#i feel like crying but he is not fucking worth it

[leona-hawthorne]

okay i have been waiting for this on the edge of my seat and i'm so fucking grateful that i finally got to sit down and read it (alone, of course, because my reactions were quite literally animalistic)

let me also add that the warnings themselves had me fucking moaning—alright now let's get into this!!

zoya, your writing truly has me in complete awe. "english is not my first language" okay and it appears that that literally does not matter at all because this??? this was a goddamn masterpiece.

(apologies in advance bc this is going to be an extremely long reblog)

He was insane. Truly insane. Almost unhinged. Mattheo Riddle was the definition of impulsive thoughts turned into reckless actions, actions that always led him to trouble. He was raw, magnetic, and dangerously unpredictable, the kind of person who attracted attention without even trying.

okay, but this right here??? the way you captured mattheo's essence so perfectly, i’m obsessed. like, he’s not just reckless—he’s raw and magnetic, and that’s such a powerful way to describe someone who’s constantly teetering on the edge of chaos. it’s like you reached into his chaotic little soul and pulled out the perfect words. it’s giving “force of nature,” and the way you wrote it feels so vivid and alive, like i can see him and feel the tension he carries everywhere he goes. your writing is so sharp and evocative, i can’t stop rereading this bit.

He didn’t just attract trouble; he craved it, needed it like it was the only thing keeping him seen.

the truth was different: he thrived on attention, bad or good, as if he needed it to keep himself whole.

my babyyy, he craves trouble like it’s the only way he can feel noticed. it’s like he’s reduced his own worth to just being seen and perceived by others, even if it means chaos. love how you captured that desperation in such a short line.

every corner seemed like an unsettling, cavernous form that resembled a muggle abandoned cathedral. It felt sacred in a weird twisted way, as if it were built to bear the weight of sinful actions that were too heavy to confess elsewhere.

how do you set the tone so well?!? the imagery is wildly vivid—i can almost feel the heaviness of the space, like it’s got its own dark history!!

The only thing he knew for sure was that you almost had him entirely.

And for him, that was awful enough.

oh this killed me—the tension between wanting something and being terrified of it. mattheo’s vulnerability here is chef's kiss, showing how much he's fighting against his feelings, even when he’s almost lost to them. such a perfect snapshot of their dynamic.

He never quite understood why his heart raced when he was in your presence, as if it might break through his ribs, his flesh, and fall directly into your palms, fully out of his power. At times he couldn't help but press his hand against his own chest, trying to stop it, trying to hold it back, but it only frustrated him further.

Nevertheless, there were times when he nearly wished his heart would simply give way and land in your hands so you could do with it whatever you pleased, whether that meant crushing it entirely or holding it tenderly between your fingers.

okay i am genuinely so in love with this whole part, i had to reread it like 3 times 😵‍💫 the internal conflict is so palpable—like, he’s torn between wanting to control something that’s clearly already beyond his grasp, but also secretly wishing to surrender to the one person who can break him. the image of him physically pressing down on his chest to stop it??? i am actually crying, zoya. ugh, and the fact that he doesn't care whether he'd be hurt or cared for—he just wants her, FUCK he is obsessed.

This ritual, this moment—it was his, only his. Yet, for some reason, he felt a twisted satisfaction knowing he was going to share it with you.

AHDHSFG his possessive ass actually enjoying sharing something??? aw he likes her 😚🤗

Mattheo let out a low, almost manic laugh as his gaze remained fixed on the blade in his hand.

the way he kept laughing like a fucking maniac throughout the entirety of this fic OMG i can almost hear it in my head, he's so fucking hot.

his grip tightening around your hand, not to soothe you, but to remind himself you were still there

I'M BLUSHING, idk if he's doing that solely because of the ritual but either way, the fact that he wants to reassure himself that she didn't go anywhere is making my heart squeeze in my chest 🥹

Mattheo chuckled dryly, releasing your hand to stop you from gripping it, from finding any comfort in his presence.

BITCH??!?! YOU ASSHOLE, hold my hand i'm scared ☹️

He was an insensitive prick, but dear god, he was a beautiful one. 

this is so true—HE'S FUCKING MEAN, but i genuinely have never seen a more angelic man 😭🪽

Shit, you’re not wearing a bra.

Mattheo swore the zipper on his pants was going to break any second.

alr here we go (i'm horny now)

Without a word he reached up and tugged his shirt over his head, casting it aside without care.

well shit, now we're both hard, mattheo!! 🤜💥🤛 (i am drooling at the thought of this rn)

Your bare chests were almost touching, the air thick with tension, your hard nipples brushing just slightly against his skin.

no, you actually don't understand—this is so intimate, i can just imagine the silence and the only sound being their heavy ass breathing, its so 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 also i think i would lose my mind if my nips were like JUST BARELY brushing against him, what a tease

With a deep breath, you pressed the blade to your palm, hissing softly as the edge cut into your skin, making you feel even more bare and open than you already did.

idk if you've seen stranger things but this is making me think of when nancy and jonathan did the same exact thing and cut their palms. that scene and the matching scars and just them in general is so dear to me, so this is making me feel so many things rn

Without warning, his lips pressed against the spot, his tongue tracing the blood.

“It’s so sweet,” he murmured, his teeth grazing the skin of your neck, the crimson of your blood staining them as he pulled you closer, pressing you against him in a way that felt almost inhuman. “So fucking sweet.”

okay mr vampire!! (this is so fucking hot i am literally struggling to function rn and i am lucky i didn't read this during ovulation 🙂‍↕️)

Mattheo chuckled in satisfaction, bringing his bloodied hand to your stomach, the crimson spreading across your exposed skin like a mark. “You like it, don’t you?”

MY JAW DROPPED PLEASE OH MY GOD, HIM SPREADING THE COLD BLOOD ON HER STOMACH?? I CAN IMAGINE MYSELF JERKING AWAY OMF YES DADDY I LOVE IT

Mattheo chuckled again against your throat, his teeth sinking into the spot once more, making you moan. He mimicked the sound...

i'm being so serious, this part will live on in my brain forever. him MIMICKING/MOCKING HER MOAN??? HE'S SO MEAN AND COCKY HOLY FUCK THAT WAS SO HOT

he guided your hand to your neck, then down to your breasts, trailing the blood like a map. Before you could react to the sting of your hard nipple pressing against the cut, Mattheo moved faster, pulling your nipple—now smeared with your own blood—into his mouth. 

spreading her own blood all over her body just so he can lick it off, oml can you spread my legs open next, mattheo? 😇 (jk, they're already spread)

The way his hands pushed your now bloody breasts together enough for his head to dive between them as he continued to whisper praises, words of hunger.

“Your tits…”Mattheo moaned even louder, dragging a moan from your lips in response. Fuck, he was so close.

first, AJDGHFDJHDRFGJHAFGHJSRGFJHSRF him pressing her tits together just to SHOVE HIS FACE IN BETWEEN oh he's so down bad 🤭 also the "your tits..." BOY. he was so cocky and degrading before—now he's all pathetic and obsessing over her tits? ah, just what I love to see 😮‍💨

“Open your mouth,” he commanded, an order you immediately understood. You obeyed without hesitation, and before you could react, he spat into your mouth and thrust his tongue inside, kissing you deeply.

yes sir please spit in my mouth (he's so nasty and disgusting and i fucking love him for it)

You could feel Mattheo’s cheeks pressed against your thighs as he buried himself in your pussy, suffocating himself in your scent and taste. He mentally begged some higher power to let him one day die like this...

YES PLEASE LET ME SUFFOCATE YOU BETWEEN MY LEGS MATTY PLS 🙏 "let him one day die like this" he is so obsessed god i love this so much

“Such a pretty one you are,” he muttered, his words slurring into the juices of your cunt.

THE WAY HE CAN'T TEAR HIS FACE AWAY EVEN JUST FOR A MOMENT TO SPEAK AJDGSGDFHSDFG i would actually be dying at all the praise

clearly, i got a little carried away with this reblog (this is literally the longest reblog i’ve ever made 🧍🏻‍♀️), but what can i say? this was 6.3k words of art and i had to include all my favorite parts 🤷‍♀️🙂‍↕️

love you zoya!!!! 🫂🤍

𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐍

mattheo riddle x fem reader

SUMMARY. in which mattheo seeks power and needs your help to perform a blood ritual. WORDS. +6.3K. english is not my first language.

WARNINGS. smut, mdni, porn w//plot, mean mattheo, aged up characters, friends to fuck buddies, blood play, blood kink, cuts, spitting, nipple sucking, oral sex f!receiving, pussy drunk mattheo, handjob, dirty talk, biting, marking.

navigation -> masterlist

He was insane. Truly insane. Almost unhinged. Mattheo Riddle was the definition of impulsive thoughts turned into reckless actions, actions that always led him to trouble. He was raw, magnetic, and dangerously unpredictable, the kind of person who attracted attention without even trying. Every move he made, every word he spoke, every breath he took was saturated with confidence and superiority.

He didn’t just attract trouble; he craved it, needed it like it was the only thing keeping him seen.

Mattheo was like a storm no one could outrun, an enigma without resolution, and that was exactly what made him so intoxicating. There was something in his presence that pulled people toward him, whether in admiration or fear, and no one could quite decide if it was for better or worse. He wasn’t just hard to ignore; he was impossible to overlook. He demanded attention simply by existing, and it was maddening, the way he could dominate a room with nothing more than a simple glance.

It could have been for a lot of reasons. Maybe it was the way he acted like he didn’t have a care in the world, the sharp, biting comments he always seemed to have ready, words that stuck like blood on stone.Or maybe it was the fights, the way he seemed to throw himself into them too often, always coming out with the same satisfied expression. After all, he was the only son of the Dark Lord, and that alone was enough to draw all kinds of attention.

Whatever was the reason, chaos seemed to follow him everywhere, like he thrived on it. Perhaps he didn’t care at all. No outsider really knew, and no one ever tried to figure him out. Nobody had the courage to do so.

Either way, there were always whispers about him, cruel rumors about his personality and massive ego, some saying he was just like his father, or maybe even a darker version of him, while others came from students eager to get close in obscene ways, hoping to spend a night with their bodies tangled in his. 

Yet Mattheo didn’t show that he cared, always pretending to be focused on his own goals, moving through the chaos unshaken and unbothered, though deep down, the truth was different: he thrived on attention, bad or good, as if he needed it to keep himself whole.

But you had seen enough to know the truth. He was cruel, ruthless, and everything people whispered about him, perhaps even worse. And yet, here you were, trapped in his chaos, each moment with him drawing you deeper into the darkness.

You were trapped. Absolutely trapped.

Perhaps it was in the way he looked at you, his deep brown eyes burning with an intensity that stole your breath away, leaving you struggling to keep your heart from racing, as if he saw something inside of you that you weren’t capable of seeing. Or maybe it was the way his words stayed in your mind long after they were spoken, carving their way into your thoughts like a knife you didn’t want to pull out, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were already in too deep.

If you thought about it more, you didn’t know what had brought you here. The main factor to why you were so attracted to an ongoing fire.

Could be the adrenaline from his strange proposal, or the way you couldn’t stop thinking about him, his presence always glued to your mind. Could also be the need to be near him, the way your body moved toward his as if it had no will of its own, or perhaps it was the way he seemed to control your heart in a way you couldn’t even understand. It was twisted, even a little scary, but neither of you cared.

After all, you were friends.

You didn’t know when it stopped feeling like curiosity—just a lingering thought— but the doubt never really went away. Instead it became prominent, tight in your chest whenever he was around. There was something darker about him, something dangerous in the way he lived recklessly, only focused on his own desires, how he thrived on the attention he got, pulling you deeper without even trying.

And now, standing there, you couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever came next, there was no turning back. No escape.

The Room of Requirement was cloaked in dark shadows, the silence broken only by the faint hiss of flickering candles. Their soft, wavering light offered a fragile sense of comfort, though it did little to ease the tension hanging in the air. The atmosphere was thick and heavy, saturated with the acrid tang of burning incense and something darker, almost unspoken.

Torchlight flickered across the cold stone walls, making jagged patterns that twisted and stretched with each almost shiny flicker. That night, the requirement room felt weird, unlike the form other students seemed to used—every corner seemed like an unsettling, cavernous form that resembled a muggle abandoned cathedral. It felt sacred in a weird twisted way, as if it were built to bear the weight of sinful actions that were too heavy to confess elsewhere.

The faint metallic scent in the air lingered, sharp and heavy, mixed with something even more heavy, felt almost like a warning. On the stone floor, crude runes spiraled out in precise, jagged lines, their edges glowing faintly as though alive and energetic, pulsing in time with the biting silence as if they were watching, waiting to know what was about to take place.

In the center of it all stood Mattheo Riddle, the one person who seemed to take up every space in your mind, his dark robes draping loosely over his strong frame, giving him an effortless air of power, his features, defined and almost angelic, partially hidden by his messy curls that always fell into his pretty eyes.

The flickering torchlight danced off his hair with every movement, making it seem almost alive; there was something strange about how his appearance seemed almost angelic, yet you knew Mattheo’s true personality, making him all the more dangerous, like a trap just waiting for you to step in.

He could look still, even controlled, but there was nothing controlled about this. Nothing about him was controlled.

Mattheo looked at the dagger in his hands, his gaze drifting over the blade, but it wasn’t the dagger that had his attention. It was you. Your eyes were on him, and it felt like he was being torn apart with just that look. It wasn’t like the attention he was used to—no fear or admiration in it.

No, this was different. It was more like an assessment. The weight of your gaze was almost suffocating, as if you were digging into him, getting under his skin in a way that made him feel stupidly exposed and making him feel a strange sensation tighten in his chest, choking his throat in ways he couldn’t understand, and he hated it.

He hated how you made him feel like this—torn between wanting to get closer and wanting to run away from that. And even if it was good or bad; neither mattered. He didn’t want to know. The only thing he knew for sure was that you almost had him entirely.

And for him, that was awful enough.

He never quite understood why his heart raced when he was in your presence, as if it might break through his ribs, his flesh, and fall directly into your palms, fully out of his power. At times he couldn't help but press his hand against his own chest, trying to stop it, trying to hold it back, but it only frustrated him further.

Nevertheless, there were times when he nearly wished his heart would simply give way and land in your hands so you could do with it whatever you pleased, whether that meant crushing it entirely or holding it tenderly between your fingers. He wasn't certain which would provide him with greater comfort, but he was certain that if you gave him that satisfaction, he will never be the same again.

Mattheo sighed and shook his head rapidly, making a dramatic gesture as he attempted to avoid your concentrated, evaluating stare on him once more. He concentrated on the tiny silver dagger in his hand, trying not to hold it too firmly in his palm, but nothing could take away the sensation, and even if it didn't cause him any discomfort, the pressure that made it was obvious.

He let out another sigh, this time frustrated, rubbing his forehead, but couldn’t help releasing another, this time a relieved one, when he saw your attention shift to the two circles drawn around him, almost like some kind of illustration, and he couldn’t help but smirk knowingly as he noticed the change in your expression; at the confusion in your eyes and at your furrowed brows as you tried to make sense of the strange symbols, carefully etched inside the circles on the floor.

Mattheo looked away, quickly shifting his focus to the symbol at his feet. In comparison with the other symbols, this one was far more complex, with each line and curve being meticulous and precise. As he raised his chin in satisfaction with what he did, Mattheo couldn't help but widen his smirk into a full grin, an equal amount of pride and arrogance coming across his expression.

This ritual, this moment—it was his, only his. Yet, for some reason, he felt a twisted satisfaction knowing he was going to share it with you. Even though you were there not completely voluntarily, you still had a place in it, whether you liked it or not. 

This time, it was Mattheo who looked at you with an intense, almost predatory gaze, his hand tightening once more around the blade in his palm as he kept his eyes on you. He was already preparing to take the first step toward the power he would gain from what you two were about to do. All he needed was your final confirmation and for you to step into the middle of the circle with him.

“Are you ready for this?” His voice broke the silence, low and almost a purr, making you look up at him. Ready? Fuck no. In fact, you were terrified. Every part of you screamed to run, to get as far away from this room and this stupid ritual as possible. But your body didn’t listen to your brain. Your heart didn’t either. Instead, you stayed still, frozen, your eyes locked with his own, already filled with amusement and something darker, like a challenge. 

You knew this was stupid. Hell, it was almost suicidal. A ritual to give him more power, cutting your own hand, spilling your blood, mixing it with his just to make him stronger. It was madness. More than that, even.

But then again, a part of you wanted it. A part of you wanted to leave a piece of yourself with him, to bind yourself to him in some twisted way. And for some fucked-up reason, you craved that. You wanted to be marked by him, to have a part of you inside him forever. Mattheo had already carved his mark into your mind, into the darkest corners of your heart, and now you wanted to do the same.

Stupid curiosity.

“Well?” Mattheo asked again, his voice dripping with amusement, though you could hear the faint edge of annoyance creeping in. He tried to hold onto his usual confident, relaxed demeanor, but it was slipping. “What’s it gonna be?” The same damn question. You wouldn’t be stupid enough to make him ask a third time. 

“I…” You paused, your voice cracking, and you couldn’t help but curse yourself under your breath as you felt his gaze digging into you, waiting for the answer he wanted. “I think I’m ready,” you finally said, taking a step forward, ignoring the part of you screaming to get the hell out of there. Yet your body moved faster than your mind, and before you knew it, you took an unconscious step closer to him, making his eyebrow quirk in amusement. 

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, his smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You think?” he repeated, his voice thick with mockery. He almost laughed; if it were not for the situation you two were in.

“Fuck—” you hissed under your breath, cursing yourself again, and Mattheo’s smirk stretched wider. “I’m ready.” You corrected yourself, the words tasting wrong. “I’m ready,” you said again, this time to convince yourself more than him.

Mattheo let out a low, almost manic laugh as his gaze remained fixed on the blade in his hand. The sound sent an unexpected shiver down your spine, and your cheeks flushed as his voice echoed in your ears. When he looked back at you, his eyes were softer than before, though the usual intensity remained, as if he was offering something that, despite not being comfort, somehow left you feeling relieved in a way.

He stretched his hand towards you, his voice calmer than before but still firm. “Let’s go. The sooner we start, the sooner this thing is going to end.” The sooner he would have control. Mattheo called you again, and you let out a soft sigh before taking that first step.

Each step you took was filled with hesitation, but your body didn’t seem to care. It moved toward the circle, fighting the doubt gnawing on your mind. When you finally stepped inside, you couldn’t hold back a small sigh as your hand found Mattheo’s. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, your cheeks flushing as you saw the same smirk on his lips, the reaction causing a tug on your heart. He didn’t need to say anything; you could feel how much he enjoyed this, how much he knew the effect he had on you.

Sometimes you wanted to punch him. 

As soon as you took his hand, Mattheo’s confidence wavered slightly; his heart pounded just by your touch. However, he couldn’t hide the dark amusement in his eyes as he watched your flushed cheeks and how your body betrayed you. It was too easy.

“This,” he said, gesturing to the intricate runes carved into the floor with the tip of his dagger, his grip tightening around your hand, not to soothe you, but to remind himself you were still there. “It’s going to hurt like hell.” He said it with such ease, as if the pain and the blood were just a minor part. You swallowed hard, the confirmation of what you already knew settling deep in your stomach. “At least for you,” he added with an eyebrow raised, his voice laced with amusement.

His words weren’t reassuring at all—not that you expected them to be. He didn’t care about calming you or making this easier to bear. That wasn’t his style, and it never had been. Mattheo thrived in chaos, in mess, and he wanted you to feel every bit of it. He wanted to pull you into the madness, to push you until you struggled to keep yourself together.

“You’re not exactly helping me calm down, you know?” you said through gritted teeth, barely stopping yourself from telling him to go fuck himself. 

Mattheo chuckled dryly, releasing your hand to stop you from gripping it, from finding any comfort in his presence. “Glad to know, sweetheart.” He said casually, like it didn’t matter at all. “But who said I want you to calm down?” he murmured, and you might have thought he was joking if it weren’t for the fact that you had known him for years.

You scoffed at his lack of sympathy. It wasn’t surprising, though; his attitude was one of the things that drew you to him, even if it wasn’t exactly healthy. You watched as he lit more candles, the flame dancing with every step he took, highlighting the sharp lines of his features. He was an insensitive prick, but dear god, he was a beautiful one. 

After a few seconds, Mattheo stood up, still holding the dagger in his hand. He glanced at you, and for a brief moment, something in his gaze made his heartbeat almost thud down his ribs. He took a few steps toward you, and your eyes met. His dark eyes were intense, unreadable, and the weight of the air between you made your stomach twist. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and steady, with a hint of mischief in his tone. The corner of his mouth twitched, the excitement creeping slowly.

“Take off your shirt.”

You blinked, shocked, and for a few seconds, all your fear vanished. “Excuse me?!”

Mattheo observed you, almost as if he were stripping you bare. “Your shirt,” he repeated, his tone annoyingly dismissive. He spun the dagger in his palm with flawless precision, taking a step closer as if your hesitancy pleased him. “Take it off,” he said almost coolly, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

You crossed your arms, feeling your heart race as your face flushed with heat. “And why, exactly, do I need to do that?” You snapped, your voice sharp. You had fantasized a thousand times about Mattheo asking you to do this, but you never imagined it would actually happen, especially not now, in this situation. 

“For the ritual,” he said simply, tilting his head and giving you a smirk that bordered on taunting, as though the answer should’ve been obvious. “I need access to your skin, sweetheart. The magic won’t work otherwise.” His words were smooth, but you couldn’t shake the feeling they held a hint of mockery.

You hesitated, studying him closely. There was something about his response that didn’t sit right, too casual in a way that felt almost taunting, like he wasn’t being completely honest. “You’re making that up,” you said flatly, letting your arms drop to your sides, your eyes narrowing as you searched on his face for a sign of truth. 

His smirk widened, and he continued to twirl the dagger between his fingers, his eyes locked on you. The sight of your flushed cheeks only seemed to make him think with his other head. “Am I?” He took another step closer. 

“Please, Mattheo, I know that’s bullshit!” you spat out, trying to ignore how his smug expression made your skin heat, though particularly of you couldn’t help but consider it.

Mattheo let out a low chuckle, stepping closer, the tension between you nearly unbearable. His voice dipped, rough and almost deliberate, as his dark eyes shamelessly trailed down your body before locking onto yours again.

“Alright,” he murmured, a smile laying wickedly on his lips. “Maybe it’s not entirely necessary. But it helps. A lot.”

The dagger moved lazily in his hand, the sharp edge skimming his palm without cutting his palm. His gaze never left you, steady and intense, like a predator watching its prey. “And we both know you want this to work out, don’t we, sweetheart?” 

Your breath hitched in your throat at his words, a truth you hated to admit even to yourself. You wanted him to notice you—really notice you—the way his gaze seemed to strip you bare, peeling back layers you didn’t even realize you had. But the sharp flare of anger clawed its way up your chest, tangling with the strange pull he always seemed to have over you, leaving you somewhere between furious and helpless.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, shaking your head, the disappointment cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. You weren’t sure if it was aimed at him or at yourself for falling into this moment—this trap. Probably both. 

“And yet,” he said, taking another step toward you, “here you are.” He mocked you, making you bite your tongue to stop yourself from telling him to fuck off. 

The space between you two was basically nonexistent now, and Mattheo fucking hated it. Hated that it was him moving closer, like he couldn’t help himself. Hated how his body had a mind of its own, reacting to you in ways that made him feel like an idiot. The thought of you, without your shirt, without anything, was driving him insane, his imagination running wild no matter how much he tried to shove it down.

Fuck. He could already feel the strain in his pants, his cock pressing uncomfortably against the fabric. It pissed him off—how easily you got under his skin, how fucking hard it was to keep his cool around you. 

“Fine,” you bit out, your voice rougher than you felt, and Mattheo’s smile twisted with satisfaction, practically waiting for you to do it. You exhaled sharply, trying to ignore the way his eyes were glued to you. Your fingers lingered at the hem of your shirt, heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to find the guts to go through with it. 

Mattheo’s smirk only deepened, his eyes never leaving you, and for a moment, it felt like he was inside your head, reading you like a damn book. His gaze dropped low, just enough to make your skin prickle with awareness. You seemed so fucking soft. “Need help?” he asked, voice dripping with mockery. 

“Shut up, Mattheo” you snapped, yanking the fabric over your head in one swift motion, a shiver running through your whole body. Shit, you’re not wearing a bra.

The second the shirt left your body, the air felt heavier, but you felt the coldness against your exposed skin and nipples. Mattheo’s expression shifted, his smirk slipping for a moment as his eyes scanned over you, taking in more than you were prepared to show. You cursed yourself for not wearing a bra under the thin fabric, your chest bare under the dim torchlight and his searing gaze. Mattheo swore the zipper on his pants was going to break any second.

You couldn't help but feel trapped by his piercing stare as his eyes remained on you, shamelessly tracing your hard nipples. He seemed oblivious; nonetheless, his eyes burned with need as his mind wandered, thinking about the taste of his tongue on your nipples, sucking and biting until all you could think about was the feel of his wet tongue. He held the dagger tightly, only reacting when the blade cut into his flesh.

“Well,” he began, attempting to put the thoughts flowing through his head to the back of his mind, his voice rougher than before, “guess you were more ready than we thought.” He mocked you again, but it seemed like he was also mocking himself.

You could feel your cheeks burning, a mix of anger and something else boiling inside you. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to block him out, but the moment you saw the way Mattheo’s eyes were fixed on you filled with desire, your hands fell to your sides, betraying your own brain. You wanted this. You wanted him to see you, to really see you.

But as you realized you were staring at him in the same way, you quickly shook your head, trying to push down the desire and need, force some control back into your own voice. “Just get on with it,” you ‘snapped’, trying to hide how much it stung, how much you craved that attention. 

Mattheo’s smirk returned, but this time it was sharper, full with devilment. He took another step toward you, his eyes never leaving yours, and gestured toward the circle with a lazy flick of his hand. “As you wish.”

His expression didn’t shift, his confidence simmering just below the surface as he stepped even closer to you, trying not to look at your bare chest. His eyes flickered to the symbols on the ground, their faint glow reflecting in the depths of his gaze. Without a word he reached up and tugged his shirt over his head, casting it aside without care. He didn’t look at you but still waited for your reaction. You had already drawn one from him—only fair if he returned the favor, right?

You, on the other hand, swallowed hard, your gaze shamelessly tracing the lines of his abdomen and bare, muscular chest. The candles and torchlight cast sharp shadows across the scars etched into his skin, and you held your breath without meaning to. When he glanced forward slightly, his eyes still on the ground as he did so, he had to stifle a chuckle at the sight of your clenched fists, trying to control yourself.

This was going to be fun, at least.

For a brief moment, neither of you spoke or moved. The silence stretched thin, both of you consumed by the same thoughts, the same dirty images racing through your minds. Your chests rose and fell heavily, both of you struggling to regain a normal breath. It was fucking madness. 

Mattheo quickly composed himself, standing at the point of the small symbol on the ground, making sure you mirrored his position on the opposite side. Your bare chests were almost touching, the air thick with tension, your hard nipples brushing just slightly against his skin. He gave a low sigh, words slipping from his lips in a language you couldn’t understand, his voice deep and commanding.

As soon as the words left his mouth, the symbols on the floor pulsed to life, glowing with an eerie light, while the candle flames flickered wildly, as though responding to his words. 

He looked at the dagger in his hand, a proud glint in his eyes before letting his gaze drift up to your face. His eyes lingered on your features, the softness of your eyes, the way your lips parted just enough to drive him insane. He almost couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to touch you, but he stayed still, his jaw tight. “Are you ready?” he asked, his lips moving without sound. “I am,” you mouthed back, the hesitation in your eyes impossible to miss. But he ignored it, choosing to focus on the way you stood there—no turning back now, and honestly? He didn’t want you to cover up. 

Mattheo gripped the dagger with steady hands, his brown eyes flickering briefly to the runes as if making sure everything was aligned. Without a second thought, he pressed the sharp blade to his palm, slicing through the skin with quick, practiced precision. The blood surged from the cut, dripping thick and dark onto the glowing runes below. They reacted violently, flaring brighter, more alive, as if the blood was feeding the symbols, feeding him. 

You held your breath, knowing you were next. But you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing at the ground, watching his blood drip onto the floor beneath both of your feet.

After a few seconds, he lifted his chin, pride in his eyes, his curls moving like the magic around the circles. He grabbed your hand without a word, pressing the dagger into your palm, his gaze never leaving yours. He was waiting, daring you to cut yourself just like he had. 

You felt his blood drip onto your wrist, the warmth of it sending a jolt through your veins. As the dagger pressed into your palm, a breath caught in your throat. The weight of the blade was more than you expected, and for a moment, your eyes lingered on the crimson stains left by Mattheo’s cut, almost hypnotic, tempting you.

Your heart quickened, your pulse echoing in your ears. You hesitated—for a moment. His eyes found you once again, a look that urged you to continue. The hesitation lingering in your heart suddenly dispersed; you wanted nothing but to mark him as yours.

With a deep breath, you pressed the blade to your palm, hissing softly as the edge cut into your skin, making you feel even more bare and open than you already did. The pain was sharp, fleeting, quickly replaced by the blood spilling down your skin, as the runes reacted violently to your action, their glow flaring in response. 

It was instantaneous. The moment your blood touched the floor, the room seemed to exhale, the light flaring brighter and the air humming with a charged, almost electric energy as the ritual began. But the reaction was brief, for Mattheo’s focus shifted.

Mattheo’s gaze was fixed on the cut on your hand, his eyes wide and unblinking, as if he was mesmerized by the crimson blood streaks trailing down your wrist, mingling with his the drops of his blood already on your skin. His jaw clenched, and you swore you saw him swallow hard as he continued to look, his chest rising and falling with a depth of intensity you’d never seen in him before. 

“Mattheo?” You called softly, your voice barely above a whisper, your heartbeat quickening against your bare chest. Yet, it was enough to break his attention.

His eyes naturally met yours once again, vulnerability flickering in his gaze, though the rest of his expression remained unreadable, like a contrast to the hunger simmering beneath. But Mattheo didn't step back. Instead, his calloused fingers brushed against the blood on your wrist, smearing it slightly. The contact sent a jolt through you, and for a moment, neither of you remembered how to breathe.

“Mattheo…” you called out again, but this time it was almost a plea for him not to stop. He obeyed your unspoken request, his fingers tracing your skin as if exploring new territory, so gently that it almost made you forget the lingering sting in your hand. 

Mattheo’s hands moved deliberately, spreading the blood from the deep cut on your hand. He seemed oblivious to the matching wound on his own skin as he dragged the crimson trail up to your neck, smearing it across your skin. Without warning, his lips pressed against the spot, his tongue tracing the blood. He let out a low groan at the taste, and you couldn’t suppress your own when you felt the warmth of his tongue against you. 

“It’s so sweet,” he murmured, his teeth grazing the skin of your neck, the crimson of your blood staining them as he pulled you closer, pressing you against him in a way that felt almost inhuman. “So fucking sweet.” His teeth continued to drag along your skin, while his hand slid down your arm, seeking more of your blood. His fingers tightened around your palm, squeezing to draw out more of the liquid, making you groan in a mix of pain and pleasure as the burn surged through you. 

“Shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart,” Mattheo whispered, biting your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin painfully. He didn’t care about the grunt of pain that escaped your lips, not when more blood joined the one already staining your throat. Right after his first bite, you moaned, your thighs rubbing together in an attempt to ease the wetness in your cunt. 

Mattheo chuckled in satisfaction, bringing his bloodied hand to your stomach, the crimson spreading across your exposed skin like a mark. “You like it, don’t you?” he murmured against your throat, pressing his lips to the marks he had left with his teeth. But when he noticed you hadn’t answered, he bit your neck harder than before and squeezed your stomach, causing more blood to spread across the area. 

You swallowed hard, locking eyes with him as you tried to form a sentence, but the only words that escaped your lips were a barely audible, “Yes, fucking yes,” which only made him laugh harder. He tightened his grip on your skin, sending a sharp sting through your own body. 

“Of course you do… such a fucking slut,” Mattheo chuckled again against your throat, his teeth sinking into the spot once more, making you moan. He mimicked the sound, feeling his pants tighten around his cock as he tasted your blood again on his teeth. His tongue throbbed with desire, savoring the metallic taste. Holy shit, he could cum just from the taste of your blood. “But you taste so damn good.” 

He seemed to have completely forgotten the ritual, and you, too, had let it slip away. You didn’t want to remember, not when his blood stained your skin, not when your own blood marked him, and not when his mark lingered on you. 

Mattheo pulled back slightly, looking at your state and the way your plush lips were parted as you stared at him, your eyes filled with the same desire he showed. 

Without warning, Mattheo grabbed your cut hand with the one resting on your stomach, his blood mingling with yours as he guided your hand to your neck, then down to your breasts, trailing the blood like a map. Before you could react to the sting of your hard nipple pressing against the cut, Mattheo moved faster, pulling your nipple—now smeared with your own blood—into his mouth. 

You let out a loud moan as you felt his tongue teasing the tips of your bloodied breasts, the taste of your blood on his tongue making him swirl around your breast more eagerly. The sensation only made him harder beneath his robes, each moan of his growing louder as he savored the taste of you. 

You were lost in the pleasure of his mouth, concentrated with the way his tongue lapped like a hungry animal. The way his hands pushed your now bloody breasts together enough for his head to dive between them as he continued to whisper praises, words of hunger. You didn’t hear nothing but the sounds of his mouth nor saw how he desperately reached for release, your body causing him to react out of character.

“Fuck...” he murmured, his hand releasing the softness of your skin as he reached down towards his pants. Fast, uncoordinated, he released his cock from the restraints, his bloody hands wrapping around his cock that dripped with precum. His movements grew faster, driven by the growing intensity of the taste of blood on his tongue.

You looked down, catching a glimpse through the small crease of his neck as he dragged his palm over his hard cock while sucking on your nipples. You couldn’t help but moan louder, your bloody hand gripping his shoulders as you tried to ignore how your body was responding—the wetness between your legs that you knew he could feel. 

“Your tits…”Mattheo moaned even louder, dragging a moan from your lips in response. Fuck, he was so close.

“Fuck, your blood tastes so fucking good.” He moaned louder, and as he sucked harder on your nipples, his mouth closing around the bud tighter. Your chest was now covered in his bites, the marks of Mattheo Riddle, almost like a sign of ownership. Your body quivered against his hold, rubbing pathetically against him as you felt the tingle flutter in your stomach. You were close, lost in the daze, you had no idea whether it was from pleasure or the lost of blood—or both. You were desperately clinging to his shoulders, his name falling from your lips like a spell.

The hold on his length tightened in his hand, and he came instantly. Another hoarse moan escaped his throat, and he pulled away from your chest for a moment, gasping for air. You gripped onto his shoulders once more, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. So sudden, so quick you fell against his hold as your body convulsed with pleasure.

Mattheo leaned against you, allowing himself a moment to relax. But when he noticed the blood still running down your throat from where he had placed your hand, he couldn’t help but let out a growl. He yanked your hair back harshly, making you gasp and exposing your throat, your scream barely escaping as he did so. 

“Mattheo…!” You tried to speak, but he didn’t care; he never did. He only pushed you further against him, your nipples pressed against his bare chest as he licked your throat, letting out another groan as he tasted the metallic flavor again. His tongue traced the line of your throat, dragging the blood up to your chin, before he licked it off obscenely, making you sigh at the sensation. 

Mattheo’s hand in your hair tightened, and in one swift motion, he turned you onto your back, pulling your hair even harder as your back arched against him. “Open your mouth,” he commanded, an order you immediately understood. You obeyed without hesitation, and before you could react, he spat into your mouth and thrust his tongue inside, kissing you deeply.

The kiss was rough and erotic, the fire burning from the inside making it impossible to avoid it. You could taste your own blood on his tongue, and it only made your cunt wetter, the intensity overwhelming. It was too much—more than you’d ever imagined.

You had pictured moments like this, where you and Mattheo would kiss, tasting each other’s tongues, but this was different. It wasn’t the fantasy you had dreamed of; it was raw, wild, and rougher than anything you could have ever anticipated. His teeth clashed with yours, and your tongue tangled with his, as he unleashed his most primal side. He was giving you a taste of the part of you he had consumed, and you were trapped, just as you always would be.

You didn’t care about the pain in your scalp, only the hand that held you.

Mattheo’s hands were rough, touching everything he could. His mouth marking you over and over as he swallowed every small noise you released. He was warm, too warm, a sting feeling in your mouth as he sucked and bit into your lips, the softness of your skin tethering as his mouth was once again filled with the sweetness of your blood.

He was about to lose his mind.

Mattheo sighed against your now split lip, “Stop me… Tell me to stop, and I will.” He wouldn’t; you both knew it.

You held him against you tighter; you were already too deep into him—all you wanted was to devour him, mark him enough to show everyone he belonged to you, only you. You wanted to inflict a pain he would never forget, a pain similar to the pain he caused you, so you did. Your hands wrapped around his neck, your mouth tracing his lips, then his cheeks, then suddenly the warmth of his neck. Mattheo gripped you hard; he made no sudden movement, anxiously awaiting your motive. You bit into his neck, sucking the flushed skin as your teeth marked him with the same strength he did to you. 

Another soft flow came into your mouth, you gasped, the metallic taste odd in your mouth but enough to send your heart thundering.

Mattheo whimpered, his dominant facade slipping as he sickly enjoyed the way you took control. You were so sweet, so delicate—you were completely the opposite. The idea he corrupted you twisted a sick, powerful thought in his brain. You were his. 

Your tongue reached towards his mouth again, finding yourself eye to eye with the man you wanted nothing more than to control. “Don’t ever stop; I need you.”

Mattheo grinned, his lips bloody, his brown eyes becoming dark as he suddenly pushed you towards the runes that glowed against your body. The symbols glowed, vibrating with the blood that dripped onto it. As he stood over you, he wished to capture the moment forever. You looked so fucking pretty.

He leaned over, his knees staining with the blood smeared against the cold tiles. His fingers moved quickly, desperately. He watched as your body spoke to him, reacting to every touch. Your breasts covered in his marks, his blood and yours on them that caused his cock to twitch violently.

He wanted more than the taste of your breasts; he wanted to taste the juices that gathered in the silk of your panties. He wanted to feel the way your cunt twitched and throbbed against his mouth, and damn, did he want nothing more than to have you fuck yourself on his tongue. The sweetest angel from Hogwarts all displayed for him, to hell with the ritual; now he just wanted to swallow you whole. 

Without warning, he hoisted your legs onto his shoulders with an almost violent urgency, a deep moan escaping his lips as he leaned closer to your wet pussy. The intoxicating scent filled his senses, making his bloodied hand tighten around your thigh, gripping it as if commanding you to choke him; a command you had no intention of disobeying.

Mattheo looked at your face, the dried blood around your parted lips, your cheeks flushed from everything he was doing to you, and your dilated pupils watching him anxiously. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, and you instantly bit your lip. Fuck, he was about to get hard again. 

“Please, I need you, Mattheo,” you begged, rubbing your hips desperately, trying to get closer to his flushed face. You needed his mouth, and he was more than willing to be a good friend and give you exactly what you wanted. 

“No need to beg like a slut, sweetheart,” he said, moving closer to your pulsing cunt, the light from the dunes making your wetness glisten even more. You held your breath as his warm breath ghosted over your slick folds. “I’m eager to give you what you want,” he murmured, leaning even closer, his nose brushing against your arousal as he took in your scent. Just as you were about to beg him to do something, his tongue was quicker—teasing, tasting, and finally giving in to the need to lick you.

Mattheo followed his instincts and hunger, his palms gripping your thighs even tighter, leaving bloodstained marks on your skin just as he had on the rest of your body. The sting of his own cut burned with the pressure, but he didn’t stop, sliding his hands to your hips as his tongue moved swiftly against your folds, savoring and memorizing every inch of you.

You could feel Mattheo’s cheeks pressed against your thighs as he buried himself in your pussy, suffocating himself in your scent and taste. He mentally begged some higher power to let him one day die like this—only after his hunger was completely satisfied. Your back arched, heat swirling in your stomach as Mattheo licked your pussy with reckless desperation.

He was ravenous, savoring every part of you, and when your nails dug into his scalp, he let out another growl, pushing himself even deeper between your legs, making you moan even louder.

“Fucking yes, sweetheart,” he murmured against your pussy, sucking harder as your cries of pleasure filled the room. “Keep moaning like a slut, keep saying my name.” He bit down on your flesh, making you moan even louder, your legs trembling around him. He chuckled darkly, the vibrations of his laughter sending shocks through your body and making you cry out even more.

Fuck the ritual, fuck the power—the only power he craved was the power he held over you.

“Mattheo,” you moaned even louder, rocking your hips against his face as your fingers tangled in his hair, pushing him closer. “Right there, oh my—!” you cried out, feeling him lose himself between your legs, consumed by his thoughts and the blood still staining his lips.

Mattheo’s fast, steady movements continued, his almost feral tongue lapping at your cunt as his hands roamed your body. He could feel his cock harden at the sound of your sweet moans. Fuck, the taste of your blood mingled with your arousal was divine—almost too much for him to bear. 

He continued kissing your clit, desperate to savor your full taste, his tongue messily exploring your folds, drinking in every drop he could. All you felt in the moment was him. The sounds muffled as if underwater. Your fingers dug into his scalp, causing him to flick his tongue against your bud faster, his fingers circling it, his grin plastered with pride as he heard you cry loudly.

“Such a pretty one you are,” he muttered, his words slurring into the juices of your cunt.

You only released a jumble of words, your bare back arching as you squirmed beneath him. You were on the edge, and you could feel it—both of you could. The anticipation was electric, and you were both eager for the release. All he wanted was to make you cum.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured against your folds, the scent of your cunt making him dizzy. “Come for me.” No sooner had the words left his mouth than you let out a final scream, the orgasm hitting you hard as your body arched, feeling your cum dripping from your pussy.

Mattheo groaned against your cunt once more, lapping at your release as he lost himself in your flavor. Quickly, he grabbed your cut hand, spreading its blood over your pussy to mix with the cum. When he felt it was enough, he ran his tongue over your folds, savoring the metallic taste of blood combined with the sweet remnants of your orgasm, only stopping when not a drop remained, and you pushed him away.

The runes still flickered on the ground, glowing brighter with the smell of your release in the air. Blood stained both your bodies, marking each other, marking the new connection between you that neither of you wanted to escape. Mattheo stood there, watching you, his brown eyes observing, shining with pride watching your state. His eyes traced the blood on your skin, lingering on the cut on your hand, before meeting your eyes again. 

“We didn’t finish the ritual,” you managed to say, your voice soft, timid once again compared to the wildness you held as you let Mattheo control you, your body still shaking from one of the best orgasms you ever experienced.

Mattheo’s smirk grew, just a little as he continued to look at the mess he had done. “It’s fine, sweetheart. We can always try again.”

He was right; after all, friends helped each other.

© 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚝₂₀₂₄ — 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜���� 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎.

— please be nice, it’s 4 am it probably has some mistakes!

likes and reblogs are appreciated 🫶🏻

also a big thank you for my favorite beta readers @earth4angels & @astrxq , without them i couldn’t write all this!! i love you both off you forever

venting: sometimes, i hate english because my hard lines in portuguese don’t make sense and seem so repetitive :(

[prettypinkpuddles]

Silent but so fucking deadly….

i just thought of and i’m going to get started. it’s just dirty sex. have fun with that.

includes: Al Haitham/Cyno/Neuvillette/Albedo (characters who are usually reserved and quiet, very demure ✨ )

Al Haitham wasn’t one of many words, not unless they were worth it. and you were definitely worth it with the way you were slobbering over his cock.

“fuck, keep doing that,” he huffed as his hand smoothed over his forehead, this glazed over look in his eyes. suddenly his head fell back and he let out this guttural sigh that seemed to ripple into a growl, “yes, oh fuck yes, baby.”

he gripped your head and stilled you; you bubbled out a choke and breathed out shortly through your nose before feeling his tip glide over your tongue rapidly. you squealed and gagged, but that only seemed to encourage him to fuck your head harder. Al Haitham groaned and let out an airy chuckle as he pushed himself into you slowly this time.

“could do this behind my damn desk, or when i wake up, when i need to relax…” he marveled and pulled you all the way to the tip, losing at you with lidded eyes and a sneaking grin. “just use this fucking throat until it’s raw.”

Cyno nearly trained himself to not speak, it was part of why he was so good at his job. the second he got home and saw you trying on a new set of blue lingerie from Fontaine. the color was perfect for your skin, the bra beautiful complimented your breasts, even as they’d fallen against your chest to the sides, your panties looked gorgeous, even when they were at your ankle and behind his head.

he buried his tongue into you, morning out deliciously for your pussy to absorb. you bit your lip and closed your eyes, pushing your head into the pillow as he flattened his tongue against your folds, lapping up your juices and slurping your clit with a singing hum.

“fuck, fuck, Cyno..” you whispered. “please keep going.” you whined. he chuckled deeply and slurped again loudly and you squealed, pushing him into you with your feet.

he pulled away just a bit to speak, “i’m sure you were just waiting for me to come home and see you like that.”

you didn’t bother to respond, he was just talking to himself, and your pussy but mostly himself. of how he thought you were playing this game, of waiting for him, how he wanted to rip your lingerie and just ruin you, turn you into a crying whore that only thought of him. how he wanted to plow his angry tip into your cunt and roll his hips through a gruelingly slow pace that left you on the edge.

your legs twitched and he pulled you close to him, plunged his fingers into you and curled them just right and you popped. his lower face was slicked with your essence and his hair was completely disheveled from your pulling. he wiped his chin and smothered a kiss just above your clit, then over your stomach, up to your chest and to your lips. the ones on your head. he grinned, “i hope you’re ready for all of that.”

you loved teasing Neuvilette. not because he would react in an embarrassed fashion, but because he’d just… tilt his head and try to explain it in a complex manner. it was a sweetest thing to you, how difficult he was with the simplest things you’d do; touching his cock with the tip of your heel, sitting under his desk to invite him to use your mouth, kissing his face as you sat on his lap, he’d just stay focused on his work until the day ended.

but this time, maybe he had enough or something, he stood up, locked the doors of his office and sat on one of the couches.

“come here,” he commanded gently and you did, walked to him and let him guide you to his lap. and he rolled himself over your thighs.

you gasped and put your hands on his chest as the thrust became more aggressive, his hands pulled you close to him and he grabbed your face, whispering lowly in your ear, “did you think that teasing was going to get you anywhere today?”

you shuddered as how deep he was, then squealed into his should at the feeling of his hand rolling over your pebbled clit, “Neuvillette,” you whispered but he tutted at you.

“Monsieur Neuvillette.” he corrected.

“Mon-monsieur…” you swallowed as he pushed you on your back, “please, we’ll be heard.”

he chuckled darkly as his eyes nearly made you freeze, “you may care, but you soon won’t, as i don’t.”

archons, did Albedo feel good. when he’d push his perfectly sculpted cock into you, when his lips would kiss your collarbone gently, but his teeth would bruise the skin of your neck.

his teal eyes came to look at you as he wrote down a few things, then he pushed his fingers knuckle-deep, causing you to yelp in surprise. a shaky plea erupted from you, his fingers swinging over your spongy inside in just the right way.

“tell me how it feels, Y/N.” he instructed as he pulled his fingers away from one another in a scissor form, “what does the elixir do to your body?” he had given you a liquid he had procured from doing something or other to a green plant he discovered, and you stupidly decided to test it on yourself after no result occurred from stagnant test subjects. it was really affecting your ability to think, talk, and you were unbelievably thirsty, but that didn’t matter with the way Albedo was fucking your cunt.

you could nearly formulate moans let alone words. how your thighs quaked, your neck ached from holding your head up, how everything was amplified and dulled at the same time, his fingers felt so… foreign, even though you’ve felt them everywhere. you opened your mouth and attempted to speak, only letting out a quivering breath. your mouth was impossibly dry, no spit was there, just dry lust.

“do your thighs feel heavy?” he described as he leered at you from his desk. his eyes flickered to your swollen, soaked pussy hole, “does the way that i twist my fingers make you see stars?”

you don’t know if you were starting to hallucinate or going crazy but you actually saw stars at that. “y-yes…. yes, Al… oh Daddy, please.” you tried your best to swallow, feeling this bubbled lump in your throat. his fingers began to move impossibly fast, pushing out your liquids all over the desk. you choked snd arched your back, nearly falling back against the desk but Albedo felt your thighs still. your head touched something hard and cold, maybe ice, it didn’t matter, what mattered was your gushing orgasm that was pouring over the desk.

“fuck… fuck fuckkkkkk.” you moaned and looked up, “fuck me. and record my reaction, please.”

(absolutely based this on the times i was high. will be going into further detail about this in another drabble…)

here’s some more of my content if you’re interested!

[procyonloser]

Abel: Dad... Can I talk to you, I'm going through a really emotional moment and I could use a shoulder to cry on.

Adam: Uhhhh gross? No? That's disgusting, go bother someone else. I don't do touchy feely shit.

Abel: ... Okay... It's just... My boyfriend cheated on me, left me for someone else.

Adam: ... He what?

Abel: I just feel like now maybe I'm not worth being loved, like was it my fault, am I not good enough? Is it because of how I look or act?

Adam: No, fuck him, fuck that, it's his fault. He can't just act like he cares about you and loves you and then run off with someone else, he's the problem, he's the monster, he deserves to burn in hell with the rest of his kind!

Abel: ... Thanks Dad, I love you.

Adam: ... Let's not get ahead of ourselves.

[m3vl0vesu]

~

A/N: Soooo hi. I’m alive!! Anyway this is a oneshot(?) about…idrk but you’ve lost most of your memories and Nayvee was your hero name/what people used to call you. I started writing it at exactly 9pm on the 26th of december. Also reading back on my old writing, people liked that? Anyways, enjoy!! Tw angst and mentions of scars, mentions of abuse, nothing to gritty :) Gender neutral reader and racially ambiguous ;) oh and don't copy plwase

Every window was slightly open, just enough to make the whole apartment cold. There was even a cold mist from under the door, hitting the sides of your arms. It stung. So cold you could almost see your cats slow breaths, well it was really a random stray but with so little to call yours why not hang on to a silly kitty?

The only bit of warmth was the cigarette in your hand, the small thing filled up your lungs. Made your heart beat with guilt and longing, it felt so good. Good but so bad. It was the only light in your life, the burning cigarette butt and the flame used to light it. It was a pathetic life, but it was yours. A person behind the screen, fixing other people's problems and slip ups, an eraser that’s what you were. Erasing people's lives just as people erased yours. Every impact, every solution, every person saved and every person killed because of you, gone. Like it was completely nothing, like every scar on your back and every scar on your arms were worth nothing. A body full of stories but stories that shall sadly never be heard. It was almost peaceful, it’s not like you really wanted to remember anyway, but the option would’ve been nice. 

It hurts your head. It always hurts, filled with constant screams and pleads of help. Words of anger and authority, that one you did remember. You remembered all of it, down to the slurred praise and constant cussing. A voice that had been whispering to you since you were all but an embryo, a voice that you watched fade. Here it became rougher with every puff, every packet seemed to be gone within days. 

No wonder, now you understand. All that begging and crying just to wound up enjoying the same cruel substances.

Your peaceful tappink of keys was sadly interrupted. It was almost routinely, the pixels on your laptop would display 23:25 and you would hear it. The squeaking of the window in the kitchen, and then a heavy thud followed after. It would bring in a large gush of wind, and the rotten smell of gotham roads, made it all the better to have a cigarette in between your lips. Soon you’d hear a man, the man. The man with the heavy kevlar suit and the cape. Oh you hated that cape, the way it sounded when it dragged across your kitchen tiles made you want to scratch your eyes out. Every footstep closer towards you felt like a warning, like a threat. His whole presence towards you was a threat, one step out of line, one sentence dubbed too insane and you're done. Everything stripped away as quick as your memory was.

“Well you're as punctual as ever, aren’t you Bruce?” It felt wrong, just uttering his name like you knew him.

Maybe Nayvee knew him, but you? This fucked up version of you? No recollection of this man, not even of his public persona. You only knew the Dark Knight, and not the one that saved babies from some underground crime, no. You knew the one that would stand over a suffering body and not give them the pleasure of death, he taunted you waiting for it. Waiting for the ticking bomb to finally explode. It felt like he was just visiting to find a reason to get rid of you. It was always the guessing game with this man. Then again he was the only one of your so-called friends to visit. 

“...” and it was nothing from him. Just brooding silence and the occasional huff and sigh. He was different today, less tense. His fists were less clenched and his shoulders less tense, it wasn’t a scowl or a watchful eye-not that you could see his eyes- on his face but it was just a neutral expression. Or more of a neutral feeling, that cowl sure did its job.

“Good day today, B? No crime I’m guessing or-”

“There’s always crime in Gotham.” Well no shit. He knew what you meant, or maybe he didn’t. Maybe his armour is just as thick as his skull, at least there was a response this time. “Also don’t call me Bruce.”

“...right, sorry. B, can I call you B? I’ll call you, B.” Right. Another line, another step back. It felt like you were always so far from this man in front of you. It was like torture, the constant silence and the constant interrogation. The past was gone, so why is he trying, almost desperately, to get you to remember something? There was nothing, nothing to do but to turn right to the blinding screen and puff out smoke from your blackened lungs. Lonely. You’d have to be so desperate to expect anything but silence from Gotham’s Ghost. Brucie Wayne was a complete opposite from this shell of a man below you. Yes below, for some reason he’s kneeling on his knees, looking up at the mental mess you were. Smudged day old makeup and hair that not even the greatest hairstylist could fix, and he’s looking at it. There’s something in his eyes, something that you’ve seen before. Is it anger? Is it guilt, longingness, or is it disgust?

Probably the latter.

“God…” What? God what? Why does his voice sound like that, why was he even here? There is nothing in this apartment of worth, and definitely not to him. He had no need for money, he’s the richest fool in New Jersey. There’s no evidence of whatever you committed or any incriminating documents, he’s already checked. Not even a gun in this useless place. So ‘God’ what? “You’ve never looked so much like your Father.” 

Even though it was cruel, it was true. The heavy purple-ish eyebags digging into your skin, the empty eyes full of nothing but the reflection of work. The cigarette being the only other things that your attention is on and the empty beer bottles behind the sofa. It was like watching a scene from forty-something years ago. The runaway child becoming the very thing they hated, a tale as old as time. A tale that is only seen in fragments, very violent fragments.

.

.

.

“Shut up.” He can’t just say that. That’s not something-someone he should know. And it’s evident on his face, the way he immediately goes back to that infuriating mask. Don’t shut up, say more. Tell me more, please. “Please.” Stop making me feel like this.

“I…I am sorry.” 

“For what, Bruce just-” no, desperation was a big no no. Sadness? No. You were over it, it didn’t matter anymore. “You know what? A drink is good, I’m gonna get a drink. Do you want a drink? I’ll get you a drink.” it was the rambling, made you seem insane. But so what? So what if it was rude not to wait for an answer, there was no one to beat the manners, into you was there? As you got out of the chair it felt like your body was going to give out. It was all too much, what was too much?

Nothing.

The nothingness, no laughter, no embracing, no happy glimpses, no it was just nothing. One step towards him felt like a step towards an edge. In both situations gravity was not on your side. The black bat displayed across his chest blurred, as did everything around you. The headache was no longer there, just warm hands and a heartbeat. A racing heartbeat.

You hope it isn’t yours. Hope the warmth is deaths hand embracing you, or hell getting prepared for it’s newest guest.

[the-voldsoy]

Alrighty it is almost the end of the year so, in no particular order, here are podcasts I recommend of the ones I've listened to this year! (let me tell you picking favourites for this was So hard) (Unfortunately I can't just do all of them because there are almost 50)

Hello From The Hallowoods: The world ended, but we're still here, and shit's weird. (Has made me cry; even the trees are queer; my comfort show<3)

Camp Here And There: Good morning campers! The time is 7:63AM and Cabin Magpie Moth has spontaneously combusted! Whichever one of you little woodworms can put it out first can come get a puffy sticker from me in the Nurses Cabin! (Is it a horror? Is it a comedy? I don't know, you'd have to check to be sure)

Wooden Overcoats: Funn Funerals used to be the only funeral parlor on the island. It isn't anymore. (Sitcom, the main characters are the most miserable wet cats you ever did see)

Re: Dracula: Maybe this year, they'll be okay. Maybe this year they'll all live. Maybe this year he won't go, and she'll be alright.

Magnus Protocol: TMA's louder, bolder, less serious younger sibling.

The Silt Verses: Oh boy. Let me tell you, you will look at crabs differently after this. (WET horror, genuinely the best pod I've ever heard)

Archive 81: Dan, a newly hired archivist, has to listen to and catalogue a set of old audio tapes. The tapes contain interviews conducted by someone Dan has never heard of. Dan is in an isolated bunker in the middle of the woods. Surely nothing will happen to our dear friend Dan. (What is it with archivists and getting snatched by The Horrors? Ignore the tv show it doesn't exist)

Red Valley: Just a couple of guys with an interest in research station Red Valley, whose focus was cryonics. It's completely defunct now. I wonder what happened. (Ethics? What's that?)

Woe.Begone: Some say it's about time-travel, some say it's about keeping yourself and those close to you alive, some say it's about online safety. All can agree on one point: What the fuck why are there cowboys now

Midnight Burger: Midnight Burger is a time-travelling, dimension-spanning diner. Dunno how it works or where it's going next. We open at six! (The episodes are an hour long minimum but it's worth it. Comedy sci-fi, lighthearted fun :)

Old Gods of Appalachia: The Appalachians are spooky y'all. (The narrator's voice is so comforting in this, it feels like campfire stories)

Dreamboy: Went into this pod being told it was made by the people who made WTNV and absolutely no other information. Let me tell you I did not expect the main character to tell us that he got a hard-on in the first episode. (The most sexually explicit pod I've listened to)

The White Vault: Nice little trip to Svalbard to check on the remote research station, surely nothing will go wrong :) (Holy Fucking Shit What Is That) (Recommend 1st season especially to The Thing (1982) enjoyers)

Camlann: Ever wished that you were apart of Welsh folklore or Arthurian legends? Or perhaps some of the last people left on Earth? No? Ah well, you'll pick it up soon enough. (Three idiots and a dog in Wales, fighting for their lives)

Breaker Whiskey: Imagine. Being the only person on earth. Just you. Just you, and someone on the radio. Just you, the radio, and a woman you absolutely do NOT have sexual tension with. (This one looks really long because it has 260+ episodes, but they're like 4 minutes long each so it's not really)

Ethics Town: Don't worry about it. (Cannot recommend enough, it is a mindfuck)

Tell No Tales: What if ghosts were a thing that could infest a place, like rats or roaches or mold? What if it was your job to exterminate them? And the million-pound question, do ghosts deserve rights? (I am waiting so so patiently for the rest of s2)

Remnants: You wake up in a place you recognise. You have always been there. You have no idea where you are. You see a stranger's life. You recognise them. You knew them once, you think. Discard or reshelve? You don't know what that means. It does not matter. Discard or reshelve, that is the question. (I am going insane over this pod)

Not Quite Dead: Vampires! Alfie is an overworked A&E nurse who does not have time for this shit. Unfortunately, he does not have a choice in this matter. (A really interesting take on vampirism, going into the biology. It is fascinating, and an exciting story)

Travelling Light: Space Quaker! Listen to the Traveller tell you about every new planet and civilisation they visit. Whattttt noooo they don't have a crush on one of their crew members what are you taaaalking abouttttt (Very comforting pod, beauty in the mundane in a way? But not mundane because yk. Aliens)

Someone Just Like You: Brilliant horror, just really well written. I don't even have words for it. So far there are only 6 episodes and the concepts/plots of each seem cheesy, but my GOD the execution.

The Bright Sessions: People with powers get therapy! Thank God, they need it so bad. (I love one particular antagonist so much, I need to put him in a microwave)

Poe: Evermore: It wasn't until I started this that I realised that Edgar Allen Poe would have had a Boston-ish accent. Reallyyy interesting story of his life, and I keep getting jumpscared by VAs I recognise. Faulkner Silt Verses what are you doing here.

Witherburn After School News: Your school radio host getting WAY more involved in the news than they should. Really hope they're still breathing. Love the folklore section though!

Before The Tone: Voicemails from someone who just got a job they probably shouldn't have. (Brilliant idea for the format, and great execution)

I Am In Eskew: What if you were trapped? What if you had a home, a wife and a child? What if they aren't real? Are you sure? Go and check. What if your city tried to kill you? What if it loved you very much, more than anyone else? (Horror but the narrator is the saddest wettest man you've ever heard)

Sherlock & Co: Modern day Sherlock Holmes, and John Watson is a true crime podcaster. Dear God I did not think it would be as compelling as it is.

[my-castles-crumbling]

I saw the Sirius being quiet when he is with Remus and regulus starting to show emotion when near James post you made and

I think they are the perfect example of how people react to same trauma.

Same house, yet very polar opposite siblings. It is in real life too,

how some people tend to collect and don't spend anything, hide, everything in later life because they knew their parents would take it away from them as a kid.

But some people spend carelessly, give everything they love to everyone, because They knew their parents would take it, so what's to point of not using it.

How some people can sleep everywhere (I hc Sirius as this) because they know damn well every minute of sleep is important, with all shouting and arguments, when you can, sleep, because you might stay awake until sunrise for days. They learned how to sleep even when people were fighting near.

But some people can't sleep at all, (I hc regulus) because their sleep schedule is ruined, because they tend to wake up in every single voice, they need to be on guard all times , how could they sleep when they spend too many nights waiting for their turn in being a victim? What if something happens while they are asleep...

How some people can cry easily because they would be punished if they cried, they have to be strong all the time so they will use every single opportunity to be vulnerable,

how some people would never cry no matter what, because they were thought to be strong?

How some people would exaggerate everything because they only feel like they are finally have the freedom of feeling emotions,

How some people would turn off their emotions and act cold because it's easier to not feel in order to not get hurt.

How some people would be like fuck everything because nothing is important, they have been lots of shit anyway,

How some people would be extra careful, think three steps away, calculate everything, because they experienced a lot and don't want to suffer more.

How some people would use jokes and laugh at their trauma, wouldn't even have a problem with telling a random guy laughing, because that's their way of cope

How some people would act their best to look like nothing happened because trauma is a weakness and if no one knows it didn't happen? They would hide it at all costs.

How some people want attention that they never had, how they are attention seeking because they need it, because they want to be important for once, to be loved for once

Or how some people would ignore the front line, ignore every single person that approached them, because they are not important and hate themselves, because they are not worth of the attention?

Yeah, I think about the black brothers a lot. They are perfect. How you portray them is also so good. Btw I would be happy if you decide to do some black brothers or include more of their relationship as siblings, just a request tho no pressure! I love your stories!!!

Ugh I love all of these, you’re right it’s so true. I’ll def have to also some Black Brothers soon!

[manicpixiedreamedwins]

GINGERWREN'S PAYNELAND RECS 2024!

I can't believe we have had Charles and Edwin for less than a year. Even still, we've had a lot of fun! I wanted to share some fics, art, and gifs that made this year worth it for me personally. I was talking to a friend recently, and we noticed recent rec lists seem to be short, tag based lists with no real input from the list writer. Many of them also seem to rec the same few fics. Sometimes I feel left out as a smaller writer, and I know my favorite fics also don't always make it onto these lists either.

So, gentle reader, I will not be making a list of tags and summaries. You can read the tags on the fics and the art work, should you choose to view. I will be telling you why I love the works themselves. This is the best way I can think to recommend work to you.

Without further ado: the list is below.

WRITING

sweeter than honey from the rock - @dearheartdont

This lives rent free in my head. Literally in my mind this is like a lost episode or something. I do not want to spoil it or anything, but some of my favorite things in it are the world building (there are delightfully sympathetic clients, and witty antagonists), Charles does... exactly what one would expect Charles to do in order to help the client and protect everyone, and he makes things temporarily worse for himself. Rest assured though, there is a very, very satisfying resolution. Really, this is such a wonderful fic.

Winter Bloom - @skinnybritishdudes

PINK!!! EDWIN!!!! NOW!!!! This was my request for our server's Christmas exchange and it blew me out of the water. Genuinely, the magical mischief PLUS the subtle horror PLUS the absolute tenderness at the end?? Was everything I wanted, and more than I expected. Friendship ended with my own pink Edwin origin story. THIS is Pink Edwin now. Run don't walk for this one (as you can see, I still have not calmed down I am so excited about this one).

Nothing Left to Hide - @roseganymede95

I know I need to say more than "spider jar" but there's a point where I just start crying softly and going "spider jar" while I am reading. Honestly I'm sure if I said that to you, you would probably know which fic I'm referring to. It's this one. It's brilliant. It rewired my brain early on and I haven't been the same since. I found a spider jar pin because it may as well be canon in my mind. They call each other mine in the fic what more do I need to tell you to get you to read this? Join the spider jar cult with me.

right. never finished it.- taableclofh

A classic. Charles tries to save Edwin from Hell. He figures some things out in the process. (This is canon divergent in the best possible way and was a real balm on the soul, somehow).

molliculi (soft little things)- @williamvapespeare

This was made in a lab to make me cry specifically. The first time I finished reading it, it was two in the morning. I stared at my bedroom wall for like twenty minutes, bleary eyed, and then finally managed to type something to @williamvapespeare (who was really gracious about whatever mess I sent, lol). God fuck. It's a character study on Edwin. It's a history of living and dying in 1916. It's wondering what it means to continue on existing, but never have lived on with your peers. It's an outsider's perspective on Charles' trying to figure things out. Go. Go now. Suffer with me.

All Rights Reserved- @phoenix-soar

Do you like possessive Charles? (There's one right answer and it's yes). This fic is the fic. This also lives rent free in my brain. I wish I could say something more coherent but honestly I do not know how much I can say- well there is this lovely description where Charles compares Edwin's eyes to the sea on a stormy day (ao3 is sadly down, I cannot pull the full quote, but it was gorgeous). The rest... 🌶️🌶️🌶️

The Case of the Omegaverse Portal - miraworos

Omegaverse, as specified in the title. Also a very well written casefic, and some really satisfying feelings revelations. Once again: 🌶️🌶️🌶️

ART

Kiss (Blue) - @ent-is-indecisive

Genuinely A I am just amazed by how lovely all the kisses you draw are. Like they come out stunningly, over and over. I have no idea how you pull off this wizardry but it is amazing. Anyway I picked the first picture we ever talked about but I am also genuinely blown away whenever you drop something in LOMA

Collab Gifset For Payneland Week- @mellxncollie

I know you have all seen Ollie's gifs. If you haven't, what are you even doing? (Maybe you're new here. That's okay). It's something special when Ollie makes a gifset for your fic. Genuinely, sometimes I just go back and stare at this one because WOW THOSE ARE MY WORDS. BUT ON A GIF. Genuinely thanks for making my first year in the fandom special Ollie.

Pink Slip- @arisprite

Ari was super great during the flash sketch commissions and we had a blast. Now this reminds me of ongoing convos that @majorlb @deadboyslullaby and I have (and perhaps one day we will do something more with those) but the point here is Ari is great. You all should go and appreciate the wide range of payneland she has made. Her fem!payneland is dazzling, and so is her sad boy Charles (which I think is the first piece I ever fell in love with).

RITUALS - @deadboyslullaby

THE RITUALS ARE INTRICATE. This was a collaboration with @likemmmcookies . @deadboyslullaby worked really hard on the inscription around the edges for this one and I am forever in awe of all the little details here. I want more of them doing strange, arcane stuff together always.

ORBWIN IN CHARLES’ RIBS- @jube-art

This is absolutely what I think is going on when one of them is orbing and the other isn't. No I am not taking feedback. Once more, this was a piece of art that re-wired my brain early on. Ribs are for lovers.

BONUS:

Feathers and Fur - merle_p

Super secret rare pair that rewired how my brain works forever. I love you catcrow. I love you Monty that's a little bit depressed a little bit of a masochist. I love you Thomas who can't help but take in strays but still has teeth and hasn't been declawed in this fic. This fic is just... so... gorgeous*chef's kiss*. I won't spoil it for you, but I implore you to read it so I have more people to talk about this pairing with.

These were all my recs for now. Thank you Dead Boy Detective fandom 2024! We may have had some bumps in the road, but here's to a strong and healthy 2025!

[lxdymoon0357]

Hello, I would like a request from the manhwa, I became a rival of the male protagonists of yandere +18 Benjamin Lemberk with a nomadic elf reader who, upon seeing her for the first time, becomes obsessed with her. She has the appearance and personality of Florentia Lombardi, please.

(NSFW CONTENT, warnings: unprotected sex, (this is fictional, y'all..Be safe), face sitting, hair pulling, clit play, dacryphilia, putting out cigarettes or cigars onto skin, pain kink, humiliation kink, spanking, dumbification. somewhat toxic? A bit cringe, OOC but not really, he's just a cruel bastard. Mostly jut NSFW headcanons, nothing too elf-ish specific, I'd say, sorry. Fem! Reader. Reader has ginger-ish hair. Florentia Lombardi! Reader)

© Writing belongs to me, Lxdymoon0357. Do not plagiarize, but reblogging, liking and commenting is deeply appreciated.

Benjamin Lemberk X Elf?Reader NSFW Headcanons

ஐ Benjamin Lemberk, is a man of certain taste, having somehow fallen out of Claudine's loving circle, has his eyes kept tight on the little nomadic elf, that became his new loving obsession. Of-course how far do you think you'll go before you crawl back to him? Not too far off, of-course. It isn't long before you're under him, crying as thrusted his dick into you, while you clawed at the blanket.

ஐ Of-course he does. His hips moving in circle, the balmy skin slapping on skip as his cock basically scoffed to the hilt inside your folds, your eyes dazed as you whined, your ass against his thighs as he moved fast and rough, laughing through his groans every time you cried out and clawed at the sheet and begging him to be nicer.

ஐ His hand shoving your face into the sheets, while you tried to stay dignified, act all poised and elegant all you want in public, but you're not getting any point or shred of dignity while he's fucking you. His fingers just roughly rubbing and pressing down on your clit, making sure you're crying till you can't breath, only sobbing into the sheets-

ஐ He makes sure you're not even breathing, if he could have it..his hand is his favourite necklace on you, squeezing your throat to feel your gummy walls squeeze down on him, trying to milk him for all he's worth, till you're almost passing out, only that's when he's removing his hand and instead grabbing your hips to pull you down on his cock.

ஐ With the rather optimal option to fuck your throat, he just loves to stuff your mouth full, your gags are his personal music, your throat his personal pocket pussy, he just smirks down laughing at you when you're crying, spitting out his cum which he'll only spread across your face using his tip..He has shame in fucking a little tease, his personal cock-tease.

ஐ Giving you backshots, till it sounds like he's playing bongos on your ass...till you're going dumb on his cock, your ass jingling with ever swat he gives, noe hand stuffed with your hair, pulling it to pull you back every time you tried to escape his grip, fucking your pussy and swiping his hand on your clit, your juices coating his hips as he moved them in circular motions to hit that spongy g-spot with accelerations in his hips, pulling your head back to arch your back till you're gasping on his cock..

ஐ He doesn't just hit for pleasure, if he's gonna hit it...He'll hit it till your mind breaks. Bejamin's hands trapping both your droopy ankles with one dextrous set of his thick fingers, dragging you about halfway down the king-sized mattress in an instant. He’s oh-so-greedily pinning them over the curvaceous dip of his deltoids with a mean, sweat-slicked palm, “Don’t tell me yer hah- tapping out after only three minutes?”  

ஐ He'll humiliate you in public if he doesn't get what he wants at times, his hand gently squeezing your throat and if he's not getting what he wants right then and there..he's gonna make sure he'll get more than enough, he'll overindulge in your fucking cunt till he's breaking you apart-

ஐ Half-way through, when you're barely registering anything, he'll make you use your own powers on yourself. Making sure his little elf is kept under his control, he kisses your ears, bits them gently, leaving hickeys or tiny bite marks on them, shoving your face down in the covers, till he can only see your pointed ears twitching while you're out your md and mindlessly causing plants to sprout from random places due to the heat of the moment.

ஐ He loves to see you struggle with registering anything, the biiiig stretch of his cock till you're feeling him in your tummy, crying as your legs kick out when his swipes his thumb on your clit till he swats on your juicy cunt..covering his hand in juices, putting out his cigarettes on your back of your thighs if he's especially upset at you.

7 minutes, 28 seconds.

"Ah-ah-ah..Hah, fuckin' tease..this is is-ngh....what you wante', no?" Benjamin smirks on top of you, his hand bundled up in your ginger-esque wavy hair, pulling it back with his fist bundled in it as he moved his hips ahead, every hit causing you to swing forward. Ben's movements aren't just rude— He's cruel and mean and so SO painful-

Your hips thrashing into the sheets as you whined, your legs quivering as you tried to claw at the mattress, moving ahead a bit just as his hand hits your ass, before kneading it in between his fingers,

"Beenjiii- Ah-Ooooh...fu-fuck, ha-...ha!" barely formulating words, his mean hips kept hitting into that one spot. Any words formulating were now simply washing away with every thrust he hits like he's mad at your G-spot

Benjamin snickers down at your little form, one hand tightly bundled into your half gingerish-hair half your usual hair colour..his other hand smoking a cigar softly, smirking as he hit his hips meanly.

His eyes fell on the mirror just ahead of you while he was blowing out smoke, already steaming up due to your laboured breathing and drool, as you kept whining, "Bennnn, hard-harder-more...want more-mo..want more..!" you kept whining, HIS mindless little fuckdoll.

Soft tits glissading up and down up and down the sweat-slicked plane of the wide, cushiony satin pillows. So drunken. So pliant. And he can’t help but plant a soppy smack! against the hooded of your puffy clit with one free hand. 

Only making you let out a soft and whiny "Oooooh...! Beennnjiii" arching your back and shoving your ass back onto his cock, your cunt doing most of the talking to speak how much you needed him to fuck you, all while stretching his name as if it'll get you more sympathy from him.

No-It can't be...? Can it?

His smirk almost widens as he takes a slow drag from the cigar as he pulled out and shoved you to turn you on your back and pull up onto his lap using your throat roughly. Moving his tip around to cover his tip with your juices like lipgloss, while your cunt kept crying with the sound of sluck-sluck! every time Benjamin moved his hips around to grind against your puffy lips, before simply shoving his cock deep into your cunt.

Breath hitching choppily, he’s grabbing your throat - dragging you like some ragdoll until you were only mere condensed inches away from him. You couldn’t be…could you?

"Too-Hah...biig...hah-Hmm Bennn-" You back arching, your tits pressing against his wide pecs, which he take the chance as he blows out smoke from the cigar, before ht stubs it on your midriff, causing you to only whine out softly, grinding down your shimmying hips onto his cock.

Oh.

But of course he can’t leave his dear elf-ish wife hanging - especially not when you’re all fucking yourself stupid on him like this within only 7 minutes and 28 seconds, no no no..!~

He can almost smile at how humiliating will it be in your prideful face, now turning into lewd like a little slut..

Tongue stuck out, lips glossy and covered in drool, tits and ass all red from spanks...Your powers going haywire to produce tiny flowers at random spots on your skin or causing the plants you kept near his bed to overgrow into large wild plants..

He can only smirk, his cock-drunk little elvish-slut..How perfect she looks, dumbed out for him??

[yesyoutubeisruiningmylife]

very heartbroken right now:((((

[faaun]

procrastination is starting to have its consequences finally

[skrunksthatwunk]

idk if i've discussed it before (i have certainly THOUGHT about it) but someone on my kuwa suffering ep 89 comp mentioned it and i just had to go off about it like. ok. sensui tells yusuke something along the lines of "you heard itsuki" when itsuki's inside the uraotoko, implying that not only can sensui hear those inside the uraotoko, but that he expects yusuke to be able to as well. which means that yusuke Almost Certainly Heard And Kind Of Ignored kuwabara's prolonged mental breakdown and wailing about how much he needs yusuke to live etc. which. guHHH i hate him yusuke you ass but also listen.

the only acknowledgement yusuke gives to this (if any) is when he says something like "sensui you're sooo fucking cooked this plan's going perfectly (my friends are going to get strong and kill you when i die)." he's trash talking to sensui, ignoring the others because, i think, he doesn't want to acknowledge what he's doing to them.

yusuke is explicitly recreating the experience he had with kuwabara's "death" at the hands of toguro, complete with the announcement of intent (and power) to kill, the inability to impede the threat in any way (barring a power-breakthrough), and the target in some way racing towards/volunteering for their death. yusuke learns through doing, and through tough love-style approaches. it's only effective if it hurts. watching kuwabara die like that was devastating to yusuke, but it sure as hell fucking worked. he beat toguro because of that maneuver. so even if he has to (re-)traumatize his friends in the process, this method will make his friends stronger, and he feels confident in that. but he never had to live with the consequences of kuwabara's death, not really. that's something hiei makes clear before they enter the cave as well, that there are no fake-outs ready to make him or anyone else stronger. the only deaths here will be real. the only power gained will come at a high, permanent cost. hiei's warning is an attempt to keep everyone alive, to keep yusuke from being stupid. and then yusuke decides to take that fatality into his own hands, but it's kind of his friends who would pay the price. he's going to make them live through the days, months, years without him, the actual permanency of loss (assuming they survive for that long), something he never experienced with kuwabara (a new facet of that traumatic scenario), AND he's escaping the emotional fallout of this choice through death. he doesn't have to see them mourn, won't get yelled at, won't watch them fail to move on. he's tapping out and choosing to believe they'll be fine.

but i think he feels guilty. just a little. i mean, yusuke couldn't even believe that people cared about him enough to want him alive in episode one. he's staked everything on his friends, which means he still kind of... doesn't value his own life, at least not compared to theirs. but he believes his friends love him and want him around, and we know that because he has to, or else he wouldn't make a plan that depends entirely on that love. he is actively leveraging the care he doesn't think he deserves, trying to hurt them in a way he is intimately familiar with (only worse), for.... what, exactly?

this is kind of my sticking point tbh. i don't think the answer is... super clear, but let's start with what it's not.

yusuke is not doing this because it is the most practical way to save all of humanity; that would be the mafukan, which he stopped. it could be a gamble to save all of his friends? the mafukan strategy would guarantee koenma's death/eternal imprisonment, whereas this strategy gambles all of humanity on the chance that his friends come out of the Easy Break Oven strong enough to avert the end of the world. if the sacrifice of even one friend is completely intolerable, perhaps he'd accept those slim odds and their steep consequences. yusuke tends to take risks like that, especially when he's got fight-induced tunnel vision. he doesn't think things through too much; his schemes are usually dependent on surprising his enemy enough to oneshot them. truthfully, i think this is the closest we'll get to an answer, and it's a more conventional one for this kind of story. but there is another layer i haven't been able to get from my mind.

i think yusuke is gifting each of his friends an honorable warrior's death.

so, in case it needs saying, yusuke, kuwabara, kurama, and hiei all (at least once, if not several times) exhibit a desire to die in combat in a way they deem noble to give their lives purpose (usually by self-sacrifice, but sometimes by another metric of honor, like hiei's duel with shigure and his desire to die in mutual defeat against an evenly matched opponent; or even kurama's decision to fight shigure in his human form, displaying a sort of passive suicidality via placing being true to himself in this (somewhat symbolic/inconsequential) way over survival). they need to make their lives count for something, because they feel guilty for being alive (kurama and hiei feel guilty for their past actions (hiei's is most evident in his distance from yukina, though that's not its primary reason), hiei, kuwabara, and yusuke have all been ostracized and made to feel like burdens on/unwanted by their caregivers and general society; all four of them have felt profound isolation even from their loved ones (yusuke and hiei are rather obvious; kurama can never tell his mother about the majority of his life nor what she truly means to him in the context of it; and kuwabara is separated from his peers for his spiritual awareness and his "stupidity" (plus his parents aren't around? and he is Desperate to define manhood/manliness through a broader pop cultural one which includes the warrior sacrifice thing bc he has no male role models BUT that's for another post) (i will admit kuwa's the most tenuous one here irt isolation)). they want to die for a cause so badly it's actually physically painful to me. it is passive suicidality, and they define their lives and identities by their relation to, engagement with, and skill at doing violence, etc. they live to die by the sword. anyway. nobody talks about it but i think it's very important to understanding what yusuke's doing here.

because i think he knows that about himself and his friends. they're kindred spirits. at the very least he knows this about kuwabara, who literally made a speech about this before diving into toguro's fingers In The Event That He Is Recreating Explicitly. he is dying nobly like they all want to on the chance that they'll get to break out and fight sensui rather than dying without even getting to take a swing. it's about his pride and theirs. but i don't think yusuke necessarily believes they'll win. he knows better than anyone how strong sensui is, and how wide the gap is between sensui and team urameshi. his stated position that humanity is doomed and that he doesn't care about its fate is, i think, not completely genuine, but if we take it at face value, he's not killing himself so that his friends can survive the end of the world. something's going to come around and kill them eventually. he's doing it so they can survive long enough to fight sensui. he needs them (specifically kuwabara) to be strong enough to free themselves to begin round two. but he's given up on their side winning, on humanity surviving, on his own victory---why should he think his friends are capable of winning? this could be another case of yusuke's fight-blinders. it could be another gamble, more blind faith put in his friends. but honestly it reads more to me that yusuke's giving them a chance to die together on the battlefield. them winning would be great, but it's not his goal. it's a pipe dream.

he knows he's going to be killed. they're probably going to be killed, too. but to make it so they last a little longer against sensui, to make the odds a little more even, so they are killed not like livestock, but like worthy fighters, he'd die a little faster. it's the best kind of death someone like them can have; and he'll deprive himself of it just to make their ends a little sweeter. even if the road to that is far more bitter.

but it's not like yusuke's friends know what he's thinking or agree to it, and he can't exactly make his case for it in the moment. he's making that choice for them. whatever his intentions, whatever odds he thinks they have of beating sensui, he's kind of sealing all of their fates. so how the hell is he supposed to acknowledge kuwabara screaming at him not to die, trying desperately to express what yusuke means to him in what could be their final moments together? this plan is going to hurt his friends terribly. it is already doing so, and he can hear it. his choices to stop koenma from using the mafukan and to die for his friends' strength are both selfish in some way, no matter how you read the scene. if yusuke comforts kuwabara, he might not get strong enough. if he twists the knife, well... how could he forgive himself? and either way by responding he would have to face them all and say yes, i'm doing this regardless of your feelings (with the intention of hurting you). so i think he does what he often does. he avoids it. he lets that emotion glance off him and his bravado and his one-liners so he doesn't have to deal with the fact that he's hurting people, that he's scared and guilty and unsure of himself. that he's about to die again, about to put kuwabara through the grief he saw at his wake again, only worse; about to put his quieter friends through something similar.

yusuke is confronted with the responsibility one has to the people who care for them, and he runs from it in an attempt to give them some small peace. just like when he died before and thought hey, at least my mom and keiko won't be burdened by me anymore. because the only thing he can really do for them is die.

[thechaotichorselord]

[redstrewn]

If leander "good" end is him dying (breaking free from his fucked up cycle), then imagining MC having to mourn and live on without him

[hauntingblue]

Franky saving nami and her calling him big brother..... the connotations of this... big day for me especifically

[eldritchqueerture]

.

[teruthecreator]

guess whose oliver plush got stolen because the delivery driver cant follow instructions or even bother looking at the address AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!