#and I’m going to take a bite out of him with my jaw unhinged

[countxcrimson]

Ryou smells like sugar cookies to me and I’m sick of not speaking my truth, ill even.

He’s pale like the cookie and his hair is white like the frosting, to me he just look like he smells like sugar cookies. He has sugar cookie energy.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk

[bobafetts-princess]

Logan Loves to Bite

Summary: This is quite literally an homage to how I feel that Logan Howlett fucks and that’s all there is to it.

Pairings: Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1K

Warnings: Established relationship, Logan bites sometimes hard enough to break skin, hair pulling, ass smacking, choking, oral (fem!receiving) rimming (fem!receiving), no condoms on this blog

A/N: Welcome to my most popular AO3 fic! If you’ve seen it there, I’m the same person! This one is my favorite Logan fic, it makes me unhinged every time I read it. I hope yall like it here ✨

It was just in his nature as a feral mutant. He bit. He bit when he was nervous or scared, and he bit when he got off.

He was lucky you had a great healing factor, while it wasn’t as quick as his (no ones was), it was still fast and your ‘love bites’ disappeared in a matter of hours. His mouth was always on you when the two of you fucked and Charles even had to sound proof your room because Scott and Jean kept complaining about all the noise.

His favorite way to fuck you was from behind, either his hand wrapped in your hair to give him leverage, or your body pulled up against his so he could bite his way along where your neck and shoulder met.

He was animalistic like that, wanting to take you from a position where he had the most power, the most control. He’d pull your body up so it fitted against his and wrap a hand around your throat, nose buried in your hair as he pounded up into you. His increased sense of smell was his secret kink. He could smell your arousal from rooms away and sometimes you would see if you could get yourself off before Logan found his way to your shared room, sniffing the air and taking over.

Every once in a while he would let you ride him, but it wouldn’t take long for him to pull himself up to you, sinking his teeth into the soft spot where your jaw and your neck meet. He would turn your head, whispering dirty words in your ear as he fucked up into you. He said he loved the scent you released when he was fucking you. He would bury his nose where you released the strongest scent, between your breasts or behind your ears or along the hairline on the back of your neck.

He loved to go down on you too, burying his nose in the crotch of your panties, inhaling deeply and telling you how fucking sweet you smelled. He was always leaving marks on the insides of your thigh as he worked his way towards the apex of them.


He’d grunt and groan, eating your pussy for all it was worth, pausing only to bite your inner thighs or dig his fingers into your hips. He always said he loved to bite the skin on your inner thighs the most. The part where it always seemed to be soft and pliable, no matter how hard you worked to make it go away. The bruises always faded faster than the bites, but he loved seeing you covered in them anyways.

Then he’d flip you over, smacking your ass and leaving red marks before he’d sink his teeth in the soft flesh. If he was feeling especially dirty, he would work his tongue towards your puckered hole, massaging the tight ring at the same time his hands did the same with your cheeks.

Logan would slip inside you, pressing until he was fully seated and you felt him in your throat. He’d give you a couple sharp thrusts, relishing in the way you’d gasp when he’d hit that spot. He’d pull your upper body backwards, fitting it against his hard chest as his teeth scraped along the edge of your ear and he would tell you how fucking good your pussy felt clamped around him. Logan liked to fuck and he liked to fuck dirty. He loved to get you so fucked out so you just fell asleep on his chest when he finally came, spent from hours worshipping your body. He loved to make you scream his name, loved when the only logical thought you could come up with was “Logan, Logan, Logan.”

He loved seeing the way your pussy looked stuffed with his cock, the way he stretched you as you gripped him. He loved the whimpers and whines you let loose when he had your hair fisted in his hands, or his fingers wrapped around your throat. He loved getting you so worked up you were begging for him to give it to you, begging for it harder, rougher, dirtier.

You’d long since given him the okay to bury himself in you if he woke up from a nightmare and you’d lost track of the amount of times that you’d been woken from Logan pushing into your wet heat, hands gripping tightly at your hips as he used your body to drown out his nightmares. He’d pin you down to the bed, needing the control as he pounded into you, teeth scraping along your shoulder blades until he finally bit down, grunting against your skin as he spilled himself into you.

He loved the little sigh of pleasure as he drove home for the first time, filling you completely. He loved the little gasps you released as he nibbled his way across your shoulders, the way you arched in for more. He loved the way that you arched when you came, highlighting your breast’s and making him all the more ready to nibble on them. He especially loved the way when he finally came, biting down hard enough to break skin, you would always let loose this throaty groan that shot straight to his groin. Because when it came down to it, you loved to be bitten as much as Logan loves to bite.

[sommerregenjuniluft]

jirgin chronicles

HFKSKKFKDD it’s been a Month since you sent this and i just saw jfkskf shame on me but

Yes. yes and ily and this is for you ino (nsfw warning)

It’s been approximately half an hour since James has thrown his phone across from him on the mattress and then flung himself onto his bedroom floor and anxiously been doing sit-ups to distract himself from the atrocity he’s just committed.

He’s utterly, absolutely and astronomically fumbled it, is what he’s done.

James counts 283 and there’s a knock on the door.

Hm. He wasn’t expecting visitors.

James gets up and strips his shirt on the way, balling it up in his hands to dab at the sweat that’s been collecting on his face and neck and pads to the front door of his small apartment.

He doesn’t bother peeking through the spy hole but instead swings the door open, ready to help a stranger to their right destination. Most likely someone else’s flat in the building. James is positive that he has the last names from the doorbell signs down enough to give helpful instructions.

What he doesn’t expect to see there, is a familiar face.

Or, rather, a much too familiar, instantly heart beat skipping, agonizingly pretty face.

Regulus is standing there, arms ramrod straight at his sides and face flushed. “What exactly did you mean when you texted— and you’re naked.”

James looks down on himself but sure enough he’s still in shorts, socks and slippers.

He gazes back up at Regulus who sorta looks more flushed than just a second ago, but perhaps it’s just a trick of the light.

“Why are you naked?” Regulus presses out. “And sweaty?” His tone makes it sound more like a statement.

Shit, does James stink? When was the last time he used deodorant? His shower after lunch? Yes, he did. That should do.

James shakes his head, “I’m not naked.” He gestures down at himself.

Regulus makes a noise like he’s frustrated and his eyes roll back. James is not thinking any indecent thoughts.

“Why are you like—” Regulus gestures at James as well. There’s a lot of gesturing going on comparatively to how short this conversation has been going on. “—like this?”

James refuses the instinct to let out a dumb Uhh and think of a plausible answer instead. He shrugs feebly, “Been doing sit-ups.”

“Sit-ups?” Regulus parrots in vague disbelief. His arms cross in front of his chest, frown pulling at his expression. James wants to bite his cheek.

“Yes,” he confirms. He rubs his shirt along his neck once more. “Um,” James mentally slaps himself, “did you want- I mean, was there something you came here for?”

“Is there something I—” Regulus makes another one of his noises and then simply stalks past James and into his apartment.

“Yeah, sure, come in,” James calls after him, closing the door. He turns just in time to see Regulus disappear into his bedroom. “I- Reg, what? Wait a god damn second.” He quickly heads after the younger man just to find him searching around his room like—and there’s really no better way of phrasing it—a drug sniffer dog.

Before James can even get a word out Regulus toes off his sneakers and gets on his bed, working around in the sheets. It takes no longer than a few seconds before he resurfaces with a vindictive A-ha, proceeding to hold up James’ phone.

James feels his cheeks heat with familiar shame.

And he feels them heat even more when Regulus clambers off his bed, the curls of his hair all tousled, and steps up to where James is rooted to the spot. He holds the phone screen up at James in an almost accusatory way. Yet, again, before James can even think to explain, Regulus snatches it away again and swipes his thumb over the screen.

James’ jaw almost unhinges, “Did you just do that to unlock my phone with face ID?”

“Yup,” Regulus says, tapping away on James’ phone.

“I-” and that manages to snap James out of it and catapult him into a more intelligent homo sapiens headspace, “Give me that!”

“No,” Regulus counters immediately, stemming a surprisingly deft palm against James’ sternum. He makes another swipe for his phone but Regulus keeps angling himself away with all the grace of a younger sibling that’s taken something that doesn’t belong to them.

James whines and tries wrapping an arm around Regulus to pull him closer, to get closer to the phone that is held one Regulus arms length away. Regulus makes a noise, a different one, but inexorably no less sexy. “Stop that,” he chides.

“You stop it,” James volleys back, desperately trying to keep his focus on the fact that Regulus is currently still going through his phone for whatever reason and off how good the other feels pressed right up against James body. “What are you even trying to—”

With a sudden start Regulus’ posture changes and he twists around to shove the phone back into James’ face. If James wasn’t so focused on not focusing on Regulus’ hand on his biceps and the way his belt is pressing just right against James’ crotch, he might not have taken as long as he does to realize what Regulus is trying to show him.

“So?” Regulus demands, wiggling the phone in front of James’ nose, just as his eyes adjust to the proximity of the object.

The screen projects their chat.

It presents James with the two most idiotic text messages he’s ever hit send on. But it also tells him Regulus’ reaction he so clearly unsuccessfully tried to avoid.

16:42 you’re more stupid than i thought if you really believe that inexperience consequences bad sex, potter

16:43 did you not also hear pandora and dorcas deflower each other in the room over at my birthday party in year 11?

16:46 wait are you drunk??

16:46 it’s literally not even five pm

16:51 if you’re not answering me in the next 10 minutes the offer is off the table..

17:00 james i’m fucking serious

17:00 also, don’t you dare answer if you’re gonna make that joke

17:01 i will actually choke you to death

17:05 hello??

17:08 i’m coming over

And, well.

James doesn’t really know what to say. Or think. Or do.

Anything really.

Regulus is glaring up at him next to his phone screen and it’s searing. He’s warm too, sturdy and a comfortable weight in James’ arm.

Oh, he really doesn’t want to let go. That he knows. That James is more than one hundred percent sure of.

And he’s here. Regulus threatened to pull back on his agreement to James’ insane question but instead of actually doing so he came here.

James asked Regulus if he would like to have sex with him, told him that he’s in truth a virgin and not at all confident in doing well in bed, and Regulus had put on his fucking shoes and walked his snotty, sexy, little ass the 7 minutes it takes to get from his shared flat to James’.

It’s a little too good to be true.

A fresh apple found on the forest ground of rotting foliage and James is waiting for net to snap up beneath his feet and hold him in elevated imprisonment.

James has to ask. “Why’d you come over, Reg?”

Regulus clicks his tongue. “Why do you think?”

“I don’t want to guess,” James insists as Regulus crosses his arms again, averting his eyes, “I want to know.”

A moment ticks by, and then another, in which Regulus stubbornly stares at a spot over James’ shoulder, not saying a word.

James reaches around further and pinches Regulus’ waist to make him jump. He does, predictably, and then bares his teeth in an almost growl when he returns to face James. “Because…” Regulus sighs out of his nose with force.

James holds him tighter at the waist again, in warning. Coincidentally pulling Regulus more onto him, making them both gasp softly.

Regulus’ lips part and James eyes bulge. “Sorry,” he mutters, voice husky.

Regulus groans, almost distressed, and James is about to apologize properly when Regulus stops him short. “Because,” he erupts, “you’re like stupidly hot, James, and it’s fucking pissing me off. It’s been pissing me off for a good five years, at this point, and I feel like if I don’t do anything about it, I will go mental.”

Oh.

James needs a moment to process that. Several actually.

The muscles in his arm start straining from how tight he’s holding Regulus against him but James doesn’t care. All he can think about is Regulus at 19, shy and small, but spitting venom at any attempt of getting closer. A time where Regulus’ hair was short and choppy after he cut it all off himself, where his skin was still pale and untouched by ink, where he still had a lot to unlearn but was visibly thankful for the environment he was brought into through his brother. That little baby snake, teeth sharp and going for an attack every few seconds, wasn’t repulsed by James at all. He was angry with himself for not being repulsed by James.

Oh, James should have known, he should have noticed. Or at least it shouldn’t have taken him this long to fucking find out. Because it only took about two years before Regulus started to become malleable in James’ proximity, in his palm. Jabs easier, quips more playful, and an uptick of the corner of his mouth. James had nearly run laps from the happiness these small victories brought the first few times they happened.

But it was supposed to happen like this. If James has learned one thing from building his relationship with Regulus, it’s patience, no matter how badly he’d wanted to tear out his own hair at times. It would have been no use rushing into it and scaring him off.

Because now Regulus is the one who came, who made the step. Who is here, in James’ arms, a desperate, pretty little thing. Worn thin and helpless, eager and frustrated and—

“You’re into me?” James breathes, something inside his chest fluttering.

“I just said that,” Regulus scowls again and James almost explodes.

His still unsure how to do this but James wants, fuck, he wants so badly. Wants to eat Regulus, wants to fuse with him, wants Regulus to spit in his open mouth and make him swallow.

James has made out with people before, at parties. He’s been told he’s a good kisser.

“Reg.”

“What?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Regulus does a double take at him. His mouth drops open and his eyes go all wide and soft, gaze so dewy it nearly cuts James off at the knees.

“You—” Regulus interrupts himself in favor of pulling James down by his nape. Fingers wind themselves into the back of James’ hair at the same time as Regulus licks his tongue between James’ lips and it’s heaven.

Immediately James’ body feels oversensitive, blood rushing and prickling inside his veins like sour candy, light headed, gut clenching, lips tingling where he can feel Regulus’ press against his. It’s wet and open mouth, nip of teeth, but it’s soft, gentle despite that.

James lets out a happy sigh and it turns into a moan when Regulus tugs at his roots. Turns into panting and a whimper when Regulus breaks off but keeps his hips pressed into James’.

Oh, that’s dangerous. That’s so, so d—

“James, did you just get hard this quickly?”

Again, it sounds less like a question and more like a statement. Which, technically it has every right to be, since Regulus is completely correct.

It doesn’t feel quite on par with James’ ego to outright and immediately admit it though so he intelligently keeps gaping at Regulus momentarily.

But Regulus isn’t having it. He fastens his grip in James’ messy hair, his other hand coming up to loosely rest against the base of James’ throat and then Regulus leans in to lick at the seam of his lips. Touching just the tip of his tongue to James’ sensitive kissed, open mouth like he’s coaxing the answer out of him like that.

Insane behavior. James needs to lock Regulus away from everybody else in the world. He can’t have him going around being this hot just for anyone to see.

It works though, in a way, at least. James doesn’t manage to form a coherent verbal answer but his hips do the job for him when he ruts them forth and into Regulus in response.

The younger bites his lower lip at that, pupils blown and smoldering, “That’s a yes, I suspect.” And then Regulus says something that is the exact moment of the beginning of James Fleamont Potter’s ruination as the world knows and adores him. He knocks James head around slightly, carefully and coos at him gently. And then Regulus says, “Already stupid in the head, huh?”

James’ body nearly takes a screenshot. His gut tightens immediately, all the blood leaving his head and rushing straight to his cock, so fast and hard it’s dizzying. The tips of his fingers tingle with blood loss and a noise rips from his throat that’s as animalistic as it is pathetic.

From then it’s all a bit hazy.

There’s a lot of begging involved on James’ part and a lot of leading on Regulus’. They end up on the bed, kissing each other’s mouths raw, James on his back and Regulus in his lap, grinding down on him like he’s trying to grade James’ braincells away like a parmesan. It’s working. To the point where he’s so lost in the feel and weight of Regulus, in all the way he makes him feel good like the fucking angel that he is, that James doesn’t even notice he’s about to cum before it’s too late.

It barrels through him like a fucking freight train, spilling into his shorts, Regulus pressing down on and milking it out of him.

One would imagine this is already intense enough but then Regulus mumbles something into his ear and James vaguely remembers blushing again and nodding. There’s the sound of a zipper and some adjusting and then Regulus lets out a shaky moan that has James snapping back into the present so fast he’s afraid he gave himself whiplash.

Because Regulus is on top of him, hand down his jeans and eyebrows scrunched like he’s feeling just so fucking good and James has to kiss him again. They do that until Regulus shudders through his own orgasm and James feels like his bones turned into al dente pasta.

And lastly, because Regulus is still an evil, little shit, he gives James one more dirty, wet kiss before extracting himself entirely.

He pats James on the knee as he rebuttons his trousers, “Now, if you wanna continue this, you know where to find me. And you better text me back before I get home or this’ll be the last time you had an orgasm through your dick.”

James just so refrains from telling him he’s in love with him.

[maddie0101]

desperate measures

— based off of THIS request. I hope you like it nonny! ❤︎

summary: murphy’s thirst for revenge forces bellamy into an impossible choice, himself for the reader and jasper. But deals with the desperate rarely go as planned, and the aftermath leaves nothing the same.

warnings: fem!reader, friends to lovers, violence, unhinged murphy (we love him in later seasons tho), mentions of hanging, bell almost dying, blood, reader has a mouth on her, protective!bell, hurt/comfort, happy ending, cussing, we don't like murphy in this fic, guns?, taunting, groveling!bell, reader gets injured, lmk if I missed anything?

word count:8.3k (yes, I’m actually insane)

note: based off the episode ‘we are grounders part one’. it is NOT exactly how the episode goes. I loosely wrote my own version but kept the same plot. I know the episode was a lot different to how I wrote this but idc, lol. enjoy!

The first thing you noticed was the cold, hard floor beneath you. The second was the dull, pounding ache at the back of your head. You groaned softly, shifting, only to realize that you couldn’t move your arms. Your wrists were bound behind your back, a rope biting into your skin and around your ankles, too.

Panic flickered through you, sharp and sudden. You blinked, trying to force your vision to adjust to the dim light around you. The metal walls, the familiar scent of rust and old fire—the dropship.

Why the hell were you in the dropship?

A groan beside you made you turn your head, your breath catching as you spotted Jasper slumped against the wall. His head lolled forward, and a thin streak of dried blood trailed down his forehead.

“Jasper,” you hissed, nudging his leg with your foot.

He let out a sharp breath, blinking sluggishly. His eyes flickered open, unfocused at first before they darted around, taking in the metal walls, the ropes, you.“What the hell?” Jasper mumbled, shifting against his restraints. His face twisted in confusion as he tugged at them. “Why am I—”

“Finally,” a voice cut through the air and your blood ran cold.

A slow, mocking clap followed, the sound bouncing off the dropship’s walls. Jasper inhaled sharply, his entire body going rigid beside you.

Murphy.

He stepped into view, his movements slow and deliberate. The rifle hung loosely at his side, his fingers drumming against the barrel. His eyes gleamed with something dark, something unhinged, as he looked down at you both. “About time you two woke up,” Murphy drawled, tilting his head. “Thought maybe I hit you too hard.”

Jasper stiffened. “You knocked us out?”

Murphy grinned. “What can I say? Didn’t think you’d come quietly.”

Your jaw clenched. Anger burned beneath your skin, hot and sharp, pushing back the fear threatening to take hold.

“What’s the matter, Murphy?” you sneered, lifting your chin. “Got tired of playing the victim, so now you’re back to being a psycho?”

Murphy’s grin twitched, his fingers tightening around the rifle. “There it is,” he mused. “That sharp tongue of yours. Always thought you were a little too bold for your own good.” He took a slow step forward, crouching in front of you. His eyes flicked over your face, his smirk widening. “Bet Bellamy just loves that about you.”

Your stomach twisted, but you kept your expression neutral.

Jasper, however, wasn’t as composed. “What the hell do you want?” he demanded, his voice sharp and laced with frustration. His breathing was uneven, chest rising and falling a little too fast — the panic was setting in, even if he was trying to hide it.

Murphy’s smile stretched wider, that twisted, smug grin that always made your skin crawl. His fingers flexed around the rifle at his side, a casual movement that felt far more threatening than if he’d actually raised it. Like he was just waiting for an excuse.

“Revenge,” he said simply, like the word itself should be enough to explain everything.

“Oh, give me a fucking break,” you muttered, your voice thick with sarcasm. “This is about the hanging, isn’t it?”

Murphy’s smile faltered, his expression hardening. His grip on the rifle tightened just enough for his knuckles to go white.

“Jesus, Murphy,” you scoffed, shifting against the rough rope that cut into your wrists. “You tried to kill people. Hell, you killed Charlotte. And now you’re throwing a tantrum because things didn’t go your way?” You let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Yeah, that totally screams ‘victim.’”

“Careful,” Murphy warned, his voice low and sharp like the edge of a knife.

“Or what?” you shot back. “You’ll bore me to death with your sob story?”

His eyes darkened, something ugly flickering behind them. The air in the dropship seemed to shift, suddenly heavier, colder. Murphy took a slow, deliberate step closer, boots scuffing against the metal floor. “You always were a mouthy little bitch,” he muttered, voice curling with contempt.

You didn’t flinch, you refused to. Instead, you met his gaze and gave a cold, humorless smile. “Yeah?” you drawled. “Well, you always were a miserable little prick, so I guess we’re even.”

Murphy’s jaw tightened, a muscle in his cheek ticking. “You really think this is funny?”

“I think it’s pathetic,” you snapped. “You’re pissed because Bellamy didn’t let you die? Seems like your real problem is that you’re still breathing.”

For a second, Murphy’s face twisted with pure rage that sharp, barely-contained violence that always simmered just beneath his skin, but then something cruel flickered across his features. His expression shifted, cold fury melting into something far more calculated.

His lips curled into a smirk.“I bet that’s why Bellamy likes you so much,” he sneered. “He’s got a thing for the feisty ones.”

Your stomach twisted. “Screw you,” you snapped, but there was an edge to your voice now, too sharp and too defensive.

Murphy’s smirk widened, and you knew he’d caught it. “Yeah,” he drawled, stepping closer until he was towering over you. “I’m sure that mouth of yours drives him crazy.” His gaze dragged over you, slow and deliberate, like he was peeling back your defenses layer by layer. “Maybe that’s why he’s always hovering around you.”

Your chest tightened. “Go to hell,” you spat, but the words didn’t feel as steady as before.

Murphy chuckled, low and dark. “Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

Jasper’s fingers twitched against the dusty floor of the dropship, eyes flicking toward the old radio lying just inches from his hand. Murphy had left it behind, probably too caught up in his own rage to notice.

Carefully, painfully slow, Jasper stretched his arm out, moving slow enough not to draw attention. His fingers brushed the edge of the radio. Murphy’s back was turned, still pacing and spitting insults your way.

"Go to hell, Murphy." You spat, anger only rising in your frame.

Murphy’s boots scuffed loudly as he stopped in his tracks, turning to face you again. “Careful,” he warned, voice low. “You’re not exactly in a position to be running your mouth.”

Jasper’s hand finally closed around the radio. He kept it close to his side, thumb pressing down on the transmit button. His pulse thundered in his ears.

“Or what?” you snapped. “You’ll whine me to death? Cry some more about how no one likes you?”

“You really wanna push me right now?” Murphy shot back, stepping closer.

“You already pissed off half the camp,” you said coldly. “What’s one more person who hates you?”

Murphy’s face twisted with rage, and before you could react, his hand shot out — backhanding you hard across the face. Your head snapped to the side, a sharp sting blooming across your cheek.

“Shut your mouth,” Murphy growled.

The radio crackled softly in Jasper’s hand, still broadcasting everything.

Bellamy was at the campfire, a rare moment of calm as he stripped a branch for kindling. The sounds of the camp buzzed around him. People chatting, the clang of metal, footsteps crunching on dirt. But none of that mattered when a voice — your voice, crackled suddenly over the radio.

“…already pissed off half the camp. What’s one more person who hates you?”

Bellamy froze, his hands tightening around the branch. His head jerked toward the source of the sound. What the hell?

The sharp crack of skin hitting skin shot through the speaker, followed by a sharp gasp. His heart dropped into his stomach. “Shut your mouth,” Murphy’s voice growled.

Bellamy was on his feet before he could think “Where’s that coming from?” he barked, spinning around.

Octavia bolted from the tent, the radio clutched in her hand. “It’s Jasper’s radio — it’s them. Murphy’s got them.”

Bellamy snatched the radio from Octavia, fingers curling tight around the device as he held it close to his ear. His chest tightened as Murphy’s voice came through again, smug and taunting.

“You think you’re so tough, don’t you?” Murphy sneered. “Bet you’re not feeling so smart now.”

“Oh, go to hell,” you shot back, your voice sharp and unwavering.

Despite the panic clawing at Bellamy’s ribs, he felt a flicker of pride. That’s my girl. You were still running your mouth, still fighting, but that pride was quickly swallowed by something else. Murphy’s not stable, Bellamy thought. She’s pushing him, and he’s just crazy enough to kill her for it.

His fingers tightened around the radio like it was the only thing anchoring him to the earth. His mind raced, anger boiling beneath his skin, fear gnawing at his chest.

“She’s gonna get herself killed,” Octavia muttered behind him.

Bellamy’s jaw clenched so tight it hurt. He knew you. Knew that sharp tongue of yours, that stubborn streak that never let you back down — even when you should. Part of him was proud, hearing you stand your ground like that. But the rest of him? The part that knew Murphy was just unhinged enough to put a bullet in your head for pissing him off? That part was fucking terrified.

“She’s not gonna die,” Bellamy said, more to himself than anyone else. “I won’t let that happen.”

The radio crackled again.

“Look, man,” Jasper’s voice broke through the static, rough and desperate. “You don’t have to do this.”

Murphy’s bitter laugh followed. “Yeah, I really do.”

“No, you don’t,” Jasper pushed. “You got your revenge, right? He's already dead—”

“This isn’t about him,” Murphy snapped. “This is about me. About what’s gonna happen when your fearless leader finds out what I did.”

Bellamy’s fingers tightened around the radio, his heart hammering in his chest.

“What did you do?” you demanded, your voice sharper now.

“Shut up,” Murphy growled, his tone low and dangerous. “You’re just a bonus. You weren’t even supposed to be here.”

“Yeah?” you shot back. “Well, lucky me.”

Bellamy closed his eyes briefly, frustration boiling in his blood. Damn it, why couldn’t you just stop pushing him?

Murphy let out a dry chuckle. “You think you’re funny?” he sneered. “I’ll tell you what’s funny — the king losing his goddamn mind when he finds out."

“Finds out what?” you shot back, your voice sharp.

Murphy’s smirk widened. “That I’m the one who killed Connor.”

Your breath caught. Jasper stiffened beside you.

“You’re lying,” you said, but your voice wasn’t as steady as you wanted it to be.

“Am I?” Murphy’s eyes glinted with twisted satisfaction. “Ask Jasper.”

You turned to Jasper, who wouldn’t meet your gaze. His silence told you everything. A sick feeling curled in your stomach. “Jesus,” you muttered, turning back to Murphy. “You actually killed him?"

Murphy grinned, sharp and cruel. “Damn right I did.”

Jasper swallowed hard. “That’s why you took me,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Because I saw you.”

Murphy gave a mock bow. “Bingo. Knew you’d piece it together sooner or later.” His expression darkened. “Couldn’t have you running to Bellamy, now could I?”

You clenched your jaw. “And me?”

Murphy’s smirk returned. “You?” He chuckled. “You were a bonus.” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping into something almost conspiratorial. “See, when I heard you moving around upstairs, I thought, ‘Well, shit. That’s my lucky day.’ Knocked you out cold before you even knew I was there.” His grin widened. “Because what better leverage against Bellamy than you?”

Your stomach dropped.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” Murphy went on, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “You really think he wouldn’t do whatever the hell I wanted to get you back? Hell, next to Octavia, you’re the best damn bargaining chip I could ask for.”

Outside the dropship, Bellamy’s grip on the radio tightened until his knuckles went white. His jaw was locked so tight it ached.

Murphy kept talking. “So yeah,” he continued, pacing now. “I’ve got all the cards. Bellamy’s gonna come running, and when he does—”

“You so sure about that?” you cut in, forcing your voice to stay steady. “Because from where I’m sitting, it kinda looks like you’re just another dead man walking.”

Murphy stopped pacing. His smile twitched, fingers flexing around the rifle at his side.

“You know,” you said, your voice tight with defiance, “for someone who acts like a victim, you sure seem to enjoy being a miserable asshole.”

Murphy’s expression darkened. “You really wanna run that mouth right now?” he growled.

“Why not?” you shot back. “You’ve already proved you’re a coward. What’s one more tantrum?”

His eyes flashed with rage. In one swift motion, he raised the rifle and pointed it directly at you.

Your pulse hammered in your ears, but you refused to flinch. “Go ahead,” you sneered. “Prove me right.”

“Murphy!” Bellamy’s voice exploded from the radio, sharp and furious.

Murphy jerked in surprise, whipping around to face Jasper, who was gripping the radio tightly, his thumb still pressed on the button.

“Where the hell did you get that?” Murphy snapped, storming over and snatching it from Jasper’s hands.

“Murphy,” Bellamy’s voice came again, colder this time. “You hurt either of them, and I swear I’ll kill you!”

“You’re in no position to make threats,” Murphy sneered into the radio, his fingers tightening around the device. His eyes glinted with twisted satisfaction. “But I’ll tell you what—I’ll make you a deal.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. You swore you could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. Murphy’s smile widened, sharp and cruel. “You for them,” he said. “Trade yourself for Jasper and her.”

Your stomach dropped. No.

Your head snapped toward Jasper. His face had gone pale, eyes wide with the same dread you felt clawing its way up your throat. He knew exactly what this meant. Bellamy wouldn’t be walking away from this — and Murphy fucking knew it.

“Don’t,” you whispered, voice barely audible. Your chest felt tight, like you couldn’t get enough air. “Don’t do it.”

The radio crackled.

“Deal.”

Your breath caught. “No!” you burst out, voice ragged. “Bellamy, don’t—”

Murphy clicked off the radio before you could finish “That’s enough out of you,” he muttered with a smug grin. Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, he turned to Jasper. “Well,” he drawled, voice dripping with mock cheer, “looks like we’re making a trade.”

“You’re gonna kill him,” you shot back, your voice shaking with rage. “That’s what this is — you’re setting him up to die.”

Murphy gave an exaggerated shrug. “Yeah? Not my problem.”

Your blood boiled. “You son of a—”

“Save it,” Murphy snapped, stepping forward and grabbing Jasper by the arm.

“Wait—” Jasper struggled, his eyes flicking desperately to you as Murphy hauled him toward the dropship door.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice cracking. “Murphy, don’t do this!”

Murphy didn’t even glance back. He shoved Jasper hard toward the exit, and Jasper stumbled forward, almost tripping over his own feet. Jasper turned, his gaze flicking between you and Murphy. His expression twisted in confusion and then realization.

“What the hell are you waiting for?” Murphy barked.

“You said both of us,” Jasper said, his voice low and uncertain.

Your heart thudded painfully. Murphy’s smile stretched wider, colder. He turned, looking straight at you, and the smug glint in his eyes made your stomach turn.

“I lied.”

The sound of the dropship door clanging shut felt like a gunshot in your chest.

Bellamy stumbled forward, barely catching his balance as he pushed through the curtain. His gaze locked on you instantly, wide and frantic, but then his eyes shifted.

Murphy stood too close with his hand fisted in your shirt and his gun jammed against your ribs and Bellamy froze. His body went rigid, hands curling into fists at his sides. His chest rose and fell like he was barely holding himself together. “Let her go,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Murphy grinned, that smug, twisted smile that made your stomach turn. He didn’t move the gun “You’re in no position to be making demands,” Murphy sneered.

Bellamy’s eyes flicked to you again. You saw the way they dragged over you, the tension in your shoulders, the way you kept perfectly still, like any sudden movement might make Murphy pull the trigger. The rage simmering beneath Bellamy’s skin seemed to burn hotter.

“I said,” Bellamy growled, “let her go.”

Murphy snorted. “Yeah? And what’re you gonna do about it?”

Bellamy took a step forward and Murphy’s finger twitched on the trigger. The barrel pressed harder against your ribs, and you sucked in a sharp breath.

Bellamy froze again, teeth clenching hard enough to make his jaw twitch. “I said both of them,” Bellamy snapped, his voice shaking with fury. “That was the deal.”

Murphy’s smile stretched wider, like he’d been waiting for Bellamy to lose it. “Yeah…” Murphy dragged the word out, mockingly casual. “But here’s the thing…” His gaze flicked back to you, cold and calculating. “I’m never letting her go.”

Your heart stumbled and Bellamy’s face twisted into something dark and dangerous. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means,” Murphy said, his voice tightening, “she means too much to me.” His fingers curled tighter in your shirt, dragging you closer like you were some kind of prize. “I’m not stupid. I know how much you care about her. You think I’d give up something that valuable?”

“You’re fucking sick,” Bellamy spat.

Murphy’s grin turned sharp. “Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “But you know what’s funny? I don’t think you’ll do a damn thing about it.”

“You think I won’t kill you?” Bellamy shot back.

“Oh, you will,” Murphy said, pressing the gun harder into your ribs. You bit down a wince. “But not before I put a bullet in her first.”

Bellamy’s eyes widened, panic flickering behind the anger. His gaze shifted to yours again, and you knew exactly what he was thinking. Murphy kept his gun trained on you as he took a slow step back, dragging the moment out like he was savoring it.

“You know what’s funny, Bellamy?” Murphy mused, a bitter grin curling on his lips. “You standing here, looking so goddamn righteous—acting like I’m the bad guy.”

Bellamy didn’t answer, his jaw ticking as his glare burned into Murphy.

Murphy let out a dry chuckle. “Let’s take a little trip down memory lane, yeah? Let’s talk about how you kicked the box from under my feet and almost let me fucking hang.” His voice sharpened, the anger cutting through the mockery. “Let’s talk about how you banished me—left me to die—all for what? Justice?”

Bellamy’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, but his face remained unreadable.

Murphy scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” He took another step back, finally putting some space between himself and you, but his gun didn’t waver. His free hand shot out, grabbing a nearby box, and with a loud scrape, he dragged it to the center of the dropship.

You glanced at Bellamy, confused, but he was just as lost as you were.

Then, without breaking eye contact, Murphy found couple of long, thick straps—seatbelts and ripped from the wreckage of the drop ship.

He tossed them toward Bellamy’s feet and Bellamy barely spared them a glance before his glare snapped back up.

Murphy smirked. “Make a noose.”

Your stomach lurched. “Murphy—”

“Shut up,” he snapped, not even looking at you.

Bellamy didn’t move. His jaw was clenched so tight you could see the muscle jump, his hands flexing at his sides like he was seconds from lunging.

Murphy sighed, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, Bellamy,” he drawled. “You’ve done it before.” His smirk turned razor-sharp. “Should be muscle memory by now.”

Bellamy’s chest rose and fell, his breath coming heavier now. “You think this’ll make it right?” Bellamy said, voice low, shaking with restrained fury. “You think this makes you the good guy?”

Murphy’s face darkened. “I don’t give a shit about being the good guy.” His finger twitched on the trigger. “Now, make the fucking noose.”

Bellamy’s hands trembled as he twisted the seatbelt into a knot, his knuckles white from how tightly he was gripping the worn fabric. The room felt suffocating, almost too quiet except for the faint sound of Bellamy’s ragged breathing.

“You know…” Murphy’s voice cut through the silence like a blade, cold and sharp. “The more I think about it… the more it makes sense.”

Bellamy didn’t react, keeping his eyes locked on the knot he was tying, but you saw the way his shoulders tensed.

Murphy leaned back in his chair, still keeping the gun trained on Bellamy. “The king and the queen,” he said with a mockingly sweet smile. “That’s what you two are, isn’t it?” He snorted. “Clarke’s the princess, the one everyone listens to… but you two?” He shook his head. “You’re the real power couple. Always side by side, always whispering to each other — doesn’t take a genius to see what’s going on there.”

“You’re full of shit,” Bellamy muttered, voice low and tight.

Murphy grinned. “Am I?” He gestured vaguely between you and Bellamy. “’Cause I remember how it started — you two couldn’t stand each other. Always bickering, always at each other’s throats.” His grin widened. “But then something changed, didn’t it?”

Bellamy’s hands stilled on the noose, fingers curling into fists.

“You started sticking close to each other,” Murphy continued. “Backing each other up, sharing those little looks. Always so protective of her…” His gaze flicked to you, and his smile turned colder. “And her? Man, she followed you around like a fucking shadow.”

“Shut up,” Bellamy snapped, his voice breaking.

But Murphy wasn’t finished. “I mean… it’s not hard to figure out why. I saw the way she looked at you — like you hung the goddamn moon.” Murphy chuckled darkly. “I bet she still does.”

“Murphy, I swear to God—”

“And you?” Murphy’s eyes slid back to you, sharp and calculating. “You’re just as bad.” His smile twisted into something cruel. “What’s it like knowing he’d do anything for you? Must feel pretty fucking special.”

“Stop,” Bellamy warned, his voice tight with barely restrained fury.

Murphy ignored him. His eyes stayed on you, cold and gleeful. “Tell me…” His smile sharpened. “Did you have to sleep with him to get him to care that much? Or did you just bat those pretty eyes and hope he’d notice?”

The words hit their mark like a slap, heat rising to your face. Bellamy shot to his feet so fast the chair beneath him scraped loudly against the floor “Watch your fucking mouth,” Bellamy snarled, his voice dangerously low.

Murphy just laughed, dark and humorless. “See?” he said, waving the gun toward Bellamy. “Look at him — all worked up just ‘cause I talked about you.” He smirked at you. “Man’s got it bad.”

Bellamy’s fists clenched at his sides, every muscle in his body tight like a wire about to snap. “You think this is funny?” Bellamy’s voice was rough, his eyes burning with rage. “You think you can push me until I break?”

Murphy’s grin widened. “I’m counting on it.”

Bellamy’s chest rose and fell in sharp, angry breaths. His fists were still clenched at his sides, his entire body coiled like a spring about to snap.

“Go on,” Murphy taunted, his grin widening as he turned the gun back on you. “Be a hero, Bellamy. Step out of line — give me a reason.”

“Don’t,” you said quickly, your voice sharp with panic. Your eyes locked with Bellamy’s, silently pleading for him to keep his cool. He was barely hanging on, you could see it in the tight set of his jaw, the fire blazing behind his eyes.

“Look at her,” Murphy sneered. “So worried about you. Almost sweet, isn’t it?” He chuckled darkly. “Guess that’s what happens when you’re in love with someone.”

Bellamy’s eyes flicked to you again, something raw and unspoken flashing across his face.

“Don’t know why you two keep pretending,” Murphy went on, voice smug and cruel. “I mean, we all see it. Even the damn kids back at camp talk about it.” He smirked wider. “Hell, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you two were already screwin’.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Bellamy growled.

Murphy’s smile sharpened. “What’s the matter? Don’t like me talking about your girl?”

“She’s not—” Bellamy started, but Murphy cut him off.

“Please,” Murphy spat. “I know you’d die for her. And her?” He shot you a pointed look. “She’d do the same for you. Stupid, isn’t it? All that loyalty, for what?”

“Because he’s worth it,” you snapped before you could stop yourself.

Murphy’s smile faltered, just for a second, and then he was laughing again, cold and sharp. “Yeah? We’ll see how much you believe that when he’s the one with the noose around his neck.”

Bellamy’s fingers twisted the belt in his hands, the makeshift noose tightening as he pulled the knot into place. His hands shook, sweat beading along his hairline despite the cold air inside the dropship. He kept his head down, jaw clenched so tightly you swore his teeth might crack.

“Alright,” Murphy said, voice smug and satisfied. “Get on the box.”

Bellamy’s fingers stilled. His head lifted slightly, eyes locking on Murphy. “You’re out of your mind,” Bellamy muttered.

Murphy’s smile widened. “I said, get on the goddamn box.”

“Bellamy, don’t,” you blurted, unable to stop yourself.

Murphy’s expression twisted, all smugness gone in an instant. Without warning, he whipped the gun toward you and pulled the trigger.

BANG.

You flinched hard, a sharp yelp tearing from your throat as the bullet struck the metal wall inches from your head. The sound rang in your ears, and your heart hammered against your ribs.

“Next one doesn’t miss,” Murphy warned coldly, his gaze snapping back to Bellamy. “Now, get your ass on the box, or she dies.”

“Alright!” Bellamy barked, pushing himself to his feet so fast the chair skidded back. His voice shook with anger and with fear. His eyes flicked to you for the briefest second before he turned and grabbed the wooden crate near the center of the room.

“You’re insane,” Bellamy muttered under his breath as he dragged the box into position.

Murphy grinned. “Yeah? Maybe. But you’re still the idiot standing on the box.”

Bellamy shot him a murderous glare but stepped onto the crate anyway. The wood creaked under his weight. His broad shoulders tensed, muscles coiled and ready, but there was no fight left to pick. Not when Murphy’s finger twitched so damn easily on that trigger.

“Bellamy…” Your voice was barely a whisper.

He didn’t look at you. He couldn’t. His focus was on Murphy, on the shaking gun, on whatever slim chance there was to turn this around.

“Alright,” Murphy said with a grin, tossing the loose end of the noose over the metal beam above. “Now we’re gettin’ somewhere.” Murphy tossed the loose end of the noose over the metal beam, the seatbelt strap hissing as it slid through his fingers. With ease, he secured the knot, yanking it tight until the loop hung in place, waiting.

Bellamy stared at it, his jaw clenched so tight you swore his teeth might shatter. His hands curled into fists at his sides, but he didn’t move. Didn’t reach for it.

Murphy cocked his head, a cruel grin tugging at his lips. “What’s wrong, Bellamy? Cold feet?” He tugged at the strap, testing its hold before stepping back. “That’s funny. Didn’t hesitate to kick the box out from under me.”

Bellamy’s eyes flashed with something dark, but still, he didn’t move.

Murphy’s grin widened. “Oh, I get it,” he drawled. “It’s different when it’s you, huh? When it’s your neck on the line?” He shook his head with mock disappointment. “Guess you’re not as tough as you like to pretend.”

Bellamy stayed silent. His body was rigid, tension rolling off him in waves, but he didn’t react, not in the way Murphy wanted.

Murphy’s smile twitched. He hated that. So, he turned to you. “Or maybe…” Murphy mused, his voice slow and taunting. “Maybe you just need the right motivation.” Murphy’s eyes slid toward you, and before you could blink, he raised the gun and fired.

The crack of the shot ripped through the air, deafening in the tight space. For a second, you didn’t feel anything, just a cold, hollow shock spreading through your body, but then the pain hit.

White-hot and searing. You screamed, clutching your thigh as blood poured from the fresh wound. It was everywhere, spilling through your fingers, soaking your clothes, pooling beneath you. The agony stole your breath, your vision blurring with tears.

“No!” Bellamy lunged toward you, but Murphy was faster.

“Back the fuck up!” Murphy barked, jerking the gun toward Bellamy’s chest. “You so much as breathe wrong, I’ll put the next one in her head.”

Bellamy froze, chest heaving, face twisted in fury. His eyes flicked back to you, and you could see it, the panic, the helplessness, the rage simmering beneath it all.

“Put it on,” Murphy ordered, gesturing to the noose. “Now.”

“Murphy,” Bellamy gritted out, voice low and dangerous, “don’t do this.”

Murphy’s eyes narrowed. “I said put it on.”

Bellamy’s gaze darted back to you, to the blood still pouring from your leg and something in him broke. Hands shaking, he grabbed the noose and slipped it around his neck.

“Good,” Murphy sneered. He gave the strap a sharp yank, dragging Bellamy closer until his boots barely touched the box. Bellamy choked, rising onto his toes, his fingers instinctively clawing at the strap.

“Stop!” you gasped through the pain, pushing yourself up on your elbows. “Please, stop!”

Murphy shot you a twisted smile. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” His gaze flicked back to Bellamy. “Hurts worse watching someone you love bleed out right in front of you.”

Bellamy’s face was turning red, veins standing out on his neck. His furious gaze never left Murphy.

Murphy chuckled darkly. He grinned at Bellamy, eyes gleaming with twisted satisfaction. “Guess I can see why you love her. She’s a fighter — I’ll give her that. Not to mention…” His eyes dragged over you, lingering too long. “She’s easy on the eyes.”

“Don’t,” Bellamy ground out, voice raw.

“What?” Murphy smirked. “You pissed ‘cause I noticed?” He gave the noose another sharp tug, forcing Bellamy higher on his toes. “Or are you pissed ‘cause she’s bleeding out right now and you can’t do a damn thing about it?”

Tears streaked down your face as you squeezed your eyes shut, attempting to block out the pain. Bellamy’s face was darkening, his muscles straining to keep himself upright.

“You know,” Murphy mused, “if I were you, I’d start thinking about your last words.” He grinned. “’Cause I don’t think you’ve got much time left.”

Murphy’s grin widened as he gave the noose another hard yank. The strap dug deeper into Bellamy’s throat, forcing a ragged, strangled sound from him as his boots scraped against the box, barely keeping him upright. His face was turning red, veins bulging at his temples.

“You’re turning colors there, Bellamy,” Murphy sneered. “Starting to think you’re not gonna make it.”

Then there was a noise, faint but distinct coming from beneath the dropship.

Murphy’s head snapped toward the sound, his expression twisting in irritation. “Bet that’s your little grounder-pounder sister,” he muttered. His eyes narrowed, and before anyone could react, he fired a shot through the metal floor.

“No!” you screamed.

Bellamy’s instincts kicked in. Fueled by desperation, he lunged forward, yanking hard on the strap around his own neck and knocking Murphy off balance. The gun fired again, but the shot went wide, sparking off the metal wall.

“Son of a bitch!” Murphy growled, shoving Bellamy back and this time, his boot shot out, slamming into the box beneath Bellamy’s feet.

The box tipped over, crashing to the floor. Bellamy’s body dropped, and suddenly he was hanging, gasping, choking, his fingers clawing desperately at the noose cutting into his throat. His legs kicked out wildly, searching for something — anything to catch his balance.

“Bellamy!” you cried, panic crashing over you like a wave. You fought against your bonds, your fingernails tearing at the rope around your wrists. You twisted and yanked, sobbing through the pain.

Bellamy’s face was darkening, his gasps turning to garbled, desperate sounds. His fingers struggled at the strap digging into his throat, his eyes flicking to you wide with fear and pain.

The dropship door suddenly groaned and flew open, slamming against the wall.

“Shit,” Murphy hissed. He bolted for the ladder, scrambling up toward the second level.

“No, no, no!” you sobbed, still sawing at the ropes with your fingernails, desperate to break free as Bellamy’s body jerked violently above you. His kicks were getting weaker. His face was turning a sickening shade of purple.

“Hold on,” you begged him. “Please hold on.”

Murphy’s boots clanged against the metal rungs as he scrambled up the ladder, his breath ragged and frantic. He reached the second level, slammed the hatch shut behind him, and shoved the lock into place just as Octavia rushed inside the dropship.

“Bellamy!” she cried, her eyes widening in horror as she saw her brother dangling from the noose. Without hesitation, she ran beneath him, gripping his waist and trying to lift him. Bellamy’s weight sagged against her, his face blotched red and purple as his strained gasps turned weaker.

“Jasper!” Octavia shouted. “Cut the rope!”

Jasper didn’t hesitate. Grabbing a jagged piece of scrap metal, he lunged for the rope, sawing at it with desperate force. The fibers began to fray, splitting one by one. “Come on, come on,” Jasper muttered through gritted teeth.

Finally, the rope gave way, and Bellamy dropped like dead weight into Octavia’s arms. He collapsed to the floor, crumpling in a heap, his body jerking as he gasped for air.

“Bellamy!” Octavia knelt beside him, her hand on his chest, trying to calm him down. “You’re okay. You’re okay, just breathe.”

Someone rushed to your side, fumbling with the ropes around your wrists. The second they fell loose, you tried to stand, but pain shot through your leg like fire. You cried out, stumbling, barely able to keep your balance.

“Whoa, hey, easy,” the Harper said, looping an arm around your waist to steady you.

“I’m fine,” you ground out, teeth clenched against the pain. “I’m fine.” But you weren’t. Every step sent agony tearing through your thigh. Still, you forced yourself to limp forward, dragging yourself to Bellamy’s side.

His breaths were still rough and uneven, his face pale and drenched in sweat. His hand clutched at his raw, bruised throat, and his fingers shook violently. “Bell,” you rasped, dropping to your knees beside him. “Hey… hey, I’m here.”

His bloodshot eyes flicked up to meet yours, and something broke inside you.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Bellamy choked out, his voice hoarse and ragged. He shoved Octavia’s hand off his chest and lurched to his feet.

“Bellamy, wait—” you grabbed for him, but he was already staggering toward the ladder. He barely felt the pain, barely noticed the way his legs threatened to give out beneath him. All he could see was red.

He reached the ladder and climbed, ignoring the ache in his throat, the burn in his muscles. Reaching the top, he slammed his fist against the locked door.

“Open the damn door, Murphy!” Bellamy roared, his voice raw and broken. He pounded again, harder this time. “You think you’re safe up there? I’m gonna kill you!”

“Open the damn door, Murphy!” Bellamy roared, his voice hoarse and ragged. He slammed his fist against the hatch, metal rattling beneath his knuckles. His body ached and his throat was raw, his muscles screamed but none of that mattered. Not after what Murphy had done.

“You think you’re safe up there?” Bellamy bellowed, pounding again. “I’m gonna kill you!”

Suddenly, there was a click, the faintest sound, followed by Murphy’s twisted laugh from above “Yeah?” Murphy called back. “Good luck with that.”

Then came the boom. The explosion ripped through the dropship like a thunderclap, deafening and violent. Bellamy stumbled back, nearly losing his footing as the force of the blast knocked him away from the hatch. The floor shook beneath him, metal groaning in protest.

Smoke billowed from above, filling the air with the sharp scent of gunpowder and scorched metal. Bellamy’s ears rang, but through the haze, he saw it — a gaping hole where the side of the dropship used to be. Chunks of metal still crumbled away, clattering to the ground outside. And Murphy that bastard was already sprinting through the trees, making his escape.

Bellamy lunged toward the twisted wreckage, climbing over the mangled metal. “Murphy!” he roared, but the coward was too far gone, his dark figure disappearing into the woods. Bellamy’s fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms. He could still feel the rope burn on his throat, still see the way you’d screamed when the bullet tore through your leg. He was going to kill Murphy.

“Bellamy!” Octavia’s voice yanked him back. He spun around, heart pounding as he stumbled down the ladder, nearly tripping in his rush to get back to you.

You were on the floor, pale as a ghost. Blood soaked your jeans, spreading fast. Harper was pressing a wad of cloth against your thigh, but her face was tight with panic. “She’s losing too much blood,” Harper said, her voice strained.

Bellamy dropped to his knees beside you, hands shaking as he took over. He pressed down hard, too hard and you let out a sharp cry. “Sorry,” Bellamy muttered, voice thick. His hand lifted just enough to ease the pressure. “I’m sorry… I just — I need you to stay with me, okay?”

Your eyes flickered open, glassy and unfocused. “I’m not going anywhere,” you mumbled, but your voice was barely a whisper.

“You better not,” Bellamy said, forcing a shaky breath. His hand found your face, thumb brushing along your dirt-streaked cheek. “I mean it… you don’t get to quit on me now.”

Your fingers twitched, weakly curling around his wrist. “I won’t,” you rasped. “I promise.”

Bellamy swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. “Good.” His voice broke. “Good… just… just keep your eyes on me, okay?”

But he felt your grip weaken your fingers slipping from his arm. Bellamy’s hands were slick with your blood, his fingers pressing desperately against the wound. His breath came in ragged bursts, panic clawing at his chest.

“No… no, no, no…” His voice shook as he pressed harder, trying to stop the steady flow of crimson. “Stay with me!” His voice cracked, raw and broken. “You hear me? Don’t you dare—”

Your head lolled to the side, eyes barely open, your skin deathly pale. Bellamy’s heart slammed against his ribs.

“Shit…” He whipped his head around, voice sharp. “I need something, anything to stop the bleeding!”

“Bellamy—” Harper stammered.

“Now!” Bellamy barked, his voice snapping like a whip. But before Harper could even move, the sound of footsteps pounded against the metal stairs outside. Bellamy’s head jerked up, muscles tensing as the door burst open.

“Clarke?!” Harper's stunned voice broke the silence.

Bellamy’s breath caught in his throat. Clarke stood in the doorway, chest heaving, her hair damp with sweat and streaked with dirt. She was back.

“Oh my God…” Clarke’s eyes locked on you, on the blood pooling beneath Bellamy’s hands and her face paled. “What happened?!”

“Murphy—” Bellamy’s voice wavered. “He—he shot her.” He swallowed hard, his voice breaking again. “I—I can’t stop the bleeding.”

“Move!” Clarke barked, already rushing forward. Bellamy didn’t hesitate, he slid back just enough to give her space, his hands hovering above you like he couldn’t bear to let go completely.

Clarke knelt beside you, her fingers moving fast as she ripped open her pack and grabbed supplies. “She’s lost a lot of blood,” she muttered under her breath. “Too much…”

“She’s gonna be okay, right?” Bellamy’s voice was sharp, desperate. “Tell me she’s gonna be okay!”

“I don’t know yet,” Clarke shot back, pressing gauze hard against your wound. “But I need you to calm down.”

“Calm down?!” Bellamy’s voice rose. “She’s bleeding out, Clarke!” His voice cracked on your name.

“I know!” Clarke snapped, eyes flashing. “And if you don’t shut up and let me work, she won’t make it!”

Bellamy staggered back like he’d been slapped, chest heaving. His hands curled into fists, your blood still warm and sticky on his fingers.

“Please…” His voice broke softer this time, barely above a whisper. “Please… save her.”

Clarke’s expression softened for a heartbeat, but just as quickly, she refocused, her hands steady as she worked to save you.

A dull, aching pain throbbed through your thigh as you slowly drifted back to consciousness. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and faint traces of smoke from the campfire outside. Your limbs felt heavy, exhaustion still clinging to you, but you forced your eyes open.

Dim candlelight flickered across the canvas walls of the tent, casting soft shadows. It took a second for your mind to catch up, to remember what had happened. The dropship, Murphy, the gunshot...You sucked in a sharp breath, your body tensing in panic.

“Hey, hey,” a familiar voice broke through the haze, rough but gentle. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

Your eyes finally focused on the figure sitting beside you, slouched forward in a chair like he hadn’t moved in hours. Bellamy. His dark eyes were locked onto you, filled with relief but shadowed by worry. He looked exhausted, his jaw clenched, his hair a mess like he’d been running his hands through it over and over.

“Bellamy…?” Your voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

His whole body seemed to sag at the sound of your voice, like he’d been holding himself together by a thread. “Yeah. I’m here.” He leaned in, his hands hovering like he wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure if he should. “You scared the hell out of me.”

You swallowed, trying to shift, but a sharp pain shot through your thigh, making you wince. Bellamy was up in an instant, his hands gently pressing against your blanket-covered leg to keep you from moving too much.

“Careful,” he murmured. “You lost a lot of blood. Clarke patched you up, but you’ve been out for almost a day.”

A whole day? No wonder your body felt like lead. You exhaled shakily, letting your head fall back against the pillow. “Jasper?” you asked, your voice still weak.

“He’s okay,” Bellamy assured you. “Thanks to you.” His jaw tightened, his gaze flickering away for a second before he looked back at you. “You shouldn’t have put yourself in danger like that.”

A small, tired smile ghosted over your lips. “Didn’t really have a choice.”

Bellamy let out a quiet, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, that sounds like you.” His expression softened, and this time, when his hand reached out, he let it rest over yours. His palm was warm, grounding. “Don’t ever do that to me again,” he said, voice rough with emotion.

You gave his hand a light squeeze, your eyelids already growing heavy again. “Can’t make any promises…”

Bellamy huffed out a breath but then his fingers curled around yours a little tighter, like he was anchoring himself to the feeling of your skin against his. His jaw clenched, his eyes flickering down to where your leg was still wrapped in bandages beneath the blanket.

“I should’ve done something different,” he murmured, his voice thick with guilt.

You frowned slightly, trying to shake off the haze of exhaustion. “Bellamy…”

“No,” he cut you off, shaking his head. “I should’ve—” His throat bobbed, his grip on your hand tightening. “I should’ve just listened to Murphy. If I had, maybe he wouldn’t have—” His breath hitched, and he looked away, jaw clenched so hard it looked like it hurt. “You wouldn’t have gotten shot.”

You stared at him, barely processing what he was saying at first. “You think this was your fault?”

Bellamy let out a bitter laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “Of course it’s my fault. Murphy wanted revenge on me. I hesitated and didn't listen, and because of that, he turned his gun on you.” His voice cracked, raw with self-loathing. “I should’ve done something...anything to stop it.”

You could see it now, the weight of it pressing down on him, the guilt drowning him. He wasn’t just shaken up from almost losing you. He truly believed that if he had done something differently, you wouldn’t be lying here, weak and wounded.

You hated seeing him like this.

Summoning what little strength you had, you shifted your fingers beneath his, giving his hand a small squeeze. “Bellamy, look at me.”

He hesitated before finally meeting your eyes, and the sheer torment in his gaze nearly shattered you.

“This wasn’t your fault,” you said firmly, even though your voice was still weak. “Murphy was unhinged. There was no guarantee he wouldn’t have shot someone anyway. The grounders will take care of him now.” You swallowed against the dryness in your throat. “You did what you thought was right and that's all that matters.”

Bellamy let out a slow, unsteady breath, like he was trying to believe your words but couldn’t quite let go of the guilt. His free hand hovered over your blanket-covered leg, his fingertips brushing the fabric just above the bandage. “I just… I can’t stop thinking about it,” he admitted. “The second that gun went off, and you—” He cut himself off, inhaling sharply. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

The quiet confession sent warmth and pain curling through your chest all at once. You’d never heard his voice so raw, so vulnerable. “You didn’t,” you murmured. “I’m still here.”

His lips pressed into a tight line, his gaze searching yours like he wanted to believe you, but the guilt was still lingering, still gnawing at him.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the distant crackling of the campfire outside, the muffled voices of the others going about their night.

Then then Bellamy did something that nearly stole the breath from your lungs. He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing the softest, most fleeting kiss against your knuckles.

When he pulled away, his eyes locked onto yours, something unspoken burning in them. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you again.” His voice was barely more than a whisper, but the weight behind it was unshakable.

You felt your heartbeat stutter in your chest, your breath catching as you stared at him. There was so much you wanted to say. So many emotions swirled between you. Relief, exhaustion--something unspoken that had always lingered beneath the surface. But now, with his hand still wrapped around yours, his lips barely parted like he was holding back something important, you weren’t sure you could keep pretending anymore.

Bellamy exhaled slowly, his fingers twitching like he wanted to touch you again, like he wasn’t sure if he should. His eyes darkened, flickering down to your lips for just a second before meeting your gaze again. "I don’t think I can do this anymore."

Your brow furrowed. “Do what?”

His grip on your hand tightened as he leaned in ever so slightly, his breath warm against your skin. “Pretend like I don’t feel something for you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Like I haven’t felt something for you since the moment we met.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The exhaustion, the pain in your leg, everything else faded into the background.

He shook his head, his expression twisted in frustration, almost like he was angry with himself. “I was so damn scared to say it before. I told myself I couldn’t--there’s too much going on, too much at stake. But when I saw you lying there, bleeding out, I realized something.” He let out a shaky breath. “I can’t lose you. Not before I tell you that I—” He swallowed hard, his eyes locked onto yours. “I love you, Y/N.”

Your chest tightened, emotion swelling up inside you so fast it nearly stole your breath. You had dreamed about hearing those words from him, but hearing them now, spoken with so much raw, unfiltered honesty, was almost too much. Your lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, you reached up, your fingers curling weakly around the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer.

That was all it took. Bellamy closed the distance in a heartbeat, his lips crashing against yours, urgent, desperate, like he had been holding back for far too long. His hands framed your face, his thumbs brushing gently over your skin, a contrast to the sheer intensity of the kiss.

You melted into him, your body still weak but your heart pounding, your fingers gripping onto him like he was the only thing tethering you to the world.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath ragged. “I should’ve told you sooner,” he murmured.

A small, tired smile played on your lips as you ran your fingers lightly over his shirt. “You’re making up for it now.”

Bellamy let out a soft, breathy chuckle, but when he looked at you again, there was nothing but pure devotion in his gaze. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, pressing another soft kiss to your forehead. “Not ever.”

And for the first time in a long time, despite the chaos of the world around you, you truly believed him. "I love you too, bell." You whispered with a soft smile on your lips.

author’s note:

heh, that was a long one 😅 if I’m being honest I really didn’t want to follow the episode exactly, so I just wrote from memory—but tweaked a few things.

also, I know I villainized murphy in this fic but I promise he’s still one of my favorites! I did hate him in s1 & s2, but he eventually grew on me and became of one my favorite characters in the 100.

I hope you liked it, nonny! y’all don’t be shy and send in some more requests! I don’t bite, I promise! ❤︎

— requests are open.ᐟᅟ please read request rules.ᐟᅟ

tags:

@rubydacherry42 @chalametsangel @imsiriuslyreal

If you would like to be tagged please fill out THIS form and I will add you to the list! ❤︎

my works ❤︎

© maddie0101 do not copy or repost my works without my permission.

[wordsofwhimsy]

【Ｏｐｐｏｓｉｔｅｓ　

Ａｔｔｒａｃｔ】 - Part Nine

Pairing: Mohawk!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: None

Tags: Fluff, slice of life, some serious showboating, Mark's still geekin 'bout that damn dress

Word Count: 2,285

Chapter Synopsis: Jealous Mark being jealous and a little unhinged. We love him tho.

a/n: Kyle better watch his mf back, that’s all i’m finna say on it

Part Eight

He tried. Really he did. Tried his damnedest to relax, to be normal.

Mark sat in his bedroom with the blinds drawn, biting into a bag of discount pretzels with a bit too much ferocity. He’d even turned on a movie—something dumb and loud and full of explosions—but none of it was enough to keep him from picturing you. Picturing you in that dress. At a stadium. Surrounded by people. With Kyle.

He pictured the way you’d smiled. Smiled at him like you didn’t even realize what you were doing to him. Like you didn’t know that standing there looking like that, in front of him, might’ve actually been the end of Mark's already-fragile grip on sanity.

He so clearly pictured your boobs. Those soft, beautiful legs. You had no idea what kind of weapon-grade arsenal you were walking around with.

And now Kyle knew too.

Kyle, who didn’t even understand what he was dealing with. Who had no idea that this was your first real outing, that you’d never done something like this before, that you’d said yes because you were trying to be brave and open and—

God.

Mark groaned, head thudding back against the wall behind him. The drywall cracked a little.

You looked genuinely happy. That was the worst part. You were glowing in that stupid dress. Excited. Nervous. Glorious.

Mark dragged both hands through his hair, muttering a string of absolutely unhinged swears in a language that would’ve made most human ears bleed.

This was fine. Everything was fine. It wasn’t like he wanted to choke slam Kyle into the dugout or anything. It wasn’t like he wanted to fly straight to the stadium and insert himself into the date like some divine act of vengeance.

...Except that was exactly what he wanted.

The thought of you giggling at Kyle’s bad jokes, eating stadium nachos, maybe leaning over the railing to see the field better while Kyle stood behind you?

Absolutely not.

He stood up too fast, moving back and forth across his room. Mark wasn’t pacing. Pacing would imply restlessness. A lack of direction. No, he was strategizing—moving with purpose. And tension. And a very specific, deeply personal vendetta against pastel-colored clothing.

He needed a plan.

He turned abruptly toward the window, peeking through the blinds as he scanned the skyline. There had to be something going on near the stadium. A mission. A security issue. A minor alien invasion. Anything.

He yanked his communicator from his pocket. “Cecil.”

“Mark,” came the voice, dry and staticky. “What did you break now?”

“Nothing. Yet.” He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual. “What’s the situation around the city? Any, I dunno… threats?”

“You’re calling in for patrol voluntarily?” Cecil asked, incredulous. “Who are you and what have you done with my least cooperative agent?”

Mark’s eye twitched. “Just answer the question.”

Cecil hummed, clearly suspicious. “Well… now that you mention it, there’s been some unusual energy signatures downtown. Not urgent, but weird enough to keep an eye on.”

Mark’s jaw set. Downtown. Close enough.

“Cool,” he said, already moving to gear up. “I’ll take it.”

“You sure you’re not stalking someone?”

Mark ended the call and zipped into his suit like he was going to war.

Because he was. Emotionally. Spiritually. Possibly physically, if Kyle so much as looked at you too long.

With his boots on and communicator clipped in his ear, he lifted his window and took one single breath.

He took to the sky fast, slicing through the clouds like he had a deadline for destruction. It wasn’t like he knew exactly where you were sitting—he wasn’t that unhinged. Probably. But the stadium was easy enough to find. Loud. Flashy. Crowded. Filled with people in cheap jerseys and overpriced hats.

He hated it already.

Mark landed on a nearby rooftop, crouched low beside an old vent, and surveyed the scene like a total lunatic. His communicator buzzed softly in his ear as Cecil chimed in again.

“Update: the energy spike moved closer to the stadium. You seeing anything?”

Mark narrowed his eyes, scanning the crowd like a sniper. “Just civilians. Screaming. Eating corn dogs.”

“Sounds like your natural habitat.” Mark just grimaced.

Below, the crowds roared. Some guy in a mascot costume was doing cartwheels. People were chanting. A wave rippled through one section and died halfway around. None of it mattered. Not when he finally spotted you.

Mark’s jaw locked.

There you were. On the edge of a lower deck, drink in hand, laughing at something Kyle said like it was the funniest thing in the universe. And that dress? It was still on. Which meant your legs were still out. Your collarbones were still out. Your boobs were still out.

Mark was going to die. Not metaphorically. Literally.

He squinted his eyes as if it’d help him see better. He didn’t have a scope, but if he did it would’ve been locked on Kyle’s stupid, boyish face.

Mark muttered under his breath, “Say one more word, Kyle. One more fucking thing I swear to God...”

He exhaled slowly through his nose, fingers flexing at his sides. Control. Focus. This is about surveillance. That’s it. This isn’t about her laugh. Or the way she keeps brushing her hair behind her ear. Or the way Kyle just offered her his hoodie like he wasn’t a certified level-seven threat to national security—

His spiraling thoughts were snapped back into reality as he noticed Kyle make a catch.

A damn fly ball.

It was nothing. No real skill. No flashy move. Just some basic baseball shit. But you—you—reacted like he’d just pulled off a grand slam. Eyes wide, mouth open, practically glowing with excitement, cheering him on like he was some kind of god.

Mark’s blood turned to fire. Seriously? That was what had you so impressed? A fly ball?

His jaw clenched so tight it nearly hurt. He leaned against the edge of the roof, fists white-knuckling the metal as he stared down at you. The thought of Kyle getting that look from you made him want to snap something in half. It didn’t even make sense.

You had no idea what you were doing to him. None.

You were just happy. And that was fine. Great, even. But this? Kyle? No way.

Mark slammed his fist into the side of the building, leaving a small crater. He exhaled sharply, staring at you across the distance, and he suddenly felt like a switch had been flipped.

His muscles tensed, the urge to do something, anything, scratching at the back of his skull. And then, just like that, he was in motion. He wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline or the sheer jealousy pumping through his veins, but something told him he had to make his presence known.

He blasted into the sky without a second thought.

Mark didn’t bother to think it through. He didn’t need to. It was instinct. Something primal. He shot over the rooftops as the stadium grew closer, his eyes scanning the crowd for the one person that mattered. You.

And there you were—again, smiling at Kyle, your whole face lit up like you had stars in your eyes. That was it.

He was done.

With a speed that left the world behind, he swooped down to the field, landing with a deafening crash on the pitcher’s mound. The ground trembled beneath his feet, the air buzzing with electricity from the impact.

The crowd went dead silent.

Mark stood tall, eyes locked on you immediately. Your eyes widened when you saw him, your jaw dropping. There was no way you could’ve expected this.

The announcer’s voice boomed over the loudspeakers, cutting through the stunned silence of the crowd.

“Oh my god! I can’t believe it, folks! Invincible is here to watch the game! I think he wants to throw out a pitch!”

Mark smirked, his gaze still locked on you, but the moment the announcer’s words echoed through the stadium, he knew it was time to step it up. He didn’t need an excuse. He didn’t need any permission. He was already in control of this situation.

A nervous-looking ball runner, probably no older than sixteen, jogged out toward him, holding a baseball in both hands like it was a fragile piece of glass. His eyes were wide, mouth opening and closing like he was going to say something, but nothing came out.

Mark looked at him for a beat, barely suppressing a grin. “Thanks, kid,” he said, taking the ball with a casual flick of his wrist.

The kid nodded, wide-eyed, clearly starstruck. Mark couldn't help but relish it, feeling that familiar rush of power. The kid was impressed—and that was exactly the kind of fuel Mark needed right now. His chest tightened with a sense of superiority, and all his frustration and raw need to one-up everyone around him funneled into that one, cocky throw.

He didn’t even look down at the kid anymore—he was beyond that. He rose up into the air, the stadium below him shrinking away with every foot he gained, until he was hovering just above the roofline. He could feel the eyes on him, the sharp intake of breath from the crowd.

Perfect.

With a flick of his wrist, Mark flung the ball forward like it was a pebble. The motion was so fluid, so natural, it was like he was simply tossing it to a friend across the street—but the speed? The force?

The ball shot off with a bang that could’ve made the sky crack open. It vanished into the distance, disappearing in an instant, so fast and hard that it seemed impossible. The stadium went dead quiet for a split second. Then, as the shockwave from the throw hit, the crowd’s collective gasp filled the air.

Not a single person had time to process what had just happened.

They were too busy watching the empty sky.

Then, as the seconds ticked by and people started whispering among themselves, Mark stayed still, face blank, eyes focused on the horizon. And then, just like that, he moved again—his head tilting slightly to the side, as if hearing a distant sound.

The ball—the one that had just orbited the entire planet—suddenly reappeared, coming right at him at Mach force speeds.

The crowd collectively froze.

Mark barely even looked at it. He raised his hand up, palm open, and without breaking his stance, plucked the ball right out of the air, as though it had simply returned to him like it was nothing more than a boomerang.

The stadium fell into complete silence, like the universe had stopped.

Mark casually tossed the ball in his hand, twirling it around his fingers as he lowered himself down a bit so he was in direct eyeline of the audience. He looked at the crowd, his smirk wide. His eyes locked on you—wide-eyed, mouth open in disbelief—and he winked.

The crowd erupted. Screams. Applause. Whistles. The entire stadium shook with the raw, collective energy of people who had just witnessed something impossible.

Then, without waiting for another reaction, Mark raised his hand in a half-wave and shot back up into the sky.

The stadium didn’t know whether to cheer or faint.

Reader’s POV

Kyle was still wide-eyed, his voice breaking through the noise of the crowd. “Holy shit! I can’t believe Invincible was just here! That was insane!”

You could barely focus on him. The entire stadium still felt like it was vibrating from Mark’s impossibly fast throw, and you were left staring at the spot where he'd disappeared into the sky. Your heart was racing, caught somewhere between awe and confusion. What the hell had just happened? Why had he done that? Was that just a random act of—what, showboating?

You shook your head slightly, trying to shake off the daze. Focus, you’re with Kyle, you reminded yourself. Don’t be weird.

“Yeah, I know right?” You tried to sound excited, jumping in with the hype. “That was... that was totally insane! I mean, who does that?” You laughed, even though your mind kept replaying Mark’s performance, his cocky grin, the way he just owned the entire stadium in seconds. And maybe you were crazy but you could’ve swore that he winked directly at you.

Kyle didn’t notice you drifting off into your own thoughts, still hyped on the high of witnessing something unbelievable. He kept talking about how cool it was, how insane it was to be in the same stadium as a superhero, and you nodded along. But something in the back of your mind was pulling at you. Something felt... off. Why had Mark done that?

You glanced at Kyle, who was still distracted by the crowd’s reactions, and quickly pulled out your phone. You hesitated for just a second, but then typed out three question marks, simple, unassuming, but clearly conveying your sentiment.

You:

???

You hit send, barely holding your breath. A moment later, your phone buzzed with his reply.

Mark: What?

You stared at the message incredulously – what?

You:

What was that?!

Mark: Just a little something to keep the crowd entertained.

You couldn’t help but to grin at his response as you quickly typed back a response.

You: Definitely think you’re a crowd favorite now!

Mark:Always have been.

———————

Part Ten

———————

Taglist! @maddyb-rapps | @sweet-3-whispers | @moradogreen | @rayaaa4444 | @luvvcharxo | @byteme05 | @rivalriotrenegade | @1abi | @onlybatsyy | @heiankyonoeiyuukun | @dillybuggg | @am-3-thyst | @mikevi

[karmicgalaxies]

18+ Content MDNI

Victor Creed (Sabretooth) X AFAB! Reader

Disclaimers: Unprotected sex (Wrap it before you tap it!) P In V sex, Rough sex, Snarling, Biting, Size difference, though it isn’t mentioned descriptively. Victor is just a motherfucking UNIT, Name-calling (Slut, Pretty), Cream-pie, Squirting. Possessiveness? if you squint

A/N: This is absolutely unhinged. Poorly proofread as I’m publishing this @ around 3 am, so do excuse errors!

Victor Creed, who’s got you on a pathetic attempt of all fours. Well; that would be the case if it weren’t for your upper body having gave out a round or two ago, slumped against the mattress as you fail to bury your moans in the sheets. Lewd cries leaving your lips at the pleasure. Snarls and grunts fill your ears as he fucks into you, his upper body pressing into your back, properly pinning you to the mattress as if you were even planning to go anywhere in the first place.

“Mmm, Mine.” Victor snarls, panting and breathing down your neck, finding a spot to nip at, eliciting a sharp yelp of you amongst your cries. The action getting a small, dry laugh out of him. His hips snapping against your ass at an inhumanely fast pace with brute force.

You’ve been at this for so long, your cock-drunk mind struggles to form a single coherent thought. You can’t even remember the number of orgasms Victor has fucked you through at this point. The wind nearly knocked out of your lungs with each forceful thrust. Compared to how large he is, you’re so helpless against him. Though, he wouldn’t have it any other way. Him being intimidating, dominating and domineering was the whole point.

The sound of skin against skin reverberates through the room, as well as the lewd squelching sounds of your pussy being abused by his cock. Your slick dripping down his shaft plentifully throughout the duration of your session thus far.

“So messy..” Victor finds himself grunting against your ear again at the feeling. “Leakin’ around my cock so much. Goddamn slut, have you no shame?” He rasps, nibbling at your earlobe. Your cunt clenched around him like a goddamn vice, making him groan as he reaches around, his large hand gripping onto your jaw in a rough grasp as he turns your head. “C’mere.” He utters, pressing his lips roughly against yours. A gesture seen as tender compared to how hard he’s fucking you.

You let out a few moans against his lips. Victor’s own snarls and growls vibrating in his chest as he does so, separating his lips from yours, he trails open mouthed kisses and bites down your jaw and the back of your neck. That’s before he roughly bites into your shoulder, making you inhale sharply as you let out a loud cry. The smirk left behind on Victor’s face is fucking huge, though same can be said about the bite mark left on your supple skin. “I gotta give it to ya. You take me real good. How ‘bout another orgasm, pretty?” He keeps the smirk, watching you unravel and struggle against his body. The sight and sounds of you daring to make him more primal with need than he already is. “Jus’ one more” His tongue licking at the bite mark left on your shoulder just a minute or so prior.

“Mm, Victor— Please.” You whine, at the cusp of the umpteenth mind shattering orgasm of the night.

“C’mon slut. Cum on this cock, ‘s all yours.” Victor snarls, finally letting off of your back, kneeling upright as he reaches his hands to your hips, holding them firmly in place as he fucks even harder into you. You could swear his tip briefly kissed your cervix a few times. A man motivated solely to rip another orgasm out of you.

It’s not long before he succeeds. Your orgasm ripping through you like a bullet. Pussy clenching around his cock, milking him for all its worth as your eyes roll back into your skull. Thighs trembling as you make a mess. Your juices obscenely more abundant than usual as you soak the sheets below. Holy shit, you squirted.

“Fuck, look at you making such a fucking mess.” Victor grunts as he gives you one last deep thrust. Taking the air out of you as your cunt is promptly flooded with his cum. He makes all sorts of animalistic noises through his own orgasm, delighted to stake his claim on you yet again. His palm meeting the side of your hip, a love tap of sorts.

“You’re mine. Best not forget that.”

[heretical-cogitations]

Gadriel x gn!reader

Word count: ~1200

Not really been a Gadriel girly, but it looks like my own thoughts are turning on me because omg I want to ruin this man.

This is so unhinged, I need to be locked up, I don’t know what is happening to me.

This entire thing is basically this:

You top him into Warhammer 50K

Warnings: You top him into Warhammer 50K, anal, cum play, dom sub dynamics, manhandling, mirror sex ( v brief), oral (f/m receiving)

Please let me know if I missed anything!!

He is a sloppy, bratty bottom who loves taking the strap or cock, the god emperor told me so it's true

Weeellll, that’s true like 70 or 80% of the time.

The other 20 – 30% of the time he is an unhinged feral dom who needs to be as close to you as possible.

You’ll be squashed under him as he moans in your ear about how perfect you are for him and how good you are to him.

He’ll never let you go, he is holding you so close, but that is for another day!

He is more than happy to top, loves seeing you crumble under him but there is something so cathartic for him, an astartes to be made into a quivering begging mess, he loves giving over the control.

Back to pile driving the pretty ultramarine into the 5th dimension.

He has no idea what he is doing, little Valorem here, is a bit of a himbo.

Smart where he needs to be but clueless everywhere else.

All that confidence he had before evaporating from his body the second you touch him. Hands roaming over his body glove.

His kisses are so stiff, but he’ll pick up what he needs to do pretty quickly, also pretty quick to start whimpering into kisses especially when you bite his lip and lightly pull his hair.

Pulls away when you do in shock, didn’t know he could make that noise.

Tease him and he blushes a deep red and gives you a very cute pout.

“Take this off.” You say tugging at the cuff of his skintight suit.

He stares blankly at you not moving, so you yank the clasp open. “Gadriel. Strip, now.”

A quick curt nod is all he gives you before he rips the thing off himself before sitting obediently on the edge of the bed.

Smiling, you strip as slowly as you can and you’re pretty sure you can see him vibrating.

Slack jawed at the sight of you without clothes.

Sitting on the floor between his muscular legs, hands running up the length of them delicately before stopping at his inner thighs pushing them further apart.

You sit up face so close to where he wants you more than anything, he can feel your breath on him

Without thinking he bucks his hips after for any form of friction.

“No, none of that.” You lightly squeeze his balls, Gadriel cries out at the feeling, muscles tensing to hold his hips in place.

“Good boy.” You say before peppering soft sweet kisses to his tip before suckling lightly. He lets out a series of pathetic whines in response, head lolling forward, pretty eyes fluttering shut.

You lean back, his eyes snapping to yours, “Keep being good and look at me.” You hum, squeezing his muscular thighs, he nods again, blush spread down to his neck.

You stare up at him through your lashes as you return your mouth to his length taking more of him this time, tongue lapping at the head and the vein running down the underside.

The second his eyes meet yours he chokes out a strangled moan, thighs tensing, hot cum splashing against your tongue an throat, you pull off in shock the rest of his load landing on your face and chest.

“I- I’m sorry” he pants out lying back on the bed arm slung over his face.

He is so ashamed, that was far too quick. Wants the bed to swallow him up but you don’t let him stay like that.

Climbing on top of him you pull at the arm covering his face. “You did a good job, don’t apologise.”

Using his fingers to scoop up the cum covering your skin before popping them into your mouth and sucking. He moans again, cock twitching.

He returns the favour with the most enthusiastic messy oral you had ever had, and once he catches onto what causes you breath to hitch and it’s not long until you are a shaking mess cumming in his mouth.

Once his initial shyness passes, he is a desperate slut.

At his happiest when he is bent over and stuffed full.

It doesn’t take much to get him begging to get his back blown the fuck out – sometimes the way you look at him is enough to have him pulling you to the side, grinding against you begging you to help him ‘train’.

Loves being folded into a mating press, don’t worry he’ll hold his legs, he’ll do anything for you, just getting to watch you fuck him is euphoric, hates that he cries because your image becomes unfocused and blurry but loves how you coo to him kissing and wiping his fucked-out tears away.

Your go to though is doggy, it’s just easier, and ever since Chairon told you about how great mirrors can be during sex (I WILL BE TALKING ABOUT THIS AND THEIR ‘BETS’) it’s even better, he can watch you again but can also see how debauched he looks, it gets him off even quicker.

There is just something about seeing a man so muscular face down with his pretty sculpted arse in the air.

His broad shoulders tapering into a tiny waist Aughhhhhhh perfection. He knows he looks good but to know you feel that way as well has his cock swelling in anticipation, holding himself open, waiting for you, head turned to the side teary eyes pleading with you and begging you to fuck him.

Once you do, he is a mess, he’s so loud it’s embarrassing, he knows his battle brothers can hear him squealing about how: “It feels so good! Oh, throne! It feels so good I’m so so close, please, I’ve been a  good boy, please, let me cum!!” He sounds like an actor from those under the table holo-vids.

He loves being fucked hard, fast and rough – scratch him, bite him, rag his hair, put your fingers in his ports and he is fucking himself back onto you screaming your name, demanding more.

Throws a tantrum when you pull out. Holding himself up on his wobbly arms, turning to look at you, face blotchy and wet from spit and tears.  He opens his mouth to complain but you cut him off. “Did you forget your manners, Valorem?” Mouth hanging open he weighs up how far being a brat with get him now, deciding to fold instantly and apologises to you.

Almost loves having his brains fucked out more than the imperium.

He cums so much, he almost thinks it’s a waste being spilt onto the surface below him, but the orgasms he has when you’re deep inside him are otherworldly, he’s addicted.

Loves when you hold him close when you finger him - starts babbling head tucked into your shoulder as you milk his prostate

ULTRAMARINE BUTTPLUG ULTRAMARINE BUTT PLUG ULTRAMARINE BUTTPLUG ULTRAMARINE BUTTPLUG ULTRAMARINE BUTTPLUG ULTRAMARINE BUTTPLUG (got it as a gift off the chapter master, and he is unsure if Calgar knows it is being used on him or not…)

I think I was possessed writing this dear lord I didn’t even get onto him slobbing on your strap / dick damn.

[rush-the-stars]

AFFECTION'S EDGE: PART III

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|| alpha!suguru getou x omega!afab reader || E/18+ || wc: 6.8k || ao3 || <- part ii || masterlist ||

minors and ageless blogs do not interact, 18+ only

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“You’ve got it all wrong,” he murmurs, “but what am I to expect from a stray like you? You’ve lived off scraps and abuse your whole life; of course you don’t know what to do now that I’ve given you food and shelter.” Suguru’s fingers ease up towards your neck as he continues, “a warm bed to lie in. Toys to play with. A collar—so you’ll never be lost again. No one’s ever given you this before, hm?”

***

Suguru tries to tame you.

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✧ SPRING FEVER collab ✧

cw: omegaverse, brat taming, mind games, toxic behavior, yandere suguru getou, yandere reader, biting, blood, marking, one slap from the reader to suguru and he sorta likes it, fainting, fainting from lack of food, reader refuses to eat because she doesn't want getou to feed her, getou does not let reader eat unless he feeds them; forced feeding. forced bathing, smut; masturbation, dirty talk, voyeurism, a blurring of boundaries, consent as punishment?

a/n: happy mother's day to alpha suguru getou <3 this is the third and final part of this lil series for @lorelune 's spring fever collab! pls mind the warnings, i added some! i will be honest this part feels like a fever dream to myself lol...,.not beta read..,.i barely read it back bc im terrified of my own smut JFDKLSK enjoy LMAO but on a real note, thank you to everyone who has reached out and been so kind ab this fic! i hope you enjoy this last part! let me know your thoughts <33

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When Suguru first offers you food from his own hand, you push it away. He cooked it for you and you refuse it, turn your nose up at him and shut your mouth resolutely, feel your lips cage your teeth like a muzzle

“I’ll do it myself.” You tell him firmly. 

But then he holds the food away from you. 

You go nearly a day and a half, feverish and woozy, without eating. 

You do not plan on conceding, but end up fainting not long after. Your body is under too much stress; you need sustenance. You need food and water. 

So he begins to feed you as your lashes flutter and you are too weak to deny him this time. 

It’s easier, when you can hardly keep your eyes open. His hands are impossibly gentle. You feel his fingers against your lips, careful, and loving. 

When you’re feeling better, you glower at him. 

He is rather pleased, though. 

The next time he tries to feed you by hand, you turn and bite his hand, sink your teeth into the meat of it. 

He laughs warmly, fondly. 

“Feel better to get that out of your system?” He asks, when you finally pull away. 

You don’t respond to him.

He grabs your face swiftly then, big hand fitting around your jaw and bearing down. This time, he holds you steady, and brings the slice of orange to your mouth. 

You squirm, but he says, “I will not have you fainting again.” 

“Let me feed myself then.” You manage to get out, but he holds you tighter, presses at your jaw to get it to unhinge. 

The orange pops into your mouth. 

“You’re insufferable.” You say around it, cheek puffed with the fruit. 

Unfortunately, it’s good. Sweet. A little cool. Refreshing. You do want more. 

“This doesn’t have to be so difficult.” He responds evenly, peeling away the next piece of the orange. It looks so small in his hands. 

You swallow the piece in your mouth. 

“You’re right,” you respond stubbornly, “it doesn’t.” You reach for the next piece but he holds it away from you. 

Frustration overcomes you, chokes you like thorny vines strangling out the softer plants around them. Heat hits your face again and you have to wonder if you’ll ever get over it all. If he’ll ever stop making you feel this way.

Tears prick your eyes again. 

You turn your face away from him. He sighs. 

“It isn’t so bad,” he says softly, “if you’d just give in.” 

You sniff. “I could say the same of you.” 

“I’m trying to take care of you,” he says, “and at every turn, you are still trying to refuse it.” 

“I don’t need—”

“But don’t you want it?” He asks gently, hand reaching out slowly, knuckles first, so they skim your cheek. “It’s okay to want.” 

Stubbornly, you remain silent. 

“You’ve been so alone, for so long, my little stray. It’s okay to be taken care of.” He consoles softly, voice just a rumble that warms to your ears. 

“I’ll not think you any less strong, if you let me feed you now.” He promises, “if you let me care for you this week.” 

You don’t know why, but a tear slips down your cheek. There’s a lump in your throat, hard and aching, and threatening your resolve. 

He catches your tear with a thumb. “Poor thing, so torn up.” 

You sniff hard, trying to hold everything in. It’s trembling and tender, though, your heart. The ache in your chest.

You don’t think you’ll win this one—

Your head is foggy and throbbing. You don’t even know what you’re winning or losing. Or what you’re fighting for, when he puts it that way. 

You feel silly for denying him.

Perhaps worse for agreeing.

Finally, in a voice smaller than intended? you ask, “can I have another piece?” 

Suguru studies you for a moment. 

He lifts the curved bend of the orange up to your lips, testing. Waiting. It's a half moon curve, ripe and tempting.

You give in and part your lips, accept the crescent into your mouth like holding the moon on your tongue for him. 

He presses it inside, on your tongue, and you accept the crescent like holding a soft, tangerine moon in your mouth for him. His fingers skim your teeth, placing a world there, on your tongue.

“Good girl,” he says, pleased and warm, when you close around the slice. 

And then you obediently swallow it down—worldeater that you are, hungry dog that you are. 

Another tear slips free as you chew it slowly. It’s tangy and sweet and lovely. You feel the well of emotions inside you open up, threatening to drag you down into its depths—you think if you start to cry now, you won’t ever stop.

Suguru dutifully peels off another piece of orange, making sure it’s free of rind or unwanted seeds. 

When he lifts it to your mouth, you open readily for it now. Close your lips around his fingers gently, around the sweet orange.

With tears in your eyes, you look up at him, through wet lashes. 

His scent has darkened, pungent and spicier. It lingers in the back of your mouth. It’s—it makes your head spin.

And there's a strange look in his eyes now. 

Almost hungry himself, if you didn’t know better. 

A cramp rolls through you, hips and lower back churning, and you whimper, reaching for him. 

He takes hold of you easily. 

“Hurts?” He muses softly.

You nod, tense and quick. 

“Breathe,” he urges, shifting between your knees from where you’re sitting perched on his counter. 

Instinctively, you cling to him.

You let yourself pull him closer, fit himself to you—

“Breathe,” he says again gently.

But you can feel him between your legs, you can feel his own desire, and it strikes you like a bolt of lightning. Like crashing to earth.

He’s hard and heat sweeps through you in a whirlwind, so fast it makes you feel dizzy. Your head spins as you sink your nails deep into him, bear down with your strength like a bad dog, like you could get him to stay. 

Distantly, you think he’s such a strange, awful man. 

Is he so turned on from feeding you? Or from the fight? 

“Suguru,” you mewl, clinging to him desperately. And he holds you, keeps you close, until your hips twitch. 

You seek friction and he denies you. 

Frustratingly, tears spring to your eyes again. 

“You’re so—“ you try to get out, “why are you also denying yourself?” 

“Because I made you a promise.” Suguru responds evenly. He pauses, eyes flickering over you, a lightning flash of violet, “and, perhaps,” he squeezes your waist, “to teach you a lesson.” 

A noise of frustration works its way out of you, a little growl or whine, somewhere in the back of your throat. 

“Won’t you do anything to help me?” You get out, pawing at his shoulders, his chest. 

“I’m feeding you,” he says, “I’m caring for you.” 

And then he draws away, back to the orange, and your fingers grip the edge of the counter until pain presses into them. You have to force air into your lungs, try and make your head stop spinning. 

The wooziness and the aching is perhaps the worst part. You feel out of your mind, wish you could crawl out of your body. 

When Suguru returns, he has another piece of orange between his fingers. 

You glare up at him with glassy eyes. 

“Open,” he says, warm and low.

Pleased.

Turned on. 

Your lips part and you accept the fruit and his fingers into your mouth. You let yourself close around them, feel his knuckles on the inside of your warm, wet cheek. 

You’re slow about it, or maybe he is. 

You hold his gaze furiously. 

Maybe it was time you taught him a lesson, too. You bite down hard into the orange. It bursts in your mouth. 

***

The third day is perhaps the worst.

You’re so hot and somehow both overstimulated and undertouched. Your skin crawls until Suguru touches you. You ache in a way that makes you fear for your own health; several times you start to cry—not just cry, but bawl—from the pain. From the frustration.

At one point, you beg Suguru to take you to the hospital. To help you. To save you. 

You babble that you’re going to split apart. You’re going to lose your mind.

Like a colicky baby, you can’t calm down. 

And this time, he can’t quite seem to soothe you, either.

You twist and turn and pull at your clothes and your hair. You dig your nails into your own skin and drag them down in vicious, curving marks. 

You press and scratch at inflamed, painful scent glands. 

Your jaw hurts strangely in the joints. 

(You realize you want something in your mouth. Maybe you want it between your teeth.) 

Suguru tries to hold your hands away from yourself, tries to keep you from tearing into your own skin, but it only worsens you. It only makes you fight harder and cry harder. You lash out more, using more force with yourself, with him. 

When he snaps finally, pinning you roughly and with a flash of his sharper, greater canines, something inside of you howls. 

All you can do is beg and plead and cry. Press up against him desperately. Sink your face into his throat and inhale and—

Bite.

Your teeth close around the skin of his throat and bear down harshly.

He inhales sharply, spine going rigid with the pain for a moment.

You taste his blood on your tongue and feel your eyes roll blissfully to the back of your head. Darkness as your lashes flutter shut. You whimper into his throat—

“Is that what you needed?” He hisses, slipping his hand behind you to cradle your head to him, to keep you at his throat, “you just needed to get your teeth into me?” 

As if in response, you twine yourself around him, hitching your legs around his waist. Your arms winding around his broad shoulders, as if you could absorb him into your very body, your very soul. 

“Too bad it won’t take, hm?” Suguru muses, unmoving, allowing himself to melt into your vice grip on him. 

You make a soft noise; one that would be embarrassing if you didn’t—if you weren’t so—

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To Mark me properly?” He continues, voice bedroom soft, “you want to scar me with your own teeth?” 

As if in response, you try and fasten your mouth down harder, grinder your teeth into his flesh until he groans. The sound reverberates through you, rattles around inside your head until you’re mindless with it. 

When you finally manage to unlatch your teeth, he hisses and pulls away to grab your jaw. 

“What a little beast,” he sneers at you, “with my blood all over your mouth.” 

Something inside of you snaps. 

Unintentionally, you shudder into your cursed form—teeth elongating, nails sharpening. Strength rips through your otherwise feeble, heat-laddled body. In a sudden move of power, you shove him hard, and throw him off you. 

In an instant, you are back atop him. 

This time, when your teeth sink into the juncture of his other shoulder, they are far longer. 

He actually cries out in pain. 

The sound sparks beneath your skin, roars to life like a sudden fire and when he tries to grab your jaw and pry you off him, your claws sink into his wrist. 

You struggle with each other, using your cursed energy, using all the strength you have. 

Blood drips down his chest, dampening the collar of his shirt. 

He barks out a pained laugh, “you really are a curse.”

And then he is forcing you off of him, wrenching your teeth out of his skin in a brutal drag, shoving you away from him. 

You hiss, baring your dripping fangs at him and he growls back. The sound low and primal. Warning bells ping around your head, but you lunge for him again. 

This time, he isn’t so ill-prepared. 

He grapples with you on the bed, shoving you down into it with his forearm bearing down hard into your chest. 

You make a noise of pain but he doesn’t let up.

He’s panting and bleeding, his long hair slipping from its usual half-up appearance. 

Something inside of you is quite pleased at the image of him. 

Not so pristine. 

Perhaps unsure, for once in all the time you’ve known him. 

“Calm down.” He says low and soft. Part growl, part purr. “Your aggression is misguided.” 

Your teeth are bared in a snarl, “you are my tormentor.” 

“I am only respecting your wishes.” Suguru says and there is a horrible, smug lift to the corner of his lips. Maybe it’s more a threat of his teeth, which gleam in the lowlight. “I made you a promise and I’m keeping it.” 

“Let me up,” you snap. 

“Will you be good?” Suguru asks. 

Your fever spikes, tears pricking again at your eyes, and you finally lose your transformation. It melts from you, until you are fangless and drained once more. 

So drained, in fact, that your eyes gutter.

Suguru is off you in an instant. Air rushes into your lungs, the pressure from your chest lifting and he lets you heave for breath rough and hard. 

You don’t catch him move, but suddenly a glass of water is brought to your lips. When you can breathe, you drink. You let him guide it to your lips. And this time, when you try to pull away, he stops you. 

His hand cradles the back of your head, keeping your mouth to the glass.

“More,” he presses, “you’re weaker than you know.” 

And for once, you don’t fight him. 

You gulp down the rest of it, some of it slipping from your mouth, down your chin, rolling down your working throat. It’s cool but barely a balm to the oppressive heat inside of you. 

When you finish, Suguru pulls the glass away. He sets it down and studies you.

He tsks softly, “you’re a mess.” 

You take him in, though your eyes are growing heavy, all of that fighting took a lot out of you. It’s catching up with you quickly now. 

But your eyes land on the bite marks you’ve littered him with. The one, specifically, that is still ringed and bleeding, dripping down his chest. 

“So are you.” You reply, words slurring. 

You don’t catch what he says next, muffled, as you fade from consciousness. Darkness sweeps in to cradle you, much the way Suguru is now, and you fall into a restless sleep. 

***

Suguru wakes you at some point. 

It’s pitch black outside the window; there is very little light in the room at all, which adds to your confusion. Your head is throbbing. 

You whimper. 

“Sit up for me,” his voice is a hush, “can you do that?” 

“Let me sleep,” you reply, pushing weakly at him as he forces you up. Everything swims. Your head lolls like a doll and he catches it so you don’t give yourself whiplash. 

“You’re burning up,” he replies, “I need to get the fever down.” 

You don’t have the wherewithal to understand this. 

For a moment, you hope that he means—

“I’m going to give you a bath.” 

You make another noise, this one in disagreement. Fussy. 

He tuts softly at you, the way mothers do at bad children, and then he disappears, allowing you to fall back against the bed once more. 

You’re not sure for how long, but you doze off again, unable to keep your eyes open. You only awake when Suguru lifts you clear from the bed and into his arms. Again, you make a noise of protest, pushing weakly at him, but he pays you no mind. 

You open your eyes and wince against the bathroom light. 

The bath is running, filling with water. You frown and squirm in his hold, just as he gently sets you on the floor beside the tub. 

“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he murmurs and you push his hands away.

“No,” you snap, “leave.” 

He sighs, “you can hardly sit up right now. I don’t trust you in the bath alone.” 

“I’m not a child,” you protest.

“No, but you’re experiencing a compounded Heat, after years of not having one and you don’t have a knot to soothe you.” Suguru’s voice is cool. His eyes are, too. 

You level him with the best glare you can manage, “and whose fault is that?” 

“I’m only keeping my promise.” He almost sings. 

You swat at him but he catches your wrist easily and pulls you up further as you begin to slouch further and further down against the edge of the tub. “Come,” he says, “don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” 

This time, when he reaches to remove your shirt, you only grumble in protest. He peels it from you carefully, revealing bare skin. Despite how hot you are, you shiver hard. 

You ache. 

This is the worst fever you’ve ever had. Perhaps, this is one of the worst you’ve felt ever. 

You can hardly move enough to allow Suguru to slip your bottoms off and you feel so miserable that you can’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed or frustrated or angry. 

Tears bead at your eyes again but it’s purely because you are in so much pain. 

Suguru lifts you into the bath. 

It’s lukewarm. Tufts of bubbles smell like lavender. The water is milky and gentle. 

You don’t realize it, but you’ve started to cry again, reaching out for Suguru. You realize he’s cleaned and bandaged his bite mark. He also coos to you, rolling up his sleeves to reach you in the water, stroking at your throat, your cheek.

And then he takes a wash cloth in hand and begins to do the same. He bathes you with a strange gentleness. A gentleness you have not given him. Your tears continue, tracking down your face, which he dutifully washes, too. He wipes away your tears, any sweat and grime, until you feel shining and new.

Eventually, you rest your arms on the lip of the bathtub, folded, and lay your cheek against them. You’re exhausted and still hurting, but at least quiet for now. At least you are cleaned and—

Suguru strokes at your cheek, traces the curve and folds of your ear, gently strokes through your hair. 

“Poor thing,” Suguru murmurs, knuckles drawing across your jaw, down your throat. When he passes along your scent gland, you shiver, you wince a little. 

“Hurts,” you get out and he coos more to you.

Babying you.

And you don’t have the strength to deny him any longer, so you let yourself be babied. You whimper at him and let him try to soothe you, you let him quiet and pet you. 

You’re looking at each other rather frankly, through the haze of your Heat, through all the lust or aggression or fear. In a rare moment of peace, you gaze up at his face and he looks down into yours. 

“Do you hate me?” You ask and your voice is rather raw from all the crying, “is that why you’ve led me here?” 

A strangely fond smile touches his lips, “on the contrary,” Suguru replies, fingers careful along your cheek, “I adore you.” 

“You have such a strange way of showing it.” You tell him. 

“I’m only keeping my promise,” he says again and all you have in you is a deep, dejected sigh. 

“I’m going to make you pay for this, Suguru.” And though your tone is docile, even sleepy, it is a promise. 

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll try.” He agrees, touch growing stronger, bolder, as he pets down your throat, your shoulder. You lean into the touch like a cat, too exhausted to deny it. “And I’ll still be here after—your ire or punishment will not scare me away.” 

You look at him for a moment, long and hard, and only find the truth there. Something strangely raw.

After a moment, you say, “I know.” 

He hums softly, leaning forward to give your burning forehead a rare and gentle kiss, “do your worst, then.” 

You pick your head up barely, tilt your face to his and catch him in a sudden, burning kiss. 

You pull away as quickly as you’d done it. 

You can tell you’ve surprised him only momentarily, it passes over his features like a bird flickering through the sky, there and gone. 

And you say, “no,” soft, and against his lips, “I’ll do my best this time.” 

He pulls away, creating carefully controlled distance. “Come,” he says, urging you up and out of the bath, “let’s get you to bed.” 

“Carry me?” You ask as he bundles you into a soft towel. “Let me wear your shirt?” 

His eyes glint violet, dark and quick, but he says, “of course.” And indulges you.

He even holds you all night and lets you sleep in late. 

The fever only worsens. 

And you can’t tell if your resolve crumbles or strengthens; but either way, you’re born anew with the sun the next day. 

*** 

Suguru woke up before you. He let you sleep in. But now you're awake and waiting for him. When Suguru returns to wake you in the early afternoon, instead of sleeping, you are half-lidded and sun-warmed, laying in his sheets still. The fever has reached a pitch inside you. You’re sure it’s done irreparable damage to your mind and psyche because of how you find yourself.

Because of how Suguru finds you. 

The shirt of his you’d worn to bed is pushed up to your chin, revealing your bare chest, your stomach, flexing and twitching, with your legs spread. Your fingers between them, working messily against yourself, against where you’ve needed since your Heat began. 

For once, you have shocked Suguru. 

Enough that his lips part. 

Just a flash, a ripple of his features, before he smooths them out quickly. Effortlessly. But it is enough to spur you on regardless, to feel just slightly triumphant. 

You keen softly, arching your back, pushing your fingers gently through silken folds. 

“Suguru,” you mewl his name, all soft and broken, arching your hips into your own touch desperately. Beyond your desire for revenge, is simply your desire, the need to feel full, to feel pleasure like this. And you reasoned with yourself, all night, and all morning, that you’d win regardless; either you’d wrestle his tightly held control from his grasp, and get what you so desperately want from him, or you’d still get to touch yourself and find some brief moment of reprieve. 

Beyond either of those two things, you could not think. They ran around your mind like wild, starved dogs hunting down the possibility of a rabbit. 

(Or are you the rabbit? Running around and around your mind, trying to escape the bite? Or are you looking for it?) 

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asks and for a moment, he doesn’t dare step closer to you or the bed. 

You push a finger inside yourself, it goes in easy—so slick and easy—that the next pass, you add a second and gasp. 

What are you doing? You feel half out of your mind. 

“Can’t help it—” you get out, “it hurts so bad. It’s—I’m so—” 

You watch a muscle in his jaw feather and tick. His scent is—

It hits you like a blow to the chest, the way he smells. It’s dark and spiced with warmth; tobacco and the oud in his scent has become heavier. You can almost taste it in the air.

“Suguru—“ you mewl again, pleading and cloying. You tilt your hips up towards your hand, towards him. You’re trying to entice him. 

You can nearly hear the way his teeth grind together. 

“You’re a brat,” he hisses but you can sense the way his control has slipped and thinned. You can nearly feel it fraying in his voice alone.

You practically purr, fingers pushing desperately inside yourself. 

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” you simper, “I’ve been so good letting you feed me and bathe me—I’m wearing the shirt you put me in, too.” 

For a moment, you watch as his eyes slowly dip down the length of your body, to where your fingers are. You watch his expression flicker, the tilt of his eyebrows, the slight parting of his lips. You whimper, knowing he’s watching, and try to curl your fingers. 

But they don’t reach as deep as his might—not thick enough, either, and the ache inside you grows monstrously. 

Perhaps only soothed by the way, for once, you’ve rendered Suguru Getou rather speechless. You toss your head back and moan at the thought. 

“Suguru—won’t you help me? Even a little?” You arch off the bed and catch his gaze when his eyes fly back up to your face. 

“No,” he snaps quickly, “I promised you—“

“Then tell me what to do—talk to me.” You beg, “it hurts so bad, Suguru—“

The muscle in his jaw feathers again. But this time, he wades carefully into the room, stepping closer to the edge of the bed.

The moment he’s there, you adjust so he can see you better, move so your foot is just nearly touching his thigh at the end of the bed. And even that small potential for touch has you crying out again. 

“I’m not sure I should, after the way you’ve been acting.” He says and though he’s trying for casualness, you can sense the tension lurking underneath.

“Touch yourself then,” you breathe, your own eyes drifting down to his sweatpants—to the noticeable bulge—

In a bold move, you place your foot on his lower abdomen, looking up at him through your lashes as your fingers gently push in and out, walls fluttering desperately around them.

He catches your ankle before you can move another inch. The way he squeezes you makes a thrill run through you, race up your spine, pool somewhere low and hot in the depths of you. 

“Is this your way of trying to make me suffer?” He asks and despite everything, a hint of a smile flickers across your heated, panting face.

“Is it working?” You ask. 

All he does is hum, thumb stroking along the bone of your ankle.

Even that is enough for pleasure to skitter and flare beneath your skin. 

“Wanna see you,” you get out, breathy and soft, “wanna see what I’m missing.”

Suguru curses and you laugh, delirious and soft.

Pleasure blushes and surges beneath your skin. 

“No,” he says again but he has to grind the word out, pull it and wrestle it from his own mouth. “You won’t get the better of me here.” 

“Don’t you get tired of your tightly wound control?” You get out, twisting a little so that you might free your ankle from his grasp, but he holds firm.

“I should be asking the same of you—but clearly,” his eyes flicker again, “you do.” 

“Need you so bad—“ you get out, almost pouting. 

You can nearly hear his teeth grind together. He inhales sharply, as if to try and steady himself, but you can tell it only worsens him. Your scent must be thick in the air, sweetened and cloying.

Your fingers slip messily, desperately, over your clit, down inside of yourself and back out. You whine, a little frustrated, trying again and again to satiate the ache inside of you. But anything you do, isn’t enough. 

It almost feels as if it’s made it worse. 

“Poor thing,” Suguru finally says and you realize, he’s regained some of his composure, “look what you’ve done to yourself.” 

You curse this time. 

But you press on, unwilling to give up your win yet, “you’ve also done this—because you wanted the upper hand so bad.” You press inside yourself, hips lifting towards your fingers, “you didn’t have to take the suppressants.” 

His brow flickers up, “I did it for you.” 

“Did you?” You gasp, adding a second finger. 

He swallows, eyes falling to the apex of your thighs, watching, as you fitfully try to pleasure yourself. 

“You didn’t have to—you could’ve let me trigger your Rut. Then we both would’ve been like this—” your voice hitches, “then you would’ve gotten what you wanted sooner and you could’ve feigned innocence.” 

“You didn’t want that,” he says, watching you carefully, “who's to say you won’t come out of this Heat and resist me again?”  

“I won’t,” you breathe, “I did—” you mewl, hips arching and falling, trying so hard, working yourself up so horribly. 

You bite off a groan. 

Suguru clicks his tongue, makes a soft, disapproving noise. “And now look at you,” his hand slides along your calf, so large, and—

“Don’t even know how to properly touch yourself.” 

“Suguru—” 

Suddenly, he tugs you gently, so you’re down at the edge of the bed, your legs on either side of his thighs as he stands above you. 

He leans down slightly and you sit up, towards him, hoping, desperate—

“Such a terrible, little Omega. Do you need me to teach you this, too? Do you need me to help you?” 

You cry out, kitten soft, as needy and tender as a child. 

“Please,” you beg, “please, I need you—”

His hand traces up the outside of your calf, up to your thigh and you squirm, hope fluttering, heart racing—

“Don’t move,” he murmurs, “or I won’t help you.” 

“Suguru,” you growl in frustration. 

“Ah, ah, I thought you were being good?” 

Your head spins—you have no idea how he managed to flip it on you so sharply, but suddenly he has, and suddenly you're nearly underneath him, and he’s leaning over you and watching so intensely—so— 

You try to go still for him. Your chest is heaving. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs and his hand slowly arcs over the bend of your hip, and towards your stomach. Your hips twitch and he stills, “careful—” he warns. 

You force yourself to freeze, still panting. 

And then he lays the broadness of his hand on your lower stomach, his thumb just barely brushing your mound. 

“This is as far as I’ll go,” he says and with the way you almost fall into a frustrated groan, he seizes your chin with his other hand, “I’ll not touch you sexually. This is all I’ll give you—be grateful for even this.” 

You sneer at him and he takes his hand away. 

Instantly, you miss the warmth, the pressure, the—

“Be good, or I’ll leave the room now and let you suffer even worse than before—see what you’ve done to yourself? Worked yourself up so horribly, and all for what?”  Suguru’s voice is soft and smooth and so, horribly in control again. When did he get it back? When did he take it from you? 

“My attention? The hopes that I’d give in?” He asks. 

When you don’t respond, he squeezes your face, prompting you, “answer me, pet.” 

“Yes—I want your attention. I want—” the words break over you like a wave, the realization like a blow. You want. 

You desire. 

You want him. You want an Alpha and not just any Alpha but Suguru, despite everything, maybe because of everything. Maybe because you made him chase, and he did. Maybe because you have run your whole life from this—this attention and this desire and this intimacy—and you have finally found someone willing to hunt you down like a fox, and in the face of your gnashing teeth and growling and yipping, to treat you gently. Like you’re a beloved house pet and not a snarling, wild beast. 

“I want you,” you say honestly and his hold slackens on your cheeks to let you speak, “I hate you and I want you and—there’s no one but you—it’s only you and you’re awful but I am, too, and I need—” 

It cracks out of you, voice raw, a half-sob. 

Your tears make him smile. 

He hushes you gently, “oh, sweet girl,” he soothes, and his other hand slowly returns to its place on your trembling, lower stomach, “you’re so torn up about this. How much grief have you given yourself? Hm? Just for wanting?” 

You heave, unable to respond, suddenly reaching with your free hand for him, pulling on his shirt, closer to you. 

He gives in and goes, lets you claw at his back and bury your face in his shoulder. He finally lets go of your face, in favor of letting you fall to pieces beneath him. His knee dips on the mattress. But he holds himself above you still.

“I’ll guide you now,” he murmurs and his voice is by your ear. He turns his nose to nudge against your temple, inhaling slowly. 

You can feel the rumble of a groan through him that he holds back, a soft growl. 

And then, “look at me.” 

You sniffle and with a great deal of reluctance, you pull your face away from the safety of his shoulder to find his gaze. Midnight violet. Depthless. 

“Hate me all you want,” he says, “but I adore you—no matter how you are. Willing and pliant, or vicious and biting. I’ll always adore you. And I’ll always do what’s best for you.” 

Something inside of you cleaves open. Fractures in a way that is irreparable. 

You want to say something but you don’t know what, you have something so tremendous and terrifying inside of you, because of him—all you can get out is a soft cry. 

“Now,” he continues, eyes flickering over your body, and his thumb gently strokes over your lower stomach. “You feel empty, don’t you?” 

A whimper eeks out of you. You nod slowly. Empty and torn apart and open and aching. 

“Use three fingers, not two.” He commands gently, “you want something bigger, hm? I’m sure it hurts so badly—you’re so wet.” 

Without thinking, you obey him. 

You press three fingers carefully inside of you and it’s the first stretch you’ve gotten, the first spark of relief. 

You cry out, clinging to him. 

“That’s it,” he encourages, “in and out for me.” 

You tilt your hips up into his hand, towards your fingers, and he doesn’t scold you. The pressure on your lower stomach makes pleasure bloom and strengthen there. For a moment, it’s just the soft, slick noises of yourself, and it’s so—

Embarrassing. So horrible. 

You must look out of your depth, you must look lost or terrified, because he finally speaks again, “curl your fingers for me, darling.” 

You do just that and moan the moment you press deeper inside yourself. 

“Good girl,” he praises, “does that feel better? Answer me.” 

“Yes—yeah.” You get out, crooking your fingers inside yourself. “I still want—” 

“More?” He murmurs, pressing his hand gently against your lower stomach, “this time, you have to make do with just this.” 

You bite back your whine or complaint, head hazy—fingers moving desperately. But you don’t complain, you don’t fuss. 

He smiles when he realizes how you’ve caught yourself, “oh, look at that,” he purrs, “you can be tamed after all.” 

And before you can ruin it for yourself, Suguru sweeps his thumb just barely over your mound again, and says, “rock your hips now, gentle.” 

The moment you do, the friction against your palm makes you moan, head falling back, baring your throat. 

Perhaps without thinking, he dips forward, nose tracing over the cure of your neck, following instinct. You make another soft noise, and in your haze, wish desperately that he would just bite down—

All you get is the brief skim of his warm, soft lips. No teeth and you miss them, achingly. 

He presses his hand down just a little more and—

Pleasure bursts beneath your skin with enough force that your back bows off the bed, mouth parted. 

You sob. 

You feel your walls flutter uselessly around your fingers, feel your body desperate for something you can’t have this time, and fall apart.

Suguru is there to catch you. 

He coos to you, soft and easy, and even kisses at your damp, tear-struck cheeks. He lets you arch and twist and chase your pleasure, lets you be wanton and shameless and desperate. He lets you claw him and bite him and cry into his shoulder. 

And when you begin to quiet, he suddenly hitches your legs around his waist and lifts you clear from the bed. You lope your arms weakly around his neck and bury your face into his throat. 

You don’t protest or fight him, you are grateful and eager for all the places you touch, feeling incredibly fragile in his broad arms.  

You don’t bother to look where he’s taking you—can’t find it in yourself to care, if you can feel him against your center, feel where he’s hard and aching himself, even with the suppressants—

But between one breath and the next, you’re in the bathtub again, and the water from the shower blasts on from above. 

Ice cold water pours on you. 

You shriek and Suguru has the nerve to laugh, which makes you lunge for him, yanking him towards the spray of water. 

It soaks his shirt, his hair, as he holds himself over you, before stepping carefully into the tub to join you. 

He sits with you, beneath the cold water, and pushes his hair out of his face as you clamber into his lap. 

You pull at his wet shirt and he lets you take it off of him, throw it over the side of the tub in a heap. 

He reaches to do the same to you, ridding you of the only article of clothing you’d had on. 

You grit your teeth, “does it have to be so cold?” You ask, feeling the spray now rain against your back, your shoulders. You lean away from it, into his arms. 

“You needed this.” He says fondly. And then, as he strokes your wet hair, “I did, too.” 

“You’re an awful man,” you curse him, shivering.

“I know,” he agrees with a soft, fond smile. 

You look at him, hair inky and dark, lashes damp against his cheek, and the pleased way he smiles. Like an insufferable, giant cat. You’re aching and furious and freezing and so—so tender. 

“I hate you,” you tell him but it sounds more like a confession, soft around the edges. 

He kisses your temple, lingers there, and you can feel the curve of his smile. You can hear it color his voice;

“I know.” 

***

Something shifts between the two of you after that. And the following day, your Heat finally begins to wane slightly. 

You try to touch yourself again and Suguru forbids it this time. You fight and snarl with him, but you let him hold you and lull you to sleep. You let him feed you. And bathe you. You sleep bare against his naked chest and are soothed by it the way a fussy baby is calmed by the bare skin of their mother. 

You feel infinitely closer to him. 

You lounge with him in bed, in his living room, hanging off him all that you can. 

He indulges this behavior, encourages it, even. 

And on the eighth day, your Heat finally breaks. 

When you wake, still curled on his chest, with his hands stroking tenderly over your bare back, he asks, “how do you feel?” 

“Sane, I think.” You murmur it into his chest. 

“Your Heat broke in the night.” He says and touches your head, your forehead, like he’s taking your temperature. “You’re still a little warmer, but it’s over now, I think.” 

Slowly, you pick yourself up to look at him. To hover over him. 

He looks up at you, too, uncertain. Waiting. You’re sure he’s waiting to see if you’ll return to your usual self, if you’ll snap or snarl or chew him out—will you storm out? Or seethe? Will you fight him still, after everything, even as he holds you in his arms now? 

“Thank you for respecting my wishes,” you say instead and lean down to suddenly press your lips to his. 

You feel his surprise, the way his lips part, the way he freezes and you sink down into it. For a moment, you worry he won’t reciprocate again. 

But then, his hand comes up to cradle your face, and he nudges into the kiss. Hungry. Deep. 

You give into him, you encourage him, coaxing him with soft tongue and eager mouth. 

When you pull away, you grab his face this time, the way he always grabs yours, squeezing his lips into a little pout, “but if you ever make me suffer like that again through a Heat,” your nails dig into his cheek, “I’ll fucking kill you.” 

He laughs, canines flashing, and surges forward to kiss you again. Harder. Meaner. 

It’s all teeth and heat, a little vicious, the way you are. He wrestles you beneath him, kisses you into the mattress. And when he pulls away, he says;

“If you ever make me suffer like that again, you’ll wish you’d killed me first.” 

You feel your own smile against his neck, against one of the ridges of your own bite mark, and with all the satisfaction in the world, you sink your teeth down into it again. 

It’s like a key coming up against a lock, fitting snugly to their own indents, and finding their own, well-worn place. 

It’s like finally coming home. 

[danikamariewrites]

could i request one with rhys x reader where he is so incredibly in love with her it’s ridiculous. He is such a simp for her, she literally only has to ask and he gets her anything she wants. one day she jokes about him being very generous and says

” i’m sure if i ask for a golden pony, you’ll find a way”

next day he’s visiting Helion and asks for a golden pony.

The ic even makes fun of how much he simps for reader. One day they’re all walking in velaris to go to ritas and readers strap on her heel slips. Rhys gets on his knees to fix it with no hesitation. The inner circle looks at him with incredible shock and their jaws are dropped. Bc in acomaf it says that he has sacred tattoos on his knees and will never bow for no one and nothing but his crown. it’s the first time they ever see rhys on his knees for someone. Reader doesn’t know ab it and just says thank you and they continue walking. After a while he confesses to her and she feels the same and live happy forever 😁😁

Only For You

Rhys x reader

A/n: this is so freakin cute and writing this had me kicking my feet giggling

Warnings: none

You and Rhys had grown up together, so his kindness and generosity was nothing new to you. Whenever you needed or even just wanted something Rhys would get it for you. New shoes? Done, he knows what style you like. Need new clothes? He has your size and his tailor knows exactly what to make you.

You had always insisted on paying you back but he never let you. Rhys would always say, “Nonsense y/n. I like biting you things so please let me get this for you.” You’d breathe out a sigh of defeat and cup his cheek. “Thank you Rhys. I swear if I asked for a golden Pegasus you’d find me one.”

Rhys cherished your warm touch. He loved your soft skin and how gentle you are with him. The High Lord was so clearly in love with you but he was too afraid to admit it. If Rhys lost you as a friend because of his feelings he doesn’t know how he’d go on.

And he didn’t forget about that golden Pegasus. It was your 450th birthday present and you named her Sunny.

Tonight you were all headed to Rita’s to unwind after a busy work week. Mor had teased you about Rhys while you got ready together. “He’s completely and utterly in love with you! How can you not see he is wrapped around your finger.”

You had just rolled your eyes and laughed at your friend. “We’ve been friends for centuries Mor. Rhys would’ve said something by now. I just have to deal with that.” Deep down you were mad,y in love with Rhys. You just kept telling yourself he didn’t feel the same way. It made everything easier. You two were just friends after all.

Walking to Rita’s you and Cassian were hanging on each other crying laughing at something Mor said about Amren. Your heel caught in a crack of the cobblestone, causing the strap of your shoe to come undone. “Oops, hold on a second, my shoe.”

The group stopped as you lifted your dress a little to asses the damage. Before you could fix it, Rhys was on his knees looking up at you with a small smile. “I got it for you darling.”

His fingers gently grazed your ankle, sending a shiver up your body. You watched as Rhys carefully buckled the strap around your ankle again. Without thinking he caressed your calf and looked up at you. You swear you saw hearts in his eyes.

You run your fingers through his soft raven locks, bringing your hand down to caress his face, holding his chin. Giving it a small squeeze you say, “Thanks Rhys.” Mor giggles and takes your arm, pulling you ahead of the boys.

Cassian and Azriel stare at their brother with their jaws on the ground. Rhys stands, brushing off his pants. “I thought you said-“ Cassian started. Rhys cut him off, “Only for my equal.” Cassian didn’t think it was possible but he felt his jaw unhinge more at Rhys’s confession.

Rhys started to follow you and Mor while Cassian stood frozen. Azriel came up next to him closing his mouth and patting him on the back. “I can’t believe I knew before you.” He said with a smug look on his face.

When you woke up the next morning something felt different. You felt a light in your chest, pulling you out of your room.

Getting ready you follow that pull down the hall all the way to Rhys’s office. You find him sitting in his armchair, seemingly contemplating something. You felt nervousness radiating off him. Not only could you hear his heartbeat, but you swore you felt it in your own chest.

Pausing, you place your hand over your heart. You slowly approach him. Resting a hand on his shoulder Rhys leans back into the cushioned seat, placing his hand over yours. Rhys looked up at you with a hope on his beautiful face. The light of the fire in the hearth before him highlighting his high cheekbones and perfect jawline.

Closing your eyes you took a chance and reached out down that new glowing bond. Towards Rhys. Towards unconditional love. Rhys gripped your hand tighter as he let out a shaky breath.

Opening your eyes you found Rhys’s line with silver. You blinked your own tears away as you looked at him with adoration. “I’ve loved you for so long,” he whispered. “I said I’d never bow before anyone or anything but my crown. That changed when I found you, my equal in every sense of the word.”

Rhys pulled you onto his lap. “I love you too Rhys,” you whispered back, “I’ll share that crown with you for the rest of our lives.”

[circledwithaheart]

A few weeks ago I bribed promised @diazsdimples one sentence of mer!buck for every 100 words he wrote for an essay. I'm finally making good on that (with a few extra). bone apple tea 🫶

He doesn’t actually know what merpeople are supposed to avoid when it comes to food; if they’re like geese and shouldn’t have bread or some shit like that.

“You remembered,” Evan murmurs, his eyes finally lifting to look at Eddie again. Something shifts in his chest and makes his cheeks flush hot even though he can’t fathom why.

“Of course I did. Not like I’m going to forget my best friend’s favorite.” 

“Best friend, eh?” Evan’s expression shifts to a smirk that doesn’t manage to appear as mischievous as he probably intends. 

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your gills.”

Evan snatches his treat, gleefully tearing open the wrapper. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He crosses an ‘x’ over his heart (at least where Eddie assumes it is) before taking a large bite. 

“I still don’t know how you eat those with your teeth. They aren’t exactly meant for grinding like molars.”

“Who said anything about chewing?” Evan retorts with a shrug.

“So, what, do you unhinge your jaw and devour small, unsuspecting children, too?”

“Edmundo Diaz!” Evan holds a hand to his chest in mock offense.

That’s new. 

“Wait, I never told you my full name.”

“I, um,” Evan blushes, ducking his head. “I overheard your mom say it. The first time she came looking for you here.”

“Evan. That was-” The burning, prickling sensation returns full force as Eddie considers this new piece of information. He’s sure he’s blushing down to his toes. “I guess I wasn’t the only one paying attention, huh?”

“Guess not. Anyway, didn’t you have to find food for yourself? Don’t want you getting sick or anything.” For some reason Evan still won’t look directly at him.

Like an agreement, Eddie’s stomach rumbles again, only louder this time. 

“Yeah, you’re right. Uh, see you tomorrow?”

Evan lifts his head and their eyes finally meet again. It must be as much of a relief for him as it is for Eddie, because he smiles softly, matching his tone when he says, “See you tomorrow, Eddie.”

He stands and gathers his things. When he glances at the water to say goodnight Evan’s already silently gone. That’s never happened before. Evan always waits, waving like a dork until Eddie’s too far away. 

It stings deeper than he thinks it should, even worse because he can’t figure out why it does at all.

tagged earlier by @tizniz

np tagging @diazsdimples @daffi-990 @bidisasterevankinard @bi-buckrights @spotsandsocks @stereopticons @wildfluorescent @wildlife4life @diazheartsbuckley @thewolvesof1998 @midsummersmorn @theotherbuckley @kitteneddiediaz @your-catfish-friend @thekristen999 @aoubooming @wikiangela @rainbow-nerdss @steadfastsaturnsrings @inell @eddiebabygirldiaz @dr-shortsighted-owl @imtheiliad @elvensorceress @giddyupbuck @beyourownanchor6 @bekkachaos @ladydorian05 @lemonzestywrites @monsterrae1 @statueinthestone @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @thelikesofus @eowon @rewritetheending @spaceprincessem @bucksbignaturals @lovetommyactually @lavenderleahy @whatwouldeddiedo @hyperfocusthusly @loucifersbitch and anyone else who wants to 😘

also @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming

[yeonboy]

𝐚 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞 ♡ choi yeonjun. ⇝ teaser

For the past two years, you have been an ordinary—if a bit more stressed than others—college student with a life so normal, it almost falls on the wrong side of boring. And then in the middle of one uneventful night, your college’s darling ace student, ace sportsman, the ace cutie that every girl has a crush on, Choi Yeonjun decides to slip into your dorm room – and your life turns upside down.

❧ choi yeonjun x f. reader | 16+ | college!au ♡ strangers to lovers!au ♡ humor ♡ fluff

❧ words! 1 k for the teaser [~8 k for the entire fic]

❧ warnings! profanity, suggestive language, exams related anxiety, incorrect econ major related discord + and more in the actual fic (:

❧ note! hey, everyone! tho i'm not a fan of teasers without a concrete posting date, i needed to put sth out there for the sake of my brain :// mental health's been on a rollercoaster and writer's block been heavy this spring! i hope y'all enjoy this lil cracked up (and a lil concerning) bite of fluff and anticipate the actual fic!

❧ masterlist | inbox ⁘

Sighing again, you blindly move your hand towards the light switch in the room – only for a hand to wrap around your wrist. 

Wha—

Heart stopping and brain freezing in bone-chilling fear, you unhinge your jaw to let out a scream. But not even a whole second later, a palm is placed over your parted lips and a body pushes you to the wall next to the light switch with an urgent hush whispered in your ear.

“Please don’t scream, I’m not gonna harm you, I just need your help!”

The stranger sounds and feels like a male. 

What the hell is a strange man doing in your very all-girls dorm?

You wanna scream louder, something that this stranger senses because he suddenly presses his body tighter against you, this time dipping his face into the crook of your neck, lips against the shell of your ear when he shushes you.

Okay, now why did that cover your entire body with goosebumps? Of the good kind?

“I’m not a creep I swear, I was just escaping an embarrassing situation and this room was unlocked so I slipped in, please let me explain!”

You try to calm yourself down, taking a deep breath which immediately lets you know that this not a creep actually smells really heavenly. You kinda wanna sniff him again, but catch yourself at the last moment.

Leaning your head farther away to press it against the wall, you narrow your eyes at the short-haired silhouette of the guy that is lit up at the edges due to the light entering the room from the window directly behind him. The hand which held your wrist moves, then, and flicks the light switch.

You immediately squeeze your eyes shut due to the blast of photons across the room, and the stranger slowly steps away from you, very tenderly letting go of your mouth – which had honestly started to hurt a little – at the end. Massaging the side of your jaw, you slowly open one of your lids, and then the other.

Then you blink. And blink again. And nearly have an aneurysm because damn does the campus It-Boy look even hotter up close.

Choi Yeonjun stands before you in his pale orange hair glory, wearing a fitted off-sleeves, off-white sweater. And, shit, are those pearls around his neck? Yes. Yes, they are.

While you’re still hovering in the limbo between shock and awe, the guy launches into a rushed and stuttered explanation.

“Th–thanks for not screaming. I’m… Ugh, I don’t even know where to begin, but like – I – I was trying to surprise my girlfriend who lives in this very dorm, a floor above—you know, where all popular seniors live—and, um, just as I reacher her door I heard sounds of the…sexual nature…echoing inside, so – so I investigated and guess what? My girlfriend is fucking my best friend behind my back!”

Your jaw drops open. “I… what the hell, man?” you whisper, stunned and disgusted. “That’s so awful…”

“Right? And embarrassing.” He shakes his head. Then his eyebrows suddenly fly up. “Oh! I am Choi—”

“Yeonjun, the uni’s ace Senior. I know. Everyone does.”

A faint blush rises up his cheeks, lips pursing as he shrugs one bare shoulder. Okay, damn, his biceps have got some good definition. “Yeah… well. So you know how I was—or still am, I guess—in a relationship with—”

“Kim Yerim? Know that too, unfortunately, all my friends in all the srats are obsessed with y’all.” You give a small sigh. “Her cheating is such a pity.”

“God, I know right? This is gonna be so horrible,” he murmurs, almost to himself, and bites down on his lip.

You snap your fingers in front of his face. “Um, excuse me? Is that all? I’m sorry for you, man, truly, but um, can you leave now? You’re really wasting my very precious time.”

He really is. The only reason why you didn’t flip out yet was because—as embarrassing as it—you were distracted by the guy’s astonishingly good looks. But his beauty isn’t gonna help you pass tomorrow’s exam.

Suddenly regretting wasting the ten minutes that you had saved by ditching Chaeryeong at the convenience store, you clap your hands together and reach for your door. “Great talk! Or not? I guess? See you around, Choi Yeonjun!”

His eyes grow very wide at that and both hands come up to stop you from unlocking your door, before you have even made the move to fully turn around, and—

Oh.

Now you’re caged between the door and both his arms. The same arms with all that muscular definition you just saw up close. 

“Please don’t kick me out. Let me stay here. Please.”

This time it is your eyes that bulge out. “The hell? Why?”

He retracts his hands to brace one of them on his waist and pinch the bridge of his nose with the forefinger and thumb of the other. “I can’t leave…”

You lean away from him. “Dude, if you’re looking for a shoulder to cry on? You’ve come to the absolutely worst person. And if you’re looking for a rebound hook-up… well, could you wait till I’m done with tomorrow’s exam?”

Yeonjun’s face goes from confused to intrigued to humorous. “None of those, actually, but – I’ll keep your offer in mind.”

His wink shoots sparks through you and you immediately purse your lips. “It wasn’t an—okay, then what do you want? My econ exam is tomorrow and I stand to lose all my credits if I flunk this, so please—”

“Wait, econ?” He spins on his heels to peek at your textbook and the slides you had pulled up on your laptop, leaving you gaping behind him. “Ooh, Consumer Behavior? This is a good one. D’you have flash cards? Don’t skip decision roles, Professor Jeon is obsessed with ’em.”

You look at the guy with wide eyes. “Uh—what?”

Looking at you over his shoulder, Yeonjun flashes you a grin. “You’re talking to a 99 scorer in Consumer Behavior.”

— COMING SOON!

© yeonboy 2024 // do not steal, copy or repost. respect your local content creators, kaythanks.

[am0ralexis]

Rules (smut) ❤️‍🔥

It was a stupid rule.

“No touching yourself without me. Ever.”

You had laughed when he first said it. Called him dramatic. He’d just grinned, leaned in close, and whispered, “Try it and see what happens.”

And you did try. To follow it, anyway.

But tonight? Tonight you were desperate. Alex had been busy all day—editing, meetings, and now streaming with Sebas (Roier) in the other room, his camera set up just right at his desk. You’d started off innocent enough, scrolling through your phone on his bed, lounging in one of his hoodies.

But the ache between your legs was too much. You couldn’t stop thinking about how mean he’d been earlier, how cocky his voice got when he talked on stream, how he hadn’t even looked at you before locking into streamer mode.

So you let your hand slip under the hoodie.

Slowly. Quietly. Testing your luck.

You spread your legs just enough. Your fingers moved in soft circles over your clit, your other hand grabbing a fistful of his pillow to muffle any sound. The stream was still going—Sebas’s voice echoing through the headset while Alex laughed and bantered with him like nothing was happening.

You were so close.

Until Alex’s voice dropped.

“Yeah, hold on—uh, give me a second.”

You froze.

You looked up.

And he was staring right at you.

The camera didn’t catch you—of course not. You were off to the side, safely out of frame. But Alex’s eyes? They were dark. His jaw was set.

You swallowed.

“Yo?” Sebas called. “What happened?”

Alex didn’t answer right away. He hit a few keys. Ended stream. Turned off the camera.

And stood.

You sat up too fast, hoodie falling off one shoulder, cheeks burning. “Alex—”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

You opened your mouth but nothing came out.

He was already across the room. Grabbing you by the jaw, forcing your gaze up to meet his. “You couldn’t wait? That desperate for attention, huh?”

“I—I just—”

“You broke my fuckin’ rule, baby,” he growled, dragging you by the arm toward the desk. “So now you’re gonna take your punishment.”

You heard the headset beep.

Sebas was still on call.

“Wait, is—”

Alex shoved you down over the desk, the cold surface biting your skin through the hoodie. “You wanted to come so bad,” he muttered, pulling your panties down, “then come on my cock. Right fuckin’ now.”

You gasped as he thrust into you, fast, hard, without warning.

“Yo… what’s happening?!” Sebas’s voice rang out. “Alex—did you just—bro.”

Alex grinned. “She couldn’t wait. She broke the fuckin’ rules, man.”

“No way, bro. Is she crying already?”

“Almost.”

You were. The stretch, the shame, the way both of them were talking about you like you weren’t even there—it was so much. Too much.

Alex grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back. “Let Sebas hear you, baby. C’mon. Moan for him.”

You whimpered.

Sebas laughed darkly through the headset. “Damn, she’s bein’ real quiet now. What happened to all that attitude?”

“She’s shy when she’s caught being a little slut,” Alex said, slapping your ass. “You like being watched, huh?”

“She loves it,” Sebas chimed in. “Bet she was rubbing that little pussy thinking about both of us.”

“Were you?” Alex asked, voice lower now, rough. “Thinkin’ about us ruining you together?”

You nodded, barely able to breathe. “Y-Yes…”

“Say it,” Alex ordered.

“I-I was… I was thinking about you both…”

Sebas’s laughter was unhinged now. “Bro, she’s so gone. You got her fucked up.”

Alex groaned, pace brutal. “That’s the fuckin’ point.”

You came so hard you went silent, your whole body shaking against the desk, tears streaking your cheeks. And still—he didn’t stop.

“Next time,” Alex gritted out, “you ask.”

“Yes—yes, okay, I’m sorry—”

“No you’re not,” Sebas teased. “She loved it. Look at her.”

“I am,” Alex said, and his voice dropped into something dark. “She’s a fuckin’ mess.”

He came with a groan, holding your hips so tight you knew you’d bruise, breathing heavy against the back of your neck.

The headset crackled.

“Damn,” Sebas said.

Alex snorted, finally pulling out. “You stayed the whole time?”

“You left it on, bro. What was I supposed to do, hang up?”

You whimpered from the desk, still catching your breath.

“Tell him goodnight, baby,” Alex muttered.

You barely managed it.

Sebas laughed one last time. “Sweet dreams, freaks.”

[lanitalay]

One day : Chapter 1

Azriel x Reader

a/n: I saw the netflix series, bawled my eyes out then thought it would make a great Az x reader story.

warnings: anxiety, drinking

word count: 1555k

Masterlist

Summer Solstice was your favorite holiday. Each year you look forward to celebrating the longest day of the year in the most beautiful city in the world. This year would be slightly different, as you were no longer a student, having recently graduated to proper healer. So, for the first time in years, you were able to stay up until the sun set and came back out because there were no readings to do, no papers to write and no seminars to attend the next day. You had informed Madja that you would not be coming in tomorrow and she had understood. “I was young and capricious as well, long, long ago.”

The day was spent at the Sidra, lounging and playing in the sand and the water. It was packed, thousands of fae clamoring to the shore to watch the High Lord’s ship pass by. Cheering for it. When the sun set your friends dragged you back to their apartment to get ready for the night ahead. The Rainbow would be filled with street vendors, music and art. 

“I can’t possibly drink more” you gagged as more sparkling wine was shoved in your hand. “Suck it up!” Nomi laughed and poured a glass for herself. Bec did your hair, curling it in loose waves. Fran did your makeup, smoking out dark shadows in your eye lid. Nomi gave you a short, short dress. The four of you admired the collective beauty in the mirror, even if not one of you could see straight. 

“Onwards!” Fran called and opened the door to let everyone stumble out. 

A few hours after drinking, eating and dancing in the street, Bec insisted she needed to sit down. You were looking around to see where you could take her when you spotted a familiar sign. “Let’s go to Rita’s, she’ll let us sober up in there” you guided your friends through the crowd, weaving in between all kinds of fae until arriving at the sanctuary. 

Rita recognized you and waved you in, sitting you down in one of the booths. The place was not quiet by any means, but the seats were cushioned and Bec sighed in relief as she took off her heels under the table. “These shoes rubbed my feet raw,” she hissed. You waved your hand over her feet and channeled some of your healing powers to her blisters. “Oh my gods, thank you, y/n.” You laughed and announced to the table “I’m going to get more drinks.” 

It had been ten minutes of standing by the bar, trying to get someone’s attention. “Hey! I need liquor!” You heard a low laugh behind you and turned around to see a looming figure, wings tight against his back, biting back a smile. “What’s so funny?” Always confrontational when drunk. He shook his head “nothing, can I order something for you?” 

You considered his offer. He was much, much taller than you. If he wanted, he could reach through the bar and grab a bottle of wine. There was a cloudiness to him, or maybe you were far too drunk. You nodded and told him what the table wanted. He waved the barkeep down and placed the order. “Are you the spymaster?” He nodded once. “I’m y/n,” you stretched a hand, as much as you could within the multitude of party goers. He shook it gently with a calloused hand “nice to meet you, y/n.” 

In a few minutes the four drinks were on the bar, Azriel helped you carry them back to the table. When your friends saw who was behind you their jaws practically unhinged. “Thank you, Spymaster.” “Azriel is fine” he said with a smile, and gods… that smile.  “Thank you, Azriel.”

You wanted to drown yourself in the Sidra when Nomi, ever fearless, shouted over the music “does the Spymaster dance?” 

“I could, with the right partner” he turned his head to look at you. “Are you inviting me to dance?" 

“Yes,” now it was him who had a hand stretched your way. You did not have to convince yourself to dance with him. Putting the glasses on the table, you turned and took his hand, letting him lead you right to the dance floor. 

It must have been hours that you spent dancing that night. At one point your friends came over to let you know they were going to call it. Azriel asked if you wanted to leave as well but his hips were grinding against your behind and his arms were firmly holding your waist. So you shook your head “no.” When the song changed he spun you, slotting your legs together, keeping you impossibly close. So close his nose nudged yours. By then, last calls were being made and you asked Azriel if he could walk you back to your apartment. 

He led you out of Rita’s and you pointed in the direction of your place. Azriel did not let go of your hand until you stopped in front of a building and said “this is me.” He looked at the stone building, decorated with flower boxes on the windows “it's nice.” 

“Can I get you some water? Something to eat?” The night could not end like this. You didn’t want this night to end at all. So when he nodded you beamed and opened the door, walking up the three flights of stairs to get to your apartment. “I have bread and…” you looked through the cabinets and were embarrassed that you had not stocked up on any groceries in weeks “chocolate chip cookies, but they are probably stale.” 

“I’ll try a cookie” he bit into it and grimaced “it’s very stale, throw that away.” You giggled and threw the cookies in the trash. When you turned back to face him he was right in front of you. A hair's breadth away. “You know you’re quite beautiful,” you gulp, “you’re very handsome too.”

His hands come up to graze your cheek, “I really want to kiss you.” 

“So kiss me” it doesn’t take him more than a second to bring your lips together. You hold onto his shoulders and he pushes you pack until he helps you jump on the counter. Your legs spread, wanting him to get closer, closer. He pulls back to ask “where’s your room?” You point to the door behind him and he grabs your thighs, carrying you towards a proper place to bed you. 

Ever so gently, he lays you down on your bed but you stand, turning so your back faces him. “I can’t reach the zipper,” with a feather-light touch he grabs the tiny piece of metal and slides it all the way down. You pull off the straps and let the fabric pool at your feet. Turn again to face this, this time completely bare.

“Your turn,” you start to undo his buttons but he quickly takes over, throwing his clothes on the floor next to yours.  Now you lay on the mattress and he settles on top of you, latching his mouth to yours once again. “Are you alright?” You notice his heart is beating erratically and place a palm on his chest to assess. “Yes, I’m-” “You’re having heart palpitations, lie down, let me do something” you push him on his back, hand still on his chest as you try to soothe the distressed organ. 

“I’m a healer, I’m going to send some magic to your heart to calm it down. It won't hurt but it might feel tingly.” You bring all your concentration to his heart. “It’s really fine-” “Shh, be quiet.” 

A few minutes go by and you are satisfied with his pulse. “Does that happen often? How much did you drink tonight?” 

“Sometimes and a lot.”

“Well try to limit your drinking to water for the next few weeks, I’ll tell Madja to check up on you soon.”

“Perfect, now can we get back to-”

“Absolutely not, you are going to sleep right now, stay here.” You hop off the bed again and throw on a night gown, and throw him pajama pants an ex had left behind. Azriel looks defeated on the bed. “Sorry to kill the mood, but I vowed to put my patients' health first. It's not something I can turn off.”

“Now I’m your patient?” 

“Everyone is a potential patient,” you say and fluff a pillow for him to lay on. “You don’t need to do that,” he grumbles. 

“Just relax.” You fluff your own pillow and lay down next to him. “It happens to me too. Madja calls them panic attacks, they can happen for no reason or a million reasons. It sucks.” 

“We didn’t need to stop, you know?” 

“Yeah, yeah. We can try again some other time.”

“So you want to see me again?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I?”

“The Spymaster of the Night Court doesn’t scare you?”

“Ha, good one. I can’t be scared of a patient and don't flatter yourself. You're too pretty to be scary” you teased. 

“Come here,” he said and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you towards his chest. His heart steady.

“Tomorrow I’ll regret not drinking any water,” you mumble, words spilling into each other as the  weight of the day crashes into you, sleep taking over.

[uramilf]

Dangerous Game - Matty Healy x reader smut

A/N: Guys this is FILTHY. Like the most unhinged deranged smut I’ve written so far, fair warning. It’s set around Christmas 2022 as it mentions the guests at the UK atvb tour, just for context xx

Warnings: SMUT. Cheating (yes cheating is wrong but it’s just a story, if you don’t like it don’t read it please!) Some BDSM, cockwarming, light anal AH SOZ, spanking, oral (f&m receiving), unprotected sex, spitting, biting etc, degredation, dom!Matty

Stepping out of the lift, I straightened my skirt and checked my hair in the reflection of the shiny metal doors as they closed. I was playing a dangerous game with the short skirt and tight blouse, but I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride on catching a glimpse of myself.  A few months into working at Dirty Hit as Matty’s assistant, and I still tried my hardest to look nice when I knew I would be with him. I knew it was wrong. Every morning I left my own boyfriend in our shared bed after he told me how beautiful I looked. He looked prefect on paper apart from the fact that he wasn’t Matty, and that I often wondered during sex if Matty would do a better job. Sometimes I wanted to tell him exactly who I was trying to look beautiful for, so that I would be free to do whatever I wanted with my gorgeous co-worker. But even then, I wouldn’t be able to make a move on him. He had a girlfriend too, Ella. And she was perfect, a literal model. He wouldn’t even look twice at me.

I walked into the Matty and George’s small shared office. I loved George, but I was glad he was taking the day off for once. Matty looked up from his laptop when I entered. “Morning, love. You look pretty.” “Thanks,” I laughed, sitting down opposite him, trying not to let my face turn red or allow him to see how thrilled I was. “Busy day today?” “Not hugely. Still a few things to sort out for tour, but y’know, I’m getting there,” “That’s good,” I nodded, opening my own laptop. It was never awkward with him, but there was a certain tension in the air every time we were alone. It was as if he could tell that I was actively trying to act appropriately around him, and maybe like he was doing the exact same thing.

We worked quietly for 20 minutes, and as I was checking the guestlists for each show I noticed that his girlfriend’s name was missing. “Hey, Ella’s not on the guestlist for the first London show. Should I put her on?” Matty looked up abruptly, jaw clenching slightly at the mention of her name. Had something happened between them? He relaxed his face and his eyes softened when he saw my worry. “Um, no thanks love. She���ll be out of the city for a few days. Visiting family.” I saved the document and shut the laptop, standing up from my desk. “I’m gonna go get a coffee, you coming?” “Sure, babe. Two minutes.” BABE? What the fuck was he trying to do to me? I didn’t know how long I could stay around Matty without accidentally telling him exactly how I felt about him. A feeling of guilt overcame me and I shook all thoughts of Matty from my head. 

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

On the way back from our coffee run, Matty and I stood quietly together waiting for the lift. When we had been walking back from the Starbucks down the street, our hands had brushed each other multiple times and it was all I could do to not kiss him right then and there. The lift doors opened, and we stepped in. I opened my mouth to speak but Matty didn’t give me the chance. He grabbed my waist and pushed me against the wall, staring straight down into my eyes. “Fuck this,” he almost spat at me. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t pretend there’s nothing going on with us anymore.” I felt as though my throat was closing over. “Matty,” I said in a voice which was barely a whisper. His eyes softened. “Matty, I have a boyfriend. You have a girlfriend.” His jaw tensed again. “She left me. She left because she could see how badly I wanted you. And as for your boyfriend, are you seriously saying you’d rather have him than me?” I raised an eyebrow. “What? You know I’m right. He’s too boring for you. And he doesn’t look at you the way I do. Shit, can he even make you cum?”

The lift doors opened and he sprung away from me, leaving me with wide eyes and red cheeks. Jamie got in the lift as we got out, and I prayed he hadn’t seen anything.  “Morning, you two. Y/n, have you had a chance to look over those guest lists?” “Yep, all done,” I managed to say, voice breaking under the pressure of nearly being caught with Matty’s hands on my waist and lips a fraction of an inch from mine. The second we made it back to the office I turned and locked the door. “You’re right,” I blurted out. He looked at me with raised eyebrows.  “Yeah?” he smirked, approaching me like an animal stalking its prey. I felt small, but safe, around him; like I knew he could absolutely ruin my life, but chose not to. Like he could turn around now and tell me he was joking, and that he didn’t really want me. But he didn’t. Instead he shoved me back against the wall, the cold surface touching my bare thighs and making me shiver. “Right about what, exactly?” “He can’t make me cum,” I whispered, not looking him in the eye.  “Right.” Matty lifted my chin and forced me to look into his eyes, “And why is that, I wonder?”

“Because he’s not you.”

Matty kissed me then; hard, rough, needy. His hips rolled into mine as his tongue slipped into my open mouth, brushing against my own. I moaned into his mouth and he grabbed at my waist eagerly. One of my hands tangled in his hair, the other feeling desperately up and down his bicep, which seemed to have grown a lot recently. Shit, all that working out was doing wonders for him. Matty’s hips bumped into me again and he groaned. I could feel him getting hard in his black trousers and a wave of heat rushed through me. Just as the kiss was deepening, his phone rang. He pulled away, fumbling in his pocket and rolling his eyes. “Hello?” he snapped. “Oh, hi mate. Sure. Yep. I’ll be there in a second.” “Everything okay?” I said, trying to catch my breath. “Adam’s outside. Says he’s got some paperwork or something I need to look over before tour. I’m gonna run down and grab it, okay babe?”

When he left, I checked my phone and sighed. My boyfriend had texted: Miss you baby. When u coming home? I texted back: Miss you too, not sure yet, pretty busy here x I still felt a little guilty, but slightly less so after feeling Matty so close to me like that. After a few minutes of me trying to calm myself after our encounter, Matty walked back through the door. I draped my arm around his neck and kissed him again, but he pulled away after a few seconds. “Hey gorgeous, can we finish this later, yeah? I have so much fucking work to get through here.” “Oh. Yeah, sure.” “Sorry, babe. You know I want you, like, right now. But Adam’s shitting himself about getting this all done. In the meantime can you get Taylor, Lewis and Charli’s teams on the phone and go over the details for the UK shows, please?” “Of course,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. Back to being an assistant. Maybe he didn’t want me that badly after all. 

I was wrong. 20 minutes into my phone calls with various celebrities’ teams and managers, Matty sighed and looked up at me. “Fuck, babe. I can’t work when you’re sat there looking like that. C’mere.” I stood up and walked to his desk, sitting down on the edge. “What’s wrong?” I smiled teasingly. Matty laughed and gestured to the obvious bulge in his trousers.  “But you have so much work to do!” I feigned shock and Matty rolled his eyes. “I know that was a dig at me, but you’re actually right. It’s ok, I think we can do both.” I raised an eyebrow as he unbuckled his belt and tugged his trousers and boxers down. That shut me up. He was huge, dripping precum, a thick vein running up the side of his cock from base to tip.  “Sit,” he commanded. I wasted no time in doing what I was told, straddling his lap and grinding down on him, my clothed core rubbing against his cock. He let out a deep groan from the back of his throat. “Darling, if you want me all to yourself tonight, you need to let me get my work done. Sit.” This time I lifted my hips and positioned myself right over his cock, pulling my thong to the side and sinking down onto him. We groaned out in sync as a wave of pleasure washed over us both. I mentally begged him to move, to do something. But I knew he wouldn’t. I sat there whining into his ear and clenching around him for a further ten minutes. I tried to sneak my hand down to touch my clit but he grabbed my wrist and threw it back over his shoulder. “Behave,” he smirked, not looking up from his computer. 

Finally, Matty finished what he was doing and looked up at me, still perched on his lap, trying not to grind my hips downwards. “The rest of this can wait until tomorrow. It’s time you got some attention, yeah baby?” He moved his laptop, notebooks and papers to the side and lifted me by the waist onto the desk, pushing my shoulders so I ended up flat on my back with my legs spread, him now standing between them. I whined at the empty feeling and Matty shushed me gently before pushing into me again. He threw his head back as he thrusted into me. I wasn’t used to the stretch required for me to fit around his cock, and it felt perfect. The sound of our combined moans and his skin hitting mine filled the room, but neither of us cared to stay quiet. Matty pulled out of me again and I could have screamed in frustration, but he didn’t give me time to complain.

“Hands and knees,” he commanded, and I obeyed. He groaned when I pushed my ass towards him and placed a firm smack there, making me giggle with giddy anticipation. Instead of fucking me again, Matty sat down in his chair so his face was level with my cunt and leaned forward to lick a stripe straight up my core.  “Shit! Oh, Matty, please!” His tongue teased at my entrance, flicking back and forth, his rough, calloused hand sneaking around to find my clit and rub light circles over it.  “Does he ever do this to you, baby?” “Yes,” I gasped. “But it doesn’t feel as good as this.” Matty’s tongue ventured further away from my cunt and I gasped. “Matty, wait. No one’s ever done that to me before.” “Ssh, baby. You’ll like it.” With that he flicked his wet tongue over my asshole, making me scream out.  “Oh fuck!” He did it again, and again, building up speed into a proper rhythm. The thought of letting a guy ever do this to me had never even crossed my mind, but holy fuck, it felt good. As he continued to kitten lick over my hole, he thrusted two fingers into my wet cunt and I could feel myself tipping over the edge at last.  “Fuck, I’m gonna cum!” I cried out, nails digging into the cold wood of the desk, clenching around Matty’s fingers. My vision was overcome with a bright white heat as I came on Matty’s hand, screaming his name. He pulled his fingers out of me and I saw him flick his tongue over them, closing his eyes in bliss. “Fuck, you taste good.” He placed his thumb on my lip and whispered “open,” before spitting into my mouth. “Don’t you think you taste good, love?” I swallowed and nodded quietly, eyes never leaving his.

Matty gave me some time to recover, but I noticed he was still hard. He was the first guy to give me an orgasm in six months, as my boyfriend was seriously lacking in experience and confidence. I wasn’t gonna let the favour not be returned. I pulled my skirt back down to cover my thighs and dropped to my knees in front of Matty. He was in the midst of pulling his boxers back up over his hard-on, but I stopped him. “Fuck, babe. You’re so desperate for me you should be ashamed of yourself,” Matty smirked down at me. I just rolled my eyes and licked his tip, relishing the sound he made. I tested the waters, taking his tip fully into my mouth and sucking. I could taste his salty precum and moaned around his cock, making him echo the sound. Slowly taking more of him into my mouth, I looked up at him through my eyelashes to see his head tipped back, eyes shut in ecstasy. His hands found their way to my hair and grabbed a fistful each, forcing me down further. He hit the back of my throat and I gagged a little. A groan of “Good fucking girl” made its way to my ears. He guided my head up and down, fucking roughly into my mouth.  “Fuck, I’m so close,” he stuttered, his cock twitching in my mouth. He spilled his cum onto my tongue with a loud moan of my name and I pulled away, swallowing while staring straight into his eyes. “C’mere,” he breathed heavily, pulling me up to stand close to him. He grabbed me by the hips and kissed me hard.

“You’re actually incredible, you know that, right?” Matty asked softly, brushing my hair behind my ear. I didn’t look at him, just smiling. “Have you never been told that before?” “Not really, no.” “Well you deserve someone who’s gonna tell you that every day of your fucking life, darling.” “Someone like you?” I grinned. “Exactly,” he smiled back.

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

I hadn’t gone back to Matty’s house. It seemed too obvious. Instead I headed home and changed into a tight dress and put some makeup on, some stupid excuse about meeting up with work friends for a drink spilling out of my mouth. It wasn’t entirely a lie. 

Matty had opened his front door and pulled me inside before I even had a chance to knock, lips meeting mine immediately. He was still in his work clothes. Not for long, I decided. He dragged me upstairs into his bedroom, shoving me down on the bed and yanking off his shirt and tie. I almost let out a moan at the sight of his toned stomach and muscular, tattooed arms. He slipped my feet out out my shoes and kissed all the way from my ankle to my thigh, pulling my dress, stepping back in feigned shock when he saw my lack of underwear.  “Someone’s being a bit cheeky tonight,” he whispered. “It gets worse, no bra either,” I joked. “Fuck!” Matty exclaimed, reaching down to pull my dress straight over my head. He stood there with his mouth open for a moment or two at the sight of my tits moving with my deep breaths. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, grabbing my thighs and spreading my legs. He knelt on the bed between them and dropped down to take one of my nipples into his mouth, one hand trailing down my stomach towards my clit. He continued to suck on the skin of my breast and circle my clit with his thumb as I moaned out his name. “Fuck darling, you make the prettiest noises.” Matty moved up to my neck to place a messy kiss there, and I cried out when he sunk his teeth into my skin. He stood up to undo his belt, but kept his trousers on. I raised an eyebrow. “Pretty girl, I think it’s time you got a little punishment for all the times you’ve given me a fucking boner in work this week.” My eyes widened in shock. “Four times this week, babe. It’s only Wednesday.” He reached for his tie from the floor and told me to get in the same all-fours position I had been in earlier. This time, he grabbed my wrists and tied them together behind my back, forcing my head down into the mattress.  “Okay, pretty girl. You’ve got me all worked up four times this week, and I’m starting to think you’re doing it on purpose. So I want you to count your punishments, okay?” I nodded, letting out an excited whimper. I heard the belt buckle clink and clenched my cunt around nothing. A sharp sting landed on my ass and I yelped. “Count.” “One,” I breathed. Another. “Two.” Another. “Three.” “One more, babe, You’re doing well.” He brought the thick leather down on my soft skin once more, the sensation burning pleasurably.  “Four.” “Good girl.”

Matty grabbed my tied wrists and pulled me up so my face was no longer in the sheets. “Are you gonna take my cock again like a good little slut?” I just whined in response. “Words,” he grunted. “Or do I need to remind you what your punishment is?” “Yes, Matty. I’ll be good for you,” I whimpered. He let go of my wrists, my upper half dropping back onto the mattress. Without warning, he pushed into me hard and established a fast, steady rhythm. I cried out as he found my g-spot effortlessly.  “Fuck Matty!” This only encouraged him, and he thrusted deeper, harder, all the while groaning my name. He alternated between grabbing handfuls of my ass and placing firm slaps there. Each time he hit me I clenched hard around him, ripping a moan from his throat. 

After around ten minutes of hard, rough, rhythmic thrusting, Matty grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled out of me, cumming all over my back. “Fuck, love. How are we ever gonna share an office again without me getting a boner?” I laughed at him while he untied my wrists, wincing when his hand brushed the sore skin of my ass.  “Oh, darling, I’m sorry if I hurt you. I know I can go overboard sometimes.” “Are you seriously apologising for the best sex of my life right now?” Matty grinned at this. “Are you joking?” “Absolutely not. You’ve met my partner, you know he’s not doing any of that.” I glanced at the clock. “Oh shit! He’s gonna be wondering where I am.” “Text him and say Charli drank too much and you’re staying with her to look after her. I’m not letting you go home by yourself at this time of night. Plus, I need to take care of my pretty girl.”

After I had made my excuses to my boyfriend, Matty cleaned me up in the bathroom and carried me back to his bed, tucking me in under the sheets and curling up beside me, his head on my chest. I had a hand in his hair and one of his was exploring the skin of my stomach underneath my borrowed t-shirt.

“Get some sleep, love,” Matty yawned. “You’re gonna be sore tomorrow.”

[steddiealltheway]

(IMPORTANT NOTE: this was supposed to be ABSOLUTE CRACK for Ruth’s birthday ((happy birthday @kurtkankle)) but this Heartstopper x Steddie Stranger Things crossover turned out to be surprisingly wholesome at the end. SO if you want to completely ignore the crack, replace Dart with Mews and… maybe it’s better. And Ruth… you’re the only person who could get me to post this instead of keeping it in my drafts.)

Charlie goes to Nick’s house, thinking only of his strong rugby arms. Instead, he’s greeted at the door by a pet that isn’t Nellie.

“Nick. What the fuck is this?” Charlie asks, bewildered at the creature weaving it’s way through nick’s legs.

Nick smiles and picks the creature up. “This is my cousin’s pet, Dart. I’m taking care of him for the next week.”

As if the creature knows that Nick is talking about him, it unhinges its multiple jaws and screeches.

Charlie stares at it for a few moments before deciding that maybe he can go without Nick for the next week. But then he sees someone come into view over Nick’s shoulder.

“I’m Steve,” the hottest American man Charlie has ever seen says, sticking his hand out toward him.

“H-hi,” Charlie responds taking his hand back and shaking it.

“I hear you’re Nick’s closest rugby lad,” Steve says with a big, clueless smile.

Charlie laughs nervously. “Yep, that’s who I am.”

Nick stares at him awkwardly and invites him inside. Charlie takes one glance at Dart and hopes he doesn’t bite his face off. Luckily, he keeps to himself and follows Steve into the living room as Charlie and Nick got to Nick’s room.

They “study” for about an hour before the door slowly creaks open, and in comes Dart excitedly. But then Steve follows him quickly, bashfully looking up at Nick and Charlie who haven’t had time to untangle themselves from each other.

Steve looks between the two and smiles softly. “You two remind me of me and my good friend Eddie.”

Charlie and Nick glance at each other and silently debate asking Steve more. Nick is the first to speak up, “Steve, are you and Eddie… dating?”

Steve scoffs. “No, we’re just really good pals.”

“Who… kiss sometimes?” Charlie asks, confused.

Steve nods with a big smile on his face.

Nick sits up and crosses his arms. “Is this… an American thing?”

Steve shakes his head. “No, no. This is a me and Eddie thing.”

Charlie nods and leans over to Nick whispering, “And how do you know him, again?”

“He’s practically my cousin’s older brother. He’s staying here while Dustin stays with the rest of his friends.”

Charlie nods, still confused about the situation, before returning his gaze to Steve. “Steve… do you… think about kissing him often?”

“All the time. It’s my ‘Roman Empire’ as Dustin says.”

Nick and Charlie exchange another look before Nick squeezes Charlie’s shoulder and says, “I got this.”

Charlie watches as Nick carefully approaches Steve and puts a gentle hand on his back, leading him down the hall and prompting, “So, tell me more about your friend Eddie.”

Charlie sits back and glances to his right where Dart is curled up on the floor next to Nellie, wondering if this tops the most confusing moment of his life, ranking even above getting Nick Nelson as a boyfriend.

A few minutes later, he wanders down the stairs, easily picking up on the conversation.

“I’m… in love with Eddie?”

Nick is quick to say, “I’m not saying you are, I’m just telling you it’s okay to like both men and women. But maybe you are in love with him.”

There’s a brief silence before Steve says, “I think I am.”

Charlie peaks around the corner where Nick is sitting at the dining room table across from Steve, with a small smile on his face. “I know it can be confusing, but think on it over the next week. And I’ll be here if you have any questions.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair and leans back in his chair. “God, I miss him.”

“I can’t imagine going a week without seeing Charlie.”

Charlie’s heart skips a beat at the comment, and he wonders if he should stop intruding on this moment.

“So you two are… going out?” Steve asks carefully.

“Yeah, we are,” Nick answers with a proud smile.

Steve smiles back, a look of contentment settling over his face as if realizing if Nick and Charlie could do it, so could he.

Charlie steps on a creaky part of Nick’s house, and the two glance up at him. Nick holds him arm out invitingly and Charlie is quick to join him in the offered embrace.

Steve runs his hands over his face and laughs, “I can’t believe I didn’t realize it before. Robin has been giving me looks for weeks, and I haven’t been able to read them. She kept telling me she couldn’t tell me what it was about until I realized it for myself. It all makes sense now.”

“And Robin is…?” Charlie asks.

Steve smiles brightly and is quick to ramble about his best friend, and Charlie shares stories about Tao in return.

Eventually, Steve’s phone starts buzzing, and he’s quick to excuse himself, cheeks turning red as Eddie Instagram handle lights up his phone.

As he walks away, Nick and Charlie glance at each other again and smile gently. Nick laughs, “Do you think that’s how people saw us when we were first getting together?”

Charlie smiles. “I think we may have been much worse.”

“Or much better honestly.”

Down the hall, they hear Steve argue, “Yes, I know you don’t have an international phone plan. I’ll pay for your bill. Yes it’s important! No, it’s not the kids. No it’s- Eddie. Eddie, I’m in love with you!” There’s a pause and a heavy sigh before Steve continues, “You are not buying a plane ticket to London when you can afford an international phone call. This is not a debate!”

Nick squeezes his arms around Charlie and whispers, “Yeah, we were definitely better.”

“Why are they like this?” Charlie laughs.

Nick laughs in response as they continue listening to the disastrous conversation, glad that they helped someone else have their similar happy ending.

[wynnyfryd]

from is this your card? pt 2

“Just invite him to play cards with you,” Robin suggests around a massive bite of pizza.

“Shit, Birdy,” he whistles, looking over at her with some mix of awe and alarm. Girl’s gonna choke herself someday. “Thought I was the gremlin in this friendship.”

“Wha’?” She tries to protest; there’s sauce all over her chin.

“Unhinge your jaw like a snake next time, save yourself the trouble.”

She bounces on the lumpy couch cushion, overcome with that specific excitement she gets right before she word-vomits useless trivia. “Did you know a python can open its mouth up to a hundred and eighty degrees?”

Eddie stares at her blankly.

Robin squirms.

“…What about a king cobra?”

“One-thirty-five,” she answers without missing a beat and reaches for a second slice, dropping the uneaten crust back in the box. “And, anyway, I take it back. You’re not allowed to invite Steve over or hang out with him without me because the two of you are going to be a total nightmare for me if you ever manage to get it together and start going out.”

Eddie arranges her abandoned crust beneath two pieces of pepperoni on his paper plate to make a frowny face. “But Robi-i-inn,” he whines, pitching his voice all high and stupid.

“Please tell Mr. Pepperoni that his pouting game needs work and that I am not swayed.”

“Rude.” He discards his plate and flops back on the couch with a put-out groan. Slings an arm over his eyes just to be dramatic. “This would be so much easier if he weren’t so intimidatingly hot. Why does he have to be so hot?”

Robin sucks a lump of cheese off her thumb. “I don’t know. Is he hot?”

“Dude.” Eddie sits back up, eyeing her with a blank stare and considering tossing her ass out of his living room. Is Steve Harrington hot? IS STEVE HARRINGTON HOT? Jesus Christ.

“What? He’s hairy, okay? Point your creepy laser vision somewhere else!”

“Excuse you! My eyes are not creepy! I have it on good authority that they’re pretty.”

“They’re piercing.”

“Whatever. You just can’t appreciate my beauty, Buckley. Or Steve’s, apparently.”

“You think I’m beautiful?”

Robin and Eddie whip around, matching deer-in-headlights expressions at the sound of another voice in the room, and there’s Steve, suddenly, leaning against the door frame (Eddie has no idea how; dude’s a ninja or some shit), looking bashful but quietly pleased with his arms folded across his chest. Eddie desperately wants to bite the ring of freckles blooming on his tanned forearm.

He looks at Robin, and they both turn back to Steve and oh so elegantly bleat out: “Uhhhh…”

Smooth. Good save, Munson, real nice.

Robin pulls it together first, smiles wide and says, “Hi, Steve. Eddie was just being a homophobe as usual.”

“Dude! You have got to stop fucking accusing me of that shit, I’m literally gay!”

“Gay men are not immune to lesbophobia, Edward. It’s honestly a little concerning that you don’t know that.”

“Oh, holy shit, why do I hang out with you?”

Robin licks her teeth in smug delight and kicks at his thigh. “Because you cherish our time together.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“You think I’m an undeniable joy.”

“Steve. Steve, please get her out of my house.”

Eddie puts his head in his hands, but Robin’s picking up steam now, hopping up onto the couch cushion and brandishing a pizza crust like a torch, hoisting it high into the air, exclaiming, “Nay! A light, even! A shining beacon in your sad, dark little life!”

“Steve, I am begging you, man.”

Steve’s a real one because he doesn’t say a word, just crosses the room and chucks Robin over his shoulder like a sack of flour and carries her flailing out onto the front porch.