#cannot have that argument anymore

[wortsandall]

watching the arcane fandom explode on itself...must be y'alls first fandom or something. please normalize blocking...its not hard...the buttons right there...

[pikkish]

Yeah we've already talked about how outright stupid the lore n writing for modern Doom is, but tbh I can understand why they had to do something with Doomguy, why they had to make him The Specialest Boy instead of Just Some Guy. Do I like how they did it? No, I would've taken it a different direction. Do I think that hugo could've done it well even if he took it in the direction I would've? No, I have minimal faith in his story writing. But realistically, how many times can a guy singlehandedly accomplish the impossible before you have to acknowledge he's very much not Just Some Guy who happened to be at the right place at the right time? I think that, with how every single other person on the Phobos UAC base were killed in Doom I, doomguy stopped being Just Some Guy the moment he decided to do anything other than just lie down and die.

[chocochat]

my own mother trying to mock my relationship because we're happy and very much in love.. sorry im not stuck in a loveless marriage like you bitch!!!

[j-femmescoli]

its been hard but i went back and reread some of my own writing on the subject(s) and god damn i am good. i love being catholic, i love being queer, i love being pro-choice. all of those are intrinsically connected by my love for women.

[flowered-mp3]

about to leave the warmth of my house to moderate a "discussion" because a girl on my dance team cannot keep it together and is a fucking problem

[suguae]

Haunted

Toji cannot move on, until he realized too late.

Warnings: Angst, slightest fluff (reader and baby 'gumi moment)

You were just a girl, standing in front of a man, asking him to love you.

How hard was that for him? Yes, he wasn’t good with his words but he wasn’t good at anything else either. He was just there.

Maybe because the woman he truly loved—he was still mourning over her. His sad eyes every time he watched an old couple dance together, wishing he had been doing that but with her. The cute babies babble with their mothers as Megumi babbles with his father, how he wished his wife was still here instead of you. He never said it, but that’s what it felt like. 

And perhaps that's what it was. 

Sometimes he curses himself out when he accidentally calls you his wife's name. During intimate times only. You tried—trying to keep the emotions in as if it wasn’t breaking every part of you, was the hardest part. “Look he’s walking...” You smiled at the dark haired baby who was walking towards you. Toji smiled, making sure he’d record every second of it; deep down he wished his wife was the one the baby was walking towards instead of you.

And it was wrong—so wrong. 

“This relationship, I’m with you but Toji—Toji this is the loneliest I’ve ever felt.” You whispered while he ate his leftovers, his brows still furrowed from the argument occurring earlier. Having Toji work from 9–5 wasn’t the best but good thing he had you, helping him out with so much. Picking up groceries, picking up his lovely son—until you mentioned that one of his teachers mistaken you as his biological mother. That right there was enough to make Toji angry for weeks at least.

But not this time.

He stopped chewing on his food after you spoke, waiting for more of an explanation. Which you figured he needed, “I don’t think you’re in love with me–” 

“I like you [name], a lot.” He cleared his throat. He leaned back on his chair as his arms crossed waiting for you to continue the sentence he interrupted. 

Right, he liked you a lot. These three rough years you’ve been dating Toji—that particular l word was never uttered once, not even if he was drunk, or having a special moment with you. You huffed trying to find the right words for Toji to understand. That was until little Megumi started crying from his room. “I’ll try to put him back to sleep, finish eating.” He watched as your fragile little body sulked its way to Megumi’s room.

He knew this was gonna happen, he knew you were bound to leave him sooner or later. 

You smiled as you opened the door to see the little Megumi standing on top of his little bed. His hands wiping his tears as he ran towards you, his arms now wrapping around your legs. “Sleep with mama and papa.” He cried out as you leaned down to pick up the little boy. “[name] and papa, not mama okay?” You corrected him, if Toji were to find out that he had been calling you that, then that argument would’ve climaxed.

The little boy nodded, his tears now gone as you swayed him around. “Sleep with you.” He mumbled, leaning his head on your shoulder as he played with a strand of your hair. “Just for tonight.” You whispered, watching Megumi pick up his head and smile. Content with your answer. 

Toji’s heart could just swell at the sight. You treated his son as if he was your own and nothing looked so much better right now, except for the fact that he wished it was his wife.

Megumi was now soundly sleeping between you and Toji, “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” His eyes shut tightly hearing those piercing words leave your mouth. It hurt when his wife left him, but this hurt was different—different because he knew it was coming yet he didn’t want to do anything about it. 

“I’m sorry—”

“You don’t need to be the one apologizing.” He watched your soft gaze stare at completely nothing. He was confused, this was his fault. He never treated you how you needed deserved to be treated. “It was my fault for throwing myself at a man who simply was not ready.”

The next morning was silent—baby ‘gumi was confused at the saddened look on your face. Constantly walking up to you asking if you were okay. He was still just a baby, yet he read the room so well. “I’m sure we can work this out—” Toji now sitting next to you on the couch, some cartoon playing in the back as Megumi’s little head sat on your lap. “You’re not ready, Toji.” You nodded, eyes still glued on the tv as if it was meant for you and not the little Megumi. 

“And how are you so sure—”

“Tell me you love me then.” Your eyes are now fixed on Toji’s. It was hard, he felt as if his mouth had been glued shut. You sigh, bringing your gaze back to the tv, “I love you—but it’s hard when it’s one sided Toji.” 

It hurt much more, seeing you drive away as the clueless Megumi waved you out. Poor thing thinks you’re simply going to the store. The house that once felt like home was so dull now. Toji sat little ‘gumi down on the couch. 

His constant, “mama?” or “[name]?” while he kept his gaze on the door every so often. Nothing prepared Toji for this. Megumi cried that he wanted to sleep with his mama and papa, his heart swelled knowing that he had been talking about you.

You were gone, just like his wife. But it hurt—it hurt so much more knowing that you’re alive trying your best to…move on. He stayed up late that same night, stumbling upon a video from two years ago. When Megumi first learned how to walk. You and Toji had just started dating but the look of happiness plastered your face as you watched the little baby walking. 

That was one thing Toji never forgot about, how much you loved kids. Telling him how once you had kids of your own you would finally be able to live in peace. How he heard of it less and less as the years went on, he wonders if you still think that.

next part ->

[yokelfelonking]

Post 9/11 Trivia

Most folks on this site were either children on September 11, 2001, or weren’t even born yet.  But America went crazy for about a year afterwards.  Here’s some highlights that I remember that might not be in your history books:

There was national discussion on whether or not Halloween should be canceled because…fuck if I know why.  After planes crashed into buildings in NYC it follows that 6-year-olds in Iowa shouldn’t be allowed to dress up like Batman and ask their neighbors for candy, I guess.  (Halloween wasn’t canceled, by the way.)

On a similar note, people asked if comedy - any sort of comedy - was appropriate anymore, ever.

People sold shitty parachutes to suckers “in case your building gets attacked and you have to jump out the window.” There were honest-to-God news reports warning people not to jump out of the window with shitty mail-order parachutes because they wouldn't work.

As a follow-up to the attacks, someone mailed anthrax to some prominent politicians and news anchors - you know, famous people - along with some badly-written notes about “you cannot stop us, death to America, Allah is good” and after that every time some random dumbass found a package in the mail they didn’t recognize they thought that the terrorists were targeting them, too.

Everyone was similarly convinced that their town was going to be the next target, even if they were a little town in the middle of nowhere. "Our town of Bumblefuck, South Dakota (population 690) has the largest styrofoam pig statue west of the Mississippi! Terrorists might fly planes into that too! It's a prime target!"

People started taping up their windows and trying to make their houses or apartments airtight out of fear of chemical and biological attacks. There were news reports warning people that turning your house into an airtight box was a bad idea because, y'know, you need air to breathe.

"[X] supports terrorism!" and “if we do [X], the terrorists win!” were used as arguments for everything.  "Some rich Arab you never heard of donated to his organization that backs Hamas which backs al-Queda, and also owns stock in a holding company that has partial ownership of the Pringles company, so if you eat Pringles you're supporting terrorism!" "The terrorists want to tear down our freedoms and our way of life and rule us through fear! Eating what you want is one of our freedoms as Americans! If you're afraid to eat Pringles, the terrorists win!" (I promise you that this sort of argument is in no way hyperbole.) (This argument is how Halloween was saved, by the way.  “If we cancel Halloween, the terrorists win!”)

People worked 9/11 into everything, and I mean everything, whether it was appropriate or not.  If you went to the grocery store the tortilla chips would remind you to support the troops on the packaging. Used car sales would be dedicated to our brave first responders. You couldn't wipe your ass without the toilet paper rolls reminding you to never forget the fallen of 9/11, and again, this is not hyperbole. My uncle, who lived in Ohio and had never been to New York except to visit once in the 70′s, died of a stroke about 8 months after 9/11, and the priest brought up the attacks at the eulogy.

On a similar local note, on the day of 9/11, after the towers went down, gas stations in my home town immediately jacked up gas prices.  The mayor had the cops go around and force them to take them back down.  I doubt any of that was legal.

Before 9/11, Christianity in America - and religion in general - was on a downward swing, with reddit-tier atheism on the upswing. Religion was outdated superstition from a bygone age. The day after 9/11? Every single church was PACKED. (This wasn't a bad thing, but the power-hungry on the Evangelical Right saw this as a golden opportunity to grab power and influence.)

EDIT: By Popular Demand - Freedom Fries. I initially left these off because they came a couple years after the initial panic and most people thought they were kind of absurd (and I don't recall anyone really going along with it other than maybe some local diners here and there). France didn't want to get involved in our world policing so some folks were like "TRAITORS!" and wanted to call french fries "Freedom Fries" instead, so as to stick it to the French.

Besides dumb shit like that…it’s really hard to overstate how completely the national mood and character changed in the span of a day, or how much of the current culture war is a result of the aftermath. (9/11 was the impetus for the sharp rise in power of the Evangelical Right, who made themselves utterly odious and the following backlash helped the rise of the current Progressive Left, for instance.)

And if all of this seems batshit...well, it was. But I want you to think for a moment how people react today over even trivial shit. People send death threats over children's cartoons. They call for blood if the maker of a video game had an opinion they don't like. If someone made a racist joke a decade ago when they were a teenage edgelord, folks will go after people who even associate with them. "DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND ALL THE HARM THEY'RE DOING!?"

Now take that same level of over-the-top histrionics and apply it to the unprecedented event of passenger planes crashing into crowded buildings in America's most populous city and killing thousands of people all at once. "DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT WE WERE ATTACKED!?"

[venusbyline]

HEADCANON: HOTD characters most likely to be in love with their older sister (reader)

TARGTOWERS BROTHERS & STRONG BROTHERS VERSION

(this includes Aegon II Targaryen, Aemond Targaryen, Daeron Targaryen, Jacaerys Velaryon, Lucerys Velaryon)

— type: smut, light dark (Aemond & Aegon II parts)

— tags/warnings: female!reader, Targcest (younger brother/older sister), DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, vaginal sex, dubcon, rough sex, oral sex (female & male receiving), missionary position, cowgirl position, doggy style position, loss of virginity, underage sex, breeding kink, marriage of convenience, referenced underage non-con, manipulation, infidelity, argument, light dark content (but kinda fluff too), referenced Baela Targaryen/Jacaerys Velaryon, referenced Gwayne Hightower/reader, dom!Aemond, sub!Lucerys, dom!Aegon II, soft dom!Daeron, brat sub!Jacaerys, canon divergence. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— author's note: I didn't write about Joffrey Velaryon in this type of HC because the character and the actor are very young in the show.

❥ HOTD masterlist • ASOIAF headcanons

❥ about me • main masterlist

1- AEMOND TARGARYEN

• No surprise, right? Everyone knows that Aemond is a man who tends to like older women. But you cannot blame him. All the female companions in his life were women older than him. Alicent, mother of both of you, who always raised him as her dearest son. Helaena, your twin sister, has always been one of the few people along with you who truly understood him despite being different from the rest of the family. Madam Sylvi, who Aegon persuaded him to fuck in the brothel when he was still just a little boy. Even Vhagar, the dragon he claimed, was one of Aemond's few companions and was a female being over a hundred years old. Even Aegon used to make fun of him a lot about that.

• It did not come as a surprise to you that Aemond was in love with you. Despite the age difference of only one year, since childhood Aemond had seen you as his protector, someone he could trust and who would do anything to keep him safe. You were there caressing his hand when Lucerys gouged out his eye in Driftmark. You were there when he was only thirteen and came back from the brothel with Aegon, completely embarrassed, lying on your lap and sobbing something about not being pure for a future marriage anymore. You were there to calm him down when he returned after killing your nephew Lucerys.

"I was... I was not thinking straight, sister." Aemond murmured in a shaky voice, his head resting on your thighs and sighing lightly while he felt your hands caressing his hair as if the strands were made of gold. "The eagerness for revenge was consuming me. I could not help but remember the look on our Mother's face and on yours after Luke ripped out my eye. All those... All those nights you stayed up helping me with the fever..."

• In fact, it was not a surprise to you when your younger brother entered your chambers during the night after becoming Prince Regent. You were still angry and hurt with him for what he done to Aegon, but he could not stand more time away from you. You were his older sister and he needed your comfort for the rest of the war.

"Look at me." Aemond growled between thrusts, pulling your chin roughly so you were forced to face him. Face the sapphire shining in the darkness of the romm, lit just by the flickering shadows of the candles. "Look at me, sister. Look at your brother."

There was a touch of vulnerability in his voice that made you obey without a fight or more crying, the way he finally called himself 'Your Brother' and not 'The Prince Regent' clenched your heart, reminding you the little boy who sobbed every night because he did not have a dragon. Now, all that innocence was gone. He was fucking you like an animal, claiming you as his, taking your maidenhood. And yet, he was desperate for your loyalty and your understanding. The same loyalty and full understanding you promised him since your childhoods.

2- LUCERYS VELARYON

• Lucerys is definitely the kind of guy who would be into older ladies, but not for the same reason as Aemond. Due to the fact you were Jacaerys' twin sister, Lucerys always feared that he was getting in the way of something between the two of you. The Targaryen and Velaryon families always considered betrothing you and Jace during your childhoods, since you were very close in your early years. However, after the incident in Driftmark, something changed. Both you and Jacaerys became even more protective about Luke and wanted to share his attention. With Jacaerys, Luke could have fun in ways that were more considered masculine for the Court, like training with swords or something like that. But at night, Lucerys would always sneak into your private chambers, wanting to lie in bed together and hug you from behind then he could smell your hair.

"How was your day, big sister?" Lucerys asked, wrapping his hand around your waist and placing his face in the crook of your neck, nuzzling the dark curls and inhaling your natural scent.

"It was good... I had a few High Valyrian lessons in the morning, but I spent the whole afternoon excited to see you again.' You confessed with a playful smile, placing your palm over his, which was still holding you against him. The words and the soft caress made his cheeks turn pinker than they already were, and Lucerys could not help but chuckle.

"I was excited to see you too... I always am."

• It would take him a while to confess his feelings. Inside Luke's mind, even if the bond between you and Jace was not as strong as it was in childhood, your little brother kept afraid of ruining any potential romance. Because of that, Lucerys showed his love for you in discreet ways, really not wanting to be caught. He would let you comb his hair, sit with you in the library to learn more about Old Valyria history, fly together with your dragons...

• But despite everything, his eyes were never able to hide such feelings. He would stare at you all the time during balls or banquets. And when Rhaenyra realized that her dear son already had a true love in mind, she would arrange a betrothal between Jace and Baela and you and Lucerys. The idea of separating the twins instead of marrying them would be a shock to many lords and ladies, but not to Lucerys. He was grateful that your mother turned the situation easier so that he could be happy with you without feeling guilty again.

"O-Oh, Gods... You are so tight." Luke tried to control his whines while you rode his cock after the wedding ceremony. The movements were uncoordinated and intense at the same time, a perfect demonstration of your inexperience. Just like you, Lucerys did not know what to do, his hands went over your hips, holding himself back from squeezing hard your flesh, helping you move a little slower. "Slow, sister... P-Please. I do not know if I can hold out much longer."

3- AEGON II TARGARYEN

• Born a few years after Rhaenyra, you were also young when Viserys married for the second time and had Aegon and the other children. Although Alicent did not like you so much at first and Rhaenyra despised almost all of them, you developed a good relationship with your half-siblings. During their childhood, you helped Helaena catch some bugs, let Aemond pet your dragon before he claimed his, played funny sword fights with little Daeron... And Aegon? Well, you helped him disperse the guards then he could have night fun. However, what made Aegon fall in love with you was noticing all the times you comforted him after Alicent or Otto's long lectures. With you, Aegon did not have to pretend to be perfect. He could be himself, even if it meant looking inadequate in the eyes of the rest of the family.

• Aegon never tried to hide his attraction to you. During the first years of his youth, he called you "big sister" to tease you, he joked around trying to kiss you, making it clear that he wanted you even after the marriage out of duty with Helaena. You always thought it was nothing more than pure sexual attraction. Well, that was until Alicent managed to convince Viserys to marry you to Gwayne, one of her brothers, arguing that you were already too old and would not be able to have another interesting betrothing proposal. Aegon spent the entire wedding ceremony in a bad mood, drinking and embarrassing everyone.

"Well, now you are married to my dear uncle, big sister? What a shame." Aegon mocked, his voice slurred by the wine he had drunk. He did not know how Gwayne agreed to let you dance with him in such state. He was almost knocking you over with every step. In fact, Aegon never knew how to dance appropriately, always more focused on drinking alcohol and flirting with random ladies at the realm's balls than participating in the dances with them. "This is very unfair, you know. You deserve a better man. Like me, perhaps."

• When Aegon usurped the Iron Throne, the first thing he did was demand Ser Gwayne's presence and yours, not caring if you were angry with him. Everything Aegon needed was to see you, see how you were after your pregnancies and also show you how he had grow up, no longer just a teenage boy with a crush on his older sister, but now a powerful King.

"Imagine how your children would react if they knew you were here... Fucking with your own brother while your husband is fighting for my cause with the other knights?" Aegon purred in your ear, one hand on your neck to pull you closer to him and the other releasing your hip and grabbing your breast now, heavy with breast milk from your last pregnancy. "I could give you one more child. Uncle Gwayne would never suspect that I bred you."

You looked up at the mirror in front of you, watching your own face flushed with pleasure and embarrassment, your breasts bouncing and a few white drops running down your chest due to his aggressive caresses. And then your eyes focused on Aegon, the beautiful crown he wore seemed almost like a punch to your stomach. You were betraying your sister Rhaenyra's trust, becoming the whore of the Usurper King, your younger brother.

4- DAERON TARGARYEN

• Do not get me wrong, please! Daeron did not grow up with his entire family for many years, so he probably would not be the kind of Targaryen who would be into incest practices at frist. Despite the discomfort about it and Otto's idea of betrothing you two to each other in the future, he was feeling lucky and relieved when Alicent sent you along with him to Oldtown. Two years older than Daeron, you were raised just like your mother, focused on the Faith of the Seven and never imagining that you would give in to the sins involving the other part of your bloodline before the real marriage with Daeron. At least that was until the boy started to mature a little more, becoming taller and more handsome as he got older and becoming stronger because of the knight training.

"What do you think, sister?" Daeron smirked at you, making your heart race as he showed you how his arms muscles looked more noticeable and hot.

Your throat went dry at the sight, and even though his chest was all sweaty, you soon cleared the throat and forced yourself to keep looking only at the freckles on his cheeks, which matched perfectly with the freckles on his shoulders. "I think you should put your tunic back on, idiot. You are getting in the way of my studies."

• You fell in love first, always trying to deny and hide these feelings. Daeron only found out about his true romantic interest in you when other knights in Oldtown started teasing him, asking whether he would let them try their luck with his older sister and betrothed. At first, Daeron would get angry and argue with the boys, but he still thought the jealousy was just brotherly. It took years of forced betrothal until Daeron realized that what was happening inside his heart was not so simple as he thought before. He was a Targaryen, after all.

"We... We should not have done this. Not here..." You whispered with your eyelids closed after the best orgasm of your life, a part of the Sept's altar pressed against your bare back. Both of your consciences weighed on your heads and your bodies burned for more touches. It was wrong to commit such a sin, especially in a sacred place, the two of you knew about that.

"It is fine, sister..." Daeron kissed your inner thighs, avoiding thinking rationally and continuing to lick the juices that had run down there when he pleasured your cunt with his tongue.

5- JACAERYS VELARYON

• Among the five characters, I see Jacaerys as the least likely to fall in love with his own older sister. I think Jacaerys is a person who likes to have control over situations — not with a toxic way, but he is a person who prefers to give orders rather than be told what to do. The problem would not be that you are older, his sister, or naturally bossy like most firstborns daughters already are, but rather the combination of these three things. Jace would certainly take a long time to realize that he had romantic feelings for you, and of course... He would take a long time to confess that he was in love with you.

"You were born just two years before me. That does not mean you know everything." Jacaerys shouted furiously after the High Valyrian class together, annoyed about the fact that you corrected his pronunciation and received compliments at his expense. "Your ego is too damn inflated, this is annoying!"

• You were arguing most of the time, disagreeing on everything and often he would even curse you saying that you would be a bad queen in the future and that he should be the heir. Yet, Jace was always defending you from the people who claimed your legitimacy and said that the two of you, plus Lucerys and Joffrey, were bastards. Also, he was stubborn and proud like a child, he would certainly complain when Rhaenyra betrothed you two to each other and he would pretend that he hated the decision, even though his heart was racing with excitement.

"You seem less stubborn this way, little brother." The mockery tone caused a snort angrily on Jacaerys, his gaze fixed on the ceiling afterwards, moaning loudly again when you put his cock deep into your throat with an ease that almost made him questioned to himself if you lied all the years about being a maiden.

Jacaerys should not have let you kneel on the floor to give him pleasure. When your brother agreed to this, he thought it would be the excellent opportunity to have control over the entire consummation of your marriage. And he was completely wrong. "Do not forget that I fucking hate you, my wife." He tried to mock your new title, moaning almost like a pathetic boy one more time while you dug the nails into his thighs and went back to licking his entire cock, paying special attention to the vein at the bottom.

[so-i-did-this-thing]

I just wanted to say I really admire how effortlessly masculine you are but how you also love so many traditionally "feminine" things. I am working on coming out as a trans man and dread people telling me I'm not allowed to knit and stuff anymore

One of the annoying aspects of transition is you become this walking litmus test for weird gender essentialism - even in progressive folks - and you're gonna learn just how much people deprive themselves of personal joy because of it.

I cannot tell you how many well-meaning people ended up shitting on my hobbies out of a desire to give me "man lessons" that I never asked for in the first place.

All I can say is, stick to your guns. Sure, knitting has also historically been a masculine activity, but to acknowledge such feels like giving credence to the argument that you have to drop "unmanly" interests. Knit because you like to knit, not because you are "allowed to" based on some gendered technicality.

Don't feel like you need to sacrifice parts of yourself in order to transition. If the best version of you is a man who knits, or a man who likes pink, or a man who enjoys wearing makeup, resist the urge to destroy these pieces of yourself.

Detractors will attempt to weaponize everything about you in an attempt to de-legitimize who you are. The most radical thing you can do is show them how your passions only make you stronger.

The dread is real, but it gets easier to assert yourself over time. You might even find yourself becoming an ambassador to other men wrt your hobbies. Good luck!

[disgustingtwitches]

MDNI

Working at a restaurant with 141! (pt. 3)

"All of us under one roof? Have you lost the plot?"

Gaz snorts, all of you sitting at the bar. You shake your head. The thought alone makes you dizzy.

"Just me and you is hectic enough."

Gaz stares at Soap. John laughs, sipping his scotch. You think for a moment before taking your shot. Wait a fucking second. You joke about how they have decided to make your flat nothing short of a base, and if they're gonna be at your place more than theirs they should at least pay some of your bills. They freeze. Johnny nearly jumps for joy, grabbing your face and kissing you,

"Smart fuckin girl. 'N' if we're paying 'er bills, might as weel move in aye?"

That is not what you meant.

"Who knows, maybe it'll stop them from trying to drag 'er in the walk-in."

John shrugs. They cannot be entertaining this bullshit.

"Doubt it."

Simon shoots back his glass. There's a pause. They look at each other. Oh my God they are entertaining this bullshit.

"I'll think about it."

Price finishes his drink. They talk like you're not even there. You're horrified. Four men and you. One apartment. Not just any men, them. Maybe this is all some sick joke.

"You can always say no."

Simon kisses you before you hop out his car. You're not sure if you believe that. Your phone buzzed in the middle of the night, it's the group chat. Soap sends a link to a three bedroom flat,

Thoughts?

Three dots pop up.

Ok.

Simon replies. That's the only they blessing needed to move forward.

Hectic does not describe the move-in process, there are arguments on who's furniture gets moved in, who sleeps where, who gets to use which bathroom. Eventually there was a vote held (not that it mattered, John always had final say).

Anything big enough to accommodate the five of you was moved in. There would be a bed rotation, making sure no one slept with Ghost and Soap at the same time (and if everyone got tired of their shit, there's three beds for a reason.) Gaz and Soap shared a bathroom upstairs, you shared the one downstairs with Ghost and Price (this made sure you and Kyle had enough space for both your skincare products.)

You barely wore your own clothes anymore; with a closet full of clothes that were comfy and looked good on you, why bother? All your love languages included physical touch, so at any given moment, someone was touching somebody in the house. Lots of shared showers to "save water". Simon mostly cooks with the occasional help of you or Johnny. Sunday roast meant the kitchen was off limits for everyone except Simon, God help anyone who even tries to step foot in his territory.

Holidays are chaotic, always loud with a lot of drinking. And sex. Your first Christmas together was particularly memorable. Of course everyone got gifts that they treasured, including you. But you didn't know what to get Simon. Of course he was the type to say he didn't want anything but, that wasn't right. He opened his gift from you, he stared at it, said a simple thank you and slid it into his pocket. There's a game of poker being played in the living room after gifts are opened. Simon leaves to the bedroom,

"M tired."

Everyone else says goodnight, too enraptured by the game. While there's an argument about Johnny's shuffling, you walk to the bedroom. There he is, cranking the little handle on the wooden music box you gave him; it played Danny boy, wasn't bigger than the palm of your hand, and had an engraving on the inside lid.

"It's the words on the first hoodie you gave me."

"Mhm. Didn't have to get me anything."

He says, still turning the handle. Avoiding eye contact. You sit next to him.

"Don't know if you know how much you mean to me, promise I'll show you though."

His voice the softest you've ever heard. He tucks the box back into his pocket. A quick kiss to your forehead before walking back to the living room with you. This was one of the many holidays Simon didn't have to spend alone anymore.

[mrsbarnesblog]

cost of betrayal

masterlist

summary: after Rafe finds out the truth about you and Hollis, he comes back from Morocco, expecting you to be gone, but you refuse to leave without trying to work things out first

word count: 1.7k.

warnings: part 2 spoilers, angst and fluff, pogue reader, arguments, trust issues

a/n: i stand Sofia and Rafe, guys. need them together asap 🙏

“I think I told you to get the fuck out of my house, Y/N?” It’s the first thing you hear when Rafe walks through the front door of his house, throwing his bag on the floor and walking right past you, not even looking in your direction. You get up from the couch, wiping your sweaty hands on your pants. 

Your chest feels tight, and your eyes are still swollen and red from the amount of crying as you silently follow him to the kitchen. That one stupid decision can cost you everything, including the man you love, and for the past few days, all you have been able to do is cry and curse yourself for being so stupid. 

You stop when Rafe leans forward with his hands on the counter, his back is unusually tense, you feel anger radiating from him even from a distance and it’s all your fault, you know that. 

“We need to talk.” You whisper, coming closer and hugging yourself with your arms. 

“I have nothing to talk to you about.” 

“Rafe, please. I need to explain.” He turns around suddenly, blue eyes colder than you have ever seen. You almost step back from Rafe’s intense gaze, because never before were you at the receiving end of that look. He was nothing but sweet and kind to you during your entire relationship, so losing that privilege hurts you even more. 

He tries to hold back, tries to calm himself down at the image of your looking at him so sadly, with regret written all over your face. Rafe breathes heavily, trying to hide the pain of feeling played by you—the only person he thought he could trust wholeheartedly. He hates that even now, even with the anger raging inside him, he still feels that instinct to protect you, to calm you.

Hurts at the realisation that he doesn't want to lose you, that a part of him feels like he cannot survive without you, that even after what you’ve done he can’t let you go. He doesn’t want you to actually leave him alone. 

“The fuck you need to explain? The way you betrayed me, huh?” He takes slow steps towards you, intimidating, almost threatening, but his voice shakes with emotions. “The way you went behind my back with that bitch Hollis to screw me up and make me lose my money? I fucking trusted you, I gave you everything and you still did that to me.” Rafe’s face was just inches from yours and you were unable to take your eyes from his, unable to even deny it, because he was not wrong. 

“I know, Rafe, I know!” You sob, unable to hold back your tears. “I never wanted to hurt you, I never meant to set you up like that. I was angry at you and she appeared at that exact moment, and...��

“She was fucking angry!” He yells, throwing his hands up in the air. You flinch but still stay your ground. 

“Because you hurt me, Rafe!”

“Bullshit. I did nothing but take care of you.”

“I heard what you told your friends.” You yell back, not caring about trying to communicate properly anymore. You were wrong for doing that, yes, but the way his words made you feel at that moment was probably the worst pain you’ve ever experienced, so it wasn’t like you were the only one to blame. “That you’re not living with a pogue, that you have standards, that we’re just hooking up... I heard it all, Rafe. How did you expect me to react to that, huh?”

You see a slight shift of recognition or even regret in his eyes, but he quickly goes back to his previous coldness. 

“So you made me lose my money because of this shit?” 

“I know that it was wrong, okay? But... but do you understand what I felt at that moment? Do you understand how much it hurt me to hear it?” You sob again, desperately trying to wise away all of the tears that were streaming down your face. You’re barely able to speak properly with the lump in your throat, but you push it away because you feel there’s only one chance for you to get things straight with Rafe. 

He stays silent, his brows are knitted, whether in still-lingering anger or in a hint of regret and frustration because of the way you were feeling. Rafe always hated seeing you cry, seeing you hurt in any type of way, even if he hasn’t always been able to admit or express it, and now part of him is more angry at himself than at you. Your trembling frame, the way your shoulders shake with each sob, chips away at his anger, leaving only the fear of losing you.

“We’ve been together for more than a year, Rafe. I— I thought that it meant something to you. That I mean something to you. I was hoping that maybe all of your kook and pogue bullshit was long forgotten, but you didn’t even hesitate to say that to Topper.” Your voice is filled with sadness and despair, and you are aware that you are probably looking a mess right now. All  you can do is just wipe your face with the loose sleeves of your shirt, sniffing in between your words and trying to make your voice less shaky. 

"How was I supposed to feel?" How would you feel if you were in my situation, Rafe? If I said you did not mean anything to me and I was just having a good time?" You ask, but don’t get an answer. Instead, he just looks at you silently, with a blank expression, because he knows that he would’ve gone absolutely crazy. “I love you. I did for a long time, but you made me feel as if I was nothing to you. Just another pogue that you despise, that you keep around for fun until you find someone better and just dump!” Placing a hand on your violently beating heart, you take a deep breath before continuing. 

“It was stupid. I regretted it as soon as I did it and I wanted to tell you, but you had already signed the contract. I know I hurt you with what I did. But can you really say you didn’t hurt me first?” 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have said it. I didn’t… I didn’t mean it like that. He finally mutters, his voice quieter now. “But you don’t get it, Y/N. All my life, everyone’s expected me to be a certain way, to follow the same fucking rules I don’t even believe in. I thought… I thought if I kept us under the radar, I’d protect you from that. And you know how hard it is for me to open up—that I don’t want to let people in because everyone ends up leaving me.” 

“I never meant to betray you, I never wanted to be another person who hurts you, Rafe.” You feel like you are about to collapse, burying your face in your hands and crying. 

It feels like a joke of your spiraling mind at first, but when your body suddenly gets embraced in a familiar warmth and scent, you break down completely. Rafe hugs you around your shoulders and you wrap your hands around his waist, gripping the back of his shirt and hiding your face in his chest. You’re sniffing and trembling, unable to breathe properly, until you feel his hand at the back of your head and his low voice shushing you. 

“Breathe, baby. Just breathe. ‘S okay.” He rocks both of you from side to side until your breathing straightens. The steady beating of his heart soothes you quickly, until your tears get dry on your face. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. I was an idiot for not protecting you the way I should’ve.” You feel him slightly leaning down. Slow, delicate kisses being left on your temple, on your cheek, and with a slight movement of your head, Rafe’s able to capture your lips. 

Your face is still sticky with tears, and your lips are swollen, but neither of you care as you start to melt against him. It’s been way to long since he left for Morocco. The stress that you’ve experienced from your fight and from the fact that you were going crazy about his safety was overwhelming. 

While he was kissing you slowly, you both realized how hard it was to stay apart for that long, not sure of what was happening between you two. 

“I’m sorry that you lost so much money because of me.” You mumbled when he pulled away, resting his forehead on yours. 

“You know it’s not the damn money I actually care about. I thought that I was wrong about you, that I lost you, Y/N.” You shake your head against his, caressing the sides of his face with your hands. 

Rafe lifts his free hand that was not holding your waist, placing it on top of your hand and you see the way his tense shoulders immediately relax at the feeling of his mother’s ring still on your finger. 

“We’re making it official. I don’t care about this pogue bullshit, don’t care about whatever Topper with his crazy bitch or other kooks think about it. I’m not wasting my time anymore.” You smile through happy tears now, looking Rafe in the eyes, seeing that familiar warmth that you were afraid to never experience again. He smirks back at you, holding you tighter against his chest. “No more hiding and lying, yeah, baby? I love you.” 

“Y-yes. No more of that stuff. I love you too, Ray.” You giggle before he drags you even closer to kiss you again. 

[moongirlcleo]

Mine. Only Mine.

❤︎  tags and content: smut, possessive behavior, examination room sex, spanking, orgasm control, overstimulation, dominant!zayne, f!reader, light choking ❤︎  author note: check out all my fics by searching #moongirlcleo or on AO3

🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI 🔞 Dividers: @cafekitsune  Fic: @moongirlcleo  

You decide to tease your very serious, very possessive boyfriend, Dr. Zayne, thinking you can get away with it. Spoiler alert: You absolutely cannot.

Two trips to Akso Hospital, one locked door, and one very sturdy examination table later, you learn a valuable lesson: don’t poke the beast unless you’re ready to be devoured.

The antiseptic scent of Akso Hospital clings to the air as you make your way down the familiar hallways, the warmth of the lunchbox seeping into your fingers. It’s well past noon, and you know for a fact that Dr. Li hasn’t eaten yet. He’s too disciplined, too absorbed in his work to indulge in something as trivial as a break.

That’s what you’re here for.

The nurses barely glance at you anymore—your presence in this part of the hospital has become routine. A quiet, lingering shadow in Zayne’s orbit. You don’t mind. If anything, the predictability of it is comforting.

But as you step into his office, you aren’t greeted by the usual calm, sterile quiet. Instead, Dr. Greyson is there, leaning against Zayne’s desk with a casual, easy slouch, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Well, if it isn’t Akso’s resident angel.”

You roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitch upward. “That’s dramatic.”

“Not at all,” Greyson counters smoothly. “Bringing lunch to our esteemed Dr. Li? That’s a noble cause. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to keep him from wasting away completely.”

You chuckle, shifting the lunchbox in your hands. “Someone has to.”

Behind Greyson, Zayne is silent.

You don’t have to look at him to feel the weight of his gaze, steady and unreadable. He stands near his desk, arms crossed, the crisp white of his coat sharp against the dark material of his undershirt.

Greyson, either oblivious or enjoying himself a little too much, grins. “You know, if he doesn’t appreciate this, I’d be more than happy to—”

“That’s enough.”

Zayne doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. The words cut clean through the air, precise and sharp, leaving no room for argument.

Greyson pauses, then huffs a quiet laugh under his breath. “Relax, doc. Just messing around.” He pushes off the desk with a lazy stretch before tossing you an exaggerated wink. “Enjoy your lunch, you two.”

The door clicks shut behind him.

Silence settles in its place.

You glance at Zayne, tilting your head. “You know he was joking, right?”

No response.

His eyes are still on you, steady and dark, but there’s something unreadable in them. He doesn’t frown, doesn’t look angry, but there’s a weight in the air now—something heavy pressing against your skin, something unspoken lingering between you.

Your lips curl, slow and deliberate. Oh.

This could be fun.

You don’t look away, not right away. Instead, you take your time, setting the lunchbox down on his desk with deliberate ease, as if you don’t notice the weight of his silence.

But you do.

You feel it in the way the air shifts, in the way his posture hasn’t relaxed since Greyson left. His arms remain crossed, his jaw tight—just enough to tell you he’s thinking about it.

So, naturally, you decide to poke the bear.

“You really didn’t like that, did you?” you muse, tilting your head slightly, watching him.

Still, nothing.

You take a step closer, just enough to invade his space, just enough to press against that invisible line you know he won’t cross. Not yet. “What was it?” you continue, voice light, teasing. “The joke? The compliment? Or maybe just the idea of me having lunch with someone else?”

That earns you something. Not much, but a subtle shift—a sharp flicker of his gaze, a small twitch in his fingers before he schools himself back into stillness.

Interesting.

Your smile lingers as you lean a fraction closer, deliberately slow, just to see if he’ll move. He doesn’t. But you can feel the tension in him, a coiled wire drawn just a little too tight.

“It’s cute,” you murmur, tilting your chin up slightly. “You getting all—” your fingers ghost through the air between you, as if searching for the right word before landing on, “—quiet about it.”

His silence is different now. He’s watching you.

Not ignoring. Not unaffected.

Watching.

That alone makes something warm curl in your stomach.

You exhale a soft laugh, finally stepping back, letting the moment stretch just long enough to leave an imprint. “Come on,” you say, patting the lunchbox, acting as if you aren’t enjoying every second of this. “You should eat before your next patient.”

For a second, you almost expect him to say something. But instead, he just exhales, slow and measured, and moves past you to sit at his desk.

You swear, just before he opens the lunchbox, you catch the briefest flicker of something else in his expression—something dark, something possessive.

You settle into the chair across from his desk, chin resting in your palm as you watch him lift the lid off the lunchbox with practiced precision. He hasn’t spoken a word since Greyson left, hasn’t even given you so much as a look outside of that initial tension, but you know better.

He’s holding onto control by a thread.

So, naturally, you pull at it.

“Do you think Greyson would’ve actually taken me out to lunch if I’d said yes?” you muse, tapping your fingers idly against the desk.

His hands still for half a second before continuing, smooth and controlled. “No.”

You blink, feigning innocence. “No?”

Zayne doesn’t look at you, doesn’t take the bait. “He wouldn’t have gotten the chance.”

Ah.

Your smile spreads, slow and syrupy. “Oh? And why is that?”

Nothing.

You lean forward slightly, propping your chin up with both hands, elbows pressing into his desk like you belong there. “Come on, Doc, you’ve been awfully quiet. Cat got your tongue?”

Zayne exhales, long and slow, before placing his chopsticks down with meticulous precision. Then, finally, finally, he looks at you.

It’s unreadable at first. Just his usual impassive stare, cool and calculating. But now, you see it—the weight of it. Like he’s thinking something, something he can’t say, something dangerous curling behind those sharp, dark eyes.

It sends a delicious little shiver down your spine.

“Go.”

One word.

Flat. Measured. Controlled.

You blink, caught off guard for a split second before a laugh bubbles out of you. “What?”

His jaw tightens. “Leave.”

He isn’t angry—you don’t think he’s angry—but his voice is clipped, taut with something you can’t quite name. You stare at him, searching, but he’s already looking back down at his food, deliberately ignoring you.

And for some reason, that just makes you want to push him more.

So when you rise from your chair, stepping past his desk, you let your fingers ghost lightly over the smooth surface—just enough to brush against his arm as you pass.

Then, just as you’re next to him, just as your lips are close enough that only he can hear—

“I’m not wearing any underwear.”

It’s barely a whisper, barely even a breath, but the second the words slip past your lips, you feel the change in him.

His fingers twitch. His breath stutters just slightly before he inhales slow, controlled, like a man holding onto the last fraying edges of restraint.

You don’t stay to see what happens next.

Instead, you walk away with a pleased little smirk, slipping out of his office without another word.

But just before the door closes behind you, you swear you hear it—

A quiet, dark chuckle.

***

The walk back to your apartment is unhurried, the city moving around you in a steady hum of voices and passing hovercars. The air is crisp but pleasant, the kind of weather that makes you want to curl up in a blanket with something warm.

It’s your day off. And you intend to enjoy every second of it.

When you step inside, the familiar quiet of your apartment greets you, a welcome contrast to the sterile brightness of Akso Hospital. You toe off your shoes, stretching your arms over your head as you let out a contented sigh.

First things first—a shower.

You make your way to the bathroom, peeling off your clothes with lazy ease before stepping under the hot spray. The warmth soaks into your skin, steam curling around you as you tip your head back, letting the water wash away the morning.

No schedules. No responsibilities. Just you.

By the time you step out, skin flushed from the heat, you feel loose and unhurried. Wrapping yourself in a towel, you move through your apartment at a slow pace, tying your damp hair up as you rifle through your skincare routine. The soft scent of floral oils lingers in the air as you smooth lotion over your legs, the simple ritual soothing in a way that makes you feel the luxury of a day off.

You throw on your softest shorts, an oversized sweater slipping off one shoulder as you pad barefoot across the floor, scrolling idly through your messages.

Nothing urgent. Nothing pressing.

You exhale, settling onto the couch, pulling your legs up beneath you as you nurse a warm cup of tea.

For once, there’s no rush. No alarms. No calls pulling you away.

Just the quiet comfort of a day that belongs entirely to you.

You’re curled up on the couch, fingers lazily scrolling through your messages, when your phone buzzes with a new notification.

You glance down.

Zayne Li: Come back. You forgot something.

Your fingers hover over the screen.

Forgot something?

Your brows knit together as you scan the short message again. You were only at the hospital for a little while, and you’re sure you didn’t leave anything behind. Your bag is right next to you, your keys by the door.

Still, something about the text makes you pause.

Zayne isn’t the type to call you back over something trivial. If you’d left behind, say, a pen or a hair tie, he wouldn’t bother. If it were something important, he’d have just told you outright.

But instead, just—Come back.

You chew your lip, debating for a brief second. Then, before you can overthink it, you sigh, pushing yourself up from the couch.

You grab your coat, slipping it over your sweater as you step into your shoes, phone still warm in your grip.

Outside, the city hums on, unaware of the way your heart beats just a little faster as you make your way back to Akso Hospital.

***

The hospital is quieter in the evening, the halls less crowded, the fluorescent lights casting everything in a pale glow. You move past the nurses’ station with ease—no one stops you, no one questions why you’re back.

It’s almost unsettling how expected your presence is here.

One of the nurses glances up, barely hesitating before nodding toward Zayne’s office. “Dr. Li is waiting for you.”

Something flickers at the base of your spine.

Still, you go.

Your knuckles barely graze the door before it unlocks with a quiet click, swinging open just enough for you to step inside. The moment you do, the air changes.

The door slams shut behind you.

You whirl around just in time to hear the sharp snick of the lock sliding into place.

And then—

Zayne is on you.

Not touching. Not yet. But there, his presence pressing into the space around you, suffocating in its intensity. He’s so close you can feel the heat of him even through your sweater, can hear the steady, measured sound of his breathing.

Slow. Controlled. Barely contained.

Your back hits the door.

You don’t remember moving, don’t remember taking a single step, but you’re caged now, trapped between Zayne’s body and the cool wood behind you.

His hands are braced on either side of your head, fingers curling against the door, boxing you in.

You inhale, and his scent fills your lungs.

Clean, sharp—like antiseptic and something darker underneath. Something unmistakably him.

Slowly, so slowly, he tilts his head, studying you with dark, unreadable eyes.

“You think you’re clever,” he murmurs, voice low, velvet-smooth.

Your breath catches.

A slow, deliberate pause stretches between you. His gaze drops, dragging down the line of your throat, your lips, before flicking back up—pinning you in place.

Heat pools deep in your stomach.

“Zayne,” you manage, your voice steadier than you feel. “What—”

“You forgot something.”

The words are a near whisper, ghosting over your skin. His fingers twitch against the door.

You swallow. “What did I forget?”

His lips curve—not a smile. Something dangerous. Something possessive.

His head dips, lips brushing just over the shell of your ear.

“Your lesson.”

Your pulse spikes.

Before you can react, before you can even think, Zayne moves—

And this time, he does touch you.

The second his hands find you, it’s over.

Zayne moves deliberately—not rushed, not frantic. He doesn’t need to be. Control has always been his strongest weapon, and right now, he’s wielding it against you with surgical precision.

His fingers skim along your jaw, barely a touch, tilting your chin up just enough to force your gaze to his. Dark, consuming, smoldering. He drinks you in like he’s already imagining what he’s going to do to you.

Heat coils low in your stomach.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, thumb dragging over your parted lips, tauntingly slow. “Did you really think you’d get away with that little stunt?”

A shiver runs down your spine, but you refuse to look away. “I don’t know what you mean.”

His lips curve, dark amusement flickering in his gaze.

“No?”

Before you can process it, his hands move—one gripping your wrist, the other bracing low on your waist as he spins you, pressing your back flush against his chest.

You gasp, fingers flying to grip his forearm as he cages you there, heat radiating off him like a second skin.

“Then let me remind you.”

His voice is right at your ear, a deep murmur that seeps into your veins, curling hot and wicked in your stomach. His grip doesn’t hurt—no, it’s something far more devastating than that.

It’s commanding.

Like he owns you.

Like he’s already made up his mind about what’s coming next.

And then, his fingers—clever, practiced—trail down your sides, skimming over the hem of your sweater.

“You’ve been running that mouth all day,” he muses, voice dark and silken. “Let’s see if you can follow instructions just as well.”

You swallow hard, heart hammering against your ribs.

“Undress.”

A single word. No hesitation. No room for argument.

Your breath stutters. He’s still behind you, still pressed against you like a second shadow, and you know—you know—he’s waiting.

So you move.

Slowly, your fingers curl into the fabric of your sweater, lifting it inch by inch. Zayne doesn’t touch you, doesn’t guide you—just watches. You feel his eyes on every new inch of exposed skin, on the slow reveal of your bare back, your shoulders, the swell of your breasts as you tug the sweater over your head and let it drop to the floor.

Your shorts follow.

By the time you’re bare, standing in nothing but the hush of the dimly lit office, your body is thrumming with anticipation.

Zayne hums in approval, a sound that sends another shiver skittering through you. His hands return—this time, trailing down your arms, ghosting over your hips, fingertips tracing the dip of your spine.

Then—his grip tightens.

And with almost no effort, he turns you, guides you back, and before you know it—

Your bare skin meets cool leather.

The examination table.

Heat floods your cheeks as realization slams into you, but Zayne doesn’t give you time to protest. He leans in, bracing a hand next to your head, his presence overwhelming, consuming.

“You wanted to tease?” he murmurs, gaze flicking over you, sharp and possessive. “Then let’s see how much teasing you can take.”

The cool leather beneath your bare skin is a sharp contrast to the heat pulsing through you, your body burning under the weight of Zayne’s gaze. He’s still standing over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other trailing idly along the inside of your thigh—so close to where you need him, but not nearly enough.

You shift, trying to press into his touch, but his grip tightens, pinning you in place.

“Stay still.” His voice is low, unyielding, each syllable sinking into your skin like a slow-moving current.

Your breath hitches.

Then—his fingers move.

Deliberate. Teasing. Cruel.

A slow drag up your thigh, just enough to make your stomach tighten, before he ghosts over your center without giving you anything of what you need. His touch is light, maddening, barely there as he traces patterns against your skin.

You bite back a whimper.

Zayne watches you with dark amusement, his lips curving slightly. “Not so bold now, are you?”

You inhale sharply, willing yourself not to react, but he knows. He sees the way your body twitches, the way your breath stutters every time he almost gives you what you want.

He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “Tell me,” he murmurs, fingers trailing just where you ache for him. “How does it feel to be teased?”

A soft, broken sound escapes you before you can swallow it down.

Zayne hums, satisfied. “Not so fun when you’re the one squirming.”

Then, finally—finally—he presses his fingers against you, sliding through the slick heat he’s been tormenting.

Your body jerks.

He’s slow at first, methodical. Testing. One finger, circling, teasing—working you open, pulling another soft whimper from your lips. Then another, pressing deeper, stretching you with wicked precision.

Your hips shift without thinking, chasing the pleasure, but his other hand clamps down on your thigh, keeping you still.

“Good girls listen,” he murmurs, his tone almost mocking. “Do I need to remind you?”

You shake your head quickly, already feeling the heat building, pleasure pooling low in your stomach as he sets a slow, devastating rhythm.

You don’t know how long he keeps you like that—edging you, bringing you so close only to slow down again, dragging you right back to the brink before cruelly denying you.

It’s torture.

Your head is spinning, your body burning, sweat beading along your spine. “Zayne—”

“Not yet.” His fingers curl just right, pulling a ragged moan from your throat. “You don’t get to come until I say so.”

Tears prick your eyes, frustration twisting through the pleasure. Your fingers claw uselessly at the leather of the table, your breath coming in desperate, broken gasps.

“Please.”

He exhales slowly, like he’s savoring the word. “Please what?”

Your pride is gone. Drowned out by the raw, unbearable need consuming you. “Please—please, I need you.”

For a second, he doesn’t move.

Then—everything snaps.

Zayne pulls back so fast you barely register it before he’s hauling you up, spinning you, pressing you down against the examination table. Your hands brace against the cool leather as he steps behind you, his body flush against yours, broad and hot and unshakably firm.

“You need me?” His voice is low, right against your ear. “You think I don’t know that?”

A sharp smack lands against the curve of your ass, sending a shock of pleasure through your veins. You gasp, body jerking, but his hands are already gripping your waist, holding you there.

“You’re mine,” he growls, voice like smoldering embers. “Only mine.”

The sharp clink of his belt unfastening lingers in the air, a cruel, tantalizing sound that sends a shiver straight down your spine.

You can’t see him—not really.

But you feel him.

Standing behind you, heat radiating against your bare skin, his presence a dark, looming force that has you pressing your palms flat against the cool leather of the examination table, your breathing shallow and uneven.

Then—his hands.

Slow. Steady. Claiming.

They glide up the backs of your thighs, barely grazing the sensitive skin before spreading over the curve of your hips, gripping just hard enough to make your breath hitch.

“You have no idea what you’ve done,” he murmurs, voice like a slow drag of velvet and steel.

A small, involuntary whimper escapes you.

Zayne chuckles. A low, dangerous sound that sends another pulse of heat straight between your legs.

His thumbs press into your skin, kneading slightly before pulling you back against him.

And then—

You feel him.

Hard. Heavy. Pressing against your entrance, teasing, not quite giving you what you want.

Your fingers clench against the leather.

“Zayne,” you breathe, shifting your hips, trying to urge him forward.

His hands tighten—holding you still.

“Patience.”

“You were so eager to tease,” he murmurs, his fingers smoothing over the spot he just struck. “Now you don’t want to wait?”

You groan, the frustration nearly unbearable.

But before you can say anything—before you can beg—he pushes inside.

Deep.

A sharp, keening moan rips from your throat, your body stretching around him, every nerve igniting at once. The sudden, overwhelming fullness sends a wave of heat crashing through you, your body tightening, clinging to him.

Zayne curses under his breath, his fingers digging into your hips, his composure fracturing for just a moment.

Then—he moves.

His first thrust is slow, deliberate, forcing you to feel every inch of him as he drags back before snapping forward again, knocking the breath from your lungs.

The table shudders beneath you.

Your moan is wrecked, barely coherent.

But he’s not gentle.

Not now.

Now, he’s claiming you, dragging his hands up your spine, gripping your shoulders as he pulls you back into each brutal snap of his hips.

The sound of skin against skin echoes through the office, sharp and rhythmic, mingling with your desperate, gasping moans.

“Mine,” he growls, punctuating the word with a particularly deep thrust that has your toes curling, your body arching against him.

You can’t answer—you can’t—because he’s driving everything else from your mind, filling you so completely, so thoroughly, that all you can do is take it.

The examination table creaks beneath you, shifting with each forceful movement.

But Zayne doesn’t stop.

He won’t stop.

Not until you’re completely undone.

Not until this room, this space, smells like you and him and this.

Zayne fucks you like he’s trying to ruin you.

Like he needs to.

Like every second of restraint he’s ever had is snapping apart, unraveling with every sharp, punishing thrust that slams you forward against the examination table.

The leather creaks beneath you, the steady rhythm of skin meeting skin filling the room, raw and obscene. Each snap of his hips forces a choked, gasping moan from your throat, your fingers gripping the edges of the table in a desperate attempt to steady yourself—useless.

Zayne won’t let you steady yourself.

He wants you falling apart.

His grip is bruising, fingers digging deep into your hips as he pulls you back into every ruthless thrust, making you take him deeper, harder.

“Look at you,” he growls, voice thick, wrecked with pleasure. “So fucking desperate.”

You can’t answer—can’t—because the only thing spilling from your lips are helpless, shattered moans, pleasure winding so tight in your stomach it’s blinding.

Zayne leans forward, his breath searing against the back of your neck as he drags his nails down your spine.

“Is this what you wanted?” he murmurs, low and taunting, punctuating each word with another devastating thrust. “You wanted to tease me all day, and now look at you—”

His hand snaps around your throat, not squeezing, just holding you there, keeping you in place as he pounds into you so deep it sends you spiraling.

“You can barely fucking breathe.”

A ragged, broken moan rips from your throat, your body clenching around him so tight he groans, his grip tightening.

“Fuck—” His voice is strained, edged with something dangerously close to losing control.

And then—

Zayne changes his pace.

It’s brutal.

Fast, relentless, his hips snapping forward in short, perfectly angled thrusts that send shocks of white-hot pleasure surging through your veins, pushing you closer, dragging you higher, forcing you to the very edge—

“Zayne—” you gasp, barely able to form words.

He knows.

He feels the way you’re trembling, tightening around him, breaking beneath him.

His hand leaves your throat, his arm wrapping around your waist instead, lifting you slightly as he slams into you, each movement sharp and devastatingly deep.

“Come for me,” he growls, voice dark, commanding.

That’s all it takes.

Pleasure crashes through you, sharp and consuming, stealing every ounce of air from your lungs. Your body convulses, tightening around him so hard you swear you see stars, your moan ripping through the room as you fall apart.

Zayne curses, his pace stuttering as he buries himself to the hilt, his grip bruising as he jerks forward one last time, his groan vibrating against your skin as he spills inside you.

The air is thick, humid, filled with the scent of sweat and sex, the room absolutely wrecked with what just happened.

Zayne doesn’t let you go right away.

He stays pressed against you, his hand splayed over your stomach, keeping you anchored as you both gasp for breath, bodies trembling from the force of it.

Then, after a long, breathless moment—

His lips press softly to the back of your shoulder.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs, voice rough, final.

Like a promise.

Like a warning.

The weight of him lingers against your back, his breath still warm against your shoulder, both of you wrecked in the aftermath of what just happened.

Your body feels boneless, pleasure still pulsing in slow, lingering waves through your limbs. Every inch of you is oversensitive, raw in the best possible way.

Zayne stays close.

His fingers trace slow, idle patterns against your skin, smoothing over the marks he left—the bruises at your hips, the faint scratches along your thighs. His touch is light, careful, like he’s grounding you.

It’s such a stark contrast from just moments ago that it makes something warm bloom in your chest.

Still pressed against you, his lips brush the back of your neck, barely a whisper of contact. “Are you okay?”

Your breath is still uneven, but you manage a soft, satisfied hum. “Mmhm.”

He huffs a quiet chuckle, shifting slightly so he’s not completely crushing you against the examination table.

For a few blissful seconds, there’s nothing but the steady sound of your breathing, the weight of his hands still on you, grounding, possessive.

Then—

A sharp knock at the door.

You both freeze.

Zayne lifts his head, the tension snapping back into his body as a voice calls from the other side—

“Dr. Li?” It’s one of the nurses. “Is everything… okay in there?” A pause. Then, hesitantly, “…We heard screaming.”

Oh. Oh.

Your face burns.

Zayne exhales slowly, as if already regretting everything that led up to this moment. Then, with a reluctant, measured calm, he pulls back—finally slipping out of you, leaving you unbearably empty in more ways than one.

You barely have time to move before he’s already tucking himself back into his slacks, smoothing his shirt down, his expression cool, composed—like he didn’t just fuck you senseless against a damn hospital examination table.

You, on the other hand? A disaster.

Your legs shake as you push yourself upright, skin flushed, bite-marked, still buzzing from everything he just did to you.

Zayne notices.

His gaze flicks over you, eyes darkening again for just a second before he exhales sharply, reaching for a nearby drawer. Without a word, he pulls out a clean white lab coat and drapes it over your shoulders, letting it fall down to cover the mess of your very naked body.

The knock comes again.

“Dr. Li?”

Zayne finally answers, voice infuriatingly calm. “Everything is fine.”

A long pause.

Then, a slow, unconvinced “…Alright.” Footsteps retreat down the hall.

Silence.

Then—Zayne looks at you.

And the corner of his lips twitches.

“Oh, shut up,” you mutter, flustered beyond belief, shoving at his chest as you wrap the coat tighter around you.

His chuckle is low, smug, and utterly satisfied.

“Next time,” he murmurs, voice dipping into something darker, promising, “you should remember to keep quiet.”

The silence lingers for a moment after the nurse walks away, leaving the two of you still caught in the warm haze of what just happened.

You’re spent, your body buzzing, muscles loose and trembling in the aftermath. The lab coat around your shoulders feels too big, the scent of antiseptic barely masking the deeper, richer scent of him clinging to the fabric.

Zayne is still standing close, his hands adjusting the coat to make sure it fully covers you. His touch is softer now, absent of the possessive grip that had once marked your skin. His fingers ghost down your arms, then settle at your waist, grounding you.

A deep exhale leaves his lips.

“You’re okay?” he asks again, voice lower this time. Not demanding. Not teasing. Just… checking.

The tenderness in it makes something in your chest ache.

You nod, letting yourself lean into him, your forehead pressing against his chest. “Yeah.” Your voice comes out quieter than you expect—hoarse from earlier, but still warm. “You didn’t actually break me, surprisingly.”

Zayne huffs a quiet laugh, his fingers tightening on your waist just slightly before smoothing over your skin. “That was never the goal.” He shifts, pressing the softest kiss to the crown of your head. “But I can make sure you don’t move for a few days next time, if that’s what you’re asking.”

You swat at his arm, making him chuckle.

His hands slide up, moving to cradle your face, tilting your chin so you’re forced to look at him. His thumbs brush over your cheeks, and his expression shifts—still dark, still intense, but something gentler there, too.

Something devoted.

“You are mine,” he murmurs, like it’s not a question, not up for debate. “You know that, don’t you?”

A slow warmth spreads through your chest. You meet his gaze, a lazy, satisfied smile curling at your lips.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I know.”

His lips press to yours—not demanding this time, not desperate. Just soft. A slow, lingering kiss that makes your stomach flutter, different from everything that came before it.

When he pulls back, he exhales, like he’s still trying to steady himself. “Come on,” he murmurs, tugging you toward the small private bathroom in his office. “Let’s clean you up.”

You sigh dramatically, letting him lead you, warmth thrumming in your veins. “Wow. You break me over an examination table and I get aftercare? Lucky me.”

Zayne smirks. “You are lucky.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t argue.

Because, honestly?

You are.

[lilislegacy]

Okay, I’m so gonna get hate for this. And it will probably get about 4 notes. This is, by far, the most opinionated thing I have ever posted on here. If you can’t tolerate criticism towards Rick Riordan, the books, or the TV show, please keep scrolling. My goal is NOT to change your mind or start arguments.

I also want to preface this by saying that I love and respect Rick Riordan (even if I disagree with him on things and don’t like some of his choices) and fully acknowledge that he has the right to do whatever the hell he pleases with his own series. I also want to say that I love Annabeth Chase (both the book and tv show version) with my entire being and you will never find me being an Annabeth hater. She’s my girl.

We good? Okay cool. So here’s the thing: I’ve seen a lot of people on here saying things like “If you didn’t like the books, you just don’t know how to have fun,” and “The new book haters are just mad that they aren’t the target audience anymore,” and (my personal favorite) “Nothing in the books has changed, only the readers have.”

And while I see your points, and I respect you, allow me to show you something. Because of the 10 picture limit, I am only going to focus on one specific change: Annabeth’s view of Percy.

WOTTG: Annabeth is surprised to be comforted by Percy

Past Books: Percy is constantly comforting Annabeth

WOTTG: Annabeth is shocked when Percy is smart

Past Books: Annabeth often points out that Percy is intelligent

WOTTG: Annabeth thinks Percy can’t do anything on his own, and Rick communicates that Annabeth is always saving his ass

Past Books: Percy is ALWAYS watching her back, and saving her ass just as much (and Annabeth admits that)

I could put a hundred quotes in here. I could go on and on and on. But I can’t, and I won’t.

My problem with this new book is NOT that it is more goofy than serious. My problem is NOT that little things have changed. My problem is NOT that it’s just for fun. My problem is NOT that it’s much more childish. (And by the way, I’ve read PJO and HOO as an adult, so it’s not like I was a child when I read everything else and am now an adult reading the new ones.) I really did like and enjoy many parts of this book.

My problem is that the characters (especially Annabeth) have flat out changed—in bad ways—and we have no choice but to accept it as canon. My problem is that Rick, while trying to merge his books with his new TV show project, is changing the entire personalities and past behaviors/ tendencies of the characters.

I loved Chalice of the Gods. You know why? It was fun, goofy, and showed the characters that we know and love being happy and adorable. I strongly dislike Wrath of the Triple Godess because the characters—no matter how adorable and happy they might be—are no longer the ones we know and love.

My problem is that Rick Riordan fully admitted that he no longer considers the old book characters when he writes the new books. He is now purposefully incorporating his own personal mixture of the book characters and tv characters and writing those versions instead. Because of his desire to change and transform the series, I doubt he’s even read the original PJO or HOO books in years, which is why everything is so inconsistent. The old book characters—the ones who made the series what it was—are gone. And that is not my opinion. Rick fully admits that he doesn’t imagine them when he writes anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE the tv show actors. I adore Walker and Leah and Aryan with my whole heart, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything. But the fact is: they will never be exactly like the book characters. It’s impossible for actors to become the words on a page. They’re their own unique version! And likewise, you cannot turn actors into print. It doesn’t work! And why would you try? The books versions were perfect as they were. And the disney kids need to make the characters their own. The two versions can exist side by side, equally as wonderful, and still be gloriously different. We should celebrate the uniqueness of both. But instead, Rick is attempting to merge them into one. And in my opinion, it’s just hurting them both. And I’m gonna get real brave by saying this, but do you want my honest prediction? If he keeps doing what he’s doing now, the TV show is going to get cancelled and the books are going to turn into a joke. I so, so badly hope that this doesn’t happen! I have loved Rick and PJO for many, many years. I badly want both to thrive. But what is going on right now… it is not working, no matter how much we all want it to. And speaking as someone who knows people in the TV/Film industry, I am sadly not the only one who thinks the show is gonna flop. Which is devastating, because Rick Riordan deserves a redemption on the big screen, and the incredible actors deserve to bring this series to life in a new way.

I am not trying to force my opinions onto anybody. You are welcome to disagree with me and move on. I am not saying that I’m right and you’re wrong. If you disagree, that’s okay. If you agree but you don’t have a problem with it, that’s okay. In fact if other people have literally no issues, that makes me somewhat happy. And if you loved the book, I’m honestly so stoked for you. Feel free to just keep on scrolling, my friend.

But me? I’m sad. I’m really, really freaking sad. And I’m a little angry too, even if I don’t have a right to be. I can’t help it because I’m only human. But this is how I—and a lot of other people—feel. And you know what? That’s okay too. Because the fact of the matter is:

Annabeth isn’t the same Annabeth anymore. And Percy isn’t the same Percy anymore. And it’s not because they went through trauma, or because time has passed. It’s because Rick Riordan doesn’t have any interest in writing those versions of them anymore. And I think the comparisons between the old and the new show that fact pretty clearly.

[mydear-corinthian]

one more night

synopsis: the relationship was too toxic but you just cannot break up with him because..

pairing: thomas shelby x reader

warnings: SMUT +18, dubcon, p in v, oral sex (f!receiving), breeding kink, squirting, creampie toxic relationship, mentions of arguments & cheating

notes: based by maroon 5's song: "one more night", divider by cafekitsune

main masterlist | peaky blinders masterlist | cillian murphy masterlist

Your relationship with Thomas Shelby is indeed toxic. He often arrives home late. Even if you were only seated next to him, you flirted with women in the pub. Not even during the day was he there spending time with you. The both of you cannot end a day without an argument. "War" is the fitting word to describe your relationship.

You were starting to decide whether to end the relationship, but the question is, how?

The man gave you a big house for your family, food to eat, money, expensive clothing and jewelry, everything but affection.

The only affection you both had was sex.

Sex with Tommy was the best experience that you had. He has more experience than you, but that doesn't matter since he knows how to satisfy you.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the door opening. He was home— needy, like always.

"Got a fucking long day. I need you," he whispered, locking the door immediately and grabbing your waist to kiss you.

You can never—ever— say no to having sex with this man. He was fucking brilliant.

You kissed him back, tasting the whiskey on his tongue as your tongues danced with each other. Tommy began to undress his suit, unbuttoning it one by one in a hurry, not even breaking the kiss.

He carried you and placed you on the sofa in front of your shared bed. Your hands lifted your shirt, exposing your hardened breast.

No, you've got to stop this. All he does to you is sex and nothing more. You're not his wife anymore; you're his sex toy.

"No— Tom, stop," you whined, feeling his hot breath on your neck as he marked it.

"Why? You don't want this?" Tommy asked, continuing to kiss your neck.

"Yes— no! I want to break up."

His lips are no longer on your neck. His eyes finally met yours.

"Break up?"

"All we do is sex and nothing more— I mean, we're married. We have things to do aside from sex."

"You're funny," that's all Tommy said before kissing you once again. You try to break the kiss, but your body tells you to want more. His rough palms cupped your breast and sucked it like a madman, making you moan out loud.

Tommy's fingers traced your stomach until your soaking wet cunt. You gasped at his touch as you felt his finger massage your clothed clit.

"No— stop, Tom. We can't do this any— oh God!"

"Your body tells you otherwise, sweetheart," Tommy chuckled. He removed your white underwear and tossed it on the floor. Feeling the cold breeze touch your exposed cunt, you arched your back.

"You're telling me to stop but your tight cunt keeps on clenching on my finger."

Tommy continued to pump his finger in and out of your drenched hole while eating you out. His tongue swayed figure eights on your sensitive bud, enjoying your taste. Tommy added another finger, fingering you aggressively, hitting that spongy spot again and again and again.

The wet noise made you feel embarrassed— guilty. Your eyes fully shut, grabbing a fistful of his curly hair to pull him even more closer to your cunt. Your head rolled back in pleasure,

Feeling that familiar knot on your stomach, you moaned like a whore, clenching on his mouth. "I'm so close, Tom."

"Don't stop, please— mmf!"

"Go on. Be a good girl and cum on my face, sweetheart. You're doing so well." he praised and continued to devour you.

Finally coiling up that feeling, you arched your back and moaned. You squirted, a mix of your juice and your white cum staining his mouth and face.

Out of all the men who had sex with, Thomas Shelby is the only man who made you fucking squirt.

"Fuck, baby— you always taste so good," Tommy said before standing up, ready to leave.

"Wait!"

His head turned, a smirk planted on his face.

"What is it?"

"I want.. more," you embarrassingly admitted. You bit your bottom lip, showing him your drenched hole. "Please, Tom."

"I thought you want to end this," he asked sarcastically.

"Just.. one more night," you begged.

Tommy walked towards you again, removing his boxers, freeing out his hardened cock. You bit again your lips at the sight. He really is big.

He pumped his shaft for awhile before positioning himself in front of your hole and take you whole. The feeling of his fat cock enter your tight whole made you wince. Tommy's arms embraced your shoulder as he started to move inside you. You rolled your head as soon as the pain started to become pleasuring.

"We've fucked a lot of times but you're still so tight."

Tommy's pace fastened. Your breasts swayed up and down at every harsh thrusts he makes. Your moans and groans filled the entire room. You felt his balls slap below your whole, letting out skin slapping noises which makes you even more turned on.

"Tom— oh God— yes, yes yes!" you moaned, interlocking your legs together on his lips, allowing himself to sink and pound it further.

Make it stop, you thought.

But it your body says to continue.

Tommy's tip hit the sensitive spots all over and over again, allowing you to moan even more loudly and clenched all over his fat cock.

"I thought you don't want this anymore, huh?" he teasingly asked, listening to the pornographic moans that you're letting out.

"We shouldn't be doing this anym— aah!" you tried to speak but the pleasure won't allow you to even complete your sentence.

Tommy knew you were close with the way your pussy was clenching on his dick too much. His middle finger found its way to your clit, rubbing it aggressively as he wants you to cum.

"Tom, stop— I'm gonna—shit— cum.. oh God, oh God!"

Tommy's erratic thrusts finally made you cum. His shaft still pumping inside your walls covered with your cum, allowing himself to finish.

"No matter how—Christ—rough I go, you're still tight, woman," he groaned as continued his pace while his head was resting on your shoulder. Your nails scratched his back as you felt overstimulated, cumming again.

After a few more pound, Tommy came, pouring all of him inside you, not wasting a single cum. He pulled out slowly, your shared juices slipping out of your drenched hole. There, the guilt panged you. Your mind said stop but your body said yes.

"Give me one more night, just like you said."

——

The morning the next day hits you the hardest. The first thing you saw beside you was no one. Tommy's side of the bed was cold and empty now. He left again. 

"One more night, (y/n)," you muttered to yourself.

And now the cycle continues.

[1980shorrorfilm]

i know it’s over

click!!!

pairing…ellie williams x gn!reader

in which…ellie doesn’t have the heart to tell joel you had broken up before the holidays; so you pretend you didn’t.

before you read...18+. angst. sad sex. afab reader. written with modern au in mind.

slow christmas songs play lowly from a record joel had put on, setting the mood of the crackling wood in the fireplace, and the twinkling tree in the corner.

the older man is laughing with ellie about something in the kitchen, and for a moment, this feels normal. like you belong here, and you’re happy to be here; something so wrong.

three weeks of heartache, shoved to the pits of your stomach, forced to smile and act as though you didn’t carry that overbearing pain. as if you and ellie were okay. she might be. you’re not sure, she doesn’t open up about her feelings to you anymore, especially not about your breakup.

it would be too hard, for her, for you, for your loved ones that view you two as inseparable. sure, the time will come when it can no longer remain a secret, but you’re in no rush to admit to something you still cannot even fathom happening in the first place. 

to tell the world that ellie isn’t yours anymore, that the small insignificant arguments had somehow piled up and led you down an unhappy path. something so odd to think about now, because you’ve only ever been happy with ellie. until now.

you see her from the corner of your eye, taking a seat on the couch beside you, but not next to you. not directly, not close enough to place her hand on your lap, to allow your head to rest on her shoulder. even as much as that hurts, it doesn’t compare to the emotional distance between you.

your eyes remain on the glowing fire before you, not daring to look at the woman who was already looking to you. searching for something to say, to make this less awkward. her mouth stays shut, allowing the quiet void to be filled with whatever sad christmas song was playing. 

you’re grateful the moment is soon interrupted by a knock at joel’s door, signaling his brother and his wife have arrived. you watch the flip switch in ellie, her cold demeanor around you suddenly dropping with a smile, hugging tommy and maria while you fiddle with your fingers.

you’re next to be engulfed in tight embraces, the couple had done an incredible job at making you feel welcomed in their family. they have since they realized ellie was pretty fucking serious about you, but that was three years ago. three years now down the drain.

you force a smile when you catch the negative thoughts spilling in your head, though it doesn’t reach your eyes, ellie noticing from a few feet away. 

she hated it.

joel interrupts with the announcement of dinner, bringing you a great sense of relief. just get it over with, pass out in the guest bedroom you two are occupying for the night, and leave in the morning. go back to life without her.

you sit in the chair next to ellie, feeling her hand cling to yours under the table. she squeezes gently, and you’re unsure if it was out of reassurance or habit. regardless, you sharply pull your hand away, her head snapping towards you, but you don’t look at her. 

you pick at your food, drowning ellie out with whatever conversation joel and tommy are sharing, even laughing at their stupid jokes. and it’s genuine, ellie spotting the twinkle in your eyes when your lips curled upwards. 

she was so fixated on you looking…happy, that she hadn’t realized she was the topic of discussion, joel telling a story about her rebellious teenage years. 

you forget the tension between you two at the moment, especially when ellie chimes in, correcting joel on some of the details, and eventually just taking over.

you direct your attention to her, the tint of red painting her freckled cheeks due to embarrassment, which slowly faded as she chuckled at her younger self. 

she was always so adorable when she got flustered, and you’re reminded how much she hated it when you pointed that out. or so, she pretended to. she never admitted that just made her even more flustered. 

her eyes meet yours now, and you’re pulled out of the moment, smile falling. an exchanged uncomfortable glare. loving gazes now replaced with something bitter and too much for you to bear. you redirect your eyes to your lap.

joel takes in the sight from the end of the table, sipping on his drink, before speaking. 

“so… you two gonna keep lookin’ like you’ve got a secret?” 

you both turn to him.

“hm?” “what?”

your voices blend with each other, the heat rising in your cheeks at the spotlight put on you two. was it that obvious? did he have to point it out? 

“a secret? who’s gotta secret?” tommy chimes in, your head now dipping as ellie lets out an exhausted sigh. “no one— no one,” ellie says, using that firm tone that everyone recognizes as her stop bothering me tone. you got pretty used to it in the days leading up to your breakup.

joel drops it, knowing if ellie wanted joel to know anything, she would’ve told him. tommy dares to pry, though, not recognizing the thick tension. 

“y’all hiding rings from us?” he chuckles, but no one laughs. if anything, it makes you want to cry. you would pick that scenario over this a million times over again. you wonder what you could’ve done differently that would’ve led you down that road with her, and down the aisle. 

how you could’ve treated her better, despite treating her like the most loved person in the entire world. because that’s what she is to you, even now. how you could’ve solved every issue that snuck into your relationship, despite trying to and ending up feeling like you had only made it so much worse. 

how you would be holding her fidgety hand under this table, just longing to feel the comfort of her warm touch, rather than dropping it and being repelled by her touch. how everything could’ve been good. perfect, even. instead, you’re stuck grieving a fleeting relationship in silence. 

ellie clears her throat, “maybe one day.”

ouch. your chair scrapes against the wooden floorboard, ellie looking up at you as you walk away, excusing yourself to the bathroom. you don’t register you’re crying until you’re locked safely in the small room, holding onto the sink, letting them fall down your face.

maybe it was the way she said it— like she almost believed it. or wished for it. or the idea that your ex-girlfriend was going to be married, and it wasn’t to you. that you’re here, for the last time. that you’re spending the most wonderful time of year with the love, and loss, of your life, for the last time. 

you had managed to wear faux smiles since the break up— it was inevitable for this breakdown to occur. 

after a moment of muffling your cries into your hands, there’s silence, you attempting to calm yourself and return to a state of false normalcy. then the gentle knock hits the bathroom door, joel’s gruff voice pulling you from your thoughts.

“you alright, kiddo?”

you dry your face, practicing a smile in the mirror, then swinging the door open. “yeah— yeah, sorry,” you tell him, “just don’t feel well.”

it’s not a complete lie, you truly feel like the earth is crumbling at your feet. you wouldn’t tell him why, exactly, but joel had two working eyes.

“you know…if there’s anything going on between you two…” he drifts off, not even sure where he was going with this. he wasn’t great with advice, he just tried to speak on what he knew. and what he knows is, you’re one of the best things to happen to ellie. 

“you two got lucky finding each other. that’s all,” he tells you, giving a sad smile like he is aware of the situation without having it explained to him. 

it crushes your heart even more, another nail hit in the coffin of you and ellie. another pile of dirt poured over you two, burying your relationship that you’re not ready to let go of. but holy fuck, is it nearly out of your grasp.

when he walks away, the tears begin to build again. you swiftly walk to the bedroom ellie and you were staying for the night, hearing the muffled voices from downstairs, hoping you weren’t the topic. 

you are. not in the sense that you dread, though, rather being spoken about highly from maria. ellie keeps her green eyes trained on the floor, listening to the woman elaborate on the words that tommy had said earlier. a ring. a proposal. a step forward for you two. 

not knowing there wasn’t a step forward, there was nothing anymore. 

“y/n…they uh, aren’t feeling too hot,” joel changes the topic, ellie picking up her lowly hung head. though she can assume the reasoning as to why, she still leaves the room, a need to check in on you, even if that’s not what you want. 

you hear the door open, but you’re laid comfortably on your side, not bothering to turn over and see her. 

“hey,” her voice is wary, nervous while approaching the bed. she sees the tear marks on your pretty face, the one nearly covered by the blanket pulled up to the tip of your nose. ellie kneels on the floor beside you, meeting you face to face. sad eyes to miserable eyes. 

“it’s too much, ellie,” you whisper, voice cracking near immediately. 

“i know.”

“why did we…” you stop yourself, the heat in your cheeks now burning you alive, thinking about it too much. something that’s said and done, something you two discussed to not talk about again, and yet. 

“it’s so hard,” you barely get out, now pulling the blanket over your head completely, a safe space to let your tears flow rather than in front of the only person that would ever comfort you. 

ellie still does, pulling the soft fabric back down, palm resting against your cheek kindly— wishing she could take the same pain she is experiencing, from you. 

she would endure it, and perhaps this would be easier. entering the new year no longer caring for her. putting yourself first for once rather than her. loving yourself more than her. it would all be so easy. 

her head falls, and her eyes water. your blurry vision clears when you take notice, suddenly putting your emotions on the back burner and wiping your eyes. 

“els,” you whisper, throwing the blanket off of you and sitting up. your legs swing over the edge of the bed, ellie taking it as an invitation to close whatever space was between you, sobbing in your lap. a rare sight, she hadn’t even done this the night you had split. she was monotone, numb in that moment. now, it’s crashing down on her at once. 

you stay like this until her crying stops, the house now quiet, tommy and maria having left. joel is assumingly in his bedroom, passed out as a christmas classic plays on his television. the house feels colder, or maybe that’s just the bedroom. 

when ellie adjusts herself, she looks up to you, an unspoken conversation being held between your damp eyes. 

ellie leans forward, doing the last thing she should do right now, and kisses you. softly. sadly. passionately. 

you scoot back on the bed, her lips not leaving yours while she crawls on top of you, neither of you thinking right now— not about what’s happening, anyway. 

all you feel is her, and you need her, in every sense, weeks of telling yourself that you don’t now unraveling. this isn’t about lust. even when her cool hand travels to the waistband of your pants, finding warmth inside of them, awaiting a reaction from you. to push her away, or change your mind, she waits for it. 

her lips part from yours, face inches from yours, studying you. you speak quietly, “please.”

she gulps.

once more, she leans in, lips moving slowly with yours, while her hand slips into your underwear. you gasp into her mouth when you feel her, busying your own hands beneath her dark shirt, resting them against her pale back. 

your nails dig into her the moment her middle finger enters you, but you only whimper when she adds her ring finger, letting you adjust to how she feels inside you— just right.

then she curls them, angling them on that spongey spot without fault, kissing you harder when a yelp attempts to escape from your lips, being reunited with a feeling you had longed for. 

the feeling of ellie taking care of you. wanting to make you feel more than okay. not locked in the bathroom crying after an argument, or isolated in your shared bed because she’d rather sleep on your worn-out thrifted couch. 

ellie loving you. 

the wind howls against the windows in the bedroom, and you hope the eerie noise blocks your crying out. it doesn’t, and ellie suddenly stops. 

“fuck,” she whispers to herself, both guilt and shame creeping into her veins. she took this too far, she thinks. ellie attempts to pull away, but your hand grips her arm, preventing her from doing so.

“i’m okay— ellie, please,” you tell her, afraid to stop, and to lose this. you need this. you beg again, “please, baby.”

and ellie repeats herself again, “fuck.”

to your request, she keeps going, fucking you while you cling to her. ellie is going fast, relentless, and the noises between your thighs are indecent. your grasp gets tighter the closer she brings you to that light at the end of the tunnel, but you can’t seem to actually reach it. 

you’re drifting, even when she picks up her pace, pressing against the sweet spots that would usually have you seeing stars.

you know ellie is rushing this. she’s not making love to you, she’s fucking you crudely, but right now your mind is desperately trying to blur those lines.

your eyes remain shut when ellie’s face parts from yours, attempting to chase that high running away from you. 

“hey,” ellie speaks, “look at me, y/n.”

you obey, brows furrowed with pleasure and sadness. you probably look a mess; she doesn’t think so. “beautiful,” she says, that rasp in her voice that you’re utterly obsessed with.

“haven’t said it enough lately…but you are…so fucking beautiful,” ellie continues, not slowing down the rhythm at which she moved in and out of you. “wish you could see yourself…fuck…”

you know what she’s doing, but it’s absolutely working.

she feels you tighten around her, heart racing and jaw-dropping with a moan threatening to spill from your soft lips. she reacts quickly, palm on your mouth to muffle the noise, these walls too thin for the noises she made you make.

“gonna be quiet for me?” ellie asks, the question more so teasing than sincere. still, you nod lazily against the mattress. she questions you again, “gonna cum for me?”

you don’t answer her this time— your body does that for you, shuddering beneath her and crying out into her hand. ellie doesn’t drag it out, she removes her fingers, sucking them while you collect yourself, calming your shaky breath.

it’s a waiting game for who speaks first, ellie shifting and sitting at the edge of the bed, gripping the blanket beneath her. she’s trying to wrap her head around…all of this…around you. 

meanwhile, you force your tired body to move, crawling behind her and wrapping your arms around her torso, head resting on her shoulder. a position you could stay in forever if life was kind enough and allowed you to. 

“we can tell him in the morning.”

her words bring you out of the haze you’re in, like a bucket of ice-cold water thrown in your fucking face. that’s what ellie did best. she gave you everything you had wanted, just to take it away. 

“okay,” you respond, letting go of her completely— in the physical way.

[mihii-i]

hear me out..... mizu x fem reader, a oneshot, smut, they're already together, they are out in town as 'husband and wife' while they obtain information. The reader is a brat, Mizu literally fucks the ever living SHIT out of her. Teasing and mocking until the reader is blabbing out apologies that are barely even coherent. SHI ION KNOW WHEN STRAPS WERE MADE BUT IF YOU BUST THAT OUT I WOULD BE VERY GRATEFUL 🙏 and of course aftercare with lots of praise yk bc if ur gonna call me a slut at least kiss my face and call me ur pretty slut thank YEW

chimes of the shamisen.

Pairings: mizu x fem!reader

CW: nsfw, female reader, afab reader, wlw, let’s ignore the episode’s events and the shindo dojo shit because yay sex, freaky asf obv, but first angst bc im evil kitty, bratty ass reader, argument, mizu is lowkey at fault for it too tho, but reader is still a bitch, hardcore sesbian lex, little bit of soft stuff sprinkled because I cannot write mizu going full on rough and angy with her lover, it feels ooc she would be atleast a little sweet :(, strapon use/harigata, the strap legit came outta nowhere, horny shit god, i genuinely don’t know if this is classified as degradation but I hate degrading so hope not, crying, really fucking rough I don’t think I ever wrote something this insane, not proofread.

A/N: ugh this lowkey turned out bad cause my tea was bad but im loving the stream of mizu requests I am absolutely feral over this woman like I want to kiss and hug her in my arms while also wanting her to tear off my clothes it ain’t funny anymore I GENUINELY DONT KNOW HOW TO FEEL ABOUT WRITING EXTRA FREAKY MIZU BUT YER WELCOME. 🕯️

Blisteringly cold sweeps of wind swayed in the air in a near painful freeze as crystals of snowflakes sunk upon touching the bare skin of your hand, your tense shoulder pushed up against Mizu’s cloaked one in an attempt to seek a sliver of warmth against the stinging cold. It was currently nearing the end of the nullifying freeze of winter, spring approaching in supposedly a few weeks from now in hopes of thawing out the erected statures blanketed in a gentle white.

Both you and Mizu navigated your way through the dips and trails of each snow heaped pathway in the city, remaining side by side as you two shouldered past the hordes of people pouring in through Kyoto’s streets. Throughout your support for her during the perilous tread to find the remaining men she sought to kill, you had assumed the title of her supposed ‘wife,’ while Mizu, still under the guise of a man, displayed herself as your husband.

Honestly, it was quite difficult to fathom why you were trailing behind this bloodthirsty woman, who would snap apart the bones of any living creature she came across for the sake of her wretched revenge—pulsing through every vein in her body, like an unrest that compelled her stubborn soul to live on. You always questioned yourself as you trudged by her side, eyes frequently staring down at your own feet buried in the thick layers of snow to ponder why your heart raced for a demon presumed to have nothing but hatred oozing from any noticeable crevice of light within her.

You nudged your fingers against her palm, reaching over as your knuckles came into contact with the calloused ridges of her own. Almost in a seemingly desperate sense, your fingertips danced along her skin occasionally as if you were pleading to hold her hand, only to end up cupping your hand around nothing as she pulled away with each gesture of yours seeking her affection. Mizu subtly nodded her head toward you, tilting her chin up to meet your gaze through the orange tint of her glasses.

“Not now. Focus on getting more information regarding Heiji Shindo.”

It was getting tiring. Annoying even.

Mizu initially proposed the idea of cloaking yourselves under the cover of a husband and wife to seek information, to which you agreed. Considering the two of you had been together for quite some time, you believed that it wouldn’t hurt to cover yourself with an impenetrable front. Surely your false marriage wouldn’t get questioned considering how touchy and affectionate you were with Mizu, proudly believing that such a plan would remain the same as usual.

Unfortunately for you, it might have to be time to come to terms with the fact that her revenge mattered more than you.

All of her recent actions reflected a strict focus to the goal she had set, refusing to indulge in even the smallest of pleasures with her own ‘wife.’ You constantly strode alongside her through Kyoto’s crowded infrastructure, shielded by the overarching shadow of her kasa shrouding her face as she opened her mouth to inquire of the Shindo Dojo’s whereabouts left and right.

You couldn’t bear to see her disappointed expression whenever she was ignored or directed incorrectly, one of the residents even leading her to a pleasure house, much to her discomfort. However, nothing served to dilate the pit in your stomach more than Mizu brushing you off, rolling her shoulder past you whenever she was fixated on gathering information about some piece of shit connected to one of the white men hiding in Japan.

You knew she didn’t hate you. In fact, Mizu loved you like you were the most precious thing she had ever set her sights on. Held you and whispered in your ears that you were one of the only people that ever mattered to her, and how grateful she was to have you, all while you were hemmed in her overflowing grasp of affection. Yet, you were unable to help the twinge of discomposure swirling in your chest at how…comfortable she felt neglecting you like this.

Of course in retaliation, you began to bite back at her lack of feeling towards you ever since you reached Kyoto under the disguise, growing increasingly despondent to the words that left her mouth. The annoyance alone she was able to inflict on you in these past few days was more than enough to fuel a minuscule revenge of your own. You’d always snap back toward Mizu, words tinged with a short of sharp edge to them, & contrasting the usual gentle demeanor you often displayed for her.

Looking around the cramped lanes, you remained to Mizu’s side as her own eyes traced every inch of the vicinity, briefly tilting her glasses along the bridge of her nose to capture a clear view as darkness clouded the sky in a shrouding night. Rays of moonlight kissing the rippling bodies of water engulfing the bridge off at the end, accompanied by the muted lamps provided a faint expansion of light within such a late portion of day, some starting to die out into a smoky grey one by one.

A disappointed huff fell from Mizu’s lips at the sight of nightfall descending upon the two of you, striking a halt in the investigation that had been dragged out for the whole day. Although you’d never admit it to her, you wanted to breathe out a prolonged sigh of relief once your info gathering induction had ceased for the day, unsure of how much longer you could rasp out another word about the black market merchant.

“(Name). We’re done for today, let me know if you find a decent place to rest.”

“Shouldn’t you look for one yourself? It’s the husband’s job to provide obviously.” You muttered, loud enough for Mizu to hear as you rolled your eyes.

“This is a false front and you know it. Stop being so stuck up and just listen to me.”

“Or what? Fucking hell Mizu, is it stuck up to ask for a little attention from my girlfriend?”

The sudden announcement of your relationship’s actual title cause her eyes to shoot wide open, cocking an eyebrow in evident disrelish toward your lack of compliance.

“You know full well that we’re in the middle of something important, and you’re simply acting like an attention seeking child!” Mizu hissed under her breath, attempting to keep her voice subtle to avert any attention away from the two of you.

“I don’t care. You just brush me off like I don’t exist when you’re clearly supposed to act like my husband.”

“Quit acting so fucking bratty and maybe I’ll give you what you want after we’re done.”

“Forget it, Mizu. Can’t believe I’m in love with a demon like you.”

You could almost hear Mizu’s breath hitch in her throat, swallowing back a lump as her lips remained parted in a frown. Her eyes roamed over you in disdain, brows knitting together as her eyelids lowered into a contorted expression of annoyance and hurt.

Regret clawed at your mind as you took in Mizu’s expression, clearly not displaying a particular fixation on hurt alone, but definitely harboring a chagrin of sorts. You felt your heart ache, realizing the words you had just uttered to your lover, unable to reflect upon what you just said to the woman you supposedly loved as she turned her back to you. Was she leaving you? Right here?

You jolted up at the sight of her head tilted over her shoulder to glance back at you, a cold expression still carved onto her already wounded gaze.

“Are you coming or not?”

Clearing your throat, you managed a soundless nod in response, the crunch of your footsteps being the only thing breaking the silence fostered between the two of you. A surge of anxiety crept up within you, the bitter taste flat against your tongue from the sheer feeling along worse than raw bile. What the hell was the matter with you? You claim you love her yet you struck a blow at one of her deepest insecurities? You couldn’t even begin to comprehend how disgusted you were with yourself right now.

Your footsteps abruptly ceased their movements as soon as you noticed Mizu’s own feet, stationary and sunken in the snow as she eyed the large wooden building with a sign hammered along a plank off to its right in a messy fashion. She immediately pivoted in the direction of the paper door upfront, pressing her fingers to the wall to push it aside and make way as it disappeared the further it was slid.

Despite following suit, you had completely blanked out, mind fogged with nothing but a storm of plaguing thoughts and raw hatred for your earlier words lurching at your chest. In this very moment, you couldn’t even begin to describe the guilt gnawing at the back of your head over and over. Similarly to a demon whispering in your ear endlessly to send you spiraling into madness.

No. You don’t get to put the blame on a demon. You demeaned your beloved as an onryō despite claiming to love her. The only real demon here was you.

A swift tap dragged along your shoulder shook you out of your jaundiced trance, Mizu’s unfeeling eyes stabbing through yours as she stared you down.

“Come on. There’s a room available.”

You cocked your head in confusion, not following the series of events that followed while your mind was wandering off. A sigh pushed past her tongue as she looked over at you, an unamused look painted all over her face.

“The room. We’re staying at an inn for the night. Then we continue investigating tomorrow.”

“Oh. Okay..”

That was all you could whisper out. Even speaking to her reminded you of that pained expression etched onto her face, draining the affection thay once presided in her blue eyes.

As soon as the door to your room slid open, such a minute detail presenting itself before you twisted like a dagger to your heart, feeling it drop to your stomach like a heavy stone. The two futons situated on the floor, one each big enough to fit both you and Mizu on it, yet still having two seperate beds against the floor far apart from each other. Was this some higher power’s way of telling you that your relationship was done for?

Not wanting to be held back by spacing out again, you begrudgingly set your foot down within the confines of the room, stepping into it as you were drawn to the futon on the far left. Kneeling beside it, a somber tiredness masked your face as you stared down at the fabric, with a few slight wrinkles adorning its stretched edges. The futon was quite spacious as it was splayed out on the tatami mat, oddly comfortable as well as you ran a hand along the surface.

You paused for a moment, slowly turning a head behind your shoulder until you caught sight of Mizu in your periphery, intently transfixed on her grasping at the kasa in her hands before setting it down beside the end of her own futon, her tinted glasses following alongside her cloak in a small pile of discarded clothes—if you could even call such accessories that. The weights strapped to her arms and legs also loosened to the floor with a clank, joining the discard pile as she took in a deep breath.

Mizu almost immediately plopped herself atop the futon without so much as looking over at you, back facing you as she lay on her side with the weight of her head pressured atop her arm.

“Blow out the candle for me, will you?”

Averting your gaze from her back, you sluggishly padded over to the candle, each step you took burning your heels as you felt like you were carrying the deadweight of your own body. A quick rush of wind was expelled from your lungs as you puckered your lips to blow out the candle, the flame flickering momentarily before vanishing into a thin trail of smoke wavering in the air and stinging your nostrils.

The strong miasma of smoke you were close to began to swirl within your throat within the darkness of the room, breath hitching as your head fogged up from discomfort. Perhaps you should refrain from inhaling smoke, only idiots come close enough to purposefully take in the scent of an air that could beset your lungs.

Only idiots hurt the person they love, much less if that person has been hurt enough in their past.

Returning to your futon, you also proceeded to lay on your side facing away from Mizu, fighting back the urge to want to see her gorgeous face. You closed your eyes, albeit a bit hesitantly as you screwed them shut, wallowing the quiet, wordless atmosphere fostered in the darkness once dimly illuminated by a tiny flame.

Or rather, former silence.

Your eyes almost immediately shot open at the abrupt chime of a distant shamisen echoing miles away in the dead of night. The smooth strums continued to ring in your ears in a soothing, yet harsh melody. Strange. They often didn’t hold any kabuki theater plays this late at night. You remained perplexed at the endless melodic chimes of the shamisen, yet oddly relaxed. Unable to comprehend the reason behind such a noise drifting through the streets so late, yet enjoying the comfort it enveloped you in.

Such a shame your comfort tore away from you, this night possibly being the last night you could even lay eyes upon your lover. You were sure you’d shattered everything you had with one simple comment alone. In this moment, you were no better than the man who had betrayed her in the past.

No.

No. You could never be apart from Mizu.

She was everything to you. You were nothing but determined to repair what you had supposedly shattered, using all you had to get the pieces to snap back together as with every ounce of internal strength you could muster if that’s what it took.

You sat up in one fluid motion, weakly dragging yourself over to Mizu’s futon while swallowing back the urge to just head back and sleep, ignoring the notion that this wouldn’t make it any better. Her body rose and fell with each breath she took in her slumber, eyes shut with a weary expression even as she slept. Without hesitation, you adjusted yourself to curl up directly behind her in a spooning position of sorts, arms encircling her waist almost immediately as you pressed your nose against her nape.

Mizu only shot you a quizzical glare, blinking groggily at the sight of your arms tightly fastened around her waist.

“Your bed is over there, you know.”

“These futons are enough for two people. Besides, I want to sleep next to my husband.” You muttered against her skin, breath fluttering against her nape in a warm embrace. Her breath caught in her throat at the mention of the false title the two of you had to act on, muscles tensing up in your grasp.

“What if I kill you? I am a demon after all.” She reiterated, a bitter edge cutting a pang of anguish directly into the existing wound of guilt embedded within you. “I don’t care..” you choked out in a shaky voice, dragging your lower lip between your teeth to suppress the tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Mizu.”

…

The entire room fell silent once more, your heart threatening to burst out of your chest as soon as you felt the warm embrace of Mizu’s arms tightly curled around you, squeezing you to her chest as her face was buried within your hair.

“I shouldn’t have brushed you off like that either.”

You shook your head against her chest, a few tears rolling down your cheeks as Mizu’s expression relaxed, softening as she held you close to herself. Both of you remained in eachother’s embrace for a bit, relishing in the warmth of your wholehearted adoration. Despite the ridges that walled between you two at times, you would always come back to her. You know full well that she meant everything to you, while she reciprocated the same. She only hushed any more apologies spilling profusely from you, holding you tighter.

“Please..Mizu..let me do anything to make it up to you. Anything at all.”

You’ll never forget the sudden flare of hunger roused in her pupils as those words vibrated in her ears, bare hands outlining your body up to dig into your shoulders. Her voice came out in a quiet hum as she pursed her lips together, shaky hands fighting the ravenous desire to yank down the shoulders of your kimono right then and there.

“Anything?”

It didn't take long for you to catch onto her implication, your breath fanning in a series of shallow exhales as your torso pressed to hers with an urgent desire aflame within every drop of blood, every rushing fiber within your body screaming her name. Tilting your head up, you only rasped out a breathless plea as your lips ghosted over Mizu's, her heart pounding furiously against her chest to which you could quite literally feel from the clothed chest to chest proximity.

A palpable heat crept into the air as it fogged the atmosphere between you two, the tension fostered thick with a lustful infatuation hinted with the beauty of love itself. You couldn’t even pretend to hold yourself back, practically lunging yourself at Mizu as your lips smashed against her own, locking yourself in a passionate grasp accompanied by her hands wandering your body shamelessly as if she wanted to tear everything off without regard.

You gasped against her lips in response to her tightened hands bunching up fistfuls of your kimono silk, bundled up within her grasp as her tongue dragged along your lower lip, completely lost in the intense craving to devour you whole. Leaning back, you didn’t resist her hands tracing the darkened silhouette of your figure to slide down the shoulders of your clothing, urging her to undress you completely as you writhed in the unbearable heat your clothes trapped you in.

It didn’t take long for you to lay before her, flat against your back fully bare while your eyes lingered over Mizu’s now unclothed form as well, taking in every part of her nude body as you felt your face burn a deep crimson from the sheer beauty of the sight before your eyes. You couldn’t help but lose yourself in those gorgeous blue eyes, now heavy lidded and misted over with a covetous desire boring into your own.

Her lips found their way across your skin, kissing down your collarbone and tracing to your lower abdomen, hands snaked below your thighs as her gaze fixed on yours from below. You heard the subtle echo of your heartbeat thudding in the clearing as Mizu halted her movements for a second, seemingly having a thought interrupt her sensual touches along your body.

“Love..? Is something-“

“Hold on. I have something.” She interjected, reaching down into the discarded pile of clothing to scramble for a small—or rather large, rectangular box, fitted perfectly into her grasp as she lifted open the lid carefully. Breath hitching at the sight, your eyes flickered over to the phallic object firmly curled between her fingers, the length a nasty contrast to her earlier gentle kisses. You blinked in surprise at the fact that Mizu just- had a harigata on her, opening your mouth yet quickly snapping it shut as you didn’t exactly wanna question why she was carrying it around so casually.

You only responded to the sight with your heart throbbing in rapid beats, along in tandem with feeling a different kind of tingling fluttering between your thighs as you squeezed them shut upon seeing Mizu fasten the object around her waist.

—

“Fucking hell- you like that don’t you? You enjoy getting filled by a demon?”

Mizu hissed through her grit teeth as her hands squeezed at the flesh of your wrists, keeping them held down against the futon as her hips slammed forward into you to meet her skin against your with every fervent thrust. Your mouth hung open as your body jerked up everytime she bottomed out inside you, tear streaks coating your cheeks like a fashionable look to getting your insides wrecked by your lover.

Every wash of pleasure surged through your body as your walls accommodated to stretch out in response to the girth of her cock, clenching the velvety insides of your cunt to trap her inside, only to be met with her sliding the harigata out to drive back into you once more with a monstrous force. Eyes rolling back in bliss, you dragged your lower lip between your teeth in response to the rush of your blood igniting your body on fire, nails digging into Mizu’s back in response to the drag of her cock along your insides.

It was difficult to handle her rough movements ridging within the vice of your pussy, the tip of her faux cock circling that one spot inside you to drive you utterly insane. You were mad with lust as you clawed at Mizu for more whenever she paused, rolling your hips up with an aching need as a sinful ring of your slick, moist against the toy bounced off the walls of the room, only driving your girlfriend to drill you into the futon with a heightened arousal clouding her eyes.

Strings of incoherent cries and moans fell from your lips in a series of pathetic whimpers, wanton pants heaving your chest up and down as her cock lodged within you comfortably. Mizu grinded skin to skin with heightened desperation, using her strength to hold you down and reach that one spot that made you sob in ecstasy as she wrung you dry.

Her muscles tightened as her thrusts grew more rapid, face contorting in pleasure further on as if she was lost in it. She stared down at you as she fucked your into the futon harshly, grip tightening around your wrists and pushing you further without regard for anything but making you squirt all over the harigata. Strangely enough, her eyes shone with that same glint she harbored whenever she lusted for blood, brows furrowing as her pupils seemed transcendent and full hate, yet loving and burrowed in your pleasure.

“Say that you love it. Or are you so fucked out you can’t even let out a pathetic whimper?”

She gasped out a breathy laugh in response to your sobs, only jamming her hips further into you in a seemingly enraged manner.

“Oh? You can’t even talk? Such a shame. Here I thought you had a problem with demons bastards like me?”

She leaned her face in nose length with yours, meeting eye to eye with you as she continued rolling her hips harshly against yours.

“Say it. Say you’re sorry.”

Her girthy cock sunk into you at the command, only earning a cry ripped from your lips while you stared at the perverse sight of the dildo sheathing in and out of you sloppily, her hand moving to grasp your cheeks together and elicit a sharp cry. Mizu’s relentless thrusts spun your mind in a haze of euphoria, making you sputter out an apology despite being fucked into the mattress roughly without stopping for even a split second.

“I’m- m- mmh-!”

She rolled her eyes at the pitiful attempt, squeezing your face to look at her while she plowed into you with each powerful thrust nearly knocking the wind out of you.

“M’sorry! I’m sorry Mizu! I won’t ever- ah-! I won’t ever say that again please!”

You whined out, a smile crossing the woman’s features as she touched her forehead to yours, her thrusts keeping the same pace yet seeming far more controlled and gentle now. Mizu sighed against the crook of your neck, delicately peppering your skin to juxtapose her previously harsh and fervent movements against your poor, abused cunt. Her thumb darted down to circle your already swollen clit, hesitating momentarily before massaging the puffy bundle of nerves along with the gentle flurry of kisses along your collarbone.

It didn’t take long before Mizu’s hips plunged deep within you, her cock making one final movement before your juices ran down the dildo to dampen the futon, staining it in a darker color pooled between your trembling thighs. Unfasting the strap, she carefully withdrew herself from your pussy, setting aside the harigata as she pressed up to your limp body in an affectionate hold. Arms encompassing your heaving body, pressing kisses to the shell of your ear in acknowledgment that you did in fact do well for her, Mizu showered you with every action she could to possibly make you feel loved.

After your breathing subsided, Mizu thoughtfully rested her chin against your shoulder, humming to herself in satisfaction as you let out a shaky exhale.

“(Name)?”

“Mhm..?”

“I know we’re just putting on the whole husband and wife thing as an act but when we can…when I kill the remaining three..”

You tilted your head up, being met with a gentle kiss encompassing your body in a scorching flare of passion as she hemmed her arms around you tightly, like a promise to never let go.

“Marry me. Be my wife when everything is over. We can live away from everything. I’ll give you whatever you need- no..whatever you want.”

You were too spent to respond.

So with a smile, you manged a tender nod.



A/N: okay yall may like this but ima be fully honest…

I FUCKING HATE HOW THIS TURNED OUT SO MUCH ITS SO BAD.

IT DOESNT GIVE THE SAME VIBE AS MY USUAL MIZU FICS WHY DID I WRITE IT SO BAD FORGIVE ME

anyway my next mizu fic will actually be good trust sorry for making this ass anon 💔