed you in Fon-”, she silenced you with a press of her finger against your lips.

„Not now, love… let’s discuss these matters tomorrow… Let‘s get you dry first.“, you sighed but gave in and navigated her through the small house you’ve been renting for the past months, quickly grabbing a towel from the bathroom before proceeding to your bedroom where you quickly closed the still opened window.

„Let me do that for you…“, Arle carefully tucked the fabric out of your hands and set it down on your bed, „I‘m going to need you to take off…”, but you were already pulling your soaked shirt over your head and slipped your pants down your legs. The only noticeable reaction from her was a deep inhale.

„There… All done…“, you gave her a soft smile before she put the towel around your body, gently rubbing you dry as if you’re made out of the finest and most expensive porcelain. She stopped at your chest, taking you in as you saw her wet her lips.

„Something the matter…?“, you gulped down whatever nervousness was bubbling up inside of you. The woman you’ve been aching for the past months was standing in front of you. That realization just seemed to hit you now. Slowly raising her eyes from your exposed chest to meet yours in an intense stare, a stare so full with love and affection it knocked the air out of your lungs.

„Tu es aussi belle que le jour où je t'ai perdue...“.

You‘re as beautiful as the day I lost you…

Your heart set out a good beat or two. Or three. Maybe even four. You parted your lips, wanting to say something but quickly closed them again. Your mind was blank. There was just… her… just Arlecchino standing in front of you. Seeing her throat move as she gulped you looked back up to her in pure awe.

Was she nervous?

A clear of her throat as she decided to break the silence between the two of you. „My… apologies… let me finish you drying…“, she wanted to set the towel back down on your bed but your hands were faster as you grabbed her face and pulled her down into your first kiss of the evening.

And heaven itself seemed to open up for Peruere as her lips finally made contact with yours.

Blackened hands pushing you down onto the mattress of your bed, grabbing onto every possible curve she could get ahold of as if she might actually die if she takes them off for longer than a nanosecond.

„Magnifique... vous êtes tellement belle...“, she couldn’t help herself but take your right nipple into her mouth, pulling a sweet moan out of your lips which sent a wave of unbearable heat right into her core. She needed you. In every possible way it was driving her at the brink of insanity.

Beautiful… you are so utterly beautiful…

Your mind was too clouded by her touches and whispered words, you physically couldn’t bring out even the few simplest words as you arched into her touch, seemingly not getting enough of her. Your heart was pumping so loud behind your ribcage, you were surprised she didn’t hear it already. You let out another soft moan as the Harbingers lips let go of your now stiff nipple with a „plop“ before moving over to gift your other nipple with the same mind-clouding treatment. At the same time her finger ghosted over your already sensitive clit before moving down to your drenched entrance and something akin to hunger stirred inside of her.

You merely blinked and suddenly found her kneeling down in front of your bed right with her face between your legs.

„Arle, what are you…-”

„Shhhh…“, spreading your folds with her two filed down fingers, she blowed some air against your sensitiveness, „just let me have this…“, she didn’t give you any time to respond, that’s how fast she buried her tongue inside of your pussy.

Arlecchino didn’t believe in heaven. But this. This might very well be her own personal haven. Her hands moved your thighs over onto her shoulders as she greedily swallowed your juices. And she dared look up at your facial expression as you gripped a handful of her hair, pressing her further into your wetness. The pleasured look on your face would’ve been enough to force her down onto your knees if she weren’t already kneeling before you like you‘re the highest form of power in all of Teyvat.

„missedyourtongues‘much…“, already blabbering mess for her, weren’t you? But it‘s not like you could give a fuck when the love of your life was literally devouring you like she‘s been starving for the past centuries, nails digging into the soft flesh of your thighs to keep you put.

You didn’t think about tomorrow. Or that you weren’t even supposed to breathe the same air as the woman feasting on you like you were a five-course meal. You didn’t think about how your father would react nor about your investigation. You didn’t care. Not a single bit. For now it was just you and her. How her nose pressed into your clit, how her tongue thrusted in and out of you.

For now you could allow yourself to melt in her arms. To let her devour you whole and let go of the struggles you’ve been facing without her- because of her- for the last few months.

And for the first time you felt whole again.

—————————

TADAAAAAAAAAA anon let me know if you want me to write a third (and last) part, but I thought this would be an amazing ending to this chapter but I‘ve had SO much fun writing this!

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino x reader #genshin arlecchino #peruere x reader #peruere #fatui x reader #fatui harbingers #arleccino genshin #arlecchino #genshin smut

281 notes · View notes

farfromstrange · 2 months ago

Text

Do No Harm

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Broken Heart Syndrome

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: After Matt stood you up at dinner, you are tossed down a rabbit hole of agonizing thoughts. As so often, you turn to the bottle to take the edge off, though this time, you make the decision to confront at least one of the objects of your anger. To your drunken mind, at least, even the worst decisions make sense.

Warnings for this chapter: ANGST, Heavy on the angst (18+), graphic descriptions of domestic violence (involving a belt, too), allusions to sexual assault, mentions of homicidal ideations, self-hatred, alcohol abuse (and everything that comes with it), argument between friends, Reader says some mean things, suicidal ideations/depression

Word Count: 4.9k

A/n: I'm sorry you had to wait so long for another chapter, but it took me a very long time to finish editing. There are parts in this chapter that hit very close to home, and I can't just post it without saying a thing or two. If you or anyone you know struggles with domestic violence, there are organizations that can help (check domesticshelters.org, for example). The same goes for mental illnesses; don't be afraid to seek out help if you start noticing symptoms. Check with your doctor or healthcare provider. There is absolutely no shame in asking for help. You've made it this far, and I am so incredibly proud of you. It was important to me to share that with you. Read at your own risk, please!

Read Chapter 14: Broken Heart Syndrome here on AO3!

In medical school, they teach you that a broken heart can quite literally kill you. Acute emotional distress can overstimulate the heart, causing the left ventricle to collapse. Takotsubo cardiomyopathy looks like Japanese takotsubo, an octopus trap. Still, those without medical expertise know it as Broken Heart Syndrome—because three words are all you need to understand what emotional hurt can do to the body.

A lot of the time though, the human psyche compels a person to find other ways to deal with the pain that eats away at them. Bad coping mechanisms can be just as deadly as a physical disorder. Self-harm doesn’t fix the actual problem, it only distracts your mind momentarily from what is truly hurting you.

Like with any other disease, a broken heart will get worse if it’s not treated. Either, the organ literally stops pumping blood as it should, or it drives you to a point that would easily get you a free 72-hour stay in the psych ward. Emotions are unpredictable like that.

As a doctor, you know everything in the human body is connected. If the body is sick, it will affect the mind; if the mind is sick, the body will suffer, too. Mental illness can be just as deadly as any terminal condition. If pain and trauma are not properly dealt with, chances are high that ignoring it won’t make you any better. And alcohol or drugs are never the solution to a problem, they only cause one problem to branch into a million more—and then you’re fucked.

You are aware that self-harm is the first thing a desperate person with a history of trauma will turn to, but it’s so much easier. In practice, life is fucking vile; it’s a miserable existence that is slowly killing all of us, and you would much rather burn the skin off your bones while you’re still alive than face the very demons you’re trying so hard to run from. You know that’s a sick mindset to have, and if it were anyone else confiding these thoughts in you, you would refer them to the Department of Psychiatry to get the help they need. But you… you cannot be helped. Not anymore. Because you don’t want to be helped. It’s all useless anyway.

The door to your apartment slams shut with a deafening crack of the hinges. As soon as the world is locked behind a deadbolt, and the city has disappeared, your back hits the wall.

A minute ago, he texted you. You prayed for an explanation to a God you don’t even believe in. You prayed that it would all make sense and your brain is spinning in nauseating circles for no reason. You just have to sober up and everything will be okay, you thought. But then you unlocked your phone with shaky and stupidly needy fingers, relying on a hope that stemmed from this childish need to be loved after the one parent you’d had left failed so miserably, and his words drilled into your brain like a sharp knife.

“You deserve better,” he texted. “I’m sorry.”

What a weak excuse. It’s supposed to be your choice, deciding what or what not you deserve. With one text, he took that from you.

It was stupid, you think, to get your hopes up. You were just starting to believe that you could finally move on. The weight on your chest felt less heavy with him there. Matt was never supposed to appear in your life, but then he did, and for the first time in a very long time, you felt like your life mattered again. He put a smile on your face. You don’t remember what it is like to be happy because you never really felt happy before. Since you can remember, you have been running for the sake of survival. Anything you have done up until now was a mere act of self-perseverance.

With Matt, it felt different. He understood you because he, too, seemed to be only existing, trapped in a cage of his trauma’s making.

You were dating again, albeit reluctantly and fighting back like a cat on steroids—but you were dating again. If you wanted your effort to mean something, you had to get over what happened. It’s not that easy, of course, but you believed her when she talked you down from the ledge.

You should have listened to your gut. Everyone in your life will eventually end up leaving or hurting you, or both. You’ve been rotting away for so long, there is nothing left of you to give. He touched your heart once, and now you’re falling apart.

Because there’s not enough of you there to love.

Because no one wants you.

You slide down the wood of your door. If only the floor could open up and swallow you, the pain that traps the oxygen just before your lungs could end. And if you could only cut out your amygdala or sever the connections in your prefrontal cortex to stop being this miserable about a man you barely knew, you would.

The tears running down your cheeks are silent. Dry. They taste like poison on your tongue, but your skin feels almost numb to the burn. You can’t scream or sob because there is no air for you to breathe. You’re drowning on dry land, and the rapid drumming of your heart echoing in your ears is the only sound that exists. It isn’t steady like a clock; it is a ticking time bomb in your chest threatening to explode—threatening to turn into an octopus trap and kill you.

There was never anything left to endure for. You have been torturing yourself every passing day like a fucking masochist, watching yourself on the big screen like a puppet without the intention to stop.

Icarus flew too close to the sun, but boy, you flew right into it. You would have made Matt the sun if he had stayed around for long enough, made yourself dependent on him all over again, and you would have drowned regardless. Maybe it was all for a reason; maybe Claire was right, after all, to push you to see the truth for yourself—how foolish you’d been—but why does that reason hurt so damn much? You barely knew him enough to care, and yet you did. It makes no sense.

You deserve better. If he truly believed that, he would have said it to your face.

The phone slips from your stiff hand before you can reply. Every muscle in your body strains, stretching over bone and lighting every cell and every nerve on fire. You can’t move. You’re sure you are going to die like this, a mess on your living room floor.

He broke your heart; Matt Murdock took it right out of your chest and smashed it up because you dared to want more. He wrapped his hands around your neck and suffocated you. He gave you hope, and then he took it away, and that is something you’re sure you will never be able to forgive. What kind of man doesn’t have the decency to tell the truth before it’s too late?

You tear at your dress, hoping to inflate your lungs somehow. The walls around you threaten to cave in. Everything seems larger than life, suddenly. Even with your hands stretched out before you, you can’t stop the avalanche.

This isn’t about Matt. It has never been about him. Cracks in the broken foundation of an already shattered heart don’t hurt as much as the first crash, they only add to the agony. How messed up do you have to be, you think, for your brain to not even notice the difference between getting stood up and having the ground ripped out from under your feet? You were never good at math, but perhaps you are the sum of your actions, after all.

A car honks outside. The bright headlights flash through the gaps in the blinds on the windows. You remember how they hit him one night, reflecting off the pure white of his dress shirt. His chest was heaving then.

“What the fuck were you thinking, huh?” he had bellowed, drowning out your repeated sorry’s like a tsunami wave. “You embarrassed me in front of… of everyone. My boss, the whole hospital—and you think ‘sorry’ is going to fix it?”

You can’t quite recall whether the lights were white that night, or if they were red and blue, and the only thing louder than his screams were the sirens of cop cars rushing by.

“You’re never gonna learn,” he’d said, crouching down before you, and he looked like what you would imagine the devil to look like if he were human. “You’re always going to screw up because you, my love, are absolutely and utterly fucking incompetent.”

On second thought, maybe there were sirens outside. They sounded different from your quiet sobs. He forced you to keep your eyes open, to watch as he undid his belt, and against every bone in your body, instead of running, you stayed rooted in place. You stayed there until he grabbed you and threw you into the coffee table.

The vase stayed intact, thankfully, as it tumbled and fell, but you could see your reflection clearly in the porcelain. You watched him come up behind you, and all you remember is how hollow you were; you were so fucking hollow your heart could have screamed and it only would have echoed before it would have died. You were bound—bound to him.

“Get up.”

You could have grabbed the vase and smashed him over the head with it.

“I said,” he repeated, “Get up.”

Your hand slipped from the porcelain, and you got up. It was like he knew you wouldn’t have the guts to kill him. Lord knows you wanted to; some days, you were so close to stealing a knife from the kitchen and slashing his throat while he was asleep. You’d watch him choke on his blood with a smile on your face, you thought, but as soon as the handle was in your hand, you realized that you couldn’t. Not even when you thought about the belt, the feeling of him on top of you as he took whatever the fuck he wanted from you over and over again until he drew blood.

It should have been enough to make you snap, all the abuse, but you physically couldn’t touch him. At first, you thought you loved him too much to hurt him. Your feelings were complicated and you were hardly aware of how dire your situation truly was, but eventually, you came to the realization that the inability to jab a knife into his jugular had a different reason entirely.

You had no money, no power, no life outside of him. He seized all of your income. You didn’t own a valid passport, a bank account, or a car. If you had killed him, you would have been a fugitive and a thief. If you had left him, you would have found yourself jobless and disgraced with nowhere to go. No friends, no family, no love. And so every time you wished him dead, the knife wandered back into the drawer. He owned you.

Toward the end of your relationship, you used to imagine the sirens were coming for you. If you had filed at least one report, maybe someone would have heard. Maybe they would have paid more attention to the cries for help from the neighboring apartment. Maybe then it would have never come this far.

The past can change your future, but you can’t go back in time and change the past. If we could, life would be so much easier.

You manage to crawl from the door to the couch where there’s a half-empty bottle of tequila hiding in a paper bag. You need to forget to remember how to breathe.

The burn of liquor blazes through your taste buds, taking them apart and putting them back together all the same. You choke on it when you try to swallow. Nothing has ever tasted quite this bad, but you can’t stop. The dull ache fills your chest, even if it’s just for a second, and you need more. You can’t stop because if you stop drinking and open your eyes, you will see his face again. It’s worse than dying; at least in death, there is peace.

You drink until the already half-empty bottle is empty, wiping the tequila from the corners of your mouth. You sniffle, you gasp for air, and you sob into the dead quiet of your apartment. Matt should not have the power to hurt you this badly.

The drunker you get, the more his face starts to blur. All faces start to blur.

“Stupid fucking idiot!” you curse under your breath as you storm into the kitchen, tearing through the liquor cabinet that used to be full but now resembles more of a black hole with stray bottles of vodka all around.

Drinking pure vodka is like pouring disinfectant directly onto an open, gushing wound. The only difference is that alcohol only works to kill off unwanted bacteria on the outside; it doesn’t exorcize the demons in your head.

Time keeps running, and the liquor keeps flowing, and you don’t remember which way is up anymore, you only know that it won’t stop fucking hurting. Fuck Claire, fuck Matt, and especially, fuck him. Fuck everyone and God and the whole fucking universe. You just can’t do it anymore.

The cold air hits your face when you stumble out of your apartment complex. Your brain is jumbled, and the world is turning a little too fast. All you know is that the walls were caving in on you, and your veins were swelling with the heat of fury—like you were drowning in your blood. Vodka makes you dumber, yes, but it also singles out one singular emotion for you to obsess over, and you won’t be able to rest until you get it all off your chest.

A cab pulls up to the curb. You only have a handful of cash, but it should be enough to get you where you want to be. No, where you have to be.

You catch your reflection in the rearview mirror, makeup smudged and reeking of alcohol and despair. What the driver must think of you—a lonely woman in the back of his cab with her hand clenched tightly around the bottle of maze in her bag, thinking she’s so subtle about how terrified she truly is underneath the mask of anger that drives her. You can never be too careful, never too mistrusting when there are men involved.

The car comes to a halt only ten minutes later. “Are you sure you should still be drinking?” the driver asks, nodding toward the liquor store across from you.

You scramble with the cash in your hands. “I’m not here to drink,” you manage to say. “I’m visiting a friend.” And you point upward to the dark windows above.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” You hand him the money. “Keep the, uh, change.”

He is about to protest, wanting to tell you that you overpaid and you might need to pay for a ride back, but you slam the door on him before he can get a word out. You don’t need a stranger to tell you what to do.

The curb feels unsteady under your feet, almost like the ground might open up and swallow you whole. When you eventually manage to find the door, you almost break the door as you force your way inside. The lock has been broken for quite some time, so a key isn’t required for entry, but there is something about the wood tonight that proves trickier to open.

Every step up the stairs knocks the air out of your tired lungs. It’s late, and rationally, you know you shouldn’t be here in your current state, but you’re angry and you’re drunk, and you want answers. At least for one of the many shitty things wrong with your life lately, you need to find a reason or you will continue sucking on the bottle of vodka until the lethal limit doesn’t exist anymore.

On the fourth floor then, you slump against the doorframe, utterly exhausted. Your head is spinning. Your stomach is churning. How many drinks you’ve had before you got here, you can’t even remember, but you are starting to feel the deadly concoction wanting to purchase a ticket for a ride through your esophagus.

You hammer your fist against the wood. Once, twice, even a third time. No answer. You try again, less gentle this time. Once, twice, a third, a fourth, and a fifth time, and then you lose count. You knock and knock and knock until your knuckles feel like splitting open, but you don’t stop—you use your palm, waiting for the creaking of the floorboards to tell you that someone, anyone, is home. If you could scream, you would have already, but your throat is burnt dry. You abuse the poor door until finally, you hit the air.

“What–” Claire stops halfway, her eyes falling upon your slouched frame. A meow sounds from inside the apartment. “Liv?” she asks. “What the hell are you doing here? It’s 2 am!”

You didn’t realize how late it has gotten, or how long you must have been crying and drinking and crying some more.

“What happened to you?”

She was asleep. You’ve been trying to call her for days, but here she is, perfectly healthy, wrapped in a robe that isn’t hers, and she has been asleep while you were losing your mind. You were hoping something happened to her, that she didn’t ghost you for no discernible reason, but from the looks of it, she did just that. Yes, she looks miserable with dark circles under her eyes and the room behind her a downright mess, but your mind refuses to be anything but irrational right now. The burning hot anger is back, coursing through your veins at a speed almost too much to handle.

“What happened to me?” you snap. “I’ve been trying to reach you for two fucking days, and you’re asking me what happened?”

“Shh!” Claire pulls you inside. The door slams shut behind her, much louder than your voice could ever be. “Jesus,” she says. “Quiet down.”

A pause. Under her gaze, you almost feel small. Scrutinized, even. “You smell like a fucking distillery,” she adds after a moment of just staring at you—staring as if she had any right to.

“That all you have to say?” Your mouth falls open in a snarl. “Well, fuck you, Claire! Fuck you!”

She flinches, your harsh tone leaving a sharp sting behind. “Okay, maybe we can just sit down and have a conversation like normal people.”

“Unbelievable,” you say. “Un-fucking-believable.”

Normal people. You don’t know what that word even means anymore. You don’t know what anything she says means. You look at her and all you see is alarms blaring in your head, warning you, screaming for you to run, but you are tethered to the ground in the very position you put yourself in.

She utters your name and your entire body recoils.

“Don’t call me that!” It is toe-curling how foreign the word sounds. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, too, like acid raining from the sky. It burns; everything fucking burns. “You know, All I needed was my friend. I needed my friend and you weren’t there,” your voice cracks. “You told me I had to get back out there, and I did. ‘Cause you said it was the right thing to do. I believed you, Claire. I put on this stupid dress and these stupid heels and…” You sob, the memory rubbing salt in the open wound, “Matt fucking stood me up!”

Claire stops dead in her tracks. “What?” she asks.

You laugh through the tears, a sound of complete and utter desperation as you find yourself at a never-ending crossroads. You never learn, do you?

“He stood me up, okay?” you say. “I went to dinner, he didn’t show up, and then he texted me that we’re not gonna work out, so…” You throw your arms up. “I hope you’re happy. Whatever you were trying to achieve, it obviously worked. I trusted you, and I trusted him, and it kicked me in the ass. Fucking congratulations!”

It isn’t fair to blame her for his actions, by any means, but you’re just so angry. Your blood is boiling, turning into liquid as thick as tar, and it poisons you from the inside out. You want to scream at him; you want to scream at Matt and ask him why, fucking why did he do that? But you can’t bring yourself to text him, too drunk to make any rational decisions. The voice of reason in your head is a fuzzy, blurry mess. All you want is for this endless cycle of bullshit to end.

Cliare lowers her head. “I’m… I’m so sorry,” she says. “I– I never… I never wanted this to happen.”

Is that guilt you’re hearing?

“I swear I wasn’t ignoring you on purpose. I mean, if I’d known…”

“Save it,” you cut her off, every word from your mouth becoming increasingly slurred. “We both know you wouldn’t have come running ‘cause you clearly had more important things to do. I don’t even know who you are anymore. A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have gone to bed without making sure I wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere, and now you’re moving into some nurse’s apartment with a cat you’re allergic to, calling in sick and ghosting me. Me! I’m your best friend, for fuck’s sake, and you weren’t there!”

“I told you, I’m sorry. I had some shit going on, and I just couldn’t–”

You scoff. “You’re lying to me, again!”

“Please, Liv, you have to believe me,” she says. “I didn’t know this was gonna happen.”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore. I don’t…” Shaking your head, you tangle your fingers in your hair. You want to pull every last strand out one by one and feed them to the dogs, maybe that will give you your sanity back.

You hate not understanding. You hate not being able to read the person you thought you could trust. She swore she would never lie to you. What can you believe in if even her word is now hanging in the balance? You don’t know, and that’s something you hate, too—not knowing. The helplessness that comes with a dead end makes you want to cower in a corner, smaller than anyone has ever made you feel, and die.

Claire’s silence sounds like nails on a chalkboard. You swear you can hear your heartbeat, or maybe that’s your own. The blood is rushing in your ear. You’re standing on hollow ground, and it’s shaking—a ship lost at sea. You have to pinch yourself to stay alert. To stay awake. But the vodka in your system has already made you sick.

“Woah!” She catches you before you can stumble over your own feet.

Gravity is tilting your body toward the ground, but your body wants to rush toward the door. You have to run, you think. Why, you’re not sure, but you have to run.

“Hey,” Claire says. “Maybe you should sit down.”

You shrug her off. “Fuck you!”

She lifts her arms above her head, but it is not a motion of surrender. Far from it. She’s giving up and giving in to the anger that is creasing her brows.

“Well, fuck you, too!” She steps away from you. “You come here in the middle of the night, drunk off your ass, and you expect me to just take it? I’m sorry, but I’m not gonna indulge you. Not when you’re acting like a child.”

Your palm hovers above your churning stomach. “How dare you?” you snarl. “I’m not the one acting like a fucking toddler.”

“Have you ever considered that there are things I just can’t tell you? That sometimes, you just have to trust me? I never wanted you to get hurt,” she says. “After the other night, I figured you didn’t need me anymore. If that’s what you’re so mad about, sue me!”

“I did need you.”

It’s her turn to shake her head at you. “No, you didn’t. You decided to go on that date. You didn’t need me for that. But I didn’t…” She takes a deep breath, and her eyes remain guilty as sin. “I never wanted you to get humiliated like that.”

You are too drunk to process the implications of her cryptic statements. To you, they’re just a series of words on a very fuzzy billboard in your mind; you loathe what you’re hearing. Because you believe her, even though your better judgment is telling you to abandon ship. To jump into the ocean and let it take you away.

“Yeah, well,” you say, “I still did.”

Some scars never heal. Fresh ones tend to tear the ones that haven’t closed yet open, and then it hurts so much more.

Claire lowers her voice to a more mellow tone then. “I met a guy, okay? Like you, I met a guy, but he screwed things up for me and now I’m stuck here until shit has blown over. That’s why I’m hiding.” She sounds almost like the same woman she was a week ago. Before the world stopped turning.

“I wish I could tell you everything, but I’m trying to keep you safe,” she says. “I’ve always just wanted to keep you safe.”

“And how’s that turning out for us?”

She scoffs. “Not good, apparently.”

Your knees begin to buckle, unable to hold your weight any longer. Claire reaches out. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Fuck off!” you try to shrug her off again.

“How much?”

“Just… Tequila. Vodka. Half a bottle, quarter, I don’t know.”

“Jesus, Liv,” she says. “You’re insane.”

You roll your eyes. “Fuck you,” though the words hold a lot less power now.

“Would you stop? I get it. You’re mad. You don’t have to keep insulting me.” She gently guides you over to the couch. “You know, all I wanted was to do right by you, but I can’t be there all the time. Some things, I have to deal with by myself, and yes, I’m sorry for not being there, but I would’ve been if you really needed me.”

Claire reaches for your coat and pulls it off, much to your dismay. She ignores your scoff, anyway. “I would’ve dropped everything if you’d just called me tonight. You didn’t have to drink yourself into a coma to make your point.”

“I’m fine,” you protest.

You thought she was done helping you, but her good heart betrays her every time. It’s infuriating. You don’t want to be coddled. You don’t want to be treated like a patient—you’re not. You did this to yourself. The world is spinning. Your stomach feels like a pool of toxic waste, but you did this to yourself, and you’d rather lie in your misery than have her fix it.

When you try to rise to your feet though, all thoughts fade to black. Your ears start ringing. You blink, trying to get rid of the ocean that is flooding the world around you, but night quickly settles in. You can’t see.

“You’re not fine.” Claire pushes you back down. “You’re gonna sit down and you’re gonna let me help you.”

You open your mouth to make a snarky remark, but you’re starting to panic. The room is too dark. Your heart beats to the rhythm of mere milliseconds, and you swear you can taste it on your tongue.

“Do you want to turn into your father?”

The audacity, you think. The words sting worse than a thousand needles in your body. They sting worse than a headache. They sting worse than a knife to the fucking back.

You don’t want to turn into your father. You have never wanted anything less. You want to scream at her. You want to leave. You don’t want to be anywhere near here. But you’re paralyzed on Claire’s couch with her towering over you like the caring nurse she is, and you have nowhere to go. Your body has nowhere to go.

You did this to yourself.

She tests the pulse on your wrist, then again on your neck. Her voice is starting to fade into the background. The last thing you hear is her berating you for being “so fucking stupid” with the concern of a thousand armies before your thoughts entirely, finally, dissipate.

The world turns quiet as your body slacks, falling victim to the alcohol in your bloodstream, and it’s the most peaceful you have been in years.

Thinking nothing.

Being nothing.

You wish you could stay like that for the rest of your life. You don’t want to die, not really; you want to think nothing, be nothing, and just float for the rest of your life in a space where no one can ever touch you again. Where he doesn’t exist. Where you have no memory of your father, of the things he did to you. A space where not even Claire exists, and where you can pretend that Matt never stumbled into your godforsaken life, either.

You want to cease to exist. You want the world to end. You want to drown in alcohol until you can’t feel a thing anymore.

In the end, though, life is an endless, vicious cycle; no matter what you do, you won’t escape it until you’re dead—actually dead. And no amount of alcohol could ever change that.

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @danzer8705 @kakamixo @littlehappyperson @atemydadforbreakfast @stevenknightmarc @zheezs14 @shouldbestudying41 @kiwwia-wiwwia @writtenbyred @echo-ethe @kezibear @peterbarnes @littleagxs @silas-aeiou

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x you #daredevil #daredevil x reader #matt murdock angst #tw: domestic violence #do no harm #charlie cox

42 notes · View notes

tears0fsatan · 1 year ago

Note

I have something in mind

Can brothers+ Simeon (If you can) react to a smutty fanfic with male mc written by some random succubus?

They're just randomly scrolling on devilgram (or any other platform) and they see this fanfic (if you know what I mean)

Sorry if it's a bit confusing.

✦ ⊹ ˚˖ warnings... nsfw??, below 16 do not interact u'll be blocked if u do, male!mc, mainly implied dom!mc, mainly implied top!mc, possessive language yeahhhh 🤘🤘🤟, praise, levi has two dicks lol (its canon atp yall source: trust me), implied blowjob lol (levi), lowkey exhibitionism (satan&beel), mention of somno (belphie), mention of body worship lol (simeon)

:¨·.·¨ ♥︎ a.n... wait this is actually pretty cute??? HAHAHA had so many ideas for this thank you hon <3 (lol lets move past the fact that this req is almost a year old and it reminded me of svsss lowkey)

LUCIFER !

he doesn't really remember how things had gotten to this point, one moment he was busy doing his paperwork and the next he was reading this... obscene nonsense on his phone. it was horribly vulgar and terribly inappropriate, not to mention how it invaded his and MCs privacy.

yet for some reason, he couldn't look away.

lucifer was no teenage boy, he had the willpower to move mountains and never felt the urge to masturbate, especially to something as crass as smut of someone he knew personally.

he had no need to read horrible stuff like this since he could easily have the real thing, yet he had to admit, there was something rather enticing about someone's lewd fantasies between him and MC. it annoyed him to no end that someone thought of his MC in such a way but knowing that they knew it was lucifer that was the one making his human feel so good eased his jealousy.

it was comical almost, how the author depicted him fucking MC into the next day when in reality it was the opposite. it was lucifer who was under the mercy of the human, the one who would cry and beg for more, not that anyone outside of the two of them needed to know.

however, there was one commonality between the vulgar post and reality that made his pride flare, no one, not human, angel, or demon, could ever make his little human feel as good as he did. it was interesting to see how accurate yet inaccurate this succubus's fantasy was at the same time and only lucifer would know.

lucifer thought about leaving a comment correcting the author on what a satisfied MC really looked like, on how it was really he himself that trembled under the human's touch, and how MC managed to get the avatar of pride into such a state. yet, knowing that he was the only one who truly knew those little things pleased him greatly, and quickly dismissed the thought. some things were better left unsaid.

MAMMON !

during one of his nightly visits to his favourite casino, mammon couldn’t help but notice how some of the succubi keeping the gambling demons company were whispering amongst each other and giggling to themselves while occasionally throwing glances at him. at first, he thought nothing of it, he was a demon lord after all and the second oldest of all seven avatars of sins on top of being a model, it was no surprise people would recognise him.

throughout the night he caught wind of bits and pieces of the succubi’s whispering and immediately opened his D.D.D. to see exactly what the hell they were muttering about. what he found left him speechless and unable to focus on his bets the entire night, though he tried (and subsequently failed miserably) to not let it show.

there was a flare of anger at the thought of other people thinking of his MC in that way but the fact that they imagined him with MC had a different feeling flaring up in the pit of his stomach. a sense of smugness bubbled up from within, damn right it was him that was fucking MC, as if he would allow anyone else touch his treasure.

mammon's thoughts kept flitting back to the post despite himself, images of scenes the author described coming to haunt him through his bets and they had him shifting in his seat, eager to keep the money rolling in but also desperate to have MCs arms wrapped around him and make the dirty fantasies of a random succubus come to life.

he wanted to feel MCs desperation on his skin, he wanted the humans attention all on him, his eyes focused on the demon and him alone, but most of all, mammon wanted to hear the cascade of praises that the human sang his way, just like how the post had described. he needed all of it.

before he realised, his thoughts were no longer focused on the money he could've been earning and instead on his human. he'd deal with the perverted succubus and his increasing debt another day, what he needed right now was MC.

LEVIATHAN !

now, leviathan was no stranger to fan fiction, especially smut and x readers. he was what one could describe as an expert on internet culture, so how could he not know about something as infamous as fan fiction? they were his guilty pleasure, not that anyone knew.

he was also no stranger to searching MC up online, whether it was on devilgram to see the most recent photos captured of him or fabsnap to replay the videos of him doing a silly challenge with one of his brothers. while he knew that the real living human was merely a few steps away, leviathan wasn't sure if he wanted such a useless and gross otaku breathing down his neck.

so, when he was scrolling through devilgram to see updates on a new anime he was into and accidentally stumbled upon a once in a lifetime goldmine, how could he pass up the opportunity to read it? i mean, to think that some other basement dweller thought of him with MC in such an intimate way... that was pretty fucking awesome, wasn't it?! leviathan was divided between feeling like the luckiest demon in all three realms and feeling like he had tainted something he shouldn't have, as his eyes shakily scanned the blob of text with bated breath.

there were several moments that sent a shudder down his spine, the description of MC taking his cocks oh so sweetly had him running laps in his mind. even after he finished reading the entirety of the post, he had to go back again, as if to burn the text into his memory.

a whine made its way out of the demon's throat when the mental image of the human stroking his cocks with a lazy smirk on his lips and sharp eyes analysing his every move took reign over his thoughts, the image coming back despite how hard he tried to will it away and focus on the post again. his attempts proved futile, thoughts of MC on his knees in front of him with a cock in each hand, movement stopping completely just as he was about to come flashed in his mind with every breath⎯ leviathan couldn't get him out of his head.

hidden beneath the guilt that came with thinking of such lewd acts with MC lay a flare of envy⎯ how dare someone think of the revered human in such a manner? the more he thought about him and the post, the brighter the flare burned, and soon it consumed him, on top of the sinful thoughts of his human.

SATAN !

while waiting for a certain human to join him at the library for their promised tutoring session, satan decided to scroll through his devilgram, chuckling quietly to himself when he comes across a silly video of cats. however, his laughter soon died down when he scrolled onto the next recommended post and saw that it was about his study date and himself.

after a moment of pondering whether he should take the time to read the horny rambling of a random succubus or not, he ultimately decided, fuck it, why not? it was crude and quite poorly written, he noted, but the thought behind the post was made clear; satan took MC to the library under the guise of tutoring him when in reality it had only been a front to fuck the human in public.

a concoction of emotion bubbled underneath his skin and his mind ran rampant, the thought of someone naively believing that satan would be the one who would do something as ballsy as that nearly made him laugh, but he imagined a scenario where the dynamic flipped, and the chuckle died in his throat. various images of MC using him in a place he deemed to be his haven weaselled past his wall of self control and it became the only thing he could think of.

it wasn't something he hadn't thought of, it was just one that he tried not to acknowledge. after all, it was a public setting and satan had the reputation of a demon lord to keep up, he couldn't just do something indecent where lesser beings could see him and MC. yet, in a way, the vulgar musing of some unknown succubus brought an onslaught of unwarranted thoughts about him and the human doing uncouth things in places where someone could randomly stumble upon them that he didn't hate all that much.

the idea of the human covering his mouth with his hand to silence all the obscene noises so people wouldn't discover them had more of an effect on the demon than he thought and he had to stop himself from divulging in his horny daydreams further.

he was pulled out of his dirty fantasies by the sound of a chair scraping against the floor and satan looked up to see that the human had arrived, chest rising and falling faster than it would normally, giving him the idea that he had run to meet him. the demon put on a smile and continued with the date like he never read the post in the first place, but unbeknownst to MC, there were endless plans swirling around in his mind.

ASMODEUS !

there is no demon in devildom who is more active on devilgram and fabsnap than asmodeus, the avatar of lust himself. it was no surprise to find him scrolling through his phone whenever he wasn't checking himself out on the nearest reflective surface. he isn't ashamed to admit he often checks posts tagged with his name, he enjoyed seeing all the compliments random succubi and inccubi showered him in.

though as of late, there was another name he found himself searching up alongside his. there was no one else it could've been besides MC, the human had somehow managed to worm his way into asmodeus's self fulfilled heart, which shocked even asmodeus himself. the demon always read every caption and comment under a post with either his or MCs name in it, especially posts tagged with both of their names. he made sure to never miss a post, regardless of whether they had something good or bad to say (of course the negative ones all got mysteriously bombarded with death threats and soon after were taken down). it was how he found the random musing of one of his fans.

it was scrambled and all over the place, not to mention the number of inaccuracies woven into it, and yet it turned asmodeus on nevertheless. there was one thing they got right; how the demon absolutely adored milking the human dry. the way his spit coated lips would bleed from how hard he bit on them and the way the filthy, degrading names that made asmodeus tremble in all the right ways would tumble past his lips as he rode him, he loved it all.

he fed off of MC's grunts and delirious praises like they were his last lifeline, both in this fan's fantasy and in real life. he never thought that someone could look as beautiful as himself while orgasming but then the human came along and suddenly it was like he had found god again.

the demon found himself getting more and more worked up as he read the text, the detail in the writing of what the two did sent a delightful shiver down his spine, and asmodeus had a sudden urge to stalk the human down and jump his bones. who knew someone's horny rambling could make asmodeus, the avatar of lust, feel this heated? as he skipped off in the direction of MC, thoughts about commissioning the fan kinkier work in the future cycled through his mind.

BEELZEBUB !

the avatar of gluttony wasn't someone who was constantly glued to his D.D.D. like a certain brother of his, if not for communicating with his brothers and MC or using his food sleuthing skills to find new and upcoming food businesses, he hardly even glanced at his phone.

yet somehow, beelzebub found himself unable to take his eyes off of his phone after one particularly tiring fangol practice. while all the other players had finished washing up and changing, the avatar of gluttony was still seated on the bench, unaware of the world around him. the post that had the demon so entranced was one about MC and himself doing sinful things that he only thought asmodeus would indulge in inside the very room beelzebub was situated in at the moment.

a shiver went down his spine and goosebumps broke out all over his skin, both from sweat that clung to his skin and the cool air and the post on devilgram. he was already hungry from not being able to eat during practice, but the description of MCs equally sweaty chest pressed against his back while his hands roamed beelzebubs waist made him feel a different kind of hunger⎯ a different sort of want.

usually his sin felt like a neverending void that he couldn't fill no matter how much he stuffed himself, and he still felt that, but the constant buzzing was somehow not as strong as the ache in his chest and the fire in his lower belly. amidst the heavy racing of his heart and the adrenaline from practice was still pumping through his veins, the post didn't exactly help with his current predicament.

he knew he needed to shower, to go back home and see his family, to stuff his face with all the food he could imagine in hopes of one day being able to silence the ravenous hunger, but after reading the post, he didn't know if he could take a shower without his member getting hard at the thought of MC doing him there too.

to be pressed up against the wall with his hands bracing his weight, the feeling of lips leaving evidence of their activities and lingering on the spot that drew out all sorts of uncharacteristic noises from the demon for a beat too long, the rough yet gentle touch of the human, all the thoughts swirled around in beelzebub's mind and it overpowered his insatiable hunger.

BELPHEGOR !

he had just woken up from the perfect after school nap with nothing to do, MC wasn't around and beelzebub was most likely in the kitchen emptying out the fridge. all homework that needed to be completed was filled out, it wasn't his turn to make dinner and he had already finished all of his chores. with nothing better to do, belphegor slid his phone out from where it was tucked underneath his pillow and scrolled through devilgram with no real goal in mind.

all the posts that flooded his feed were of fellow RAD students he couldn't have been bothered to remember and random promotional shots of RAD from the student council account that he felt the sleepiness creep back into his mind. just as he was about to shut off his phone and continue his nap, a flash of MCs name caught his eye and he scrolled back up to the post.

it was a relatively long post and belphegor mentally groaned, not in the mood to read something so lengthy, but he caught a glimpse of a few rather enticing words along with the human's name thrown in between and he was suddenly filled with an overwhelming urge to read the entire thing.

the way the author had detailed how MC fell victim to late night wood and couldn't sleep it off no matter how many times he tried while cuddling the demon, resulting in him rutting in between belphegor's thighs until the demon stirred awake had him squirming underneath his blanket.

with the help of his sleep addled mind, he could feel the ghost of MCs touch on his skin and he had to suppress the whine that wanted to crawl out of his throat. his eyes continued to skim through the fat chunk of text, swallowing thickly when he read about how the human sucked on his neck to muffle the sound of his own groans, leaving marks in his wake.

belphegor could hardly finish reading the post due to the onslaught of vivid scenarios of MC being all over him and feeling him up in his sleep, to which he felt his half hard dick twitch in his sweats. content with the train of thought his mind was heading in, the demon shut his phone off with the perfect dream to indulge himself in.

SIMEON !

all he was looking for was a new recipe and yet somehow, he found himself entranced with the filthy, sinful words. simeon was by no means the perfect angel, he had done his fair share of dirty deeds in his time but nothing quite enough to make him fall like his former brothers.

temptation was, naturally, an angel's worst enemy and simeon was known to flout the rules every now and then, and this was of no exception. the words on his D.D.D. were familiar yet strewn in a way that was foreign to the angel. it wasn't as though he was completely ignorant of such activities, but his status as an angel certainly meant that he had limited understanding of it outside of reproduction purposes.

so when this post suddenly showed up on his feed, as an author himself, how could he pass up the opportunity to read such a miracle?

the writer described MC in such a way that left simeon feeling flustered, with how this written version of him became so pliable, like putty in the human's hands. he didn't consider himself submissive, but rather something in between. however, there was something about MC praising him for doing well that made the angel think corrupting himself for the human wasn't all too bad of an idea.

he particularly enjoyed the way the writer entailed that MC was gentle and didn't limit himself when it came to praises while he caressed simeon's body, worshipping his body like it deserved. the angel could practically hear the breathy whisper of his name on the tip of the human's tongue, could see the satisfaction on his face whenever simeon couldn't hold back a noise from how good the human was making him feel.

well, as long as he didn't actually act out what was written, he wasn't breaking any rules, now was he? then, it wouldn't hurt to indulge in a few more similar works, right?

185 notes · View notes

wsdwriting · 3 months ago

Text

little snippet of writing for these guys \o/ if you’d like, listen to Susie Save Your Love by Allie X to hear the song that inspired this bit!!

(go here for character information)

reblogs appreciated \o/!!

Luz wakes up with a piercing headache, and curled around someone. She squirms—pulling herself in closer and pressing her face more firmly against the other person. Tries desperately to block out the light leaking through her eyelids.

Her movement wakes them, though. They stretch, before laughing softly and running a hand through her hair.

“Good morning, Luz.” Comes Amalia’s amused voice.

Luz freezes. Tries to run through her memories to figure out what events led her to here—except she can’t recall anything. Stupid alcohol.

She pulls away, braving the sunlit room.

“‘Morning.” She mutters, throwing an arm over her eyes.

“Let me get the curtains.”

The bed dips and creaks as Amalia leaves it. Luz listens to the sound of curtains being tugged tightly closed, and removes her arm to probably the darkest they’ll get during the day in a room like this.

Amalia flops back onto the bed, crawling under the covers. Her hair is messy, and she still hasn’t taken her makeup off from last light, and she looks beautiful.

And Luz really shouldn’t be having those thoughts even if both of them are single.

But… then again… they also spent the night together. And she’s wearing one of Luz’s shirts.

“Um…” As much as she’s almost too nervous to ask, she has to know. “Did we…?”

“Luz!” Amalia exclaims, sounding a little scandalised. But before Luz can panic too much, she laughs. “No, no. You were much too drunk, anyway. I just drove you home, and you got clingy.”

Embarrassing, but probably less of a mess than fucking her friend.

“Ah.” She tugs the covers up to hide her face a little. “Sorry…”

“It’s fine—I don’t mind.” Amalia smiles. “I wouldn’t have signed myself up as designated driver if I did.”

“True, true.”

“There’s water and painkillers on the bedside table, by the way.”

Luz turns so fast she flares up her nausea and has to take a second to recover. Amalia does not manage to cover her laugh. Not that Luz thinks she was particularly trying to.

“You’re a life saver, Pedra.” Luz declares, quickly swallowing down the painkillers.

“It’s nothing.” But Luz can tell she’s pleased. “I just figured since I was already here… oh, and by the way”—she plucks a small piece of paper from her bedside table—“you got someone’s number.”

“Oh, man…” Unsurprising, even though she’s been trying not to do that recently. “Do you remember who’s it is?”

“Not really.” Amalia looks over the paper like it’ll help her remember. “She was bald, I think. And pretty butch. I don’t know, I wasn’t paying much attention—too focused on getting you home, you know?”

Luz tries to conjure the memories to mind and fails miserably.

“What should I do with it?” Amalia asks, leaning to the side to dangle it over where Luz knows her rubbish bin by the desk is. “Put it with the others?”

They’ve gone through this whole post-club song and dance before—even if Amalia has never actually stayed the night. Luz throws away almost every number she gets, but that’s usually because she was just flirting to get free drinks.

This time she can’t remember what happened. It could’ve been someone she really hit it off with—like Amalia. And even if it truly is like what happened with Amalia and she just gets a new friend, that’s a good thing, too.

“No, no, I… I’ll think about it.”

“You’ll… think about it?” Amalia raises her eyebrows.

“I just want to see if I remember more, you know?” Then she groans. “Besides—I, um… I need a rebound after that last guy.”

“I thought you were over him.”

“I am! Miguel even made sure I deleted his number because they’ve seen what happens if I don’t. Just…” She sighs. “It’ll be easier with someone else, you know? So I can stop thinking about him entirely.”

Amalia opens her mouth likes she’s going to say something. Then she seems to think better of it and leans back to the bed, depositing the paper on the bedside table again.

“If you’re sure.” She settles on.

“Well… I guess I am… Maybe I’ll get some memories back after breakfast and decide to chuck it, anyway.” Luz says, laughing a little. “But we exchanged numbers at a club. So you never know, right?”

“Right.” Amalia climbs out of bed, and heads to the door. “Wait here, I’ll go make breakfast.”

“You’re my saviour, Pedra!” Luz calls after her.

She doesn’t get a response, but figures Amalia was already too far away to bother. So, she curls up in the blankets again, content to catch a few more minutes of sleep before breakfast is ready.

——

hope you enjoyed \o/!! this is set kind of like… towards the end of the start section I would say. if you have any questions about the story feel free to send them in \o/!!

(also let me know if you want to be on a taglist for this writing!!)

29 notes · View notes

sakuraspoke · 2 months ago

Text

hi, friends. checking in. personal post.

full transparency, i haven't been doing great. my beloved dog was put to sleep after a short, sudden illness and i haven't been coping well. he had been my best friend and sidekick for almost half my life. (i still remember the day i came home to meet him when i was 16. i'd been to a gig the night before, and my best friend and i rushed back the next morning to see him. he was so tiny and so fluffy and kept biting the velcro on my friend's shoes.) he turned 15 last month. i feel so lucky i got to spend all of those years with him.

for the last 4 years particularly he has quite literally been by my side almost all of the time, and i'm struggling to come to terms with losing him. i was already having a hard time in the weeks beforehand, and losing him has left me completely heartbroken to the point that it's made me physically sick. i had been staying with my grandma since it happened so i didn't have to be in my house on my own, but now i'm back home and trying to settle in to being without him, and it fucking sucks. i'm taking care of myself, and i am ultimately ok, but long story short, my dog died and i'm miserable.

navigating that, on top of other Stuff happening irl that has been taking up most of my time and energy, means tumblr has fallen by the wayside a bit. i've dropped in a couple of times but haven't stayed for long because i just don't have much enthusiasm for anything rn. i promise i haven't forgotten everyone and i'm sorry to those i haven't got back to. it's not you, it's me, etc.

i'll be back, i'm sure. the external chaos at least should settle a bit soon and i'll have some more time for myself again. i miss everyone. i miss regular ghost shenanigans. i just need a minute.

i hope you're all okay and i'm sending all of you so much love. please give your pets, whatever sweet creature they may be, an extra cuddle for me <3

(truly the sleepiest boy in the world. 90% of my photos are him snoozing. in his various collars. my boy. ralf forever 💕)

#tw pet death #tl;dr my worst fear happened and now everything sucks but the world carries on and i have to carry on with it? sounds like a scam but ok #pet grief

22 notes · View notes

sunsetsentiments · 4 months ago

Text

idk but piper and jason being a tragic love story makes me love them even more lmao

like can we talk about i miss you, i'm sorry by gracie abrams being about them from jason's pov???? 😭

HEAR ME OUT

"Do you remember happy together? I do, don't you? Then all of a sudden, you're sick to your stomach. Is that still true?"

piper broke up with him,, and while he's the most polite and understanding boy ever,, he's not invincible. he can't help what he feels,, even if he thinks/knows that piper's decision might have been for the best (or the logical choice,, which is interesting but a different topic for another day).

the burning maze doesn't go deep into it,, but he's clearly heartbroken. "the truth was enough to break jason grace",, to me,, means a lot of things, one of them being the end of his relationship with piper. part of him accepts it,, but another part of him is miserable because of it.

"Thought you'd hate me, but instead you called and said, "I miss you". I caught it." // "I don't wanna go, think I'll make it worse."

we know that post-breakup,, they had a hard time working together, yet still contacted each other especially for the quest in the maze before apollo showed up. plus,, mellie mistakenly thought the breakup was something to blame on jason specifically.

it was all very awkward and confusing. even if piper was the one to end it,, we know she still has conflicted feelings towards him, and he likely felt that, which made him unsure where they stood. but like the gentleman he is,, he let her be despite whatever desires/longings he had himself.

"Nothing happened in the way I wanted, every corner of this house is haunted. And I know you said that we're not talking, but I miss you, I'm sorry."

i don't even need to explain how much jason loved piper and thought they were going to grow old together 😭 she has always been his safe space too,, someone he could truly be himself and vulnerable around,, so losing the person he knew best/cared for most must have been devastating.

anyways it's crazy bc i'm convinced i love you, i'm sorry is about them too but from piper's pov,, but i'll save that for another day lol

#attaching songs to characters is the best #rick please write more lost trio content #jason grace #piper mclean #jiper #heroes of olympus #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #pjo #pjo fandom #pjo hoo toa #rick riordan #the lost hero #riordanverse #hoo #leo valdez #trials of apollo #gracie abrams

40 notes · View notes

ficnation · 2 years ago

Text

Withering Wildflowers - Daryl x Reader

Prompt: a bouquet of flowers

Word count: 864

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Gender Neutral! Reader

Warnings: pure angst, usual twd themes (e.g. descriptive gore, use of weapons, violence, cursing), major character's death

A/n: This is a piece for @the-slumberparty writing challenge week 1! I'm so sorry I'm posting it right now, but I've just realized it was sitting in my drafts for weeks :") Enjoy some angst!

☁ 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ☁ || ☁ 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐗𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ☁

You were withering like the bouquet of flowers he left on your bedside table almost two weeks ago. Your skin lost its glow, greying like the petals of the wildflowers. Your limbs felt too heavy for your body, and your hair framed your face sticking to your sweaty skin.

Life was unforgiving for Daryl. He’s already lost so much—his family, friends, brother, and the life he used to know. Now, the world wanted to take you—the person he loved the most on this miserable fucking planet—away from him.

He sat beside you on the bed, holding your weak hand and pressing it against his cheek, trying to make you feel less alone.

“Daryl, I don’t want you to do it,” you rasped out, fingers brushing over his stubbled chin. You tried to meet his eyes, but you were afraid you’d break down right there in front of him, and he didn’t need to know how scared you were to die or worse—become one of those things.

“Not gonna let ya turn,” he mumbled out, leaving a soft kiss on the tips of your fingers. “It has to be me.”

He was calm, almost too calm now, after he lashed out at everyone that tried to talk to him about your condition and what to do about it. The anger subsided, making space for the fear, grief and agony the prospect of losing you brought. He didn’t want you to see it on his face and feel even worse. He just wanted to make your last moments peaceful and make sure you knew how loved you truly were and how much he’ll miss you—how much they’ll all miss you.

“Can ya at least look me in the eyes?” Daryl’s gruff voice sounded from beside you again, but the only thing you could do was shake your head and look down. The tears fell freely down your sunken cheeks. “Hey, c’mon, jus’ look at me,” he pleaded. He reached out, taking your face in his hands. “I know yer afraid.”

His last words got your attention, and you looked up, meeting his baby blue irises. “I’m dying, Daryl. It’s fucking terrifying, but…” you paused, taking a deep breath in to steady your voice, “leaving you scares me even more.” You didn’t burst into sobs; you had no more tears left to cry.

“I’m gonna be alright, ya know that. I promised ya.”

Daryl leaned in, leaving a gentle kiss on your lips. It took him a long moment to pull away. He wanted to cherish the kiss, but all he could focus on was the roughness of your lips that were once the definition of softness—always making him think of the delicacy of flower petals. It was another reminder of the state you were in—closer to death than you ever were.

“Can I ask you to do something for me? One last time,” you whispered, looking at him sadly.

Daryl knew you could read him and his thoughts like a book. He cast his gaze down shamefully, nodding his head to agree that he’d grant your wish. Why couldn’t he pretend just for a little while that everything was going to be okay? Why did he have to remind you and himself that you’d soon stop being you? He despised himself for it and for lying to you. He’d never be okay without you there.

“Can you pick some fresh flowers for me?” You looked at the bouquet by your side with a melancholic smile. “They’re withering.”

Daryl snorted quietly, “Since when do ya care ’bout a bunch of wildflowers?” His response made the grimace on your face become a genuine smile. He could swear his heart thumped madly at the sight—just like the day he saw it for the first time. “I’ll get ’em for ya, darlin’.”

The archer got up from the bed and rolled his shoulders to loosen them up. If you wanted flowers, he’d go to hell and back to get you some goddamn flowers; he’d rip them out of walkers’ hands if it came to that. Daryl glanced at you again thoroughly before he leaned over and pressed his lips against yours in a longing kiss. His fingers smoothed down your hair before he pulled away.

“I’ll be back real soon. I promise.”

You only needed to give her a slow nod for her to understand that it was time. She took the gun out of her waistband and stepped to your side, one of her hands reaching out to grasp yours. Carol knew how terrified you were, standing eye to eye with death itself, and she knew how Daryl would’ve never forgiven himself for being the one on the other side of that gaze; that’s why she agreed to your plan—to make it all less insufferable.

The moment you heard the front door slamming shut, you called out for Carol.

The woman barged into the room, her eyes murky with sadness and unshed tears.

Her hand was steady, holding the weapon against the side of your head. “Just look at the flowers, sweetheart,” she whispered.

“Thank you, Carol,” you mumbled out, your eyes glued to the bouquet of withering wildflowers.

@whiskeypowder @hopefulatrocity @witheringblooddemon @humanmistakes @yttricuz @twdeadlysins @donttelltheelff @spidergirla5 @depressedfrog2 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @wonderful-writer @sexyseabass @sweetpotatospock @witchygagirl

#the walking dead #the walking dead x reader #twd #the walking dead amc #writing challange #the slumber party #daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl x reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #the walking dead x you #twd x reader #twd x gender neutral reader #daryl dixon x gender neutral reader

233 notes · View notes

monstersandmaw · 2 years ago

Text

Male werewolf x female character (Gabe & Odessa) - Chapter Twenty One (nsfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

___

Oof, folks. It’s been building to this, and some of you have added your thoughts on what’s going on, but I promise you he will tell her...

Content: werewolf transformation, shifted sex, knotting, biting (gentle, no blood), aftercare and fluff Wordcount: 4926

Catch up here:

Part One (sfw), Part Two (sfw), Part Three (sfw), Part Four (sfw), Part Five (sfw), Part Six (sfw) Part Seven (sfw), Part Eight (sfw), Part Nine (sfw), Part Ten (sfw), Part Eleven (nsfw), Part Twelve (sfw), Part Thirteen (sfw), Part Fourteen (nsfw), Part Fifteen (nsfw), Part Sixteen (nsfw), Part Seventeen (sfw), Part Eighteen (v. light nsfw), Part Nineteen (nsfw), Part Twenty (nsfw)

Gabe’s back gave another great heave and, still human, he let out a roar that was all animal, bearing his teeth and snarling, head dropping forwards as he shook from the effort of holding back a transformation that had already started to take hold of him.

“God, Odessa, I’m so sorry,” he hissed. “I’ve never lost control of it like this… I… I don’t —” he broke off and half-swallowed a yelp of pain as his back twisted a little and he braced his arms wide on either side of her body to stop himself falling forwards on top of her. “Shit. I can’t… I’m…”

He retreated down the bed and his back curved upwards again like an angry cat.

“You can shift, Gabe” she said again, heart still pounding. “Let go. Don’t worry about anything else. Shift.”

Snarling and snapping, he pushed further away and she watched, fascinated, as he gave in to the wolf without another word.

Dark fur grew along his spine, and the grinding crack and clunk of bones realigning under his skin filled the air. His whole body trembled and jerked convulsively, claws growing, limbs elongating and skull changing, muscles tearing and reforming, a tail growing, until he crouched, hunched on all fours on the bed near her feet, breathing erratically.

“Gabe?” she whispered, hardly daring to breathe, let alone move. “Are you alright?”

His cock was still hard, she noticed unavoidably as she took in his new body. Achingly so, and it was huge like this; red and thick. The longer she looked at him, the harder he got it seemed, and in only a few seconds, it twitched and began to leak pre-come in a thick, steady stream onto the sheets below him. There was also a thicker bulge beginning to form at the base. Gabe whined and tried to shrink away, curling inwards on himself. His ears were back, his eyes were closed, and he looked the picture of miserable shame.

“Gabe, no…” she said. “No, don’t. Come back?” she asked as she sat up and extended her hand towards him, palm up. “Come back… Please… It’s ok.”

At that, he did finally look up at her with those familiar golden eyes. He looked so vulnerable, so uncertain. She nodded reassurance and smiled. He glanced down at himself in a wry, self-deprecating kind of way and tilted his head in a question.

“I want you, Gabe,” Odessa said with a fluttering laugh, and she found that she truly meant it. She’d had ‘human Gabe’ any number of times by then, but there was something about him in this form that made her core burn. “You’re still you, whatever form you take. I want you. And,” she added with a wry smile, “You clearly still want me…”

Cautiously, he nodded and then crawled up the bed towards her.

The sight of his black, clawed, paw-like hands on the stark white sheets sent a thrill through her and she bit her lip as she lay back once more, simultaneously relaxing and buzzing with renewed energy. He loomed over her as she lay there, and she smiled up at the werewolf who already had claimed her, body and soul.

With his inhuman hands splayed across her thighs, black claws glinting, he parted her legs and she opened willingly to him. He inhaled slowly, tongue starting to loll, and he lowered his great wolf’s head and pressed his cold, wet nose to her clit. She immediately bucked beneath him but he held her down with no effort at all. His jaws parted and he let his hot tongue rake over her, tasting her, and as he did, he let out a rumbling groan of pleasure. He licked her, tongue laving through the wetness that had gathered anew between her folds, and as he started to focus more on her clit and on her pleasure, Odessa’s body began to tremble and heave in time with every stroke of his tongue. The pads of his paws were rough on her skin and his grip was breathtaking, but the contrast between the strength of his body and the delicacy of his touch left her gasping and crying out.

“Oh my God, I’m going to come,” she grunted as the pleasure that had been growing in her core suddenly unfolded like a flower.

In a blinding starburst across her vision, she came against the heat and pressure of his tongue and he closed his mouth on her. His upper teeth pressed into her mound as if he were trying to devour her while his tongue pressed tight against her fluttering heat. She tried to lift her hips against his mouth but he pinned her down and growled at her to keep still. The vibrations ran through her whole body and she threw her head back into the pillows and yelled as a second wave tore through her right on the heels of the first.

Finally she came down, twitching and gasping for breath, and he drew back slowly. He licked her a few times, not wanting to waste any of the taste of her, and then he regarded her steadily. He was still the Gabe she knew when he wore this form, but he was also a little different. Human-Gabe was relaxed and affable and easy-going, but Wolf-Gabe was quiet and intense and very observant, the way a pack’s sentry might keep watch: cataloguing every movement and noticing every detail about her. It made her skin tingle just to bear his golden gaze on her.

His jaws were softly parted to show his teeth and the tip of his wet tongue, and his eyes glowed bright gold in a face that was as kind as it was inhuman. He loved her. Of that there was no doubt.

“I need you inside me,” she whispered.

His cock twitched visibly at that, and it drooled a thick line of pre-come down onto the sheets between her legs. Trusting her, he didn’t hesitate as much this time, and he prowled the rest of the way up the bed until he loomed over her with his inhuman hands braced on either side of her head and his cock leaking pre-come all over the sensitive skin between her legs every time it twitched.

Flushed red, hard, and messy, with the knot showing visibly at soft fur around the base, Gabe seemed more aroused than she’d yet known him, but still he began slowly, simply rutting his cock against her thighs and smearing the drooling pre-come all over her. When he met her eyes and understood that she really did want him like that, he lowered his muzzle to her collarbone and slowly opened his jaws. His huge teeth locked carefully around the bones of her shoulder and chest, and she bucked up into him with a broken, needy grunt.

“Oh my God, Gabe…” she breathed, revelling in the new sensation.

It was like being held, but it was so intense on so many levels. If he chose to — or if he lost control, she supposed — he could kill her in an instant, snapping her collarbones like kindling, but instead he just held her still while he rutted luxuriantly against her, savouring the pleasure and slide of her body against his.

“Gabe…” she said again, and she raised her hands to his chest, watching as her fingers sank and disappeared into the thick fur there. “I still want you inside me…” she reminded him.

A long, low, quavering note left his throat at that and his whole body fell still.

Then, without releasing his grip on her shoulder, he shifted his hips just a little and the searing heat of the tip of his cock nudged against her entrance. With Odessa wetter than she could ever remember being, and with Gabe even messier than usual, the slide of his huge cock inside her was easier than she’d expected, though the stretch was still immense.

This time, a long, high whine left him and his jaw quivered before he released her and bowed his back to drive himself all the way inside her to the hilt.

Except it wasn’t to the hilt, she realised as the bulge of his knot nudged at her sensitive entrance and he began to pant and whimper. He clearly wanted more, to slide completely inside her, but even lost in the wolf, he apparently couldn't bear the thought of hurting her.

At first he moved with an aching, cautious slowness that bordered on frustrating for her, but when he sensed that, he got a little faster and a little bolder, and the apex of each powerful thrust punched the air out of her in a low, inelegant grunt that he seemed to adore. He tilted his head, dark ears pricked forwards, and listened to every noise she made for him. It seemed to stoke his ardour and he gnashed his teeth, black lips peeling back to reveal huge, white teeth, while his red tongue lashed behind them as drool began to drip from his jaws.

As the minutes ticked by, and his pace and the depth and power of each stroke increased, Odessa realised that he was losing himself more and more to the sensations of their joined bodies, and she loved it.

She loved it because despite all that unbelievable power, all that monstrous wildness in him, he cared for her.

Each time she sang him a new note of pleasure for him, he repeated the gesture to make her do it again, and each time she told him how wonderful it felt, he let out either a pleased growl or a chuffing whine. He scented her too, hunching his lithe back enough to bring his cheek to her neck without breaking the rhythm he’d set, before raising himself up to look at her with his pupils blown dark and wide, and his jaws slightly open and intimidatingly inhuman.

He used his new and bigger form to wring pleasure from her in ways she’d never experienced before, and she loved him fiercely for it. She found herself gently shunted up the bed towards the headboard each time his hips pistoned into her, and he picked up one dark, paw-like hand to close his clawed fingers around her breast as it jostled with the movement. Mindful of his sharp claws, he kneaded it luxuriantly for a few strokes before returning his palm to the mattress to buttress himself up properly.

This, she realised as his cock pushed deep against her inner walls in a gloriously slow stroke, was the closeness she’d been seeking all along.

“I love you, Gabe,” she whispered through welling tears. She felt full for obvious physical reasons, but her chest felt tight and her heart was beating in her throat. “I love you. I don’t want to leave. I love you.”

With a broken whine, he lowered his face one more time and nuzzled her neck and cheeks, desperately scenting her, rubbing his scent all over her wherever he could reach while his muscles trembled at the torturously inadequate pace he was inflicting on himself. He licked briefly at her mouth and her throat and his thrusts grew irregular and much, much deeper. He was shaking all over, but it was only after another few minutes of tempered bliss that she realised he was trying to restrain himself from sliding all the way in.

He was trying to avoid knotting her and it was all he could do to hold himself back.

Odessa wanted to weep at how blessedly careful he was being with her, and realised that he was never going to do it himself. She waited until he reached the apex of one particularly slow and gentle thrust and looped her legs around his middle. She tightened her hold on him, tugged, and pulled herself fully onto his knot.

With a flash of his wide, golden eyes and a snatched gasp of surprise, Gabe’s wolf jaws closed around her bare throat, teeth locking him in place like a vice around her neck, and he snarled long and deep and loud. Incoherent bliss rushed through every fibre of Odessa’s being as his knot swelled and filled perceptibly inside her, and her whole body went completely, instinctively slack beneath him with a softly-uttered ‘oh’ of pleasure.

A sensation of utter rightness and true ‘oneness’ with him was the only thing she could feel. Gabe started to rock and rut his hips repeatedly, frantically, against her, snarling and panting, but the movement was futile. They were sealed together, and he didn’t have an inch to move inside her. It felt incredible though and her core tightened, muscles clenching around him.

“Yes,” she smiled against his ruff, her body still limp with ecstasy.

His teeth dug into her but he never broke the skin despite the pressure. His hot tongue pushed against her pulse and drool slipped between his teeth to slide down her shoulder while he rutted wildly a few more times against her. He was growling and whimpering in time with each desperate, helpless thrust.

Then, only a few seconds after she’d pulled herself onto his knot, she felt his cock begin to pulse inside her.

His back rounded and hunched, his jaws tightened, his eyes rolled, and he started to come.

She could actually feel him spilling in huge spurts inside her, flooding her fuller than she’d ever been in her life, and the sounds he made against her throat were raw and deep and visceral. After a few seconds of lying there, pinned by his crushing weight to the bed, she felt his hands and arms slide underneath her shoulders, and he lifted her upper body right off the mattress. With his hands supporting her shoulders and lower back, he sat back on his heels and rutted up into her, still coming blindly, desperately.

Held upright but lolling weakly in his arms, Odessa let her head roll back. At the new angle, Gabe’s huge cock and knot caught her just perfectly inside, and at last the wave of blinding pleasure that had swamped her on first feeling his knot took her with it, and she came with a broken, convulsing wail.

Gabe threw back his head and howled.

It was a long time before Gabe shuddered to stillness, though he was still breathing hard and cradling her in his shaking arms. His cock still twitched and spilled the last of his orgasm inside her, and the only sounds in the room now were their shared, panting breaths and the occasional grunt from Gabe.

While she’d been coming, one of his hands had moved to cradle her head. His huge claws pricked her scalp a little and grounded her, and as the last echoes of her own orgasm rippled through her, she finally opened her eyes and found him staring at her.

As if he couldn’t quite believe what he had just done, Gabe slowly started to lower her down and regarded her, wild-eyed and panicky, ears back.

“Gabe,” she smiled, consonants still vague with pleasure. “That was perfect. You’re perfect. I love you, and I’m yours.”

At that last, he trembled all over and began to scent her again. He looked like he couldn’t believe what had just happened.

“Shh, it’s ok. I’m here,” she said, losing sight of her fingers again in the thick, soft fur of his ruff as she scrunched and tugged at it. “You feel so good…” She kept talking to him, reiterating that she had loved every second of it, until he slumped down on top of her, slightly askew to keep his weight mostly off her chest. He held her head in his hand and lay there, shivering and whining almost imperceptibly with each exhale. They were still tied together and the sensation of utter fullness helped to ground her.

While still idly stroking his fur, she wondered how long he would be locked inside her. She half-recalled him saying that because she wasn’t a werewolf, they probably wouldn’t technically be completely tied. Odessa didn’t feel like trying to move just yet, but she was pretty sure he was locked in place inside her as securely as if she had been a werewolf. They weren’t going anywhere for a while.

Before too long, she felt Gabe begin to fall asleep. His weight dipped incrementally down on top of her and he exhaled roughly, so she brought her hands to the soft fur around his left ear and stroked it. He flicked it and twitched up to look at her, and she smiled at him. “If you’re going to go to sleep, we need to change places,” she murmured.

He grunted in agreement, nodded, and then rolled, pulling her with him so that she lay atop his body, still joined to him. She could feel the tug of the knot against her when he moved, the pressure of it deep inside her, and experimentally, she squeezed her core around him. The most blissful pleasure she’d ever experienced rolled through her, and at the same time Gabe jutted his chin up and let out a long, quiet howl.

“You want me not to do that?” she asked but she didn't get an answer from him. He just lay there on his back with his throat completely exposed and his nose pointed to the wall behind him. “Gabe?” she asked, and did it again.

He made another noncommittal huffing noise once the reflexive moan had died away, and she laughed. She leaned forwards and scratched his jaw and fluffy throat with her nails in slow, luxuriant rakes, and he made low, happy noises in his throat. It wasn’t quite a purr — more of a rasping exhale — but it was evident that he was deeply contented, and she loved the feeling of lying on top of him with his knot locking her in place. His arms closed around her middle and he held her tightly. His hands like this were huge, dwarfing her lower back where the rough pads pressed against her skin.

Odessa loved every second of it.

Perhaps a quarter of an hour or so later, his knot began to go down enough that his softening cock started to slip free of her, and she inhaled in surprise as she felt his release slide down her thighs. There was so much of it. “Oh…” she breathed. “That’s going to make a mess…”

“Mmph,” said Wolf-Gabe without opening his eyes.

“Don’t sound so darned pleased with yourself,” she laughed, touching the tip of his cold, wet nose with her fingertip. He half-sneezed in protest but otherwise didn’t move. “It’s going to ruin these sheets.”

He shrugged. That was clearly not a problem for Wolf-Gabe to worry about. That sounded like a Human-Gabe problem. She laughed at him and he finally cracked an eye open. Leaning towards her, he licked her nose once and flopped back down, clearly exhausted. She joined him, lying along his torso with her cheek resting on his collarbones, and she drifted into sleep along with him.

It hadn’t felt like it at the time, but the strain of taking his knot, and of being so thoroughly filled, had sapped her almost completely of energy, and when she woke a while later, she felt heavy and exhausted, and, she realised with a shiver, cold. Gabe’s fur would keep him more than warm in the room, but with her body exposed to the air, she had grown uncomfortably cold.

She sat up a little, and Gabe’s soft cock finally slipped all the way out of her, making him grunt and stir too.

“Any chance you’ll run me a bath?” she muttered, only half in jest and groaning as her insides protested the movement and her thighs trembled. She really did ache now, despite how good it had felt at the time, and she didn’t want to move any more muscles than it took just to talk. “I think I’ve had more sex in the last two weeks than I’ve had in the last five years combined,” she added.

Wolf-Gabe rumbled something that sounded very pleased about that statement, and then after another couple of minutes, he rallied his strength and rolled over. He let the movement tip her gently into the middle of the bed. Instead of getting up right away though, he licked at her neck where his teeth had left a string of tiny bruises like dark, freshwater pearls across her collarbone and over her shoulder.

He looked apologetic, but she smiled and stroked his fluffy cheek. “I would have told you to let go if I’d wanted you to stop,” she said firmly and he nodded. He tipped his head into the touch, eyes closing briefly, and then he laved his hot tongue affectionately over her chest and breasts. Goosebumps followed in the wake of the warmth and she shivered without the strength to swat him away.

Gabe seemed to adore the softness of her stomach and thighs, and he almost got lost in the feel of her body in his huge, paw-like hands. He nosed her thighs apart and licked across her sensitive folds, but when she twitched and grunted at the over-stimulation, he drew back and tilted his head to one side to expose his throat in apology.

“It’s ok,” she smiled. “You didn't hurt me. I wanted you to knot me, and I’m glad you did.”

A long, beautiful groan left him at that, but he gave one more lick across her belly and then stood and walked away to the bathroom. She wondered if Wolf-Gabe would have difficulty processing what he’d need to do in order to get the bath going, but before too long the sound of water hitting the tub reached her ears, and after another few minutes, she felt steady enough to sit upright and swing her legs off the bed. God, she felt tired and she ached beautifully. The sheets beneath her were a complete mess though. She stood shakily just as Gabe nosed the bathroom door back open and padded out on all fours this time, and she ran her fingers over his thick coat as he passed. He licked the outside of her hip and she laughed affectionately before vanishing into the bathroom.

“Bath’s almost ready,” she said a little while later as she stepped out with a towel around her, more for warmth than modesty.

To her surprise, she found that Gabe had returned to his human form while she’d been in there, the sounds of a transformation masked by the running water, and he was now sitting naked on the edge of the bed, his hands in his lap.

“You want to share a bath with me?” she asked. When she didn’t get any reaction from him, she frowned and crossed back to him. “You ok?” she asked, running her fingers through his hair.

He shuddered and exhaled a huge sigh, chest heaving, and he leaned into her touch. “Yeah,” he rasped.

“You didn’t have to shift back for me you know,” she said, wondering what had sent him a little sideways.

“Wanted to,” he said, eyes closed and still leaning the weight of his head into her palm. His voice was hoarse and gruff, and he sounded exhausted.

Odessa took his rough, lovely hands in hers, her towel staying in place with a fortuitously folded corner down her cleavage, and drew him to his feet and then into the bathroom. The water was gloriously hot, and she let him get into the bath first, legs parted so that she could sit between them.

When she sank in and leaned back against his chest, he let out a long, relieved hum of pleasure, and snaked his arms around her middle. He caressed the side of her head with his cheek again, not so much scenting her, she suspected, as just simply enjoying her presence through constant touch.

“I love you,” he whispered into a kiss that he pressed against her hair. “I love you, Odessa. I’m yours.”

The contact anchored them both as they lay in each other’s arms in the hot water, and while his hands began to wander and worship her again, there was none of the charged spark that had driven him to lose control earlier.

He did get valiantly half-hard behind her, but when she nudged her backside against him and hummed a question, he just shook his head. Instead, she let her fingertips play idly along his quads and around his knees, enjoying the feel of his skin and the soft hair on his shins while he cupped her breasts adoringly and pressed his palms across her soft stomach and kissed her over and over.

Drowsy and heavy with contented pleasure, she let him buttress her body up, surrendering completely to his touch.

When his fingers found their way between her legs again, her knees fell open as much as they were able to in the confines of the bath. Despite the heat of the water, she was sore from where Wolf-Gabe had stretched her, but with the warmth and the tenderness of his touch on only her clit and the surrounding, swollen flesh, she found herself sighing into his embrace again. Pleasure overrode any lingering discomfort, and she found herself aching to give him another one.

“Yes?” he asked with reverent surprise as he stilled his index and middle fingers and began kissing the shell of her ear instead, moving slowly down her neck as far as he could reach, raking and biting with blunt teeth until she gasped.

“Yes,” she breathed, shivering and arching a little to get him to start moving his fingertips again. “Gabe, please…”

With slow, careful circles, he coiled her up again, and when she came it was almost without warning. With her head tipped back against his shoulder, moaning and sighing, and with his mouth on her neck and his fingertips pressed up against her clit on either side, it was so tender and overwhelming she began to cry.

He kissed the tears as they rolled down her cheeks and scented her again, all the while keeping his fingertips unmoving against her, holding her floating in that dreamy, in-between place for as long as she could bear it. Finally she slumped back into him and lay there, exhausted and on the verge of sleep again in the hot water of the bath.

It was only with a great effort of will on both their parts that they hauled themselves out of the tub, and after drying off, Gabe disappeared to fetch some clean bedding from the back of the wardrobe. In the end all they needed was a clean base sheet, since the duvet had been kicked off when he’d shifted, so with that done between them, she wriggled into some pyjamas and Gabe pulled the covers up around her as he climbed in beside her.

She lay facing him, and he curled up on his side too. Together their mirrored bodies almost made up the shape of a heart, though her half was smaller than his. Their knees touched, their foreheads touched, and their hands touched, but it wasn’t enough. She shuffled in close and burrowed against his chest while he rolled onto his back, one arm beneath her head and the other draped loosely across her waist. She slid her right thigh over his left and squeezed, and he kissed the crown of her head.

“Are you really alright?” he asked in a hoarse whisper, his left hand circling idly around her hip and backside. It seemed he couldn’t stop touching her.

“I’m more than alright, Gabe. If you don’t believe me and can’t smell it in my scent, I don’t know how else to convince you.”

He huffed a quick, shy laugh and kissed her forehead. “You smell happy,” he admitted. “And you smell like… mine,” he added, speaking into her hair. The words were so barely-audible that part of her wondered if he’d meant for her to hear them at all.

In the stretch of silence that followed, Odessa got the impression that there was something she was missing in all this; some extra depth to his worry that he wasn’t articulating, but she sighed, too exhausted to untangle it.

“You know,” she said drowsily, struggling to unpick exactly what she felt from the tangle of emotions in her chest. Silently, she blessed him for just lying there, with his thumb making small movements across her hip while he waited. “You make me feel like I’m… I’m the only thing in the whole world that matters to you.”

He swallowed audibly and kissed her forehead. “You are,” he said.

She squeezed him so tightly he actually wheezed and they both laughed. “Stop it,” she snorted, tapping his ribs with her fingertips. “How am I supposed to go home when you say things like that to me?”

He shrugged. “I’ll be here,” he said simply. “I’m yours. I’m not going anywhere.”

And with that simple knowledge tolling through them both like a midnight bell, they drifted off to sleep.

Odessa wasn’t sure where she ended and Gabe began as they lay with their legs intertwined and her torso draped across his, but she did know that she was exactly where she belonged.

Oh Gabe...

Next chapter (season finale) -->

Thanks for reading this far in their story, and I hope that you’ll consider reblogging this as well as leaving a like if you enjoyed it, as that will help others find it. One more chapter to go of Season One!

Take care, and I hope you have a lovely day/night wherever you are, and whenever you read this. And since it’s my first story-post of 2023, Happy New Year!

Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

#gabe & odessa #werewolf #werewolf boyfriend #monster boyfriend #male werewolf #male werewolf x female human #male werewolf x female character #exophilia

325 notes · View notes

blessedarethebinarybreakers · 9 months ago

Note

(I’m popping a extra disclaimer here because I don’t know if I worded this very well, and I understand if this isnt the kind if question you feel comfortable answering, but this is a genuine question made in good faith. I also apologise if this sounds really stupid)

I read one of your recent asks about inclusivism and it reminded me of something that always sat in the back of my mind with this train of thought.

If we say that everyone regardless of religion, or absence of it, gets into heaven, doesn’t that seem disrespectful to their faith. By saying that people of other religions get into christian heaven, is that not inadvertently telling them that their religion or their gods are fake, and that when they die it’ll be okay because they’ll learn the real truth? I hope this doesn’t come across as blunt or disrespectful to anyone, I’ve just never be able to come to a conclusion that isn’t exclusive (which is kind of a depressing thought), but is also respectful. Because it’s a beautiful idea that god loves us all regardless of who we are or what we believe, but what about people who have the kind of faith we do in a completely different god, or multiple gods, do they have the same thoughts about us? that their god loves us even though we dont believe?

I feel like I’m asking questions I’m not supposed to but I’m just really curious about your perspective if this is something you’re comfortable answering.

Hey anon, this is an important question, so thanks for asking it! You don't sound "stupid"; you're thinking like a theologian :) I'm probably not going to do it justice, I'm afraid, but maybe folks will hop on with more ideas or resources?

This got really long, so the TL;DR: I agree with you, and so do a lot of theologians and other thinkers!

In a religiously diverse world, it makes sense that people of various religions ponder where people outside their religions "fit" in their understanding of both the present world and whatever form of afterlife they have.

If someone has a firm personal belief in certain things taking place after death (from heaven to reincarnation), I don't think it's inherently wrong to imagine all kinds of people joining them in that experience, when it points to how that person recognizes the inherent holiness and value of all kinds of people, and shows that they long for continued community with & flourishing for those people.

However, this contemplation should be done with great care — especially when your religion is the dominant one in your culture; especially if your religion has a long history (and/or present) of colonialism and coerced conversions.

Ultimately, humility and openness are key! It's fine to have your own beliefs about humanity's place in this life and after death, but make yourself mindful of your own limited perspective. Accept you might be wrong in part or in whole! And be open to learning from others' ideas, and truly listening to them if they say something in your ideas has caused them or their community tangible harm.

In the rest of this post, I'll focus on a Christian perspective and keep grappling with how to consider these questions while honoring both one's personal faith and people all religions...without coming to any solid conclusions (sorry, but I don't think there's any one-size-fits-all or fully satisfying answer!).

I'll talk a bit about inclusivism and how it fails pretty miserably in this regard, and point towards religious pluralism as a possibly better (tho still imperfect) option.

And as usual I'll say I highly recommend Barbara Brown Taylor's book Holy Envy: Finding God in the Faith of Others to any Christians / cultural Christians who want to learn more about entering into mutual relationship with people of other religions.

In previous posts, I brought up the concepts of exclusivism, inclusivism, and religious pluralism without digging into their academic definitions and histories — partially because it's A Lot for a tumblr post, but also because it's by no means in my sphere of expertise. I worried about misrepresenting any viewpoint if I tried to get all academic, so I just stuck to my own personal opinions instead — but looking back at some posts, I see I didn't do a great job of clarifying that's what I was doing!

So now I'll go into what scholars mean when talking about these different viewpoints, with a huge caveat that I'm not an expert; I'm just drawing from notes and foggy memories from old seminary classes + this article from the Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy (IEP), and anyone interested in learning more should find scholarly articles or books rather than relying on some guy on tumblr!

Defining exclusivism, inclusivism, & religious pluralism

When we encounter traditions that offer differing and often conflicting "accounts of the nature of both mundane and supramundane reality, of the ultimate ends of human beings, and of the ways to achieve those ends" (IEP), how do we respond? Do we focus on difference and reject any truth in their views that conflicts with our views? Do we avoid looking too closely at the places we differ? try to find common ground? try to make their views fit ours?

Exclusivism, inclusivism, and religious pluralism are three categories into which we can place various responses to the reality of religious diversity.

It's important to note that this is only one categorization system one can use, and that these categories were developed within a Western, Christian context (by a guy named Alan Race in 1983). They are meant to be usable by persons of any religion — all sorts of people ask these questions about how their beliefs relate to others' beliefs — but largely do skew towards a Western, Christian way of understanding religion. (For one thing, there's a strong focus on salvation / afterlife and not all religions emphasize that stuff very much, if at all!)

Drawing primarily from this article on the Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy (IEP), here are basic definitions of each:

Exclusivist positions maintain that "only one set of belief claims or practices can ultimately be true or correct (in most cases, those of the one holding the position). A Christian exclusivist would therefore hold that the beliefs of non-Christians (and perhaps even Christians of other denominations) are in some way flawed, if not wholly false..." . (From my old class notes — Exclusivist Christians believe 3 things are non-negotiable: the unique authority of Jesus Christ as the apex of revelation; Jesus as normative; salvation exclusively through repentance and faith in Christ's work on the cross. Some will allow that God does provide some truths about Godself and humanity through general revelation, including truths found in other religious traditions, but the Biggest most Important revelation is still Jesus.) .

Inclusivist positions "recognize the possibility that more than one religious tradition can contain elements that are true or efficacious, while at the same time hold that only one tradition expresses ultimate religious truth most completely." . Christian inclusivists tend to focus on salvation, claiming that non-Christians can still achieve salvation — still through Jesus Christ. Sometimes they hold that any non-Christian whose life happens to fit Jesus's call to love God and neighbor, etc., will be saved. Other times they hold that only non-Christians who never had the chance to learn about Jesus can be saved; if you know about Christianity and reject it, it doesn't matter how "good"you are, you're doomed. .

Pluralist positions hold that "more than one set of beliefs or practices can be, at least partially and perhaps wholly, true or correct simultaneously." For Christian pluralists, that means believing that Jesus is not the one Way to God / to heaven/salvation; Christianity is one way of many, usually conceived of as all being on equal footing, to connect to the Divine. .

(These three categories are not all encompassing; the IEP article also brings up relativism and skepticism.)

Issues with Exclusivism & Inclusivism

I hope the issues with exclusivism are clear, but to name a few:

Christians who are taught that all non-Christians (or even the "wrong kind" of Christians) are doomed to hell are taught to see those people as Projects more than people — there's a perceived urgent need to convert them asap in order to "save them." The only kind of relationship you'd form with one of them is centered in efforts to convert them, rather than to live and learn alongside them as they are.

Doesn't matter if they are already happily committed to a different religion. In your eyes, they're wrong about feeling fulfilled and connected to the Divine.

Doesn't matter if you have to resort to violent and coercive practices like wiping out all signs of non-Christian culture or kidnapping non-Christian children to raise Christian — the ends justify the means because you're looking out for their "immortal souls."

...But what about inclusivism? If you're a Christian inclusivist, you aren't forcing anyone to convert to Christianity right now! You acknowledge that non-Christians can live holy and fulfilling lives! You even acknowledge that there's scraps of value in their valid-but-not-as-valid-as-Christianity religions! So what's the problem?

Turns out that this is a major case of one's good intentions not being nearly as important as one's impact.

You may be pushing back against exclusivism's outright refusal that non-Christians have any connection to the divine at all, which is nice and all — but by saying that non-Christians will basically become Christian after they die, you are still perpetuating our long history of coercive conversions.

There's a reason some scholars argue that inclusivism isn't actually a separate category from, but a sub-category of, exclusivism: you're still saying everyone has to be Christian, "so luckily you'll See The Light and become Christian after you die :)"

This is very reasonably offensive to many non-Christians. If nothing else, it's ludicrously smug and paternalistic! I won't get into it here but it only gets worse when some inclusivist positions try to get all Darwinian and start arranging religions from lower to higher, with Christianity as the "evolutionary" apex of religion ://

For now, I'll only go into detail about Catholic Jesuit theologian Karl Rahner's particular version of inclusivism, because it's quite common and really highlights the paternalism:

Rahner's Anonymous Christians:

A question that Catholics and other Christians struggled with in the 20th century was this: If non-Christians cannot be saved (because they held firm in believing that salvation must be in and through Christ), what happens if someone never even had the chance to learn about Christianity? Surely a loving God wouldn't write them an automatic ticket to hell when they're non-Christian through no fault of their own, right?

German Jesuit Karl Rahner's response was to conceive of a sort of abstract version of Christianity for non-Christians who lived good, faithful lives outside of official (what he called "constituted") Christianity:

"Anonymous Christianity means that a person lives in the grace of God and attains salvation outside of explicitly constituted Christianity. ...Let us say, a Buddhist monk…who, because he follows his conscience, attains salvation and lives in the grace of God; of him I must say that he is an anonymous Christian; if not, I would have to presuppose that there is a genuine path to salvation that really attains that goal, but that simply has nothing to do with Jesus Christ. But I cannot do that. And so, if I hold if everyone depends upon Jesus Christ for salvation, and if at the same time I hold that many live in the world who have not expressly recognized Jesus Christ, then there remains in my opinion nothing else but to take up this postulate of an anonymous Christianity." - Karl Rahner in Dialogue (1986), p. 135.

So someone who has intentionally devoted themselves to another religion, someone who does good work in that religion's name, is...secretly, unbeknownst to them, actually Christian?

I hope the offensiveness of that is clear — the condescension in implying these people are ignorant of what religion they "really" belong to! the assumption that Good deeds & virtues are always inherently Christian deeds & virtues! the arrogance of being so sure your own religion is The One Right Way that you have to construct a "back door" (as Hans Küng describes it) into it to shove in all these poor people who for whatever reason can't or don't choose to join it!

One theologian who criticized the paternalism of "anonymous Christianity" is John Hick, who was one of the big advocates for religious pluralism as a more respectful way of understanding non-Christian religions. So let's finally talk some more about pluralism!

Religious Pluralism!

As defined earlier, religious pluralist positions hold that there are many paths to the divine, and that all religions have access to some truths about the divine.

For Christians, this means rejecting those 3 non-negotiables of exclusionists about Christianity being the one true religion and Jesus being the one path to salvation. Instead of claiming that Christianity is the "most advanced" religion, pluralism claims that Christianity is just one religion among many, with no unique claim on the truth.

Some other pluralist points:

Pluralism resists antisemitic claims that Christianity is the "fulfillment" of (or that it "supercedes") Judaism.

Various religions provide independent access to salvation rather than everyone's salvation relying on Christ. (Note the still very Christian-skewed lens here in emphasizing salvation at all though!)

When we notice how different religions' truth claims conflict with one another, pluralists reconcile this by talking about how one's experience of truth is subjective.

Pluralism tends to give more authority to human experience than sacred texts

John Hicks' pluralist position

I mentioned before that Hicks is one of the big names in the religious pluralism scene. The IEP article I drew from earlier goes into much greater detail about his views and responses to it in the section titled "c. John Hick: the Pluralistic Hypothesis," but for a brief overview:

His central claim is that "diverse religious traditions have emerged as various finite, historical responses to a single transcendent, ultimate, divine reality. The diversity of traditions (and the belief claims they contain) is a product of the diversity of religious experiences among individuals and groups throughout history, and the various interpretations given to these experiences."

"As for the content of particular belief claims, Hick understands the personal deities of those traditions that posit them...as personae of the Real, explicitly invoking the connotation of a theatrical mask in the Latin word persona."

"Hick claims that all religious understandings of the Real are on equal footing insofar as they can only offer limited, phenomenal representations of transcendent truth."

We must accept that world religions are fundamentally different from each other, rather than falling into platitudes about how "we're all the same deep down"

Each religion has its own particular and comprehensive framework for understanding the world and human experience (i.e. we shouldn't use the normative Christian framework to describe other faiths)

Another angle: hospitality

As various philosophers and theologians have responded to and expanded upon pluralist frameworks, one big concept that some emphasize is hospitality: that all of us regardless of religion have an obligation to welcome others to all that is ours, if and when they have need of it — especially when they are of different cultures or religions from us.

Hospitality requires respect for those under our care, honoring and protecting their differences.

When we are the ones in need of hospitality, we should be able to expect the same.

Hospitality implies being able to anticipate our guest's needs, but we need to accept the impossibility of being able to guess every need, so communication is key!

Liberation theology & Pluralism

I also appreciate what liberation theologians have brought into the discussion. Here's from the IEP article:

"Liberation theology, which advocates a religious duty to aid those who are poor or suffering other forms of inequality and oppression, has had a significant influence on recent discussions of pluralism. The struggle against oppression can be seen as providing an enterprise in which members of diverse religious traditions can come together in solidarity.

"Paul F. Knitter, whose work serves as a prominent theological synthesis of liberation and pluralist perspectives, argues that engaging in interreligious dialogue is part and parcel of the ethical responsibility at the heart of liberation theology. He maintains not only that any liberation theology ought to be pluralistic, but also that any adequate theory of religious pluralism ought to include an ethical dimension oriented toward the goal of resisting injustice and oppression.

"Knitter claims that, if members of diverse religions are interested (as they should be) in encountering each other in dialogue and resolving their conflicts, this can only be done on the basis of some common ground. ..."

Knitter sees suffering as that common ground: "Suffering provides a common cause with which diverse religious traditions are concerned and towards which they can come together to craft a common agenda. Particular instances of suffering will, of course, differ from each other in their causes and effects; likewise, the practical details of work to alleviate suffering will almost necessarily be fleshed out differently by different religions, at different times and in different places. Nevertheless, Knitter maintains that suffering itself is a cross-cultural and universal phenomenon and should thus serve as the reference point for a practical religious pluralism. Confronting suffering will naturally give rise to solidarity, and pluralist respect and understanding can emerge from there."

Knitter also sees the planet as a source of literal common ground for us all: "Earth not only serves as a common physical location for all religious traditions, but it also provides these traditions with what Knitter calls a 'common cosmological story' (1995, p. 119). ...Knitter makes a case that different religious traditions share an ecological responsibility and that awareness of this shared responsibility, as it continues to emerge, can also serve as a basis for mutual understanding."

When Knitter and other liberation theologians speak of suffering or earth care as rallying points for interreligious solidarity, it's important to point out that such solidarity doesn't happen automatically: it is something we have to choose to commit to. We have to be courageous about challenging those who would pin suffering on another religious or cultural group. We have to be courageous about having difficult conversations, again and again. We have to learn how to work together for common goals even while accepting where we differ.

How to end this long ass post?

My hope is that as you read (or skimmed) all this, you were thinking about your own personal beliefs: where, if anywhere, do they fit among all these ideas? where would you like them to fit?

And, in the end, did I really address anon's question about whether it's disrespectful to people of other religions to assert that everyone is loved by God, or gets into heaven? Not really, because I don't know. I think it probably depends on context, and how one puts it, and how certain one acts about their ideas about God and heaven.

For me, it always comes down to humility about my own limited perspective, even while asserting that we all have a right to our personal beliefs, including ideas about what comes after this life.

When I imagine all human beings together in whatever comes next, I hope I do so not out of a desire for assimilation into my religion, but a desire to continue to learn from and alongside all kinds of people and beliefs. I hope I remain open to learning about how other people envision both what comes after death, and more importantly, what they think about life here and now. What can I learn from them about truth, kindness, justice? How can we work together to achieve those things for all creation, despite and in and through our differences?

I'll end with Eboo Patel's description of religious pluralism, which sums up much of how I feel, from his memoir Acts of Faith: The Story of an American Muslim:

"Religious pluralism is neither mere coexistence nor forced consensus. It is a form of proactive cooperation that affirms the identities of the constituent communities while emphasizing that the wellbeing of each and all depends on the health of the whole. It is the belief that the common good is best served when each community has a chance to make its unique contribution."

___

Further resources:

Explore my #religious pluralism tag for more thoughts and quotes

You might also enjoy wandering through my #interfaith tag

Two podcast episodes that draw from Eboo Patel, Barbara Brown Taylor, and other wonderful people: "No One Owns God: Readying yourself for respectful interfaith encounters" and "It's good to have wings, but you have to have roots too: Cultivating your own faith while embracing religious pluralism"

My tag with excerpts from Holy Envy

Post that includes links to various questions about heaven

Here’s a post where I talk about why I don’t believe in hell

My evangelism tag (tl;dr: I’m staunchly against prosletyzing to anyone who doesn’t explicitly request more info about Christianity)

#feel free only to read the tldr anon -- the rest goes way beyond your actual question!#exclusivism #inclusivism #religious pluralism #long post #essays #theology #other faiths tag

28 notes · View notes