#i think its a question of whos a faster draw | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

becauseicantthinkwritings · 1 year ago

Text

No Other Gods

Serial killer! Billy Russo x Female Reader.

Billy’s POV mostly

Summary: Billy’s on the run, moving from place to place as he leaves a trail of bodies behind. When he steps into a church to hide, he stumbles upon someone that makes him want to stay.

Warnings: Dub- con, violence, gore, blood, blood smearing, so much murder, mentions of Billy's past assault attempt, suggestion of possible sexual assault attempts toward the reader, religious themes, blasphemy, sexual acts in a church, thoughts of non-con (no actual non-con), poison, restraints, oral, fingering, sexual intercourse, wax play/heat play, Devil worship.

If you want clarification on a possible trigger, I am happy to elaborate.

I took the dove out back, shot it, then resurrected it so I could kill it again. Be warned.

For my lovely @ittybxttykxttytxtty who was so instrumental in the design of this fic. This goes out to you, love, who reminded me that I shouldn't be afraid to write whatever inspires me.

He’s calm.

Each step he takes is slow, measured, he hears the echo of it on the quiet street, the drag of his shoe on the concrete sidewalk.

He turns the corner, and has to fight the instinct to hold his breath as they turn their heads to look up at him. The murder weapon tucked into the waistband of his jeans feels ten pounds heavier.

Even breaths, one in, one out, he knows nothing, he has no sense of concern, or worry. He blinks, feels trepidation wash from his skin.

Internally, he readjusts his course, doesn’t want to walk past the group of officers that are studying him from further up the street, doesn’t want to answer questions just yet, not until he has his story straight.

From the corner of his eye, he catches sight of the church and he changes his walk ever so slightly that it looks as though he’s been heading there the entire time.

When he’s at the closest point, he raises his head and smiles, gives a little wave to the officers, wishes them a good day, though he knows what they know, and it’s not a good day for them.

The church is pristine, unlike the other buildings on the street, it stands with fresh paint and the smell of almost dried varnish and scrubbed steps that tell him that this church is probably the most coveted place in the entire town.

Billy, having just cut a man’s throat in the High school gymnasium, steps past the door, and does not immediately combust.

Surely, that must mean he’s doing something right, that his cause is a good one, maybe even approved of in the eyes of God.

He’s not convinced.

For a moment, he thinks it’s empty, thinks he’s alone with God and his thoughts, up until the slight movement of shoulders draws his eye.

He’s in disbelief that he missed you the first time, the light of the stained glass hitting your sedentary form.

He takes some quiet steps forward, swears he feels the concealed knife grow warmer. He watches you, studies in rapt attention the way the coloured lights look on you, the way they illuminate your hair, makes his fingers ache to touch something that looks explicit in its forbiddenness.

Your dress is white, or a cream colour that tells him the outward state of your mind, the purity nurtured in your soul.

He moves faster now, eager to see you, to know what you look like, to hear your voice, to look into your eyes.

He turns when he makes it to your pew, sees the way the light caresses the planes of your face, and he wishes he could do the same.

You are radiant, undisturbed beauty, your hands clasped together beneath your chin, a small rosary wound between your fingers. He wants to touch your hair, swirl strands of it around his finger, he wants to feel your skin, hold your form beneath his palms.

Everything he wants, halts, the moment you turn your head and look up at him.

His lips part in surprise, he’s taken by you. You must be an angel, or something more.

“Hello.” You say softly, gazing up at him with unsure eyes.

“Hello sweetheart, I'm sorry to bother you.” Billy answers smoothly, as though he isn't desperate for you to get closer so that he can catch your scent.

You look like you smell like flowers, he thinks to himself, bristles with delight when you finally stand, the light streaming through the stained glass paints you with a myriad of colors.

“It's okay,” you soothe, “I don't mind helping.” You smile at him, an ease of trust in your eyes. Trust, he could so easily extinguish with the weapon concealed on him.

You extend your hand, giving him your name, he smiles, gives his back. In your eyes, he can see something he doesn’t quite recognize.

Too pure, Billy finally decides. You're too pure, there must be some wrong.

“I’m new to town,” Billy explains, leaning in so that he can stand in God’s light with you, in hopes that you can absolve him of the thing he has done.

“Got a little bit lost. Will you help me find my way?”

You smile, and it reminds him of warm fires in the winter, of standing in sunlight after being drenched from head to toe.

“Where are you going?”

One of the wives whispers something in your ear, Billy watches you tilt your head back laughing. You had this entire town wrapped around your finger and before he’d arrived, he’s sure no one had ever questioned your purity.

A white dress and blue cardigan, he wants to take you into one of the back rooms of the church and push his murderous hands under your dress, feel your gasp in his skin as his hands paw at your delectable thighs.

He wants to ruin the very image of you, reshape you for him, and him alone.

He turns his head slightly, observes that he’s not the only man here transfixed by you, but one in particular catches his eye.

The reverend, in the same clothes he’s just delivered Sunday sermon, gazes lustfully at you, his glasses balanced at the very tip of his nose to conceal the direction of his eyes.

He recognises the expression, knows it like he’s looking into the face of someone who once looked at him the very same way. The reason he started killing in the first place.

He feels the itch swell inside of himself, his fingers flex.

It seems as though it would be time to hunt again very soon.

“Lost again?” Someone says behind him while he’s picking out laundry detergent.

He turns, seeing you there, in a pale pink shirt, and tan pants that hide your figure from his view.

He smiles, watches the way you light up even more. A sweet, little morsel made for his fangs.

He holds up two different boxes of detergent for you to see.

“What do you think?” He asks.

You hum, deep in thought.

“This one,” You say, pointing at the item in his right hand, “smells too flowery for my taste, and you don’t seem like a man that likes to smell like flowers.”

He smiles, raises his eyebrows, intrigued.

“And this one,” You point to his other hand, “Oh, that’s the one I use.”

“So it must be the best.” He agrees, as if you made a proper suggestion, putting the latter into his shopping cart.

You smile up at him in amusement.

“So, how are you getting all of this back to your place?” You ask, tilting your head at the moderate amount of groceries in his cart.

He turns, looking at what you were observing.

“You’re right, I might have picked up too many things for my walk back home. I’ll have to put some things back.” He agrees with her implications.

“No way!” You protest, reaching to take his hand, tugging him with you.

“Pastor Wade brought me along with his wife, I’m sure they’ll have some extra space in the back for you.” He follows, feeling anger that Wade had found himself closer to you than before. You wave your hand excitedly at the reverend, and Billy smiles internally at the sour look he receives from the man himself.

The trunk gets filled with the reverend’s new items, and Billy smiles, looks at you as you tilt your head, trying to solve a problem of too many groceries and too many people trying to fit into one vehicle.

“Give it up,” He says, mouth angled near your ear, “I’ll find another ride-”

“Don't you dare,” You argue, “I promised you a ride home and I won’t back down now.”

He smirks, watches you pile yours, and then his items into the backseat of the car. When you’re done, there’s only just enough space for only one person to fit.

“That’s okay.” You insist, “I can sit on you, if you don’t mind?”

Of course he doesn’t mind.

“If you’re sure.” He taunts.

“It’s a great idea.” Wade’s wife echoes, too eager to have them both in the back seat and the journey started.

Billy does his best to appear aloof, he gets in, and looks up at you expectantly.

You’re hesitant at first, before looking around, and then climbing into the back seat of the car to seat yourself in his lap.

Billy takes a deep breath, exhales, watches the pores on your neck and collarbone rise when his breath touches you.

A few moments into the ride and you’re wriggling uncomfortably in his lap.

“What is it?” He asks.

“Warm.” You explain, reaching for the buttons on your pink cardigan, brushing his stomach with your hand as you tug it off your shoulders.

Billy watches, with rapt attention as you reveal a white shirt beneath your cardigan. When you almost slip off his lap, he reaches to grip your knees.

“Hold on, sweetheart.” He whispers, just so you can hear.

You hold conversation with Wade and his wife throughout the journey, talking about how excited you are for the upcoming Christmas season, and that dressing up as an angel at the annual concert is a highlight for you.

All the while, Billy keeps you seated in his lap, your ass right on his hardening cock, the smell of blossoms drifting from your hair.

He closes his eyes, tries to distract himself from thinking too much about you, but he knows it doesn’t work. When the road gets bumpy, Wade apologises for the rough ride, and you respond with something reassuring.

You stiffen after a moment, and he knows he’s been caught.

He knows you feel him when you turn your head to look at him in surprise, his cock, hot and hard below your ass, rubbing against you as the car sputters along.

He looks right back at you, meets your shocked look with a sinister one of his own, wants you to know what a man feels like, makes sure you commit him to memory.

In the rearview, he sees pastor Wade glance at the pair of you. Billy looks back, holds his eyes, gives the supposedly pious man a smirk.

The next Sunday, you sit beside him in church.

It completely unfocuses him from his next target, he tilts his head to look at you.

Such a curious thing, drawn to something you now know isn’t as wholesome as appeared to be. It makes him feral, makes him want to put his hand on your thigh, slide it slowly up until he’s at the apex, tuck his obscenely large fingers under the waistband of your panties, find you dripping, feel you aching, press a lone finger to your swollen clit, make your sweet little cunt gush in God’s sacred domain.

When it’s time to take his hand in prayer, he makes sure to do it as slowly as possible, dragging his fingers along your palm, your touch makes him feel blessed.

It becomes a habit, sitting beside him for Sunday mass, the eroticism of your touch right before you pray, before you ask God for forgiveness from all your impure thoughts and deeds, and Billy sits besides you, blood dripping from his hands as he imagines the ways he wants to violate you in this very church.

It’s a Wednesday evening when he steps into the church, the most desolate time possible. He knows there’s only two people here, him, and his target.

He moves slowly, cautiously, on the balls of his feet to avoid making too much sound. The wind blows, the front doors to the church groan.

He passes the stained glass windows where he’d first met you, he passes the pew he sits at every Sunday while thinking about you, he passes the doors at the back of the church that he thought would make a decent place to defile you.

He goes deeper, till he can hear the quiet familiar slapping of a man going at it.

He’s not shocked by it, or scandalised, he knows his wife barely touches him, he knows she has an idea of what goes on inside his head. Billy’s studied her too, looked at her while she watched the way he leaned in to speak to you, a spark of realisation in her eyes.

He makes gentle movements, turning the doorknob with two of his fingers at a pace so slow it goes unnoticed by the person on the other side of the door.

He gazes steadily through the small gap.

Pastor Wade has your pink cardigan pressed to his face. Billy remembers the last place he saw you wear it- in the back of Wade's car.

He has one hand to his face, and the other stroking his meagre erection. Billy waits, in the stillness, the only sounds are the preacher’s laboured breaths and the movement of his hand.

There’s a right moment to act, and Billy waits patiently, he doesn’t have to talk himself into this one as much as he’s done with some others before. This one comes easily, in part because he’s grown accustomed to the feel of blood spilling onto his hands, almost craving it now, but mostly, it’s because Wade’s next intended victim is you.

In front of him, Wade groans, tilting his head back pace quickening. Billy pushes the door open. The wooden door doesn’t groan like it did before, Billy had greased the hinges just last week in preparation for this.

Billy stands behind the man, waiting for the precise moment, and when the preacher lets another groan loose from his lips, a warning of impending release, Billy strikes.

The man comes just as his throat is cut open, blood spraying from his neck as semen spills from his cock. Warm blood pours over Billy’s hands, as he supports the man as he drops, not wanting to cause more noise than necessary.

He lies on his side, turns his head upward, mouth parting in surprise as he sees Billy’s face.

“I wish I could punish you more, but I’m not worried, I know the Devil is going to take his sweet time with you.”

He watches the words register behind the dying man’s eyes, and Billy smiles wickedly as life leaves him.

He tugs your cardigan free from Wade’s hand, it’s partially soaked in blood and will need to be properly disposed of, he doesn’t want anyone finding it and linking you to the crime in any way.

He studies the soft pink material, smiles at the thought of you. He brings the material up to his nose, catching the smell of blossoms just barely clinging to the fabric.

The fluttering wings of a bird above makes him glance upwards, and he figures one must have found its way into the space between the ceiling and the roof, searching for a comfortable space.

He uses your cardigan to clean his knife, before turning, and heading for a sink to wash the blood from his hands.

He brings a casserole to the deceased’s house the evening they discover him dead.

It’s just a little something to help out, he explains to Wade’s widow when he greets her in the kitchen. Her eyes are bloodshot and swollen, crying from the moment she’d heard the news, no doubt.

He doesn’t stay with her too long, excusing himself despite her attempts to hold onto his hand, the women around her gazing at him, more intrigued than ever about his culinary skills.

He wants to find you, to see you. There’s an itching inside of him that won’t go away until he knows you’re here with him.

When he finally catches sight of you, something inside of him unknots itself. You’re standing in the middle of a large group of concerned people, you look like you’re fighting tears with everything you have. A woman touches your shoulder, and you raise your head to give her a brave smile.

He pauses on the outskirts, wonders how he’s ever going to get your attention.

But he doesn’t have to worry, because your eyes lock with his as soon as he stands still, as if you’d been seeking him out this entire time. He gives you a small smile, something of an icebreaker from so far away, and you take it as an invitation, running right to him with tears already spilling down your cheeks.

Your body collides with his, and for a moment, there’s only you, and the softness of your form, and the smell of your hair and he’s quietly reassuring you that everything is going to be okay.

He enjoys it, the way you grip his shirt, the way you cling to him with every ounce of strength you have. He hugs you back, finding a way to the soft loveseat in Wade’s living room. You don’t pull your head from his chest as you cry, you shake with big, heaving sobs, and he tries his best to comfort you.

If you’d only known what Wade’s intentions were with you, you wouldn’t be crying. After a while you calm, and you continue to cling to him while you sniffle, his shirt damp with your tears and he wears it like a badge of honour.

So many people stop in to check on you, more and more with each passing hour. Billy thinks more people are concerned with your wellbeing than with Wade’s actual widow.

It amuses him, that so many people are drawn to you, that you have such influence on everyone, that they care so much for you, and here you are, tucked into his body, turning your head into his chest to cry every now and again, growing less frequent with the more time that passes.

Later, he offers to take you home. He’s just been able to afford a slightly beat up car, and he asks if you’d be okay with being driven by him. You accept with sleepy eyes, and he smiles internally, going to find Wade’s wife to bid her goodbye.

He overhears one person speaking with another about the state in which the body was found, covered in his own blood and semen, throat slit from ear to ear. Billy is delighted to hear it, he wants everyone to know, he wants to shame Wade’s name, even in death.

His widow is sad to watch Billy leave, she grips at him once more, trying to wrap her arms around him the way you do. When he mentions your name, he watches her stiffen, mouth set in a grim line, something in her eyes like accusation, or knowledge of something that she cannot say to another soul.

She doesn’t speak her accusations to him, and he leaves, wraps an arm around your wobbling form and helps guide you to his car.

You’re so tired, and you fall asleep in his car as soon as you’re buckled in. He drives slowly, takes the long way, anything to be by your side longer. Your cheeks are stained with tears, he thinks about how beautiful you’re going to look in black.

You hum sleepily, reaching across, he blinks in surprise when you take his hand in yours.

“I heard how he died. Can’t wrap my head around it. Someone just decided he shouldn’t be alive anymore. Can you believe that?”

The lord giveth, and the lord taketh away, he wants to say.

Out loud, “I’ve seen it a couple of times, back in New York.” he says instead.

You squeeze his hand.

“Do you think you could ever take a life?”

His breaths pause, it was time to confess to you.

“I have,” He clears his throat, “I have killed people, I was in the army.”

Your head swivels to him in his peripherals, he glances back with a sad smile.

“I just thought you should know.”

“Thanks for telling me.”

You continue to hold his hand.

“You- you’re not- you don’t hate me?”

“It’s not in me to hate, I have to believe that the path you’re on was necessary to bring you to me.”

“To you?”

“So I can help you.” You answer, squeezing his hand.

He wants to rip you apart and reshape you with his own hands.

When he finally gets to your house, he helps you out of the car, helping you up the few stairs and supporting your weight as you get the door open. When he tries to let you walk on your own, you stumble, and he has to catch you before you fall.

“I’m really tired.” You explain to him, and he hums in understanding.

He takes you up to bed, watches you collapse onto the soft surface, knee length dress rucking up so that he catches just the quickest glimpse of your underwear.

His hands clench into fists. He wants to push your skirt up, bury his face between your legs, taste your little cunt, worship you until you come on his tongue.

“Will you stay?” You ask, arms spread out, legs slightly bent as they press together.

He kicks his shoes off decisively.

“What will people say?” He teases.

“You don’t strike me as a man who’s ever cared about that.” You whisper softly.

He grins, climbs into bed beside you, reaches around your hip so that he can pull your body against his.

“Goodnight, angel.” He whispers as your eyelids flutter, struggling to stay conscious.

“G’night, Billy.” You respond, touching your face into his chest once more before you doze off completely.

It's too much power, and you must know it. To fall asleep so easily right beside him, every temptation to be like the predators he hunts. He could press his palm to your thigh, drag his hand up to your hips, you would never even know. He could do so much worse, pin you to the bed, pull his cock out and take you right here, watch you wake in shock while he fills you. Watch his cum leak out of your little hole. What could stop him? You? God? Everything he's wanted at the tip of fingers and all he has to do is take.

In the end, he doesn't do it. He lies beside you and thinks of all the vile things he could do and doesn't act on a single thing and he doesn't really know why.

He thinks it's because of the consequences. Doing that would mean you wouldn't want to be around him, and he needed you to want to be around him.

By the time morning comes, and you wake, he's spent the entire night memorizing the feel of your body against his. If you feel his aching erection, you say nothing of it, and he's not sure if that's a good thing or not.

He finds you right after the funeral, lighting the candles that have gone out when the doors had been wide open to allow the coffin through.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, approaching you, swallows as he finally has a chance to fully appreciate your funeral attire.

It's loose, giving you an almost formless shape, to hide from everyone's view, your skirt is just a little shorter than usual, probably something you haven't worn in a while, resting at mid thigh and no doubt giving the women something to chat about in hushed voices.

You glance at him with a little smile, before continuing your painstaking process of relighting each candle.

“I'm alright. The lord gives, and like natural order, the lord takes.”

He blinks.

“That's right.”

“What do you think about the Devil?” You ask suddenly, not looking up, simply tilting your head to continue your work.

“What do you mean?” He pries.

“Is he evil? Or is he just the way God made him?”

“He's both.” Billy answers.

You smile, and finally turn to look at him.

“Do you think God loves him?”

“Doesn't the Bible say God loves all his creations?”

You smile wider, nodding. For once, Billy feels like he doesn't have the upper hand in a conversation.

“Are you worried about eternal damnation?” Billy asks, taking a step closer, ready to reassure you that someone as sweet as you couldn't possibly end up in Hell. If you were damned, well that didn't bode well for him.

“I'm not afraid of Hell, I can handle fire.”

Billy watches you raise a hand, and hold it closely over one of the candles. He hisses, grabbing your wrist and pulling it away.

He turns your palm to check for any serious burns, but he'd withdrawn your hand just in time.

“I'm alright, Billy.” You reassure him, leaving your hand in his, and using the other to continue with your previous task.

It's the first time he realises that there is more to you than he'd initially thought. He'd seen you as a pristine painting before, something to be looked at, forbidden to touch, to love from afar. Now? You were an enigma, a puzzle whose pieces were made to be handled, to be solved by the right person.

Billy wanted to be that person.

“-He wants to be here with you, the lord is one with everything, he’s in everything you see, and everything you touch. You just have to close your eyes and let him in.”

From around the corner, Billy listens to you speak, your hands holding the other woman’s, who’d stumbled into the church an hour ago, searching for someone to speak with.

“I’m not worth the forgiveness.” The woman sobs.

Billy is ashamed to admit that the very sound of your voice turns him on. He feels sick, that listening to you speak about the lord makes him hard. If he closes his eyes, he swears you talk about God as if he’s just another person in the room,

“He believes in you. You’re here, you found me, because that’s what he wanted. You found the strength to come in, to open yourself up to being judged just a little, and I know he appreciates that. He loves you, and I do too.”

Later, when the woman leaves, with a promise to be here on Sunday, Billy finds you, shuffling and reorganising reading materials near the altar.

“You’re good at this.” Billy murmurs.

You smile.

“I’m just doing what he commands.”

Jealousy stirs in Billy’s chest.

Before he can stop himself, he’s stepping into your space, you look up at him with wide eyes, as you try to back away.

“You’re so selfless, don’t you know what people say about you?”

You blink in surprise, your body lowering as you descend the stairs, away from the altar and toward the pews.

“It- why should it matter what people say?”

“They call you a temptress, you’re the reason Wade’s burning in Hell. I heard his wife say it herself.”

“That’s not my fault.” You defend.

“It’s not? You’re telling me you have no idea of the effect you have on men?”

You go down another step, he follows.

“I- I don’t- I’m not-”

He feels so large, looming over you, frightening you.

“You don’t?”

“I only want to serve.” You whisper.

“Who?” Billy taunts.

“What?”

“Who do you serve?”

“The Lord.”

The back of your legs bump the wooden pew. Billy watches you gasp.

“And what if I wanted you to serve me?”

He doesn’t let your confused expression last for too long.

Billy acts fast, sitting on the pew, and gripping your hips to drag you onto his lap. He guides your legs over his, spreads his thighs so that you’re forced open too.

You suck in a deep breath, head falling back onto his shoulder. You look up at him, mouth parted, eyebrows drawn together.

“What are you doing?” You ask, your body still on top of his own, he realises that you’re not fighting him like he was worried you would.

He shushes you, gently presses the tips of his fingers right above your knees, takes his time dragging them up.

You reach for his hands, covering them, unsure if you should stop him or not.

“I’m giving you what God can’t.” He simply says, looking up at the altar before them, listening for anyone walking in as he brings a veined hand up to cup your mound.

You let out a little whine, fingers gripping his wrist, unable to pry his hand away.

“This is wrong.” You whisper, tugging at his wrist.

“I’ll make you feel right in a minute.” He answers, moving slowly to push his hands into your panties.

This is what your cunt feels like, is his first thought. Billy bites down on his bottom lip, his fingers feeling over your pussy, exploring, learning, and when he finally dips his hands lower to find you wet, he can’t help chuckling to himself.

The wrongness of your situation turns you on, and Billy uses it like fuel, lights a fire so readily, eager to watch everything burn.

“This is all an act, isn’t it?” He jabs, “You pretend to be so pure but that little cunt is dripping on my fingers.” You shake your head in protest.

He’s gentle when he finally touches your clit.

You gasp, let out a strained moan, trying to fight a losing battle with your body.

He circles his fingers on your little bud, pulls your legs open wider when you try to shut them. He’s slow, he’s careful, he feels you tremble, feels your breaths get faster.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to cum already.” He chides, “I’ve only just started.”

A soft cry is your only response.

When the sun is at the right angle, it shines through the stained glass and paints you both in multitudinous colours. He looks down at you, your face is one of mindless pleasure while the hues dance on your trembling skin.

“Look at you,” he murmurs reverently, “sinning in God’s light.”

Your eyes roll back in your head, mouth parting with the start of a loud cry, he slips his free hand over your mouth, muffling the sounds of pleasure you make.

You rock on him, cunt spilling more and more onto his fingers, his mouth begs for a taste.

Your nails dig into his wrist, he welcomes the feeling, delighted to have given you something only he could give.

When he’s sure you’re going to be quiet, he slips his hand from your mouth, and after a few moments, he pulls his hand from your panties.

His fingers go right into his mouth, eyes closing in bliss at your tart taste, he licks his fingers clean, runs his tongue over them one more time to make sure he’s gotten every drop of you.

You look at him with parted lips, caught in your own amazement, coloured light still spilling onto you.

He smiles, pulling your skirt down, closing his legs which close yours.

He pauses when he feels your fingers touch his chin, he looks at you in surprise to find something calm in them. You part your lips, like you’re about to say something, and then you startle when the doors to the church are pushed open.

You slip off his lap, rising to a stand, you smile, welcoming the people coming in.

Billy is waiting in the confessional booth for you to pass by. You’d been so exhausted recently, trying to help the newest preacher get settled, and then someone else had been murdered. A woman working at the bank had been stabbed repeatedly in the face inside the bank vault. Her body had been found on a pile of money.

It was odd, Billy thought he was the only one of his kind in town, to know there was another out there, made him want to look out for you more than ever.

This, was not him looking out for you.

Rather, he was waiting to pull you away, to be your distraction from another funeral, to save you, if he so dared call it that.

He hears footsteps, identifies you from the click of your familiar shoes on the church floors.

He hears the large wooden doors at the front open to allow the coffin in, and while everyone looks in the direction of the doors, he slips out, wraps his hand around your mouth, and pulls you, struggling into the confessional.

You stop fighting when you see him, and he smiles, bolting the doors closed from the inside.

He looms over you, cock hardening in his pants, presses a finger to his lips with a smile.

Your mouth parts, curious about him, and when he presses you back, settling your body onto the wooden bench, you don’t have much choice but to obey.

He watches you, fire in his veins. You look up at him with the sweetest eyes, and he knows he’s ready to defile you right here.

Instead, as the funeral begins, he drops to his knees in front of you, pulling your panties down your legs so that he can worship you with his tongue.

He keeps you right on edge for the entire sermon, licking you slowly, your hands in his hair, your breathing deep and low to avoid attracting attention.

He edges you, echoes the prayers being said outside into your heated core, licks at your sweet bundle of nerves, doesn’t stop for a single second.

When the congregation takes up a gospel in praise, he waits till the voices are at their highest point to let your orgasm take you.

He tastes you greedily, thankful to have ever crossed your path.

He closes his eyes, decidedly not done with you, peeling at your virtue until nothing remains.

He takes you home that night, helps your exhausted form like he did before, hands gripping your waist to support your fumbling steps.

“You need to stop expending all your energy like this.” He chastises, lips in your hair, breathing in your scent.

“I’m fine, I just need to sleep.” You protest.

He guides your key into your door.

“Will you stay again?” You ask hopefully.

“If you want me to. But if someone sees me leaving-”

“I know, they’ll have reason to call me a whore.”

“Don’t say that about yourself.” His voice is maybe too sharp with you.

You let out a little laugh.

“Right. Sorry.”

He gets you up the stairs, feels you take a deep breath as you yawn.

“Help me get out of this dress?”

God, you really were tempting him.

He watches you fall back onto the bed, clad in only your underwear. He finds it impossible to look away, when your body looks so divine.

He gulps, wants to kiss every exposed inch, wants to make you see heaven any way that he can.

You watch him while he watches you, he’s transfixed by you.

“You want to touch me, don’t you?”

He curls his hands into fists.

“I always want to touch you.”

You give him a sleepy grin, arching your back, reaching behind to unclasp your bra.

“Can you bring me a dress from my closet?” You ask softly, and he stiffens to obey.

He pulls the door open, searching through the delicate things suspended from hangers for something for you to sleep in. He finds a sheer dress, smiles as he pulls it from the closet, he glances back at you to find you already asleep, your breasts exposed to the cold air.

He smiles, turns back to close the door, pauses when something shiny catches his eye.

It’s behind the wooden walls of your closet, shining through the slats. Billy’s eyebrows draw together, leaning in to press against the spot, the entire panel of wood shifts, and he realises that the closet has a false back.

He tosses your dress over his shoulder, reaching for either side of the wood, he presses down gently, and the entire thing shifts upward, allowing a space for his fingers to fit in.

He pulls, the piece of wood is heavier than expected, turns, and tucks it against one side of the closet.

What he finds… washes his mind blank of any rational thought.

It’s an altar, but it’s not for God.

There’s an inverted pentagram painted onto the wall in something that Billy, with his years of experience in the matter, knows to be dried blood. On the pentagram, there are photos pinned, polaroids of him that he’d never seen you take, taped to your wall with little hearts scribbled on. There’s other things as well, the dog tags from his bedside drawer, the pocket square he’d thought he’d misplaced after Wade’s funeral. So many little items of his, in this space, and he realises that he has no idea who you are at all.

On the floor, is the pink cardigan soaked in Wade’s blood, half burned from where he’d tossed it into a quick fire in the woods behind the church. Billy kneels, fingers brushing the handle of a knife with a blade embellished with flowers, stained with blood. The skull of a goat, surrounded by black and red candles.

He knows he should be feeling fear, but there’s no ounce of it anywhere in his body. He licks his lips, plucking a photo of himself from the wall, he feels his lips curl up involuntarily.

He stands, turns to wake you, to confront you, and halts when he finds you already behind him.

You look sleepy still, swaying on your feet, body still bare, and before he can say anything, you raise a fist, and blow a strange powder directly into his face.

It stings when it touches his eyes. He groans, drops the photo of himself he was holding, presses the heels of his palms to his eyes and stumbles. His throat tickles, he coughs, body trying to expel whatever you’ve dosed him with. He can’t see, and he reaches for where he knew you were last, only to find formless air.

He tries not to panic, if you wanted to actually hurt him, you would have by now. Perhaps you just didn’t know what his reaction was going to be and you were safeguarding yourself.

He feels the handcuff wrap around his wrist, but he fights it, his eyes sting too much for rational thought.

“I’ll help you if you cooperate.” He hears you say.

He huffs out a breath, extending his cuffed arm for your guidance.

You pull at him, bringing him to your bed, and cuffing both his arms to the frame. His eyes sting when he tries to see through them, his face burns too, like it’s on fire.

The next thing he feels is a cold cloth on his face, and then there’s instant relief.

You place a damp rag over his eyes, and on the lower half of his face, leaving his nose exposed for him to breathe.

“Let it sit for a little, it needs to neutralise the poison.”

Poison? He thinks in shock.

He tries to calm himself, tries to tug on his restraints as little as possible. He tries to run through everything he’d learned in the past few minutes, sort them into his head, solve puzzles he didn’t even know existed.

You were entirely not who he thought you were, not even a little, not even at all.

No, not true, he’d seen it, glimpses of the real you from the very start, too pure, he’d thought, too pure that there must be something wrong.

He should have seen it from the minute you took his hand, from the minute you sat on his lap, when you felt his erection and still flocked to him. Billy should have known. It was in the way you thrived under the attention, the memory of you holding your fingers over the candles in the church. He’d seen it all, and had been unable to put the pieces together.

He hears movement, feels the bed dip as you come closer to him, feels your weight settle on his hips, straddling him.

The rags are pulled from his face, and you use the edge to wipe the remnants of something he can’t see.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t want to hurt you, but it was this or hitting you over the head with a bat.” You smile down at him, he can still see you there.

You don’t look like a new person, you only look more relaxed in his presence, his eyes drop down to find you wearing the dress he’s picked before he’d discovered your secrets.

“You don’t worship God.” He starts.

You smile.

“No I don’t.”

“But you go to church, you help other people find God.”

“You think that saves them? No one in that church is free of sin, no one is made better by being there, they’re only better at hiding it.”

He blinks, tilts his head, waits for you to continue.

You reach for a box of matches, striking one, you light the candle sitting on your bedside table.

“I go to church, because every time I step in there, I spite God.”

He watches you reach to strike another match, lighting the candle on the other side of the bed.

“My Lord, the only one I pray to, is the Devil himself.”

Billy blinks, tilts his head.

“You tempt everyone there with your innocence on purpose.” He says, thinking out loud.

You make a sound of disagreement.

“Not exactly, I’m just charismatic, and the fruits fall where they fall. My intention isn’t to tempt, it’s not my fault that men are so easily… tempted.”

He raises his eyebrows in amazement at your point.

“Look at Wade for example, I was only as nice to him as I was with everyone else, but he took it another way, I’d finally decided to kill him when he touched my thigh for too long… I was watching him from a small space in the roof when you came in.”

Billy watches, hypnotised as you drag your palm over your stomach, your ass grinding gently against his semi-erect cock.

“I watched you stand behind him, waiting for the right moment.” You whisper, hand slipping under your sheer dress, working its way down the front of your panties. Billy’s teeth clench, pulling at the handcuffs.

“I watched you cut his throat,” You groan, “There was blood everywhere.” Your head tilts back as he watches you touch yourself to the memory of his past crimes.

“You took my cardigan. I knew there was something about you before, but it was only then that I knew I had to have you.”

He watches you, fingers hidden from his view as you pleasure your little cunt. He feels rage at not having any control.

“The woman in the bank,” Billy tries to think with you so close, “That was you.”

You nod, smiling down at him.

“She was a bad person. I wanted to give Satan someone to play with. Just like he gave me you.”

Billy’s hands are in fists, blunt nails pressed to his palm.

“Let me go.” He grits out.

You smile dreamily, shake your head.

“Not yet. I want to have you first.”

His breath halts in his chest, desperate to ask you what you mean, but he thinks your intention is clear enough.

He pulls harder on his restraints, not wanting to be bound the first time he feels you.

“Don't fight it, Billy. Let me have you how I want, and then, maybe we'll see about those cuffs.”

He stops struggling, takes a deep breath, goes still.

You smile, undoing his belt as quickly as you can, and then tugging at the buttons of his shirt until his torso is bared to you.

He listens to you hum with delight, feels your scorching tongue lave at his chest, over his heart, flicking at his nipple.

He begins to understand how feral you are, listening to your hums of appreciation as your tongue drifts over his neck. He realises, that you’re just a small thing, searching for someone exactly like you in a world full of people pretending.

When you open his pants, his mouth goes dry, his jaw drops open as you suck on the tip of his cock for just a small moment, enjoying the taste of him before you’re slipping your panties to the side to take him in.

Billy closes his eyes, swears, low in his throat. You feel better than he’d imagined, your walls fluttering around him, pulling his cock deeper into you so naturally that he swears it was always meant to happen.

You moan loudly, head tossed back.

“I would have let you fuck me in that church.” You confess, “I would have let you fuck me in a pool of Wade’s blood.”

Billy groans.

“I’d fuck you in the bare earth.” He grunts, supporting your conversation, “I’d make you beg me to.”

You clench tightly around him, and Billy swears he sees stars for a moment. Your breasts bounce as you roll your hips on him, and after a moment, you pause, reaching for one of those lit candles beside your bed.

Billy looks at you, keeping your steady gaze, trying to prepare himself for the possibility that you might drop hot wax onto his skin.

But you spare him, instead, you tilt the candle, letting a few drops of molten wax fall onto your thigh.

He feels you tighten, grunts in pleasure at the vigour your pace takes on.

He’s so captivated by your enjoyment of it, that he can’t help but ask.

“Do it to me.” He asks.

You smile, hovering the candle over his chest, and when the first drop hits, he gasps. It stings, burns like fire, but then something sweet fills the space, his body somehow asking for more.

You don’t give him any more though, placing the candle back in its original spot, and beginning to rock your hips in tandem.

You’re struggling to achieve orgasm in this position, and he feels amusement rise within him, knowing more about your own body than you seem to know.

It finally makes him relax, knows that no matter how hard you try, you still need him to get you off.

He waits, and waits, and finds that he can be patient when it comes to pleasuring your cunt.

You pause, pouting.

“Poor little girl,” Billy chides, “Can’t manage to come on her own. You need my help, don’t you?”

Your eyebrows are drawn together When you look down at him, trying to make sense of his words.

“N-no, I can, uh, do it myself.”

He grins sharply, relaxes.

“You’re so out of your depth.” He taunts.

“Nuh uh.” You hum, still trying to use his cock to pleasure yourself. Billy turns his head to study his restraints, the wooden pillar he's cuffed to on the headboard is wobbly, he figures one sharp pull at just the right angle would get that hand loose. The other pillar however, is too sturdy for a move like that.

He has to move fast when he does it, find a way to get you to release his other hand.

But first, a distraction.

“You're beautiful like this,” he says truthfully, “Your true self is so much more than I'd imagined and- well maybe we are right for each other.”

He watches you nod eagerly, still trying to reach your peak, your head tilts back, lulled into a false sense of security.

Billy takes his opportunity to strike.

He pulls as hard as he can on the wooden pillar of the headboard, muscles flexing almost painfully. He almost thinks he's going to fail but right at the last second, the wood gives, freeing the handcuff and allowing movement.

Your eyes fly open, and you reach for something behind you, pulling out a knife.

He catches your hand, twists your wrist so that the knife falls free, and pushes it off the bed.

Before you can scramble off of him, his hand grips your hair harshly.

“Unlock me.” He hisses into your terrified face.

Despite your obvious fear, he still feels you clench around his cock, and his desperation to have you exactly how he wants, increases.

“I'm not going to hurt you.” He clarifies, “But you're mine now, so unlock me.”

Your eyelids flutter, your eyes glancing at a spot beside him. He doesn't turn to look, simply leaning his body with yours, hand still fisted no doubt painfully in your hair.

He looks from the corner of his eye, as you tug the bedside drawer open and stick your hand in.

“You better not be reaching for another knife. It wouldn't take much for me to squeeze the life out of you, even with one hand tied.”

He feels you clench around him again.

“You like that? That I could kill you without a second thought? Your cunt’s gripping me so tight, baby.”

You let out a little whine, withdrawing with just a metal key pressed between your fingers.

“Good girl,” Billy praises, feels even that go right to your cunt, “Now unlock me.”

You do his bound hand first, and then pull the other cuff from around his wrist. Your eyes cling to the reddening bruise on his wrist from pulling too hard.

When he's finally free, he grins, right in your face, before pulling you off his cock and flipping you over.

You gasp in surprise as your back hits the bed, Billy leans away to get a good look at you.

He can see your delectably shaped tits through the white sheer dress, he admires the way it looks- like innocence and somehow pure sin wrapped all in one.

He thinks, for the first time, he finally sees you, finally understands what he has, looking up at him with careful eyes.

“You said something earlier. That the Devil sent me here for you,” he leans forward, cups your breasts through the dress, stiffening your nipples, watches you writhe beautifully under him.

“But I'm not your plaything, little girl,” His fingers pinch down, pressing your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, watching you gasp in pain and pleasure, “You're mine.”

It sets off something inside of him, and like an avalanche, any semblance of self control he'd ever had, just crumbles.

He leans down, lips pressed to yours, he feels an ache inside of him lessen.

You kiss back, with forceful lips, your hands gripping the back of his head, fingers in his hair to stop him from pulling away.

His hands press against your shoulders, feeling their way over the sheer sleeves of the material, gripping your hips, fingers catching on the fabric as he touches your body for the very first time.

Your legs wrap around him, it makes him so delighted, that you want him, that he's going to use that against you.

He pulls back, grinning when you whine, reach for his mouth once more, his hand finding your throat too easily, gripping it to push you back.

“Where did my little fighter go, hmm?” He leans forward to lick your cheek, enjoying the surprised expression on your face.

“Please,” you whisper, “I need you to make me come.”

His nose brushes yours.

“Why? Don't you touch yourself all the time?” He taunts, already knowing your responses before you say them.

“I haven't been able to- since you touched me.”

He laughs, watches you get more and more demure with each moment.

“You haven't been able to come since I put my hands on you? I wonder why?”

“You feel too good.” You confess to him.

He tries to fight it but it makes him laugh again, he buries his face into your neck, amusement so heavy in his body and he has to let it out.

“Sorry, It’s just that- you haven't even seen what I can really do yet.”

“Show me.” You beg.

His hands caress you gently, he nods his head, and then, tears your dress into pieces.

You’re so turned on, aching for him, you shudder as he pulls the remnants of your dress from your skin.

His touch is frantic, his palms skate over your skin, gripping, feeling, your thighs, your legs, your arms, it makes you so much more aroused to be felt like this. No part of your body is safe from his wandering hands, it feels as though he’s trying to learn you, and you are so eager to let him.

His lips are next, kissing the top of your breast, working his way between them, the feel of his lips on your skin makes you feel more connected to him than before. He pulls your panties off in a swift rush, kissing at your knees when he finally gets them off.

“Want to know why my touch feels good? Because I know you. I know what your body likes.” Billy says, you lift your head to look at him, his hand sliding up between your thighs, the tips of his fingers making delicious sparks.

He touches your slit, tracing the seam of your cunt so gently, desperation pooling under your skin. He presses a single finger against you, until he just brushes your clit with the very tip of his finger.

“You need this little bundle here touched, kissed, and it can’t be too harsh.”

You cry out when he just softly strokes your clit. Pleasure burning through you at just the simplest move.

“You think that just because you like pain, that this has to be rough too, but no, your pretty body craves a soft touch.”

He proves it to you, his gentle fingers massage your clit, he makes it look effortless, eyes drawn to your centre, looking up at you with dark eyes every now and then.

It’s the burn of his slow movements that make you lose your mind. The worst part is that he’s right, you’ve never touched yourself so gently before.

“Does that feel good, baby? I’ve killed so many people with these same hands. But I bet that makes your little cunt even wetter.”

You mewl, nodding, remembering the way you’d seen Billy kill. The amount of blood he’d left behind, such a messy crime scene.

You bite down on your bottom lip, back arching, hands gripping your sheets.

Just a little bit more, you think, gasping, quietly urging him on, hoping that he doesn’t stop his movements.

“That’s it,” Billy praises, “Just like that, show me exactly who owns you.”

Your breath stutters in your chest, your vision goes white as pure euphoria overtakes you. It comes in waves, cunt fluttering around nothing, your body shudders as your brain tries to process pleasure beyond your comprehension.

It takes you a moment before you can breathe through it, and like before, it feels like you’re floating, somewhere deep in your subconscious.

His face comes into your line of sight, a proud smile on His lips, beautiful in every way as He hovers above you.

You suck in another breath, it helps you feel your body, and the remnants of your still occurring orgasm.

“The first time I saw you, I couldn’t look away. I thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever laid eyes on. I wanted you all to myself. Now that I have you here, now that I see you, I want you forever.”

You nod eagerly, smiling up at him, gripping his hand to press your cheek into his palm. You wanted that, you wanted to be His as well.

“Now be a good girl and stay still.” He whispers, lowering his body once more, burying his face between your thighs for the second time in your life.

You almost want to scream. His tongue pushes its way to your clit, flicking softly, dipping down to lick at your entrance.

You hear Him moan between your thighs, you shudder, arching your hips into his face.

He slaps your thigh, a warning that he intends to uphold the discipline of His instruction, you simply clench in response.

You wanted- so much more than you could admit.

You'd thought, for a brief moment, that he was the personification of Lucifer himself, that Billy was a reward for your years of devotion, but somewhere in the back of your head, you were starting to feel something different, new, that not even your devotion to Satan himself could match.

He licks you like he's starving for it, hands on your thighs, tongue in your cunt you want to struggle just so He has a reason to hold you down.

You say His name, you feel your thighs tremble, His lips kiss at your swollen clit.

You don't know what you're feeling, something in your chest, that tugs everytime he touches you.

Drunk on His mouth, you hiss when his pace increases, unsure if you'll even be able to have another orgasm so close to the last.

He's careful, dexterous, precise, he licks cunt the way he kills- with careless precision, a spectacle to be admired, spoken about in hushed tones.

Billy doesn't ask, he simply manipulates your body until you're wound so tightly on edge once again, unable to comprehend how you got here in the first place.

You groan, your grip on sanity crumbles away, all you can think about is Him, and the way his beard feels, scratching between your thighs, and the darkness of his hair and the grip of his fingers on you, holding you to him, daring you to struggle.

There’s a loud rushing in your head when your next peak finds you, your back bowing off the bed once more, something pinches in protest but you can’t focus on it, the pleasure too important to give up just because you’re a little uncomfortable.

He licks at the arousal spilling from you, moans into your body with each taste, making you see stars, or fireworks or maybe even just flashes of bright lights and colours.

It somehow reminds you of the stained glass of the church, makes you feel adjacent to something that’s on the tip of your tongue but you can’t find the right words for it.

He draws back, beard wet with your slick arousal. It’s gorgeous, and you watch him tug his black shirt off- that he’d worn to the funeral of the woman you’d killed- and use it to dab at his chin.

Your eyes roam down his body, it’s the first time you’ve ever seen a man as sculpted as he is, lean and muscular, small bits of hair on his chest and a spot right below his navel that your tongue aches for.

You sit up, looking at him, pressing your thighs together as he pushes his pants all the way down his legs, his cock already solid and leaking for you.

You remember the first time you felt Him, the way you knew without a doubt that you were going to have him, before you even fully understood what he was.

He reaches for you, grips your thighs and pulls you to the edge of the bed. You gasp at his easy display of strength, watching as he strokes himself for a few moments before lining his cock up with your dripping entrance.

Your past orgasms have made you more sensitive, each inch of him he presses in makes you bite down on your bottom lip, trying to breathe through the overwhelming pleasure and the stretch associated.

“You're so tight.” He utters with a strained voice.

You can only moan, reach to touch Him, the light of the candles flickering on his bare skin in the dead of night.

Your fingers graze a circular scar on his lower abdomen, and at the same time, he thrusts the rest of his cock fully into you.

You cry out, the sudden bliss of being stretched, goes right into your head, you gasp, your body begs for more, begs to be undone by him.

You swear you can taste blood in your mouth from biting down on your bottom lip too much, unable to vocalise your appreciation of him, he draws his cock out, before making another harsh thrust.

Your back arches, you don’t feel like you’re in your body, or maybe you feel too much in your body, the only thing you know for sure is the pleasure that fills you, that threatens to swell under your skin and explode outward.

He keeps his motions swift, harsh, deep, following through with each shift of his hips fully before beginning another.

“Who’s your God? Tell me.”

“L-Lucifer.” You utter automatically, but it’s the wrong thing to say. He stops, hands gripping your jaw tightly, bringing all your focus to him.

“What was that?” He grits out.

“Lucifer?” You whisper, voice light with pleasure.

He shakes his head, leaning away and reaching for something nearby.

You tighten around him when you spot the burning candle in his hand.

“Say that again.”

“Um…” You stutter, unsure of what to say.

You gasp in surprise when the first drop of hot wax hits your hip. It stings, just for a moment, before leaving the sweetest tingle in its place.

“Please.” You moan, pressing your hips upward for more of his torment.

“Can Satan do that?” He asks, rutting his cock into you at a slow shallow pace. When you don’t respond, you feel another heated droplet sting the skin of your hip.

You peek at him through parted eyelids, watching the way he looks at you in amusement, before tilting the candle again, this time to allow hot wax to fall onto the opposite side.

“Billy.” You moan, and you watch him grin.

“Answer my question, little dove.”

You shake your head.

“N-no. Satan can’t make me feel like this.” You whisper.

He moves, drips wax onto your thigh, making you gasp in pain, feeling it heighten your euphoria.

“Do you like feeling this way?” He asks, and before he can finish his sentence, you’re nodding, raising your hand to your chest to roll your nipples between your fingers for his appreciation.

“I like it, Billy, I love it.”

“Then tell me who your God is.”

You think you finally understand what he's trying to say, his cock pressed deep inside of you. He's the reason you feel so good, he's been the person occupying most of your thoughts from the day you met. He's someone you'd be willing to kill for.

“You.” You finally answer, and he smiles, moves his hand, still holding the candle, wax dripping onto his fingers, he tilts the candle and lets a few heated droplets touch the skin over your womb.

You gasp, the skin there is a little more sensitive, the burn is more intense, more pain than pleasure but He doesn’t seem to care, simply continues to smile as he blows the candle out, putting it back on your nightstand.

There's still another candle on the other side, allowing you to see, though everything is just a little dimmer now.

Your skin tingles, warm, the dried wax on your skin cracks as you move, but you don't get a chance to focus on it too much, because as soon as Billy lets go of the candle, he's pressing into you with renewed vigour.

Your thighs tremble, tears pool in your eyes, He's rough, grunting with each stroke he makes, earning a reciprocated cry when his cock bottoms out inside of you each time.

Skin against skin, sweat glistens on his chest, you want to taste him.

“Say it again.” He commands, leaning over you to brush his lips to your ear, “Who do you worship?”

“You, Billy.” You respond eagerly, gripping his shoulders, pressing your nails in, listening to him hiss in response, gripping your jaw to bring you into a bruising kiss.

It's messy, his tongue dipping forcefully into your mouth like he owns you, his cock doing the same, taking everything as if it's owed.

You bite down on his bottom lip, hears him grunt out a manic laugh in response.

“You're all fucking mine.” He grits, leaning back and pulling your boneless body up until you're on top of him, his hands gripping your hips to keep you moving on his cock. You tuck your head into his neck, unable to be anything more than a receptacle, to take Him, over and over until he's finished with you.

“How does it feel to be saved by your new God?” He grunts between thrusts.

You can barely find the words to speak.

His hand slaps the flesh of your ass hard, demanding a response.

Cruel, you think, that He wants you to speak, that He thinks you're even capable of thought.

“Feels good.” You hum, fingers gripping his neck, nose to his jaw, taking what he gives, you tears dripping onto his collarbone.

He groans into your ear, it’s the best thing you’ve ever heard and you finally begin to understand true devotion.

“Please,” You beg, “Please.”

He grunts out a chuckle between thrusts.

“You don’t have to beg, I’m here, I’m not leaving.”

You tilt your head up, vision hazy, your body tingling with something too intense to be just bliss.

He kisses you softly one more time before dropping you back onto the bed, pushing your knees upward so that they’re almost to your ears.

He feels so much deeper this time, fucking you hard, merciless thrusts that has your cunt fluttering again, warning you that you’re on the right path to an orgasm.

He doesn’t stop, looking right into your eyes as he pushes his cock into you, over and over and over. You see stars, you see him, you see nothing else.

He licks his thumb, lips wet with saliva, he slips it between your bodies, angles it right against your clit, swipes gently from left to right.

You make a loud sound, followed by a flurry of pitiful whines, trying to warn him, to implore him. He doesn’t stop fucking you.

Your toes curl, one small breath of air before the most intense rush of ecstasy takes root in your body. You’re lost in the rapture, taken by the experience to even register the sounds you make.

You feel fire, you feel sparks, tingles that rush all over your skin, your inner walls gripping him so tightly as you’re forced to experience bliss at His hands.

He groans loudly, and before you know it he’s fucking into you rougher than before only for a moment before he makes a sharp sound of relief, cock pulsing as he spills himself into you.

You clench around him, making sure he gives you every drop of himself. Knowing that this is the right way to show your devotion.

There’s a moment of insecurity, when he crashes to the bed beside you, eyes closed, his breathing is quick, as if he’s just run for miles. You worry that once he’s had his fill of you, that he won’t be interested any more.

Your head is turned to look at him, lungs still heaving, the bliss of your orgasm hasn’t left you completely yet, and you watch him, curious to observe what he does next.

He peeks an eye open, mouth pulling into a smile that bares his teeth, he pushes himself up, crawls closer till he’s in the space between your body and arm, kissing at your cheek and shoulders softly.

It opens something inside of you, to feel that, to know without a doubt that He meant every word He said.

You raise your hand in wonder, fingers gently brushing His cheek, before pressing your palm to His face.

He looks down at you, moves his own hand to run the backs of his fingers against your face, two people, finally seeing each other, finally showing themselves, unafraid.

It’s more than you could have ever hoped for.

Billy stands in the shadows, waiting.

He watches his targets leave the bar, two men, laughing with each other as they head to the nearby bus stop.

He follows, observing the way they move, trying to figure out just exactly how drunk they are. One wears a leather jacket, with his hair slicked back, the other wears a plain white t-shirt, and jeans.

They talk loudly, confessing to things Billy already knows about.

When one of them looks up, and sharply elbows the other, nodding to a place ahead, Billy knows what they see.

You lean against the bus stop, face buried in your phone, too occupied with it to notice that you’ve been spotted.

You’re beautiful, Billy muses, white dress, denim jacket, a little purse hanging from your elbow, standing under a small streetlight. It’s like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again.

The man in the leather jacket gets to you first, looking over your shoulder, peering into your phone looking at what you’re doing for a moment before saying something to you.

He watches you startle, look up at both men as they approach.

It’s like a dance, the way your fright gives them confidence, the manner in which you step back, warning them that you’re going to run before you actually do.

He smiles as you slip from their reaching grip, running into the nearest alley, he watches them take chase.

He moves faster, making sure there’s no chance of putting you in any real danger.

When he gets there, they’ve got you cornered, your back against a wall with them closing in. They’re too focused on you to ever notice him.

He takes a breath, waits for a moment, enjoys the thrill of what he’s about to feel.

When one of the men reaches to put his grimy hands on you, Billy strikes.

The man in the leather jacket makes a gurgling sound as his throat is cut wide open, splashing mostly on himself, but some of it gets on your dress and he knows he’ll get on his knees later to apologise for getting your dress messy, even though he knows you like it.

The other man can only make a single sound of terror before he’s falling to the floor, mouth agape as the handle of a knife protrudes from his eye.

He’s still alive, though not for long as Billy watches you drop to one knee, pulling the knife from his skull to plunge it into his vocal cords next.

You look up at him, with bright eyes, excited to be doing this with him. He bites down on his bottom lip, thinks you look adorable when you’re seeking his approval.

He doesn’t care if the men are in their last moments, he reaches for you, grips the collar of your jacket and hauls you up, manoeuvring you until your back is pressed against the wall of the alley.

He drops his head, angles to place a fierce kiss on your lips, smearing blood on your face when he grips your jaw.

Billy pulls away, breathless, heart hammering with the thrill of murder, he looks into your eyes, and finds himself looking back.

He’s not surprised- simply acknowledging to himself that it’s what he’s been seeing the entire time, what he couldn’t put a name to when you first met, he now knows.

“And the lord said ‘Thou shalt have no other gods before me.’”

It makes you look up, to meet Billy’s eyes.

You watch the corner of His mouth twitch in amusement.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #the punisher #my writings #billy russo smut #dark!billy russo #serial killer!Billy Russo #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #just overall bad #everyone is evil #there is not a redeemable character in sight #Forget 'I can fix him'#reader just said 'watch me make him worse'

402 notes · View notes

verspia · 5 months ago

Note

Heellooo

I request where kenan and yn is dating and have for 2-3 months but keeping it secretly, cuz of his career, and kenan and his friend cubanito doing a livestream, and kenan gets spammed if he’s seeing someone, but he tries to keep it private and try to dodge the questions, cuz its rumored he’s dating someone that is not YN that the people suspect, but he is seeing YN, and his friend try to confirm he’s not seeing that girl, but kinda seeing someone else? which is YN

❤️

THEY DONT KNOW ABOUT US • KENAN YILDIZ

( pairing ) kenan yıldız x reader

i love this so much i rlly hope i’ve written it to your liking

ps i used karlotta as the rumoured girl

liked by karlottafan and others

footballwags - kenan yildiz in the likes of this model 👀 is she his new beau?

comments

user86 - who uses the word beau 💀

karlottafann - they’d look so cute together 🥹

user86 - those posts are from ages ago tho?

user09 - another one bites the dust

user97 - footballers and models what’s new 🥱

user98 - someone confirm this asap

user02 - he def slid into her dms

user037 - dating for sure

The apartment feels quiet without him, the kind of quiet that settles deep, filling every corner with the absence of his laughter, his low voice, the warmth of his presence. You’re curled up on the couch, phone in hand, scrolling through the endless stream of notifications that come with dating someone like Kenan. It’s been three months now—long enough that you know the feel of his hand on the small of your back, the way his thumb traces idle patterns against your skin when you’re watching movies, the little half-smile he gives when he thinks you’re not looking. But still early enough that everything feels new, each touch a rush, each shared glance a secret you’re both savouring.

It’s also long enough that the rumours have started, circling like vultures around your little bubble of privacy. You both agreed from the start to keep things quiet, at least for now. His career is always in the spotlight, scrutinised by fans, tabloids, and everyone with an opinion. And then there’s you—part of his world but never quite fitting into the neat little narratives they want to create. So you’ve kept it hidden, the two of you slipping through back doors, stolen moments in between his rehearsals and public appearances, and late-night drives through empty streets where the rest of the world doesn’t matter.

Tonight, he’s across town, sitting in Cubanito’s sleek, minimalist living room, the kind of place that’s made for being on camera. You know this because you’ve been there—laughing, sprawled out on the couch with Kenan’s arm around your shoulders, out of view of the lens. It’s where they do their live-streams, just the two of them bantering about everything and nothing, their easy chemistry drawing thousands of viewers every time they go live. You usually like to watch, listening to the sound of Kenan’s voice through your phone, letting it fill the space when he’s not with you.

You open the app and the live stream is already buzzing with activity, the chat scrolling faster than you can read. Kenan is sitting on the left, relaxed in his usual way, hoodie pulled up just enough to shadow his eyes but not hide that familiar, lopsided grin. Cubanito is beside him, gesturing wildly as he talks, always the louder, more animated of the two, but Kenan’s calm presence keeps everything grounded.

You watch them for a while, smiling at the banter, the way Kenan leans back, completely at ease, laughing at something Cubanito says. But then the comments start shifting, and you notice the questions piling up, flashing bright and insistent:

*Who’s Kenan dating? Is it true about him and that model?*

*Kenan, are you seeing someone? Don’t dodge the question!*

*Kenan, blink twice if you’re with her!*

You feel your heart clench, fingers tightening around your phone. The rumours have been everywhere—screenshots of kenan in her likes, whispers and speculation that he’s dating her, even though you know better. But Kenan’s been careful, dodging the questions whenever they come up, brushing them off with a laugh or a change of subject. Tonight, though, it seems like they won’t let it go.

Cubanito squints at the screen, reading the chat aloud in his usual dramatic fashion, but this time there’s an edge to his voice, a hint of mischief that tells you he’s about to stir the pot. “Yo, Kenan, they’re really going off tonight. Everyone wants to know who you’re seeing, man. Spill the tea!”

Kenan chuckles, but you can tell from the way he shifts in his seat that he’s uncomfortable, his smile tightening just a little. “Nah, it’s nothing like that,” he says, trying to keep his tone light. “People just love to talk, you know how it is.”

Cubanito isn’t having it, though. He leans closer, elbows on his knees, eyes bright with the thrill of teasing his friend. “Come on, Kenan. Everyone thinks it’s that girl—what’s her name? The model? But I don’t know, man. Doesn’t seem like your type.”

Kenan’s smile falters just a fraction, a tiny crack in his usual composure. You know he’s trying to figure out how to handle this, how to keep your secret safe without feeding the rumours. He glances at the chat, then back at Cubanito, his expression caught between exasperation and amusement. “Nah, it’s not like that,” he says again, firmer this time. “I’m not seeing her.”

Cubanito leans back, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. “Okay, okay, you’re not seeing her. But you’re definitely seeing *someone*, huh? Come on, man. We’re all friends here.” There’s a playful edge to his voice, but also a knowing look—a hint that maybe he’s aware of more than he’s letting on.

Kenan shoots him a warning glance, but it’s softened by the faint smile tugging at his lips, the kind that always makes your heart skip a beat. He runs a hand through his hair, and for a moment, he looks right at the camera, right at you, like he’s letting you in on the joke. “Let’s just say… I’m happy,” he finally says, his voice low, almost lost beneath the noise of the livestream. “And that’s all that matters, right?”

The chat explodes, filled with questions and speculation, but Kenan doesn’t pay it any mind. He turns back to Cubanito, deflecting with a joke, steering the conversation back to safer ground, but there’s something in the way his gaze lingers on the screen—a quick, barely-there look that makes your chest tighten. It’s a look meant for you, and you alone, a silent reassurance that no matter what the world thinks, he’s yours.

You feel a rush of warmth, a quiet, private kind of joy that’s just for the two of you. It’s not easy, keeping things quiet, pretending in public that you’re not together when every time you’re alone, he’s the one who makes you feel seen in a way no one else ever has. But moments like this, where he slips you into his world without anyone else noticing, make it all worth it. The stolen kisses, the late-night texts, the whispered promises when no one else is around—it’s messy, and it’s complicated, but it’s yours, and it’s enough.

liked by ynusername, cubanito_official and others

kenanyildiz_official - mein einziger 🤍

comments

cubanito_official - nice 🔥

tarik.muharemovic - little lady is cool 😎

↪️ kenanfan - his friends have met her 🥹

user13 - bro really soft launched blondie to say that model ain’t his girl

user97 - he unfollowed the model 💀💀

user02 - ok but i need to know who she is and ask ab her hair care routine

user09 - couple of the year

fin.

#kenan yildiz x reader #fanfic #kenan yildiz #football #juventus #football wags #kenan #kenan yıldız #smau #songfic #one direction #romantic #soft launch #instagram #turkiye #germany

99 notes · View notes

heliads · 9 months ago

Note

Aaaaah so glad I made it in time x3 your writing is godsent and being able to request something fills my cold heart with joy!

Okay so I rewachted Descendants and just... imagine if Carlos has to live together/spend time with a villain kid that got adopted and raised by the big bad wolf (I checked and yes that is a Disney villain!).

For some plot... (my mind comes up with something funny so do not expect too much lol) maybe taking place during Descendants 2 (with Uma) and somehow the crew has taken Carlos and Little Bad Wolf has to keep an eye on him? Except that little bad wolf gets seasick "Dude this ship isnt even on open sea, how are you feeling sick?" "shut up!"

'get him back' - carlos de vil

masterlist

The pirates never should have taken Carlos.

It was a stupid move, really. Stupid to get Mal on their bad side, but even worse to kidnap Carlos. As if Mal wouldn’t do anything in this world or the next to get her friend back. As if anyone who dared to stand in her way would not find themselves lost to the salt of the sea if they didn’t immediately back down.

Uma didn’t learn that lesson soon enough, but she will. It doesn’t matter that she was a formidable foe, the moment she made the fight personal by kidnapping Carlos, it was all over. Mal’s got an unsettling edge to her voice, the sort of dark and twisted tone that makes you follow her orders without question. Villain kids don’t like doing what they’re told, but in this case, you’re all of the same mind. What matters the most is getting Carlos back. Your egos can wait until after your friend is back by your side.

Uma’s ship came by in the dead of night and took Carlos when he was walking around unawares. They must have all attacked at once, half a dozen pirates against one boy, because there’s no way Carlos would go down without a fight. There are clear signs of a scuffle on the roads where they took him away, obviously not the clean abduction Uma was hoping for, but the facts remain. Carlos is gone, and you need to get him back as soon as possible.

Mal has already drawn up a rescue plan. She’s enchanted a small boat to be silent and almost invisible in the dark waters; once night falls, you’ll sneak up to Uma’s ship and get your boy back. One of you will sneak on board and find Carlos, then dodge the pirates meant to be guarding him and bring him back to your ship. You’ll have to wait until the right time to make your escape, though, so you can immediately land at a local deck and make your getaway. Uma can beat you in water, but you’re faster on land, so everything has to be timed perfectly.

You’re the one who’s been assigned to the difficult task of slipping onto Uma’s ship. As the adoptive child of the Big Bad Wolf, you’re well trained in the art of sneaking around and blending in. You’re the perfect spy, so to speak, so you’re the best bet the VKs have at going unnoticed by the pirates on that ship.

Even though you know the official reason for your selection is simply that you’re the best among Mal’s VKs at staying under the radar, you can’t help a rush of pride at being the one selected for the task. When Carlos looks up to see his savior, you’re glad it’s going to be you. You want to be the one on his mind when he thinks of safety. You, not Evie or someone else. Just you.

The credit for this rescue, though, should rightly be shared among all members of your friend group. Right now, Mal, Ben, Jay, and Evie are on Mal’s cloaked boat, drawing close to Uma’s ship. It slides by before you, cresting the indigo waves, so close you could reach out and touch it with one hand. Right under it, you’re struck by the size of the ship. Carlos could be anywhere. This might take longer than you thought.

Mal nods at you. “It’s time.”

You nod back, standing up carefully and reaching for the rope ladder one of the pirates forgot to pull up on the side of the ship. Tugging it quietly to test its strength, you pull yourself up slowly hand over hand, pausing just before you reach the top so you can survey the deck and see how many pirates are there.

Not expecting an attack this late at night, Uma’s crew has left the deck mostly unmanned. Two pirates are idly chatting near the helm, keeping the ship on its course, and there’s a guy up in the crow’s nest, although he’s nodded off instead of keeping a good watch on any possible intruders. You crawl over the railing as quietly as you dare, sticking to the shadows to avoid notice. Oil lamps cast pools of sticky yellow light on the ground, and you skirt them as best you can, all the while making for the stairs leading to the lower parts of the ship. Your steps are silent, each taken with the fear of causing a loose board to creak and alert the crew to your presence.

Once belowdecks, you can breathe a little easier. Most of the sounds you hear are of snoring and sleeping pirates, although a few still remain awake even despite the late hour. Without the stars and moon bleeding white light overhead, the halls are darker, giving you more room to bleed into the shadows and avoid detection. A few times, someone pokes their head out of their door or shifts around a little, causing you to freeze in your tracks, heart hammering in your chest, but you still manage to come out of each close shave without getting caught.

The further you go into the ship, though, the worse you feel. Despite living on an island for most of your life, you never really had a chance to get on a boat before, and you can say decisively that you don’t enjoy the feeling. You like solid ground, a floor that doesn’t rock, and the stability of knowing there isn’t empty water under your feet at any moment. Uma’s ship lilts and turns every few seconds as it crosses the waves, and it leaves you feeling drained of all strength before you’ve even spent ten minutes inside.

You’re not here to complain, though, you’re here to rescue Carlos. You push past your growing nausea and keep peering in doors, searching for the room holding your friend. Before long, you spot it– a locked door at the end of the hall, a flash of white hair inside. It’s meant to be guarded by two pirates, but they’ve obviously grown bored of their post and settled in for a game of cards a few paces away. Perfect. You cause a small distraction by knocking a can to the ground down the hall, and hurriedly pick the lock while they go rushing off in the opposite direction.

You swing yourself inside the cell and shut the door again just before they look back. Grinning, you allow yourself one moment of quiet victory before you’re engulfed in a rush of red and black and white.

Instantly, your body is on high alert, but you manage to calm down when you realize you’re not being attacked by a pirate but one of Carlos’ fierce hugs. He pulls back a second later, beaming ear to ear. “Y/N! What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

You laugh quietly. “You can thank Mal for that, she dropped everything to come rescue you once we found out you’d been kidnapped.”

Carlos punches the air triumphantly. “Perfect! Let’s get out of here. Pirates stink.”

You shake your head. “It’s not that simple, unfortunately. We have to wait an hour or so for Uma’s ship to pass by land. That way, we can escape onto the peninsula without trying to sail back or she’d catch us.”

Carlos’ face falls. “You’re telling me I have to stay in this rat’s nest even longer?”

You frown sympathetically. “I know, trust me, but we have no choice. She’d catch us if we tried to just sail away. And believe me, I’d like nothing more than to get out of here. I hate this ship.”

As if proving your point, the ship hits a sudden burst of waves and you nearly lose your balance and your dinner along with it. Carlos catches you before you fall, hurriedly bringing you over to a small, hard looking couch along the side of the cell.

“Hey, easy there. Don’t go getting sick on my watch. You can lie down and try to regain your spirits while we wait for Mal, alright?” He says.

You close your eyes gratefully. “Thanks, Carlos.”

He giggles. “No problem. Although I can’t believe you feel this bad already, we’re not even out of the bay. This ship isn’t in the open ocean, how are you seasick? The water is practically dead still.”

“Shut up,” you mutter under your breath, fighting another bout of nausea.

Carlos laughs again, but thankfully remains silent. You have no doubt that he’ll be bringing it up again soon, though, probably to win an argument about which VK is the toughest.

You’d like to clear your good name, of course, but the rocking of the ship silences you again, keeping you absolutely still and silent on the tough couch. Carlos, sensing your obvious discomfort, tries to distract you by talking. He keeps his voice quiet so he doesn’t attract the attention of the guards outside, and the soft lull of his words spilling out into the darkness of your lidded eyes makes you wish for sleep.

Carlos talks about how surprised he was when he was kidnapped, how glad he was to see you, what he plans on doing after you break him out of here, what he was supposed to be doing when Uma and her pirates took him in the first place. Carlos has always been a good talker, but you’re extra glad for it now.

When he pauses for breath, you laugh quietly and say, “I thought I was supposed to be the one saving you, but it looks like it might be the other way around.”

Eyes still closed, you can tell Carlos is smiling by the soft exhale he lets out. “I’d say freeing me from a pirate ship is a bigger deal than distracting you from seasickness. I’ll still give you this win.”

“That’s awfully generous of you,” you hum.

“Yeah, well, I’m a generous guy,” Carlos tells you. “It’s no problem when it’s you, though. I’d do anything for you.”

When you dare to crack open your eyelids, he looks more serious than you’ve ever seen him. All of a sudden, the breath is low and careful in your lungs not because of the churning waters beneath you, but because of him. Always because of him.

“Carlos,” you begin quietly.

“No,” he says, more determinedly, “I’m serious. I like you, Y/N. I really do. Seasick or not. I’ve liked you for a while, and if I was going to be stuck in a cell in a pirate ship with anyone, I’d want it to be you. You were the best part about the Isle of the Lost and the best part of Auradon. I can go anywhere if you’re with me. You don’t have to feel the same, I just– I thought you should know.”

You sit up carefully. “I do feel the same way.”

Carlos’ mouth drops. “Really?”

“Is that so much of a surprise?” You ask, laughing slightly. “I’ve followed you everywhere since we first met. We’re practically inseparable. The only reason I wasn’t kidnapped along with you is because I got distracted by Evie needing help finding a pair of matching shoes. You’re my home too, Carlos. You always have been.”

His smile is brilliant in the darkness. “I couldn’t be happier to hear it. Except maybe when we get off this ship.” He extends a hand to you. “How about we make our escape?”

You take it, letting Carlos pull you up. “I’d like nothing more.”

It feels like your entire life has opened up before you. If it takes a kidnapping, a pirate ship, and terrible storms for the two of you to finally confess your feelings, it might just be worth it after all. You’ve got Carlos, and that’s worth more than all the treasure in the world.

requested by @reinekes-fox, i hope you enjoy!

disney tag list: @blondsauduun, @lovesanimals0000, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed, @faerieroyal, @goldfish4403

all tags list: @wordsarelife

#carlos de vil #carlos de vil imagines #carlos de vil x reader #carlos de vil oneshot #descendants #descendants imagines #descendants x reader #descendants oneshot #descendants carlos #descendants carlos imagines #descendants carlos x reader #descendants carlos oneshot #disney #disney imagines #disney x reader #disney oneshot

289 notes · View notes

delulu-is-the-soluluh · 6 months ago

Text

Scars of Flames and Wind | Prologue

Next Chapter

A Dark!Rowaelin x afab!Reader

Author's Note: Hello! It is with great apprehension that I post this fanfic, which has been in my mind for almost a year, but is now finally seeing the light of day. It’s also the first time in 12 years that I’m writing again, so I’m quite rusty. English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance! It’s a long chapter! (Creating context for a fanfic set in the canon era of the eight books made me rethink my life choices, but I’m not backing down!) I hope you enjoy it, and I would love to receive feedback <3

General Warning: Throughout the story, there will be Dark!Rowaelin, DubCon, possessiveness, extreme jealousy, low self-esteem, and many questionable thoughts and actions. There will be some creation of information for the sake of the plot but without straying from the canon, I promise.

Warnings: In this chapter, none; Flashbacks; Aelin’s parents as special guests.

Orynth, 10 months before the Fall of Terrasen

The library was silent and bathed in the afternoon sunlight, with the sounds of turning pages and scribbling on paper echoing through the room. Rhoe was intensely searching for some information that could help in training his niece’s power. Despite being distant relatives and her presence being only due to a future agreement, he cherished the intelligent and fearless girl she was. But her ability to manipulate earth, from a long-forgotten and diluted dynasty in the Ashryver genealogy, was growing rapidly, and without any other living relatives like her and many of their records lost, it was becoming harder to train her abilities.

With a long sigh, Rhoe diverted his gaze from the paper to his daughter, Aelin, who had insisted on coming to study with him, under the pretext of “spending more time with her father” and learning more about “whatever he was learning.”

With a soft smile on his face, he watched her. Aelin was sitting in an armchair ahead of him, holding a book up to her eyes, without turning a page for quite some time. With a low laugh, Rhoe realized that his daughter was alternating her gaze between the page and his niece sitting by the window, drawing in her notebook, unaware that she was being attentively admired.

Aelin had come just to be close to Y/N. His smile dimmed as worry washed over him.

Aelin couldn’t help but notice how her hair shone in the sunlight, how her irises became lighter, and how her skin seemed to glow as she traced lines upon lines in her notebook. It was... mesmerizing. The fantasy book was already forgotten; she couldn’t concentrate on a single word. She wasn’t sure why she couldn’t. She just felt her cheeks warm slightly, using her book as a shield against her blush.

Was this what it meant to like someone? Her heart beat faster when Y/N was around, and her mind often wandered to the moments they spent together. So it was different from friendship... right? She had heard stories about her uncle Orlon and how he liked Darrow more than a friend, and that had never seemed strange to her. But now, feeling something like this for Y/N left her a bit..confused

A memory of the conversation she had the day before with her aunt, Marion, came to her mind:

Aelin was sitting in the garden, surrounded by the flowers her aunt Marion lovingly cultivated. Spring was at its peak, and the air was fragrant with the scent of the flowers. She looked at her aunt, hesitating for a moment before asking the question that was on her mind.

“Can I ask you something?”

Marion smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind Aelin’s ear. “Of course, dear. What do you want to know?”

Aelin took a deep breath, nervous. “Uncle Orlon and Darrow... they like each other more than friends, right?”

Marion paused for a moment, surprised by the question, but her smile remained gentle. “Yes, they do..” she squinted her eyes, already knowing where this was going. “Why the question?”

Aelin took a deep breath, thinking about how to ask her that. “How do you know when you like someone like that? How do you know it’s more than friendship?”

Marion held Aelin’s hands, looking into her eyes. “Liking someone like that is a special feeling. You feel your heart beat faster when you’re near that person, and you think about them all the time. When you’re with them, you feel a happiness you can’t explain. It’s a type of affection and care that goes beyond friendship.”

Aelin bit her lip, still a bit confused, but her aunt’s words began to make sense. “And if I feel that for someone, but it’s not a boy?”

Marion smiled, caressing Aelin’s face. “Love doesn’t choose genders, Aelin. What matters is how you feel. If your heart says it’s love, then it’s love. And that’s something beautiful, regardless of who it is.”

Aelin felt relieved but still confused at the same time. “But... how can I be sure if it’s really that? How can I be certain?”

Marion thought for a moment before answering, her words filled with kindness and understanding. “Aelin, love isn’t always something we can define clearly. Sometimes, it’s confusing and complicated. But if this person makes you happy, if you feel a special connection, and if your heart beats faster just thinking about them, then maybe you already have your answer. Don’t be afraid to follow your heart.”

Aelin nodded, feeling a bit more at ease. Marion’s words echoed in her mind as she tried to understand her own feelings.

Back in the library, Aelin looked at Y/N once more. Marion’s words resonated in her mind. Maybe it was more than friendship. Maybe it was something special. She wasn’t sure yet, but she knew she wanted to find out.

Plains of Theralis - Terrasen, 6 months before the Fall

The field stretched out before them, a vast green expanse that seemed to lose itself on the horizon. The sun was high in the sky with vibrant heat. A light breeze carried the fresh scent of the earth and wildflowers, mixed with the distant sound of birds singing.

Aelin, with a daring smile on her lips, gracefully and confidently pulled the reins of her horse. She cast a challenging glance at Y/N, her blue eyes shining with the promise of fun and competition.

“Let’s see if you can catch me!” Aelin shouted, her voice filled with contagious joy and a hint of provocation.

Y/N, feeling the dense wind on her face, smiled back, her heart racing both from the race and the attention of Aelin. She spurred her horse forward, leaning in with determination. “Get ready to lose!” she responded, with a glint of challenge in her eyes.

As they raced, Y/N couldn’t help but get lost in the sight of Aelin. The way she moved, with wild freedom and natural grace, was mesmerizing. Her laughter, free and vibrant, seemed to echo across the vastness of the field, blending with the sound of the horses’ hooves hitting the ground.

Aedion, riding a bit behind and enjoying the competition, watched the interaction with an amused smile. He approached and shouted, “Show offs! I don’t want to be the third wheel here, so don’t worry about beating me!” he teased, his tone filled with humor and lightness. Y/N laughed as Aelin cast a challenging look at Aedion as she sped up even more, the wind blowing strongly in her face.

Last Beltane before the Fall

The festival was full of life and renewal. Bonfires blazed in the shadows of the night, casting a golden and dancing glow over the smiling faces of the people. The heat from the flames mixed with the fragrance of flowers and herbs adorning the place, colorful clothes and floral adornments decorated the participants, who moved to the rhythm of festive music.

Aelin and Y/N were at the center of the celebration, jumping over the flames with contagious laughter, their shadows projected on the dancing flames. The joy on their faces was palpable, and the heat of the fire seemed to reflect the flame of their own feelings. The sound of folk music and laughter mixed with the crackling of the bonfires, creating a symphony of celebration.

After a jump over the last flame, Aelin stopped dancing, and with a soft smile and a special glint in her eyes, she pulled something from her dress pocket and approached Y/N.

“I have something for you,” Aelin said, handing Y/N a small velvet box.

With her heart racing and the heat of the festival still vibrating in her bones, Y/N looked at the box with curiosity. “What is it?” she asked, her tone curious and eager.

Aelin smiled, her gaze fixed on Y/N as she watched her reaction. Y/N opened the box and found two delicate necklaces, each with a unique pendant. One necklace was adorned with a radiant sun pendant, and the other with a crescent moon. The light from the bonfires reflected off the jewelry, casting small sparks that seemed to dance in sync with the music.

“Aunt Marion made them for us. So that we always remember each other, no matter what happens,” Aelin said, her voice joyful and slightly hoarse from the celebration. She put on the necklace with the moon pendant for herself and held the necklace with the sun pendant, offering it to Y/N.

Orlon and Darrow watched from afar, their gazes attentive to the scene unfolding before them between the little princess and her future lady-in-waiting.

“Doesn’t this worry you at all? It’s good to see the girls together, but don’t you think this little crush could cause a new...linear impasse?” Darrow said with slight concern, his eyes still on the girls as they put on the necklaces for each other.

Orlon maintained a serene look at the two, still unaware of the agreement proposed not long ago: Aedion would marry Aelin in the future, with Y/N being the queen’s lady-in-waiting, a general, a bearer of wildfire, and a geomancer of the rare and forgotten Montserrat lineage.

But the “innocent crush” had everything to become something more in a few years, and that was visible to everyone. Some servants even dared to say it could even be a mating bond that caused them to get along so well and never be apart.

“Well, if that’s the case, maybe Rhoe should start ordering another little princess as soon as possible to keep the agreement in order!” Orlon jokes, his eyes shining with humor.

Darrow couldn’t help but laugh lightly, even with the weight of responsibility still hanging in the air. “Let’s see how this unfolds, then. We still have time.”

Orynth, Hours Before the Fall of Terrasen

The day in Orynth was shrouded in a tense and anticipatory atmosphere. The unexpected visit of the King of Adarlan and his son, Dorian, to the kingdom of Terrasen had alerted everyone, even after deciding to give them a warm reception.

During the dinner, where royalty and the closest members of the court were gathered at the table, Aelin struggled to maintain her composure after rejecting Prince Dorian’s friendship, which was quickly rebuffed with his comment that he ate like a little lady.

Moments later, without any warning, Aelin felt a pressure in her head as a sudden burst of heat emanated from her body. Flames erupted around her, dangerously close to the curtains and ornaments. The guests recoiled, some shouting in surprise, while the Terrasen guards rushed to control the situation. Aelin's eyes were wide with terror and frustration as Y/N, amidst the chaos, swore she saw the King of Adarlan watching with a cold smile on his lips.

The dinner ended abruptly, and a quick decision was made: Aelin would be taken to a country house, far from Orynth, where she could learn to control her powers more safely. Her parents and a few guards would accompany her.

Hours later, as night started to fall, determined to comfort Aelin, Y/N sneaked into her room. The castle was silent, as she entered the room unseen, finding Aelin sitting on the bed, her eyes still vacant from the events of the dinner.

“How are you feeling?” Y/N whispered with concern.

Aelin looked up in mild shock, her shoulders relaxing slightly at the sight of Y/N in her room. She tried to smile, but the effort was evident.

“I’m fine.” she answered quickly. “ It’s just.. it’s getting harder to.. you know, controlling these.. ” She replied, while raising her hands, voice quiet but trying to stay light. It was bad enough she had been banned from the library, her favorite place, because of them; having an episode like this, in front of everyone...

Y/N gazed at her for a moment and moved closer, sitting beside her. They sat in silence for a moment, just feeling each other’s presence. Aelin sighed deeply, her shoulders relaxing slightly.

"You've got this, Aelin. You always do.. Plus, you're not alone in this. At least they know what to expect, right?" Y/N said reassuringly. "Unlike my power, which is completely unknown, and I'm the only one who has it."

Aelin laughed lightly and before she could give her a smart remark, Evalin appeared in the doorway, her expression surprised but soon replaced by gentle concern.

“You shouldn’t be here, Y/N... Come on, let’s go back to your room,” she said, her voice firm yet kind.

Y/N resisted, holding Aelin’s hand. “I just wanted to know why she can’t stay here! Or maybe I could go too! Lady Marion is going, can I go too?” she complained, trying to give Evalin her best puppy eyes.

“Because...” Evalin hesitated. What excuse could she use? She didn’t like lying to the girls, but if she said it wasn’t safe, it would not only spark more interest but also add more reasons for her pleading.

“Because someone has to stay here to keep Prince Dorian company, and Aedion... well, he’s not the best at it, is he?” Evalin sighed, giving the most generic answer she could.

However, it was not entirely false. Aedion was still on bad terms with the princeling for spilling tea on Aelin’s dress.

Y/N huffed before getting up from the bed and hugged her, not noticing that one of the sun’s rays from her pendant had caught on Aelin’s still-scorched blue dress, tearing and falling onto the bedspread.

Aelin noticed and tried to warn her, but she had already left the room with her mother. With her eyes fixed on the chain, Aelin quickly wrapped it around her own, the pendants connecting, the sun encircled by the crescent moon. “I’ll return it later.” she whispered to herself.

But later, Terrasen was attacked.

The castle of Orynth was under siege. Flames licked at the stone walls, casting eerie shadows as screams echoed through the corridors. Adarlan, whom they had once welcomed as allies, were now ruthlessly burning and killing everyone in sight. The betrayal was a sharp dagger into their backs, a cruel twist after extending hospitality to those now wreaking havoc.

Aedion shielded Y/N with his body, keeping her safely behind him as they navigated the chaos as the last two survivors of Orlon’s personal guard guided them to the secret passengers . "Stay close," one of them muttered, gripping his sword tightly.

Y/N's eyes were wide with terror, tears streaming down her face. Her mind raced to Aelin, desperate to know her fate. "What about Aelin? What about Uncle Rhoe and Aunt Evalin?" she whispered to Aedion, her voice trembling.

Aedion's jaw tightened, his own worry evident despite his attempt to remain calm. "They'll be fine," he whispered back, "Aelin is strong, and so are Rhoe and Evalin. They have guards with them, they’ll be safe." his furrowed brow betrayed his own fear as his words sounded to not only reassure Y/N, but also himself.

They hurried down a narrow corridor, the guards pushing aside a tapestry to reveal a hidden door. "This way," one of them urged, ushering Y/N and Aedion into the secret passage. The door led them to the edge of Oakwald Forest, their only hope of escape. But as they emerged into the dim light of the forest, they were ambushed.

Adarlanian soldiers surrounded them, swiftly killing the guards who had been guiding them. "Run!" one of the dying soldiers shouted, his final act a desperate bid to save them.

Y/N didn't hesitate. She sprinted into the forest, her heart pounding, while Aedion drew a sword off the grass and followed, cutting and attacking any enemy that tried to block their path. Seconds felt more like hours, their skin and feet now bruised and scratched by the bushes as they entered the dark forest, the trees now looming like silent sentinels, and the sounds of battle faded as they ran deeper into the woods.

Y/N's breath came in ragged gasps, her mind a whirlwind of fear and grief. The betrayal, the loss, the uncertainty of their survival weighed heavily on her. Aedion was right behind her, his presence a small comfort in the midst of the nightmare.

As they reached a small clearing, they paused, both panting for breath. Aedion's face was grim, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of further danger. “You’re okay?” he asked breathlessly, while scanning her with his eyes looking for any more serious wounds.

Y/N was panting, breathless from running. Her body was caked with dirt and marked with cuts, her face streaked with tears that left trails on her cheeks. Her eyes were wide, lost and frightened, as she reached for her neck and realized her necklace was gone. She whispered Aelin's name and Orynth's, her voice trembling, lost for words.

Aedion felt the earth beneath his feet start to tremble, a subtle vibration that grew stronger as Y/N spiraled deeper into her panic, awakening her powers. He cut the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her, nestling her face against his chest beneath his chin, while his other hand gripped his sword tightly. He held her close, grounding her in the present and calming the tremors, ensuring they wouldn't attract any unwanted attention.

"We'll find Aelin," he said, hugging her from the side, one hand on her head, the other still with a firm grip on the sword. his voice firm despite the sadness in his eyes.

"We'll find them all, I promise."

91 notes · View notes

meanbossart · 7 months ago

Note

Hey!! U probably get that question often but like how did you get so so good at drawing like you for sure studied something with illustration or so right? Any tipps to get better at digital arr if ur working a fulltime job? Idk whenever i zoom out of my drawings it all looks wonky and the linework is either too thin or too thick and ugh i wish i had been brave enough to persue a carreer in the art field and got better when i had the time and choice. Now i feel with 25 its too late to become really good. Sorry for rambling i am kinda disappointed in myself overall. Thank you for your amazing art

I don't have a formal art education, but I have been drawing since I was a child. Drawing has just kind of always been what I do in my free time, and improving my skill and studying it in my own time is fun and challenging for me. I still have a ton to learn! My skill isn't where I want it to be and it probably never will be, but that's not gonna stop me from trying 😂

But I don't think it's ever too late to try learning a new skill. And If you can forgive my honesty, the concept of thinking that 25 is too old to start something from zero is kind of insane to me. If you start drawing right now, in 5 years you will be in a whole other skill level and be a measly 30 years of age - which is still very young, despite what the internet might lead some to believe.

Also, unlike a child who just doodles for fun, you have the capacity to manage your time, your attention, and to acquire the necessary resources to improve your art. Like, sure, I was drawing from a young age, but I sure as hell didn't take any of it seriously before I was in my early adult years - and then I started progressing much, MUCH faster thanks to then having the maturity to actually hone myself in the direction I wanted.

Just take things at whatever pace you can manage, but actually do it! The longer you spend lamenting about not starting earlier, the later it will be once you actually do.

Edit: Also don't zoom in on your art until it's like 80% done LOL

#ask #advice

141 notes · View notes

dear-ao3 · 2 months ago

Note

hi it's me the person from like a week ago who's writing that college paper about f1 i was gonna respond and then i immediately forgot lol. the paper is on the different media strategies and narratives of the fia, teams, drivers, gp locations, etc, and how they interact with each other. and also how the ways liberty media and the fia are marketing the sport and drawing in new fans is actually alienating people and suppressing the authenticity of the sport. especially post drive to survive.

i'm a comms major lol i am a massive public relations nerd

also a couple questions: idk how well versed you are in business stuff but how would you say f1 has changed its branding, especially pre liberty media to now? and how were drivers marketed before the era of portraying them as like,, pop stars? when was that shift? also if you have any specific examples (or places i could find examples) related to that stuff or sexism in f1 or just how f1 tries to control the narrative i would appreciate it because jesus christ the lack of research is terrible

ok dump over the essays not due for another like 3 weeks but when its done i can send it to you if you want to read it :)

aaaaa this got lost in my ask box i hope i’m not too late posting it :/ unfortunately i have no real sources for you. i know the shift was post drive to survive, but i think it also depends on the country because like f1 hasn’t really been a huge Thing in the us, but like ferrari has been italys second religion for years. so it might make sense if you focused it on a country. like in the time since dts first released they added two more us gps: miami (2022) and las vegas (2023). i know there’s a lot of british bias, especially by sky sports and sometimes in the penalties as well. i think fernando alonso called that out this year (?) and max also usually mentions it a few times (at brazil this year he definitely called out the british press) i know there’s also interviews of drivers saying post dts people recognized them way more (maybe this was daniel? or lando?) but some of them really like it (daniel) and some of them don’t (like max) you could also play the angle from social media, like george used to i know at least run his own twitter way back in the day (might have been pre f1 but i think he was still running it loosely in 2019 or at least tweeting himself) and now he doesn’t really touch social media At All cause of the comments he gets. lando used to run most of his own social media also until i think like 2020? 2021? (as in i don’t think he had a social media team) before he passed it off to someone else, though i know he still goes on for sure. i think a lot of them definitely cleaned up their media presence post dts (like lewis was certainly a pr nightmare at one point earlier in his career which a lot of people don’t realize or remember and we’re not even going to talk about fernando alonso). the sport has gotten more tame for sure over the years, they used to get away with doing and saying way more but that could also just be a general cultural shift, there’s also i know pockets of people who are like oh this sport used to be so respectful and manly and blah blah blah and like. there’s photos of michael schumacher at a party in a wedding dress. david coulthard used to pretend to kiss his teammates on the lips in front of the cameras. as for sexism, there have been female drivers before, usually only doing short stints. i know susie wolff has talked about this with the f1 academy how pretty much only lewis consistently shows up to support it. i think max (?) said earlier this year that academy is great but if they want them to make it to f1 they need to give them faster cars. there’s also the whole horner fiasco from earlier this year.

idk if any of this is useful. or if you’ve already turned in your paper. in any case, good luck :)

#not a tag #from saph #f1

51 notes · View notes

hacked-by-jake · 8 months ago

Text

I'm especially sad about the AI art statement.

No one ever said they can't use AI in general. Nobody said this. As long as they don't let the chats be written by AI they can use it for whatever they want.

Me personally, I'm a little fan of AI in general. ChatGPT took Googles place in many situations for me. It's super easy, super interesting and faster. I use it instead of reading millions of Google sites. (of course I don't trust everything right away, check your sources, lovelies)

But that's not what I want to say.

I saw no one complaining about the usage of AI in general. As long as its not creating the whole game and especially not what the characters say etc.

The critism was about the usage of AI ART, not AI in general, completely missing the point in my eyes.

And yes, they're right. AI became a huge part of our lives now. We find it everywhere and we won't get rid of it again. That won't happen. For me, it's okay as long as it's not used to generate money by letting it write texts and stuff.

And I'm completely fine with them using it. Of course, it's still stealing and I won't deny that, but as I said, we won't get rid of it again.

But the usage of AI generated Art is wrong and should actually be illegal. They, as a small developer studio, they should know and they do know, how it is when your work gets stolen and used by strangers.

And that's exactly what AI does. And that's not okay. It simply isn't. Every generated art is based on hundreds of real arts our there. The smallest artist who posts their work will be a victim of that. Because AI pulls it's knowledge and the ability for art out of every little art source there is. And that's wrong.

And I'm disappointed about their statement with this point.

And the second statement about AI art...

Yes, it's wonderful that you will introduce new actors to us. Great, amazing. And yes, we do remember how it was in Duskwood. And we do remember that actors were introduced after some time. Hannah joined in the last episode, and this was great.

But the huge difference is, you used stock photos. Real photography. Real designs. Created by photographers or whoever. The point here is: Real human. And real work.

I don’t think I'm the only one. But the first second I saw the profile picture of Ash, immediately I was like "Hm, that reminds me straight up of arcane"

Which is logical when you use AI generated art because the AI of course uses at first the most popular references.

Fact is: We don't support the usage of AI Art in Moonvale.

Question is: Why didn't you use stock photos just like you did before?

Everbytes answer: Yes, okay, we can change their profile pictures. (Point done)

And I mean, come on. Violet has a freaking cat as profile picture. Where was the problem with just using a real cat for that? Nothing easier than finding a good picture of cats! 😭

And if you didn't want to use stock photos. Have you seen how many incredibly talented digital artists your fandom has? Have you seen the insanely good work they created for your game?

How about contacting a few of them? How about asking them to draw the characters you wanted to have? I'm 100% sure you wouldn't even have to pay them for. Most of them would do it for free right away.

Plus: Real art created by real people

Plus two: No money spending.

Yeeey.

And if you don’t want that...., ✨STOCK PHOTOS✨

To be honest, they took a crumb of the criticism, twisted it a bit. Used the word AI, twisted a bit more, left their statement and at the end they gave us a small little victory by saying "They get new profile picture, see we're listening to you". They gave us a little "victory" so that we hopefully will be satisfied and not mention it again.

That's it for this topic. For now

#moonvale #moonvale x duskwood #hbj mv x dw talks #hbj mv talks #everbyte studio #everbyte statement #everbyte moonvale statement #moonvale episode 1 #moonvale thoughts

90 notes · View notes

rqbossman · 7 months ago

Note

Hallow!

I was wondering how many hours a day/week you spend on writing/editing/proofreading/etc. when working on projects? I've really been struggling with making any progress on my one book I'm writing. I do not have any deadline to adhere to, to make me work faster, but I still feel like it goes so incredibly slow.

This is one of those questions I get a lot and never have the time to give a proper answer. The problem is it's not answerable. Well, not in the way you think at least. When working on a project I use a system called batching where I work in clumps to minimise turnaround time. I.e. one week I will spend doing as much writing as possible, the next week I will do as much admin as possible, the next week I will do as much sound design work as possible etc. I do this so that when I am feeling lazy I can treat myself with work from a different clump for variety rather than just resorting to pure procrastination. it scratches the procrastination itch without being actively unproductive when I can't afford to waste time. To answer your specific question though novels and scripts are very very different to write and need pretty distinct skill sets. There's a reason I still haven't finished a novel, its super slow (comparatively) and requires a huge amount of dedicated grind, scripting dialogue on the other hand I find is just a case of sit down then words happen. Assuming I am on a dedicated writing clump, undisturbed with no other draws on my time and I deliberately trigger my huyperfocus I tend to write for about 7 hours/ 7000 words a day but that isn't sustainable and ends up leaving me exhausted by week's end and needing a recovery period. (Hence the batching.) I still have not found a way to write sustainably hence why Jonny impresses me so much since he can script AND novel simultaneously. I think honestly its not about the hours you put in as much as it is about regularity of contribution. I only really made any headway once I was a full-time creative. Anyone who can juggle full time work and write a novel is far more talented than I will ever be. It's very much my own "white-whale".

#alexander j newall #underwhelming honesty #advice

132 notes · View notes

bitterbutblue · 4 months ago

Text

september 1998

episode 1: august 1998

chat i know i said its academia!reader and trust me it IS this is just one part of the PROCESS just TRUST ME we r not making this just a romance series this is exploring friendships, self identity, familial matters and more too!! this is a very ambitious work and i hope itll be completed fully ~

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

Draw, hold, release.

Each motion is practically engrained in your head, a fluid movement more rather than each individual step. The arrow flies faster than you can register, hitting the centre of the yellow target. This is the only thing that can occupy your mind now, and you have to stay focused. If you keep getting distracted, you know the worst will happen.

It's been hell trying to keep yourself focused when you see her every morning, and in 5 out of your 8 classes. You watch her as she almost immediately makes new friends, talking to them lightly as if it's second nature. She talks so lightly with such an airiness in her voice, with that smile of hers that ended up on local billboards for local advertisements before she left.

That smile that resulted in your first ever crush.

Feelings have long faded now, but you find her staring at you from across the classroom that has you feeling so terribly awkward. You avoid her as much as you can in class and after the first day you've never found yourself needing to talk to her again. You want it to stay that way. She was almost immediately surrounded by people who wanted to talk to the new girl, meet the new girl, date the new girl. You saw this as an excuse to leave her.

You walked away.

"God, Y/n, you keep this up and you'll be taking my name as top archer."

That familiar, whiny voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

"You were never the top archer to begin with, March."

March pouts, the end of summer's sun shining the soccer field with this low shade of orange that embraces you every summer evening. March wipes the sweat from under her bangs, putting her bow down with a sigh.

"Just let me dream of being in your position one day."

"Dreams are all they are." You stick your tongue out childishly as the coach shouts whatever about packing up and debriefing. You put your bow back onto your stand, sighing as you look at your target, walking towards it after the three beeps. "I'm one off from 360."

"Bitch, I was not even close to 320. Shut up."

You shrug, pulling out the arrows before moving to help March move the stands back to where they were normally stored. You grunt as you begin to push against the large wooden frame, feeling the splintery wood against your shoulder.

"My mom would kill me if she saw the scores."

"Yukong. She was a famous archer wasn't she?"

"Literally got gold in the Luofu 1982 championship." You mumble as March moves to open the shed door so you can roll the stand inside. "Won't stop bugging me about attending Penacony 2000 championships."

"Will you go?" March tilts her head to the side, a questioning look in her eyes.

"Not even good enough to."

"You are literally one of the top archers of the country! You haven't ever tried qualifying-"

You don't say anything as you wheel the stand inside, parking it next to the fencing team's equipment. March's voice dies in her throat as you stand still, taking a deep breath in.

"Don't ask me about qualifying."

The room is filled with sudden silence as you swallow down your thoughts, just standing there and picking at the stray splinters sticking out from the stand.

"Let's not think too far ahead." You whisper with an awkward smile that doesn't meet your eyes. "It's in two years. I just wanna go to school now and be a kid."

March nods.

"Okay. Let's go now. Stelle and Dan Heng wanna meet us for dinner."

The grassy fields span on forever as you make your way down the fields to the road up ahead. You shift the bag to your other hand when something catches your eye. The same lilac hair that you see almost every morning now, where she lingers for just a second too long outside your house. And you see her lingering outside now again, staring at you from across the fields and her eyes don't leave yours after they meet. You stop walking, March coming to a halt next to you.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

You keep your eyes on Robin as she darts her eyes between you and March.

"Is it the new girl?"

"She's not new. I mean, well- yes she is. She's also like, well-"

"You're not making sense." March shifts her bodyweight as she lets out a loud sigh "Can we go get some food now? Please?"

"Yeah." You tear your eyes away from the girl "Let's-"

"Y/N!"

You freeze when she calls out your name, and you're scared to turn around beacuse you know she'll be closer now.

"March, I'll come find you later? We're meeting at Tseng's right?"

"Yeah." She nods uncertainly "Are you sure?"

You just nod, heaving your bag onto your shoulder as you turn around. Robin stands there with her school bag in her hands, slightly out of breath as she had run half-way across the field calling after your name. You can't fully understand the feeling in your chest, slightly bitter and definitely not a nice feeling. Like butterflies that are desperate to break out of the cavity in your chest.

"Can we talk?"

"Robin, I really don't think it matters that much-"

"Please?"

Her hand jerks slightly, as if she wanted to reach out to hold your hand but then had second thoughts about it almost immediately. You wished you didn't even see the way her hand moved.

"You just stopped."

She looks down.

"I know."

"You didn't even tell me what happened. Out of nowhere one day, just gone. I kept texting you, I kept mailing you. You never responded."

She swallows, still not making eye contact.

"You come back and you expected everything to be fine? I don't even know what happened, you started ghosting me for years. The only way I knew you were still alive was seeing your dad on the news."

You didn't expect yourself to get so emotional, especially when confronting a friend you hadn't seen since you were nine years old, who you hadn't talked to since you were fifteen. It really shouldn't be that big of a deal.

It really shouldn't have been.

"I had stuff going on too, you can't expect me to just-"

"At least shoot me an email! You could've done so much instead of fucking disappearing like that when you know I have no way of contacting you if you don't reach out."

Robin just stares at you and you hate the way tears well up in her eyes.

"I need to go. Let's just leave things the way they were." You mumble, looking down before lifting the bag onto your shoulder again.

"Wait, please-"

You turn around, not even wanting to look at her stupid face anymore.

Robin just stares after you, clenching her bag tightly.

"Youngest archer to qualify for the War Dance."

The feeling in her chest tightens as she watches you lift up your bow in the air, large grin on your face as your coach lifts you up. Fifteen years old and already achieving more than she could probably ever dream of achieving and it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. Jealousy, envy, the reason why humans strive to do better. The reason why we end up turning against each other.

Your text message stares back at her, and she can't find it in her to type. She can't find it in her to say 'Congratulations!' or 'I saw the news, I saw you on television' I saw you on television where I wanted to see myself. I saw you achieving what I could never do.

She turns of the computer shakily, a sick feeling to her stomach because why did she feel so upset? You were her best friend, her everything. You were finally achieving the dreams you told her about in the depths of the nights and now that it's happened, she finds herself upset. Envious. She tries to push down the monster that is eating her up but she can't.

"Robin, have you seen? Y/n just won the War Dance!"

She grips her fork tightly as her mother speaks and she can only nod stiffly.

"Robin, Y/n just competed in the international world cup, have you seen?"

She just nods.

She hasn't spoken to you since the night you made a name for yourself, and she feels terrible about it in so many ways she can't fully express it in words. She wants to support you so badly, but she wants to be you. She hates seeing you on television, but she finds herself watching every one of your competitions with a heart so heavy it anchors her down to the base of the earth. She hates you because you have everything she wants, she hates you so much she prints out all your articles and keeps it in a little box in her room.

She wanted to hate you when she saw you again for the first time across the street, but she felt drawn to you again, the need to approach you being too strong.

Now she doesn't know what to do.

By the time you sit down, they've all already ordered their meals (Stelle remembered your favourite, and you had to force yourself to stop from grinning like a fool). Dan Heng, who almost never shows up, sits with a wide smile and March leans into him, laughing.

"Come sit."

You move to quickly take a seat next to Stelle, dropping your bag onto the ground as you pick up the chopsticks, stomach practically growling at this point.

"What have you been up to while I was gone?"

"Nothing, Dan Heng was being boring." Stelle grins as she takes a whole dumpling into her mouth "Besides, update us. What's going on between you and Robin?"

You tense up

"March, you bitch."

"That's not very nice!"

She pouts at you, and you fake gag as you begin to eat.

"Nothing happened. She just wanted to talk to me for no reason."

"What's your history? She left to the states, so what?"

"It's more than just that." You grumble "She just ghosted me one day. After I got into the War Dance she just stopped messaging or emailing. We stayed in contact for five years after she left, and then she disappeared. Never even talked to me."

"Jesus." Dan Heng sighs "Maybe if you actually asked her why, you'd feel better about it."

"I spent years getting over losing her. Seeing her come back has made things exponentially worse."

A sinking feeling in your gut, after the first day you've just not been able to look her in the eyes again. She still is the same girl with the same naivety in her eyes.

“I think you’re both immature.” Dan Heng shrugs, and you drop your mouth open in shock

“Excuse me?”

“She was immature because she got jealous. You’re immature because you refuse to talk to her.”

“I think Y/n has the right to not need to talk to her especially after all this time.”

Stelle’s serious voice actually has your throat going dry, looking to her with a thankful look as March just picks at her food.

“Would you regret it?” Dan Heng asks, a serious look on his face “Not talking to her now?”

The idea of regret has long followed you. Regret isn’t exactly a discernible feeling, it’s not something you can pinpoint easily or just brush aside. It eats you up along with guilt at times, it feeds into your worst thoughts. You wonder if Robin still tosses in her bed late at night with a churning feeling in her stomach, a sinking heart as the past solidifies into the present. You wonder if you’d end up like that too.

“I don’t know.”

The playful mood has long faded now, Dan Heng just pushing food on his plate around as Stelle shoots side glances at you.

“I think it’s not a big deal.” You say finally “I’ll do whatever feels right for me. Don’t worry.”

You shoot what you hope is a reassuring smile at them.

“C’mon, eat up. I’m treating you guys this time.”

Robin stops trying to approach you, not even looking at you anymore and some part of you feels grateful but you also wonder why it feels slightly disappointing. She is off with another group- Acheron, Boothill, Aventurine, the rather intimidating, typically popular group. She stops glancing at you in class, she stops lingering outside your house in the mornings. She stops trying to make small talk and maybe that part you’re more thankful for because every time she tried talking to you, it was just impossible for you to say anything back. Every time you did talk, it was just awkward exchanges where your body was in fight or flight mode.

Every time you think too hard about it, or whatever it was that had happened, you find yourself spiralling. Seeing her brings you back to the place you were, the place you worked so hard to get out of. You can feel your hand trembling as push the bow out, the string digging into your fingers as the sight wavers in and out of the yellow zone.

You really wanted to forget about her, you really wanted her to be nothing but a memory of the past but now you stand face to face practically. Your unanswered history only one conversation away from being told. Everything you convinced yourself of, a new reality you had fabricated for yourself, now falling apart in front of your eyes.

Seeing lilac down the hallways results in a sharp jab to your side. Hearing her speak in class results in your brain rattling for answers.

You want her to stay away from you.

"Y/n. Hey, Y/n!"

Thwip.

You watch as the arrow lands, and March lets out a groan, looking up from the binoculars.

"6! Come on, what's going on with you recently?"

"Shut up." You said through gritted teeth, putting your bow down. "I haven't been able to focus."

Robin being back has affected you in ways you didn't realise would affect you.

"I can tell."

The new voice causes both of you to look up, the expression on your face darkening when you see your mom standing next to your coach.

"Mom, what are you doing here?" You snap, and March steps back- clearly not wanting to be involved in whatever's going on.

"Your coach has been worried about your performance and called me."

"Snitch!"

You shoot a glare at Jingliu, who just crosses her arms tightly.

"Your scores have worsened. At this rate, you won't be able to attend nationals, even." Your mother seethes, and you step back from her, knocking into your bow. The archery team has stopped shooting, all of them turning to look at not just you, but also your mother.

The legendary archer, the face of Luofu archery. The pride of their nation.

"Do you know how much I pay for you and your equipment?"

You look down, swallowing the growing lump in your throat. The world caves in in that moment.

"Do you know everything I've put down so you can succeed as well?"

The school coach urges the rest of the team to go back to doing their training.

The school coach shoots you a look of pity.

"What are you doing if not wasting my resources?"

You don't realise you're crying until let out a sob, a sharp breath of air stabbing your gut sharply and you hear a long sigh drag out.

"God. What have you been doing the past month?"

You hang your head, biting your lip to hold in another sob. You take a shaky breath in, holding your voice steady as you wipe away a stray tear.

"I'm sorry."

The sound that leaves you is hoarse, shaky and nothing like what you normally sound like. It's rough, sandpaper against skin and breaking underneath for blood to leak. Except what leaks is more than just blood, it's all of who you were.

Yukong lets out a deep sigh, hesitating slightly as grips her purse tightly.

"I'll see you later tonight."

You don't see her leave, only hearing her footsteps retreat. You can feel too many eyes on you, despite there being none at all. You can feel the world caving in on you, despite standing on what is still a solid and whole piece of land. What you can't feel is Robin's eyes on you, watching the scene unfold with an unreadable expression, before walking off quickly- fading into the sunset behind you.

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr robin #robin x reader #hsr robin x reader #remember me #1999 #honkai star rail fanfic #hsr fanfic

33 notes · View notes

queenshelby · 9 months ago

Text

The Law Student (Rewritten)

Part Four: Mistakes

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (20) & Reader (30)

Note: This plays in 1996, just before Cillian drops out of law school.

"Can I ask you something, Miss Y/LN?" he said, addressing you with a formality that was endearing in its earnestness.

"Of course, Cillian," you replied, mirroring his formality but unable to suppress the slight tremble in your voice.

You could feel your heart beating faster as you waited for his question, unsure of where this conversation was headed.

Cillian took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before continuing. "Do you think that, sometimes, people can fall for one another despite their best efforts not to?" he asked, his gaze locked onto yours.

His question hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning and implications. You swallowed hard, unprepared for his directness.

The night air had grown colder, and you shivered involuntarily. The intimacy of the moment was palpable, a magnetic pull drawing you closer to this handsome young man who seemed so intent on understanding the mysteries of human connection.

"Uhm, I suppose so," you answered, trying to keep your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions racing through you. "But I should really, uhm , get some rest now," you added hurriedly, avoiding his gaze. You wanted to run away from this intense connection and the confusing emotions it evoked.

As you fumbled with your keys, trying to unlock the building's entrance, Cillian reached out and gently placed a hand on your arm. "Wait," he said, softly. You froze, your heart pounding in your chest.

Slowly, carefully, he pulled you towards him. "I am sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he whispered, his eyes searching yours for a sign that you were okay. "But I just can't stop thinking about you, Miss Y/LN," he told you , his voice barely above a whisper.

"Cillian , I-," you started to protest, but he silenced you with a gentle finger on your lips.

"No, don't say anything," he murmured. "I know I am crossing a line here. But, I don't know. I just had to take my chances I suppose," Cillian admitted honestly and his words hung between you in the cool night air.

You could feel his breath against your skin, and your body involuntarily leaned closer to him. Cillian's hand moved from your arm to cup your cheek, and he gently brushed away a stray lock of hair that had fallen in front of your eyes. His touch sent shivers down your spine, and you suddenly felt very aware of how close he was.

"Would you, uhm, like to come inside?" you heard yourself ask, surprising both yourself and him.

You weren't sure where this was going, or what would happen next, but you knew that you couldn't just let him go without clearing the air between you.

Cillian's eyes widened in shock for a brief moment, but then a small smile played on his lips, and he nodded.

Without a word, you turned and unlocked the building's door, leading him up the stairs to your apartment. Your heart raced with every step, unsure of what would happen next.

"Come in ," you murmured, pushing the door open to reveal a cozy and warmly lit living space.

The furniture, dimly illuminated by a standing lamp, consisted of a plush couch and an oversized armchair, sitting opposite a cream-colored coffee table adorned with a large vase of fresh flowers.

Cillian hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, his eyes scanning the space with an intense curiosity.

You closed the door behind him, the sound of the latch clicking into place echoing in the silence that followed.

"Can I offer you something to drink?" you asked, breaking the silence. You could feel his gaze on you, but you didn't dare meet his eyes. Instead, you walked towards the kitchen area, your movements deliberate and measured.

"Sure," Cillian replied, his voice husky and low. You could sense the tension building between you, the anticipation making your heart race.

You busied yourself with pouring two glasses of wine, taking your time to steady your shaking hands.

The clinking of glass against the countertop filled the apartment, punctuating the charged silence.

As you turned around to face him, you saw that Cillian had taken off his coat and had draped it across the back of one of your kitchen chairs.

His eyes were locked on yours, the intensity in his gaze setting your skin on fire.

Slowly, deliberately, you made your way towards him, the glasses of wine barely registering in your hands.

"Listen, uhm, Cillian," you began, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggled to find the right words. "I want you to know that I really appreciate your kindness and, I guess, your honesty as well," you trailed off, finally mustering the courage to meet his gaze. "But this, this thing between us, it can't happen," you said, your voice steady despite the swarm of emotions consuming you.

Cillian opened his mouth to protest, but you placed a finger on his lips, effectively silencing him just as he had done with you earlier.

"Please, just listen," you implored him. "I can feel it too, the pull between us, but it's wrong. You're my student. I'm your professor and if I was to pursue anything with you then I could lose my job, my reputation, everything I've worked for. Despite, you're young and ambitious, with a bright future ahead of you. You should be with someone your own age," you told him, pushing the glass of wine into his hand. You knew you were making excuses and that the real reason was that you were afraid. Afraid of what would happen if you gave in to this attraction, afraid of the consequences, and afraid of losing yourself in the process.

But Cillian wouldn't back down and placed the wineglass back on the table. He took a step forward, closing the gap between you, leaving you with no room to retreat. You looked up at him, your breath hitched, and your heart pounding heavily in your chest. The tension was building up; you could feel the heat radiating from his body, and the electricity that sparked as your hands brushed against one another.

"I don't want girls my age. They are boring. Predictable. Sometimes, I even feel like I can't breathe when I'm around them," Cillian said, his deep blue eyes never leaving yours. "I want someone like you."

His confession hung heavy in the air, and you couldn't help but feel your resolve crumbling. You knew that giving in to this attraction was a dangerous game, but you couldn't deny the pull you felt towards him.

"Cillian," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper but Cillian didn't seem to hear the warning in your voice.

All he heard was the longing, the desire that you tried so hard to suppress. And before you knew it, his hands were cupping your face , drawing you close. His gaze dropped to your lips, and you could see the hunger, the anticipation in his blue eyes. You closed your eyes, bracing yourself for the moment you knew was coming, but you couldn't deny the thrill, the excitement that coursed through your veins. You felt his breath against your lips, and then time stood still. You felt his lips brush against yours, gently, hesitantly, and then more confidently. It was a kiss, sweet and tender, but with a promise of more to come.

"Cillian, I don't think we should be doing this," you murmured, your voice a breathy whisper, but your words fell on deaf ears as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss.

You felt a shiver run down your spine at his touch, and you realized that resisting him was futile. You let yourself sink into the kiss, your heart pounding with desire.

The kiss quickly became heated, and you could feel the chemistry between you ignite, setting your body on fire and it was at this point that you took over control.

You reached for Cillian's shirt, pulling it over his head and letting it fall beside you on the floor. His chest was lean and firm, with a small patch of chest hair covering his skin.

You ran your hands over his bare skin, relishing the feel of his warm skin beneath your fingertips. Cillian let out a low moan as your fingers trailed over his abs, making their way down to the hem of his jeans.

"Oh my goodness Cillian, you are already so hard," you murmured, running your thumb over the growing bulge in his pants.

Cillian blushed heavily. "Well, you have this kind of effect on me I suppose ," he mumbled, his eyes never leaving yours. His voice was thick with desire, and you could hear the slight tremble in his words.

Your heart skipped a beat at his response. He was right - you did have this kind of effect on him. You had an inexplicable power over him, and he over you. It was a dangerous game, but the pull between you was too strong to resist.

You undid the button of his jeans, and slowly, teasingly, pulled down the zipper.

Cillian's breath hitched as you slipped your hand inside his boxers, wrapping your fingers around his shaft. He was rock hard, his length impressive and intimidating all at once.

"You like that?" you murmured, stroking him slowly, watching as a shudder ran through his body at your touch.

"Miss, uhm...fuck," he gasped, his voice hoarse with desire as he closed his eyes and surrendered to the sensation of your touch.

You watched him, your own desire building as you stroked him, feeling him grow harder and hotter in your hand. You could feel his pulse throbbing in your fingertips, his breath coming in ragged gasps as you brought him closer and closer to the edge.

"Please Miss Y/LN, you need to stop," he begged, his voice strained. "I don't want to cum yet."

You pulled your hand away reluctantly, a wicked smile playing on your lips before you reached behind your back and unzipped your dress, slowly letting it slide off your shoulders and onto the floor.

"Holy shit," Cillian breathed, his eyes roving over your lingerie-clad body. "You are so hot."

You smiled at his admiration, feeling a thrill run through you at his words. You loved being desired by him, and you reveled in the way he looked at you.

"Come here," you said, crooking your finger at him and beckoning him closer and, like a shy boy, he obliged, moving towards you with hunger in his eyes before kissing you again.

Reaching for his hand, you eventually guided him to your plush couch, urging him to sit down. Your heart rate was almost pounding out of your chest, but you reveled in the desire that coursed through your veins.

Cillian sat on the edge of the couch, his eyes never leaving yours, and before he could even blink, you removed your bra , revealing your perfect breasts for his gaze to admire. His gaze was locked, nearly fixated on them, and you could see the desire burning behind his eyes.

Slowly, you then walked towards him before, finally, taking off your panties as well.

"Is this what you want, Cillian?" you asked, your voice thick with longing and anticipation.

Your eyes locked onto Cillian's, and you could see the raging desire in his deep blue eyes. You could tell he was struggling to contain himself, and you reveled in the thought of being the one to unleash his primal urges.

"God, yes," Cillian breathed, his voice raw with yearning and you wasted no time and pushed down his briefs , allowing his erection to spring free. It was impressive, to say the least, and your mouth watered at the thought of wrapping your lips around it.

"You are beautiful," Cillian breathed as you dropped to your knees in front of him, your hands roaming over his thighs. You could feel his muscles tense and quiver beneath your touch, and you smiled and knew you had him right where you wanted him.

You leaned forward, your lips brushing against the tip of his erection, causing Cillian to gasp and groan.

"Do you think you can cum twice for me?" you asked, locking eyes with Cillian as you slowly stroked his cock, your lips mere inches away from his tip.

"Fuck, Miss, I-I don't know," Cillian stammered, his hips bucking involuntarily into your grip, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

"Well, we will just have to find out then, won't we?" you smirked before taking him deep into your mouth, swallowing him to the root and reveling in the feeling of him hitting the back of your throat.

Cillian let out a string of curse words as you began to suck and stroke him in earnest, your other hand reaching up to play with his balls. He tangled his fingers in your hair, pulling gently as you worked his cock, grinding your teeth against his girth as you swallowed him hungrily.

"F-f-fuck," Cillian gasped, his voice shaking with pleasure. "I'm gonna fucking cum if you keep doing this!"

You pulled off of him with a satisfying pop, looking up at him through your thick lashes.

"That's a good boy," you murmured, smirking at the shocked look on his face before taking him back into your mouth.

Cillian's moans and curse words filled the room, his hips thrusting upwards as you sucked him with abandon. It wasn't long before you could feel him tensing up, and you knew he was close.

"I'm gonna cum, Miss!" Cillian exclaimed, groaning loudly as he shot his load into your mouth, filling you with his warm seed. You swallowed eagerly, savoring the taste of his release.

But you weren't finished with him yet . You looked up at Cillian, your mouth still wrapped around his cock.

His eyes were closed, his head thrown back in pleasure as you continued to work your mouth over him.

Slowly, you began to move again, sucking him deeper and harder with each stroke until he hardened again completely in your mouth.

"Ah, I can't believe how good this feels," Cillian gasped as you worked your magic, coaxing his cock back to a steel-like stiffness between your lips.

He opened his eyes and looked down at you, the heat in his gaze scorching as, finally, you released him from your mouth and stood up.

"Sit back against the couch," you instructed Cillian, your voice soft and sultry but at the same time, unyielding, demanding.

You needed this. Needed to take control. Needed to feel what it was like to possess him.

He obeyed, lying back against the couch, his cock straining towards the ceiling.

Slowly, deliberately, you climbed onto him, placing one knee on either side of his hips. You were straddling him now, your pussy hovering tantalizingly close to his cock.

You could feel the heat emanating from your wetness, and you knew that he could see it too.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Cillian breathed, his hands reaching up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples.

You arched your back, gasping as his touch sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

"And you're so fucking perfect," you replied, your voice low and sultry as you reached down to guide his cock towards your entrance. "God, I need this. Need to feel you inside me," you moaned, slowly lowering yourself onto him, inch by inch.

Cillian gasped as you took him inside of you, his cock stretching you wide, filling you up in a way that made your toes curl. You began to rock your hips back and forth, grinding yourself against him, your clit rubbing against his pelvis with every movement.

"You are so wet for me. So fucking tight," Cillian groaned, his fingers digging into your hips as he began to thrust up into you.

"Are you going to be a good boy for me and cum deep inside me?" you demanded, your voice low and sultry.

"Yes, Miss, I-I'll do anything you want," Cillian stuttered, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he struggled to thrust harder and faster into you.

But you weren't satisfied yet. You wanted to feel him even deeper inside of you, so you leaned back, placing your hands on Cillian's thighs for support.

"Ah, fuck yes," Cillian moaned as you began to ride him harder, the angle allowing him to hit even deeper inside of you.

"I am so close ," you panted, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as you drew closer and closer to your climax.

Cillian groaned, his fingers digging into your hips as he thrust up into you.

The feeling of him inside of you, the sound of our bodies slapping together, the smell of our sweat mixing together - it was all so overwhelming, so intoxicating.

"I'm gonna cum," you exclaimed, your voice rising in pitch as your orgasm washed over you.

Your nails dug into Cillian's thighs, leaving crescent-shaped marks on his skin as you rode out the waves of pleasure that coursed through your body.

Cillian let out a loud groan as he felt you clench around him, his cock twitching as he emptied himself deep inside you. His warm seed spilled forth, filling you up completely before leaking out slowly, trailing down your inner thigh.

You collapsed onto him, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath.

Cillian wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as his own panting subsided. You both lay there, spent and exhausted, your bodies intertwined in a tangle of post-orgasmic bliss.

But as the haze of passion cleared, reality came crashing back down.

You had just fucked one of your students. There, you said it. It was wrong, and you knew it - but you couldn't deny the wave of satisfaction and contentment that washed over you. It had been so long since you had felt anything other than isolation and loneliness.

But as the adrenaline wore off, guilt and panic began to set in. You quickly pulled away from Cillian, your movements hurried and frantic as you scrambled to collect your clothes from the floor.

"What's wrong?" Cillian asked, concern etched on his face.

You couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze as you pulled your dress back on, the material sticking to your sweat-slicked skin.

"Did I do something wrong?" he then asked quickly , his face falling as he pulled on his boxers and jeans, trying to cover himself as if he were naked and vulnerable.

"No," you stammered, shaking your head as you pulled your panties back on beneath your dress. It was true, he hadn't done anything wrong, but you couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that had settled in your stomach like a lead weight.

"Then why are you freaking out?" Cillian asked, searching your face for an answer. "You know I won't tell anyone about this," he added, his voice soft and sincere.

You met his gaze, grateful for his understanding and compassion. "I know," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's just, I fucked up Cillian. I should have acted responsibly," you reluctantly confessed.

The mood had shifted dramatically, and the heavy weight of guilt and shame hung in the air between you.

Cillian looked hurt for a moment before masking it with a nonchalant shrug. "Hey, it's fine. I wanted it probably more than you did. I made the first move," he assured you but you knew that it wasn't that simple. You were his professor, and you were meant to protect him and guide him academically - not to take advantage of his youth and vulnerability.

"Cillian, I think it's best if you leave," you said, your voice trembling as you forced yourself to meet his gaze.

Cillian's face fell, and you could see the hurt and confusion in his eyes. He nodded slowly, his movements stiff and jerky as he grabbed his t-shirt.

"I'll see you tomorrow in class," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

But you knew that things would never be the same between you. You had crossed a line, and there was no turning back.

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@heidimoreton @nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @forgottenpeakywriter @smailaway @sophiaaguirred

#cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy imagine

70 notes · View notes