#motionless in white crossover

[ladyveronikawrites]

I'M YOURS TO KEEP, SO SINK YOUR TEETH INTO ME 18 + (Chris Motionless x Nicholas Ruffilo)

Friends in Sin Kinktober 2024

Motionless in White Kinktober 2024 - DAY ONE

🥀For @ao3userfeistycadavers Friends in Sin Kinktober 2024 Collection

-crossposted on wattpad

🥀Pairing: Vampire! Chris Motionless x Vampire! Nicholas Ruffilo

🥀Summary: In this dystopian regency tale, Christopher drags the prince to the city for a night of fun and fright.

🥀Content warning: Supernatural Au, breath play, blood drinking, blood sharing, blow jobs, use of magic,

🥀Author's note: Title comes from Blessthefall's 'Drag Me Under". Story inspired by N. Dune's "Within Her Magic". Shout out to @nerdraging4point0 for being my lovely beta reader💜pics of inspiration (all sfw) chris // nick // the twins 💜Dividers by @saradika-graphics

🥀 word count - 2k

Nicholas groans as he rolls out of bed. Peering up at the setting sun and rubs his eyes warily, a yawn overtaking his whole body with a stretch. He doesn’t know how long he’s been cooped up in his father’s mansion- a punishment for the lack of an heir - but what his father doesn’t know is how he’s been intentionally making himself infertile from a concoction of magical herbs. Nick is tired of his family's traditional bullshit. 

He dresses quickly in ripped jeans and a tight black cotton turtleneck shirt his secret boyfriend stashed for him in the depths of his walk-in closet. After sliding on a pair of boots he’s only worn twice in his life, he drapes himself in a long leather trench coat his boyfriend insisted he wear tonight.

Nick sighs deeply, rolling his eyes as he sends a silent prayer to the void that this night doesn’t go horribly wrong, and he jumps out of the window.

In his bat form, it doesn’t take him long to reach the edge of the city when he knows his boyfriend will be there. They've done this before, but not this risky yet Nick doesn’t have a fuck to give anymore. 

He shifts back into his human body, hair loose and wild against the cool breeze surrounding him. For a heartbeat- if he had one - he drinks in his lover’s appearance and smirks. 

“Fuckin dork,” Nick huffs a laugh, gripping the collar of his love’s coat to pull him into a deep kiss. It’s slow and unhurried, a wet tongue sliding between a pair of lips where they exchange hot breaths and hushed moans. Cool metal brushes against his skin when sloppy kisses mark his cheek and trail down his jaw. 

“We should go, Christopher,” Nick mumbles. The lips pressed against his throat suck an annoyed mark onto his skin. “Seriously,” his voice is flat with an edge of irritation. 

“Relax babe,” Chris whispers hotly in his ear. “We’ve got all the time in the world.” Chris ignores Nick’s request as he continues to pepper kisses on his tattooed skin.

“What if he finds out?”

“I’ve missed you so much,” Chris whines ignoring Nick’s concern, grabbing his lover's hand he whisks them away into the neon city lights.

Nicholas still gets nauseous when Christopher takes them at supernatural speeds, despite them traveling this way almost daily. He wretches behind a large burning metal canister in the dank alleyway, wiping his mouth with his hand, he swallows down more bile. 

“You ok, my love?” Chris asks caressing Nicholas’ cheek which flushes against his touch. 

“I’m fine,” he scoffs pulling away, attempting to hide his embarrassment but he knows Chris sees right through it. 

“C’mon, let’s go dance until the sunrises.” Chris winks, lifting Nicholas’ hand to press gentle kisses to each knuckle.

At the bar, Nicholas settles his stomach by tossing back some bright fluorescent blue liquid Christopher thrust into his hand before disappearing onto the dancefloor. He knows that any minute now, Chris will be returning to drag him to the dancefloor. It’s their usual song and dance; literally, at least once a month when the moon is at its fullest, he takes the chance – when the neighboring territories get restless – Christopher finds them a new spot to get lost in. He knows it's only a matter of time before the King finds out, but he doesn’t care. 

What could possibly be worse than living a lie anyway? 

The glass hardly makes contact with the granite bar top before Nicholas feels himself being dragged away from the booth.

“Darling, you will just love what I have found.” Nick’s eyes go wide when the crowd parts for two very beautiful beings. The neon strobe lights cast an ethereal halo around them. His fangs lengthen on instinct alone and he wills himself to calm down. Feeding may be one of the reasons Chris brought him out tonight – to help him gain strength from all the diluted blood from the hospitals and magical elixirs.

Ever since the slow decline of the human race, supernaturals have expanded across the territories to restore the earth from the poison of overconsumption and overpopulation. The lush green forests Nicholas would run wild in as a youngling were quickly bulldozed and destroyed to be turned into infrastructures for the new city. He watched as the world went from bright green and clear skies to cold concrete and gray. Small aspects of the old world still remain in these long-forgotten cities. 

“Wow,” is all Nick can muster as his brain filters through the loud electronic synth and the dense air around him. He barely registers the bodies dancing and grinding around him – his attention fixed on them. It’s their alluring scent that hits him first as they approach him, both blonde with clear blue eyes and light-tanned skin that has seen more sun than he has. But they don’t have the typical scent of other occult. 

Human. 

Nicholas stands frozen in time as the female approaches him with her simple long white dress and long pin-straight tresses. It’s carefree and unhurried as if she wasn't afraid of being prey tonight, even though she is. With outstretched arms, she pulls the tinted glasses from his eyes causing him to blink a few times. Her skin is clear of ink, branding, or other indication of being owned.

“You have gorgeous eyes.” She smiles as she places them on her face before turning her petite frame and grinding up against him. Nicholas doesn’t stop the groan that settles deep in his throat. Her body pressed up against his feels so– 

Suddenly large warm hands grip his hips as a solid chest presses against his back. Nicholas tenses to the unfamiliar touch as the scent overwhelms him. 

The male. 

“Relax little prince,” his male’s soft sultry voice sends a shiver down his spine. “Your hottie already threatened to rip us into pieces if we misbehave.” The male doesn’t stop his teasing when he trails kisses down Nick’s jaw and the exposed skin about the turtleneck. Nick leans back into him craving more of his touch. He feels something warm like static electricity hovering over his skin, pulling him in, enticing him to slide his hands over the female in front of him. 

“It’s ok, just a little magic. But we aren’t controlling you — just enhancing your mind to what you already desire.”

“Looks like you all are having some fun.” A deep chuckle rumbles from behind him. Nick’s eyes jolt open when fingers grip his chin. When he meets his lover’s eyes, he finds them darkened to onyx and shimmering in lust. Pressure deepens around his jaw as Chris pulls Nicholas from the twins and into his embrace. Chris leans down and sucks Nick’s lower lip between his teeth. Nick presses his hands against Chris’ chest, as Chris threads his fingers through his hair, tilting his head slightly to deepen the kiss. The world around them slows as the two share a heated moment that leaves them both a little breathless.  

When the two ancient vampires' part, Christopher guides the group to the back where there’s a scattering of leather sofas. The vampires discard their coats onto an empty seat, and then Nicholas turns to the female. The most beautiful sound comes from her parted lips when Nicholas drags her onto his lap. 

“What’s your name, human?” he asks softly, tucking a loose strand of her bright starlight hair behind her delicate ear.

“Daphne, your Highness.” Nicholas watches as she lowers her gaze in submission. 

Being the royal outcast, most pay no mind to him – which he prefers – yet this subtle act has him completely and utterly flustered. “Don’t worry my prince, I will take excellent care of you,” she leans over to whisper in his ear. 

He feels the gentle pull of magic relax him as he leans back and puts his arms around her waist. As she grinds against him, she peppers sweet kisses to his cheeks and jaw. He gasps when she sucks at the delicate skin of his throat, pressing herself harder against his erection. Instantly his fangs extend, and he can’t help when he yanks at her strands pulling her away. 

Getting the hint, she stretches her neck long and his vision focuses on the tender flesh of her throat, a small vein pulses in time with the music surrounding them. Nicholas wraps his strong arms around her, holding her tightly. Inhaling her sweet scent, he drags his nose across the bare skin, and it pebbles instantly. She shivers gracefully and a small moan tumbles from her lips when he kisses and licks at the crook of her neck.

“May I taste you?” He practically moans against her skin, his lips grazing the large vein on the side of her neck. “Please,” he whimpers sucking in a sob.

“Of course, your Highness.” She gasps when his fangs scrape at first, then her body melts into his with a soft moan when he pierces her skin. Her blood tastes of petrichor, of the lost forests, before the humans depleted the earth. The magic in his veins yearn for her, for the land before time. 

Feverishly, he digs his nails into her hips, grinding against her as he takes another pull of her blood. He’s so close to climax it’s almost painful. It’s then he hears the male moan beside him jolting him from the trance. 

Daphne sighs softly when he detaches his mouth from her. Nicholas wipes his mouth on the back of his hand ready to excuse himself to wash away the blood but when he looks down, his brows burrow. Where red usually lies is an unusually clear substance. He looks over to Daphne and his mouth drops open. Her clear blue eyes are now bright green, her ears are pointed, and the wound on her neck is now healing. 

Fae.

Nicholas tenses, eyes alert despite the edges of his vision darkening. 

“Nick, it’s alright,” Chris’ words slur slightly. “They are here to serve us.” Serve us? “Your father-” Nick turns to find the male silencing Chris with a kiss. He watches as Chris yanks at the blond, bringing his lips to the pale column of his neck. Chris flicks his gaze up to Nick before sinking his teeth in. The male’s mouth slacks into a perfect ‘o’ shape and his eyes roll back. The sight only has Nicholas aroused all over again. 

In a blur, Nicholas finds himself being pinned to the couch by the throat. Chris has always been one to be a little reckless, especially in public because of his exhibitionistic nature. Nick will gladly let him be the center of attention if that means he can sink into the shadows. 

“You good?” Chris pants, grinning wildly. Nick answers with a wicked grin, digging his nails into Chris’ hips and thrusting up into him. The friction against his jeans isn’t enough and it’s driving Nick feral. Chris leans down capturing his moan in between his lips. In the corner of his vision, he sees Daphne fall to her knees and the male stands behind her pushing her hair over to the other shoulder to offer her neck once again. Chris spears his lips apart with his tongue as he grinds against him. 

“Open up, darling,” Christopher commands and Nicholas obeys. Chris turns to the female and doesn’t hesitate when he bites down on her neck. She moans loudly and starts to shake, but the male clamps his hands on her shoulders to keep her steady. He detaches himself from the girl and spits the fae blood into his lover’s mouth. 

Nicholas swallows every bit, the magical blood instantly setting his veins alight. It’s all tongue and teeth this time when they kiss. Suddenly, there’s heat around his neck and it’s hard to breathe — Christopher’s element of air. Nick whines when they part, but only for a second when Chris pulls him from his jeans. He sucks him down fast and in no time at all Nick is shooting hot cum in the back of his throat, panting for air. Chris dutifully licks and sucks him clean - releasing his magic –  before crawling back and pressing a chaste kiss to his boyfriend’s lips.

“That…was…amazing,” Nick pants. “Where did the twins go?” 

Christopher gently pulls Nicholas upright and wraps his arm around him. “Probably to get a drink or dance.” Melancholy grips at Nick’s stomach briefly. He nuzzles himself against Chris as his senses begin to dull. “We will see them again,” Chris promises. “Now let’s get you home before the King finds out.” 

tysm for reading and reblogging❤️

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[yournecessaryevil]

💀 Callsign: Motionless 💀

🖤COD! CHRIS CERULLI X READER ONESHOT🖤

You were the new recruit they brought on to assist TF141, and your first week with everyone was supposed to be a guaranteed breeze. There's just one problem: you and the Lieutenant they assigned to train you don't exactly get along...

• fluff; language; slight angst

You hated him.

You'd only been with your task force for the short span of one week, and already, you despised him, with every fibre of your being.

Sure, you were the newest recruit, which meant you still had a lot to learn, but if you were being perfectly honest, Lieutenant Cerulli's teaching methods were a bit... harsh? Grating, unorthodox, even?

"Again."

Ugh, speak of the devil, and he shall appear, right?

Cerulli's voice snapped you out of your thoughts, his tone firm and demanding.

You gritted your teeth, sneaking a sideways glare at him out of the corner of your eye. You hated the way he stood there watching you, brown eyes narrowed, him and his perfect tactical vest with the stupid little patch that had his callsign embroidered on it in fancy white letters, 'MOTIONLESS'.

Fuck him and his perfect stupid eyebrows and piercings and ink, and his perfect voice that could simultaneously melt your insides as well as cut you down to the bone.

Your hands curled into fists as you stood up, digging the toe of one of your boots into the protective mat on the floor. The two of you had been at it for hours now it seemed, the private training gym the only witness to the grueling torture Lieutenant Cerulli had been putting you through.

"I don't see why we have to keep doing this, it's-" you began to protest.

"-an important fucking life skill you need to learn. Now quit whining and go," Cerulli cut in sharply. You huffed in irritation, shooting a glare in his direction before charging towards him, your leg up and ready to drop kick him-

And just like the previous twelve times you'd tried, you were down on the mat in an instant, your wrists pinned beneath his, one of his legs keeping both of yours pinned to the mat.

Letting out a frustrated growl, you went to tug your wrists free from his grip, making an attempt to shove him away from you, but Cerulli wouldn't budge.

"No. You're gonna sit here and tell me what went wrong this time," he said with a shake of his head, before helping you sit up.

You avoided his gaze, instead keeping your eyes fixed on the dark blue mat beneath you. "Too slow," you muttered. "No," came Cerulli's instant reply.

Gritting your teeth, you finally let your eyes meet his, both of you staring at each other through narrowed eyes.

"I don't fucking know-"

"Your form is fucking pathetic, you're distributing your weight in all the wrong places, and your attitude fucking stinks," Cerulli snapped.

That was it, you were done.

Pulling yourself into a standing position, you glared down at him. "I'm done," you spat.

His jaw clenching, Cerulli stood up as well, the height difference between the two of you just a little bit intimidating.

"You're done when I say you're done!" he hissed. Your hands curled into fists at your sides again, but you stood your ground, staring him down, refusing to be the first to break eye contact.

You were starting to see why everyone had a rather unpopular opinion about Lieutenant Cerulli. The man was impossible to work with, his teaching methods harsh, his demeanor cold and unforgiving.

On impulse, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind, the two words easily slipping off the tip of your tongue.

"Fuck. You."

A muscle in Cerulli's jaw twitched, his eyes narrowing, the irises seeming to darken.

For the briefest of seconds, you wondered if perhaps you'd gone just a bit too far, until he slowly ran one inked hand through his dyed purple hair, his gaze growing cold.

"Get out. We're fucking done. As of tomorrow, you're no longer my problem," he hissed, pointing towards the doors to the gym.

Good fucking riddance, right?

With an irritated glance in his direction, you abruptly turned on your heel, not bothering to look back as you stormed out of the gym, letting the doors slam shut behind you.

Well.

Today's practice could have gone a lot better. No, fuck that, today's practice should have gone a lot better.

After you had left in a huff, Chris had stayed behind, wanting to give himself some time to calm down.

It wasn't that he was mad at you, persay.

It was more so the fact that you had given up so fucking easily, hadn't even tried to give it your all.

Not even a day after you had been introduced to the team, it had been determined that he himself, the one they called 'Motionless', would be in charge of overseeing your training, tasked with the job of shaping you into something more than just a rookie, something better, a valuable asset to their task force.

And it had gone well for the first couple of days. Or at least, he thought it had.

Up until today, that is.

The two of you had been here in the private training gym since 10am, working on turning you from the shiny new recruit into a powerhouse of a cadet. The only problem? You were stubborn as hell, insistent on doing things your way, even though time and effort had shown your methods to be flawed.

He was only trying to do his fucking job, after all. The same job he'd done countless times before, with nearly every new recruit that came into their squad bay.

So why did this particular job affect him this badly?

Why did you affect him this badly...?

It wasn't like he was asking you to move mountains for him, no. He simply wanted someone he could be proud of, someone who could easily defend themselves if their team was down for the count, someone who he wouldn't have to hear had died in action, or been taken hostage, or god knows what.

The mere thought had Chris grimacing in distaste as he sighed, heading for the gym doors. He only wanted you to be able to defend yourself, that was all. The world could be an unkind place sometimes...

"He's arrogant, and cold, and a complete dick."

One corner of your mouth tugged itself up in a brief snarl as you sat there at the table in the mess hall, conversing with some of your fellow team members.

The smallest one, the one you've heard people call Vinny, spoke up, shifting slightly in his seat across from you. "He's not that bad, you just gotta figure him out. Pretty easy to get along with after that," he shrugged.

Easy for him to say, he and the three other people sitting here already had it in good with Lieutenant Cerulli. Upon you pointing this out, Vinny shrugged again, an unbothered look on his face.

"That's because we've been here longer. Give it some time," his teammate cut in, blue eyes finding yours with a wink. You sighed, your gaze dropping from his to settle on the little patch fixed to his tactical vest, the word 'HORROR' embroidered in a neat white font.

That's the other thing that bothered you about Cerulli's teaching methods. Everyone else had a callsign they went by, except for the new recruits who came in. Everybody here at the table had one, 'HORROR', 'SACHETTI', 'SKIEZ', even one with the more normal callsign of simply 'JUSTIN'.

Everybody had a designated name, a sign of place here, a sign that they were acknowledged, respected, valid. But you'd come to discover that here, as a part of this team and this base, titles didn't come easily. You had to fucking earn them.

Every new recruit before you had earned theirs, they had fought and trained to claw their way into the system, they had fucking earned their place here. Cerulli had told you so, himself.

But you?

You were still the fresh, shiny new rookie who everyone assumed knew nothing because you were young, you were small, you had only been here a week...

You'd be lying to yourself if you said it didn't sting a little, the way everyone seemed to view you here. Sure, the teammates sitting here at the table had treated you fairly enough, but everyone else? If you weren't bearing a callsign and a knowledge of how to defend yourself, you weren't worth their time...

"Hey."

Horror's voice cut into your thoughts, making your gaze snap up to meet his.

"I know it might seem like he's riding you a little too hard right now, but... I promise, his heart's in the right place. Give him a chance, out of everyone here, he's your best shot when it comes to training. You didn't hear this from me and if you ever repeat it, I'll kick your ass, rookie... but I would trust Cerulli with my life, more than I'd trust myself."

"We all would," Vinny cut in, both of his teammates beside him nodding in agreement.

"Give him some time. He might seem like a dick, but his methods work," Justin agreed, offering you a light half-smile.

You stared down at the tabletop for a second, not really seeing it as you contemplated what they told you, turning it over in your mind.

You knew what you should do. It wasn't what you wanted to do, by any means. But if what they told you was true, then... maybe it needed to be done.

Maybe you should gather up what was left of your dignity and go crawling back to Cerulli to apologize. Or, at the very least, to see if he'd give you a second chance at training.

You could be the bigger person here, right? Take all of his teachings with a grain of salt, so to speak?

Ugh...

With a groan, you shoved your plate of food away from you, resting your head facedown atop your crossed arms.

"I know, I know. But I'm telling you... if you give him a chance and show him that you actually have a desire to learn? It'll be the best decision you've ever made, rookie," Horror said, his tone laced with amusement.

Would it though?

With another quiet grumble, you slowly lifted your head, exchanging a glance with Vinny, who grinned. "Want me to let him know you're heading down there?"

You immediately shook your head at him, a grimace marring your features. "No, please don't. It's embarrassing enough that I have to go back and apologize to him..."

"Then do us a favor and kick his ass, I guess? It'd be kind of satisfying to know Chris had his ass handed to him by our newest recruit," Horror grinned.

Hmm... that was a rather tempting thought... to take everything Cerulli taught you and really give it back to him...

"Alright, fine. Deal," you agreed, getting up from the table. "Oh and... thanks, Horror. I kind of needed that, I guess," you added softly.

Shrugging, he gave you a light mock-salute in response.

"Sure. And, from now on... no Horror. Only Ricky."

Nodding, you bade your teammates farewell before slinking out of the mess hall, determined to find Cerulli and make good on your promise.

You only hoped he'd actually give you a second chance and not let it go to his head...

"Have Jensen work with you more on it tomorrow, your aim's a little off. Go get some rest."

Chris watched one of the recruits he'd been training retreat into the distance, the smell of smoke and polishing oil still heavy in the air on the rifle range.

And then something caught his eye.

Or rather, someone.

Your figure gradually became more detailed as you approached, and Chris internally groaned.

If you were here to give him more shit and another lovely 'Fuck you', he wasn't having it...

But the look on your face told a different story. Your brows were drawn together in worry, any traces of your usual anger and frustration gone, a look of nervousness in place.

He waited until you were about four feet away from him before he spoke up, his voice cold.

"If you're here to train, go ask someone else."

But your response surprised him a little, catching him off guard.

"I actually came to apologize..."

You... come again??

"What-" he began, but you cut him off with a shake of your head.

"No, let me finish. I, um... I talked to Horror, er, I mean Ricky. I talked to Ricky and the others, and... and they told me to come back here and give you another chance. I... I'm sorry. Okay? I'm sorry."

Huh. Leave it to Rick to sort things out behind the scenes, ever the peacemaker as always....

Silence settled between the two of you for a moment, before Chris spoke up.

"Why?"

That one word lingered there in the air, and your brows furrowed in confusion. "Why, what? Why... am I sorry, or...?" you asked, trailing off.

"No. Why did you give up on me? Why the fuck'd you decide you were done?"

"I..." your voice faltered for a moment, your gaze dropping to stare down at the grassy field, and Chris watched as you frowned, digging the toe of your boot into the grass.

Fourteen.

Fourteen times.

It was a habit he'd noticed you had, whenever you were uncertain or anxious. Not every recruit had little tics or habits they'd pick up, but the few that did? Chris noticed.

He always noticed, especially more so when it came to you.

Fourteen times this past week that you'd been here, fourteen times he'd seen you dig the toe of your boot into whatever surface you were standing on, your hands and fingers fidgeting either in front of you or at your sides.

Fourteen times he'd stopped to watch you, his attention utterly fucking captivated by you.

Slowly, he took one step towards you, followed by another, and still another, until he was a mere foot away from you.

"Is it because you don't think you're good enough? You don't think you have what it takes, or what?" he asked softly, trying to keep his tone gentle.

The way you avoided his gaze immediately after he asked the question told him everything he needed to know.

"Do you really think you're not worthy of a place here? Is that it?" he continued, the mounting tension in the air becoming more palpable.

Almost an entire minute or two went by without you answering him, and he started to repeat the question until you finally did answer him, your voice surprisingly strained and sounding on the verge of breaking.

"No."

You didn't have to specify for him to know what that single word meant.

He could feel it, could see the way you thought of yourself as you stood here in front of him.

And for some reason, he didn't like it.

He hated it.

He hated the newfound knowledge of how you saw yourself, how it seemed everyone else had been seeing you, since the day you'd arrived.

You really didn't think you were worthy of a place here, did you? The thought that he himself might have been a contributing factor in that made him feel sick.

Fuck... if he'd stopped for just a second to try and see things your way, see how it felt to be an outsider-

But he did know how it felt.

Memories of his first week as a frightened, inexperienced new recruit flashed through his mind, images of a young, dark-haired boy who had no clue what the fuck he was doing...

Chris swallowed hard, his gaze locked on you as he spoke up, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You... deserve to be here. You know that, don't you?"

"Do I?"

Your immediate response, the way you mumbled the question without even bothering to look at him, it made his insides feel sick.

And he'd been hard on you today...

Granted, he was hard on everyone who fell under his guidance, but... you were different.

More fragile and feeling and human than the others, you had caught his attention almost right away.

And when they'd insisted he be the one to train you-

Holy fuck.

He'd figured it out.

The sudden realization had him internally reeling, absolutely losing it.

He'd been harder on you than the others because... he cared more.

He cared almost too much, surely more than what was appropriate, right?

Fuck...

Swallowing hard, he reached out towards you for a second, his hand lingering there in the space between you, before he let it fall back to his side.

Steeling himself to avoid the tears he could feel burning at the edge of his vision, he gritted his teeth, before gesturing to his left, the movement finally capturing your attention.

"Headphones. Weapon. Now."

Your eyes widened for a moment, your voice faltering as you spoke.

"What are you-"

He cut you off midsentence, his tone hardening, though his gaze remained soft as he stared down at you.

"I'm training you."

"I'm training you."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, catching you off guard and making your breath hitch in your throat.

You'd come out here to apologize, expecting him to turn you away with a refusal of said apology, and instead... he was giving you a second chance?

Swallowing hard, you slowly turned and grabbed a set of the soundproof headphones out of the box nearby, plugging one end of the attached cord into the wireless comm pack, the other end connecting to the headphones themselves, before tucking the comm pack into the front pocket of your tactical vest.

You watched as Lieutenant Cerulli did the same, reaching up with one inked hand to turn on the comm link and adjust the mic, and after doing the same, you could hear his voice come through the speakers.

"Weapon, now."

Without a word, you followed his order, grabbing one of the rifles propped up nearby, the weight of the weapon seeming almost too heavy and unfamiliar in your hands.

You weren't scheduled for rifle range practice until at least a week or two from now, surely he had to have known that...?

Upon telling him so, Cerulli shrugged, casting you a sideways glance before gesturing towards the targets out in the distance.

"Doesn't matter. I'm teaching you now. And I expect you to be willing to learn. I also expect you to hit at least one of those."

You followed his gaze, staring out at the targets sitting on the grassy field. From here, they looked to be at least a mile or more away, surely too far to even graze with a bullet, right?

No, no... you were determined to get this.

This morning's practice may have gone terribly, but that didn't mean this one would.

Taking a deep cleansing breath, you moved to stand where he wanted you, lifting the weapon in your hands.

And almost immediately, Cerulli's voice came through the speakers.

"No. Your stance is off. Here, look."

You felt one of his legs nudge yours apart, correcting your stance, before an inked hand came into view, reaching forward to adjust the position of the rifle in your hands.

"Look through the little lens, until you have the center of the target in your crosshairs. And when you pull that trigger, keep as tight a grip as you can, because there's gonna be some kickback from the rifle. It'll knock you on your fucking ass if you're not paying attention."

You nodded, taking another deep breath before doing as he said, looking through the lens. From here, that target looked so fucking tiny, nearly impossible to hit.

"I can't do this-" you started.

"Yes, you can. You can and you will."

Cerulli's voice was quiet in your ears, his tone gentle, and you could feel the close proximity of him behind you as he reached forward to make a slight adjustment to the rifle again, his fingers brushing briefly across yours before he let go.

"I want you to focus, and really try for me. You can do this, I know you can. Stop second guessing yourself, Y/N..."

His touch, combined with the use of your actual name, instead of his usual 'rookie' pet name for you, sent electric tingles down your spine, your heart stumbling over itself within the confines of your ribcage.

Your throat suddenly felt tight, your mind racing as you tried desperately to remember what he'd told you, how to correctly aim and fire.

Swallowing nervously, you looked through the lens again, taking a deep breath and curling your finger around the trigger. A mere second passed before you brought that finger down a little tighter, squeezing the trigger.

Even with the protective headphones, you could still hear the bullet as it left the chamber, could smell the scent of gunsmoke and oil as it left its home. And Cerulli had been right, there was indeed some kickback from the rifle.

But you dug the heels of your boots into the ground, trying to stay firmly in place. Still, you stumbled backwards a little, your back meeting Cerulli's chest, his hands instantly coming up to your shoulders to steady you.

"Good, but your aim was a little off, I want you to try again."

His tone was far less harsh than it had been this morning, his whole demeanor vastly different.

A part of you wanted to look back, to see if the heat you felt gathering in your cheeks would be reflected in those brown eyes of his.

But the bigger part of you insisted on staying focused, on seeing your training through.

Steeling yourself, you cast a brief glance out towards the target in the distance. He was right, your aim was more than a little off.

You could see from here the impact left by the bullet, the mark nowhere close to the center.

Looking through the lens to correct your aim, you took a deep steadying breath before pulling and releasing the trigger again, preparing yourself for the anticipated kickback.

It came a little easier this time, your weight being distributed a bit more evenly in order to keep your feet firmly on the ground.

And when you glanced out at the target, you found yourself a little too satisfied that the mark had hit a bit closer to home this time.

"Again," came Cerulli's velvet voice in your ears, his presence behind you more noticeable as he took one half-step closer to you.

Trying your hardest to ignore the sudden distraction, you nodded, taking aim before firing again, the crack of the bullet loud in the late afternoon air. You watched the target, taking note of how much closer the bullet had hit.

"Slight improvement, Y/N. Again, one more time."

You shifted your weight a little, taking aim one last time, making sure the target was dead center in the crosshairs before you pulled the trigger, the bullet leaving its mark just a touch away from the center of the target, this time.

You dared to glance over your shoulder for a brief moment, and when your eyes met his, your breath trembled as it left your slightly parted lips. The look in his eyes, on his face, it was the only time you'd ever seen him look even remotely... proud...

The longer you kept your eyes locked on his, the more you noticed the way his irises seemed to darken, one corner of his mouth twitching into what looked like a smirk before it was gone.

"So...?" you asked, your voice coming out in a breathless whisper. You nervously cleared your throat before continuing. "How'd I do...?"

Cerulli's response came in an instant, his voice low and hoarse as he kept his eyes fixed on you.

"Good- good fucking job, Y/N..."

You barely had time to crack the tiniest of smiles before Cerulli was holding up a finger towards you, reaching with his other hand to unholster the handgun he kept at his side at all times.

With a slight tremble, he reached out with one inked hand to pass the sleek black weapon to you, waiting for you to take it.

"I want to try something new with you..."

"I want to try something new with you..."

The words left his mouth before even he knew what was happening, what he was doing.

But to his surprise, you wordlessly set aside the rifle, taking the smaller weapon from his hand and immediately settling back into your previous stance, your feet firmly planted on the ground, though your gaze never left his for a second.

"Like this?"

Your voice reached his ears through the speakers, your tone soft and tentative, a vast change from the fiery attitude you'd displayed for him this morning.

He nodded, swallowing hard past the new, unfamiliar emotions building up within himself.

His throat suddenly felt dry, his palms unusually slick with sweat, and why the fuck was his heart stuttering every so often instead of beating like it was supposed to-

Oh.

Oh.

Well, fuck.

His eyes widened momentarily before he fought to quickly regain his composure, moving to stand behind you.

Reaching up with one hand, he tried hard to focus on helping you adjust your grip on the handgun, instead of focusing on how he could feel the warmth of your back against his chest, or the way you smelled faintly of strawberries and something slightly floral, was that... roses?

His jaw tensing a little, Chris leaned back, his hand slipping from yours, though his fingers lingered just a moment longer than necessary, as he watched you.

"S-same thing as before. Take aim, and... well, you know."

"Fire," came your response, a hint of sudden amusement in your voice. He nodded, unable to keep one corner of his mouth from lifting in a brief smirk.

"Exactly."

He watched as you stood there, inhaling for a second before letting it go, pulling the trigger, the crack of the bullet leaving its chamber a satisfying sound to his ears.

And when he looked out in the distance and saw how close you'd come to hitting that target dead fucking center...

You were a quick learner, once you got out of your own head and stopped being so stubborn. He could see it now, anyone could.

Hell, if you'd let him, he could probably shape you into one of the best recruits he'd ever taught, turn you into an absolute powerhouse of a soldier, maybe even help you earn Ghost status on TF141, a position that was highly strived for and sought after by many, but earned by so very few.

You didn't even have your callsign yet, you hadn't quite earned it yet. But by the time he was done with you...

'Bet you could have her coming undone for you...' the sudden errant thought slipped unbidden into his head before he could stop it, and he could feel the heat rush to his face.

Fuck, he needed to quit thinking like that, he knew it was wrong, it was so fucking wrong, and besides, would you even feel the same way he did-?

The sharp crack of another bullet leaving the chamber snapped him out of his thoughts, and he watched in shock as this time, finally--

Holy fuck.

It hit dead center in that target.

He stood there, his eyes widening, mouth slightly open in surprise as you immediately turned around, the biggest grin on your face.

"Bam. Dead center!"

The excitement in your voice was all too infectious, and he found himself starting to smile, a sense of newfound pride for you welling up inside him.

And when you locked eyes with him, giving him a wink and another excited little smile, something inside himself clicked into place, the decision made before he could stop it.

So it was just like that, all too suddenly, without practically any warning, that he was leaning down towards you, moving his and your mics out of the way, his mouth finding yours in the briefest of kisses, and oh fuck, what the fuck was he doing, what if you didn't-

But then there you were, yet again catching him off guard today, kissing him back, your mouth soft and yielding against his, your body arching into his touch, the handgun slipping from your fingers to land in the grass at his feet, your hand reaching up to tangle in his hair, tugging softly-

Fuck, you were like heaven to him-!

The softest of groans left his throat, and he could've sworn he heard his name fall from your lips for a moment, before the two of you finally parted, standing there staring at each other, breath coming out in quiet gasps.

He could see the heat flooding your cheeks, could feel the warmth coming from you, took notice of the way your eyes darkened with barely concealed desire.

So it wasn't just him, then.

You could feel it, too...?

Almost like you could hear his unspoken question, you gave a slight nod, your breath coming out in soft pants before you spoke.

"That was... um, yeah. Fuck. Wow."

It wasn't enough, hearing your voice filtered in through the speakers, Chris needed to hear it in person. Reaching up to shut off the comm link on his headphones, he tugged them off, watching as you did the same, discarding them back in their bin, before retrieving his weapon from the grass and reholstering it.

"You, uh... job well done today, Y/N," he said, awkwardly extending a hand out towards you. You eyed it dubiously, not shaking it and instead raising a brow at him as you gave him a confused look.

"We're back to formalities now...?"

The way you asked the question, the slight tinge of poorly concealed hurt starting to reflect there in your eyes, Chris didn't like it.

"I- you-" he scrambled to try and find a proper response, not wanting to leave you hanging. "We... we can't do that again-" the words seemed to tumble from his mouth, one right after the other.

And the injured look on your face, the way you swallowed hard, your eyes taking on a glassy look before you quickly blinked, hoping he wouldn't see-

Fuck. It was a lie, and he knew it. He couldn't do that to you, couldn't lie to you like this, it wasn't fair to you.

"I- Y/N, sweetheart, look at me. I... can't be the reason they make you leave. Because they will. And... and you won't get your callsign, you-"

"I don't care."

You cut him off midsentence, those three words giving him pause.

"You- what?"

You repeated those three words, your gaze hardening as you stared up at him, your resolve never wavering even as your eyes remained on the verge of swimming with unshed tears.

"I... I think maybe I thought, if I hated you enough, it wouldn't matter how I felt about you. I thought maybe if I didn't let myself care enough, it wouldn't fucking matter someday, if we were out in the field together and one of us went missing. It wouldn't... hurt as much.

"And... and I know that's not an excuse for why I was probably one of the brattiest recruits you've ever had, and I know it probably doesn't make it any better, or any easier-"

"Stop," Chris cut you off mid-rant, his voice on the verge of breaking.

So that's why you had been so difficult to work with during your first few weeks here.

It wasn't because you hated him, not truly.

It was the exact opposite.

It was because you... cared too much for him?

"I'm sorry, I should've told you sooner, I... you made it too easy to hate you and I... I didn't like the idea of becoming too attached, of caring too much, of..." your voice trailed off at the end, your gaze dropping to stare down at the grass.

And then you did the one thing he'd gotten so used to noticing, one of the many things about you that he found a little too endearing.

You nervously dug the toe of your boot into the grass, your fingers fidgeting in front of you.

"Of what?" Chris asked softly, urging you to continue.

And your next words nearly broke him.

"Of falling in love with you."

Brown eyes widening, Chris took a step towards you, taking both of your hands in his, and giving them a gentle squeeze.

"Hey, look at me. I..." he broke off with a gentle sigh before continuing, "it's not that I don't want this, I promise you, I do. There's so many things about you, tiny little things that other people don't notice, that I find adorable and endearing and- Y/N, sweetheart.

"I... I think maybe I might be falling for you too. But as badly as I want this to work, I also want to see you come out of this as part of our team, I want so many things for you. I want you to be able to have your own callsign to go by, I want to see you leave my care as one of the best recruits this place has ever had, I want..."

He trailed off, his thoughts racing at a million miles an hour. What was it exactly that he wanted, more than anything else, more than he'd ever wanted anything?

The answer was both simple, and at the same time, not simple.

He wanted you.

"What, what do you want?"

He pulled you into a tight hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his words coming out mumbled and broken.

"I want you."

"So have me..."

Your response, the way you said it, the way you moved to gently card your fingers through his hair, almost as a semblance of trying to comfort him, he wasn't expecting any of it.

Lifting his head to gaze down at you, he swallowed thickly past the raw emotion he could feel building up inside.

"But it's not that simple, Y/N-"

"Okay, and the life I've chosen here, with you and everyone else, isn't simple either. But... maybe we can figure it out... together..?"

Your voice held so much conviction, your tone determined, your demeanor suggesting you weren't about to back down. It reminded him so much of your first week here, of how training this morning had gone.

You'd been so defiant, determined then, too.

You were really pushing for this to work out, weren't you? He had to admire your tenacity...

With a soft sigh, he met your gaze, silently pleading with you. "What if this doesn't work-?"

You cut him off midsentence, taking the lead for once and standing up on your tiptoes to capture his mouth in the softest, gentlest of kisses, both of your hands briefly moving to cup his face between them, the gesture utterly pure and wholesome.

When you pulled back to look up at him, he wasn't surprised to see that same conviction had settled there in your eyes, one corner of your mouth lifting in a wry smile.

"Then we keep trying until it does work? Just like my training?" you whispered.

He couldn't help the laugh that slipped free from his lips; the comparison was too perfect. But maybe you were right...

Maybe if the two of you kept trying, eventually things would work themselves out...

He just had to try.

"Okay," he sighed softly, taking your hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Is... is that a yes, or...?" you asked, casting a tentative sideways glance up at him, and he nodded, trying not to laugh at the way you were failing to hide the sly smile on your face.

"It's a yes, rookie..."

🥀 SIX MONTHS LATER 🥀

"And it is with the highest, greatest honor, that we present this new recruit with their place on our team, here as a part of Taskforce 141. With many months of training and guidance under the care of our own Lieutenant Christopher Cerulli, this recruit has proven themselves beyond the highest measure.

"It is with much respect that we announce to you all how proud we are to acknowledge the new addition to our team."

Horror and his teammates sat there in the audience, his blue eyes fixed on the scene before him and everyone else, on the small recruit standing up there on that stage, with the tall Lieutenant standing proudly beside her.

And it was with the greatest sense of pride and love that he sat there, watching as you finally, finally got the one thing you'd been wanting since you first joined their base: to be a part of their team, to just belong.

Chris had been right about you from the beginning; with more training and devotion and care, you would indeed grow to be one of the sharpest recruits they'd turned out in a long time. He'd also noticed the way your relationship with his best friend had blossomed, how close you and Chris had gotten over these past six months.

Vin and everyone else had made cracks about it, that they'd known all along something was going on between you and Chris, it had just been a matter of time. He knew better than that though, the dynamic you and his best friend had, it went so much deeper than that.

Anyone could see it if they looked hard enough, really. He could see it.

The way Chris stood there, his hand clasped tightly in yours, the proud Lieutenant and his newest recruit, one bearing the familiar patch with the callsign 'MOTIONLESS' embroidered in pristine white letters... and the other bearing a callsign of her own, 'GREMLIN'.

Horror couldn't help but smile at the slight irony as he sat there; how fitting the name was for you. Tiny recruit, sure, but full of fiery passion... with a knack of never backing down, always ready to go head to head with anyone on their best day, or even their worst day...

"Welcome to the team, rookie... you made it."

💀 TAGLIST: @synthetic-wasp-570 @nixwolfe @th4t-em0-k1d @tearfallpixie @ladyveronikawrites @nerdraging4point0 @thesazzb @circle-with-me @motionlessomens @thatchickwiththecamera @skulliecadaver-blog @embracethereaper42 @talialovesmiw @bxrnthyfears @cookiesupplier @bobateaandchocolatepudding @somewhere-diamond @beaker1636 @ciginatree

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[sitkowski]

other poison devils ( jolly karlsson x ryan sitkowski )

kinksgiving day 2: knife play

pairing: jolly karlsson x ryan sitkowski cw: 18+ MDNI ⚠️ kink negotiations, knife play, minor bloodletting (scratching, small cuts), slapping, choking, finger sucking, restraints, mirror sex, protected anal sex, dom ryan, sub jolly. word count: 4.8k author's note: i got obsessed with this one. tagging the miw and bomens homies, please ignore this if it's not your cup of tea, i won't be sad about it. i'd rather have my readers safe! title comes from "pet" by a perfect circle. divider by @saradika-graphics 🗡️

⇉ masterpost || taglist signups || read on ao3 (coming soon)

Jolly’s responsible for keeping the knives. It’s part of their agreement. Anything he wants Ryan to use on him, he has to provide it, Ryan had explained it to him like prepping for a tour. You wanted to bring along the guitars you were comfortable with. Jolly wouldn’t play with Nicholas’ bass, he’d want his own guitars. So, he has to pick out his own knives. He had to care for them, clean them. Jolly knows what his own blood tastes like, Ryan’s made him lick it off the blade more than once. But he’s always liked it, paper cuts would make him hard so why not let someone cut him up a little for fun and get off on it?

The whole thing came about in the dumbest way possible, at least in Jolly’s opinion. Because festival season meant tossing a bunch of bands together and hoping for the best, and Folio and Vinny spent a good amount of time getting stoned together, and probably fucking around in other ways, so when Ryan came looking for his missing drummer, he found Jolly instead. And Jolly, well, he had eyes. Ryan looked as if he could throw him around, get him out of his head a bit. Their bands ended up mingling at after show hangouts. More often than not, he found himself in Ryan’s space, listening to him talk about the most random shit like it was gospel. And when Jolly cut his finger open on a beer can while they were waiting around for the bus call, he saw the way Ryan looked at him when he licked the blood from his own hand, eyes hot on him as he watched while Jolly dragged his tongue over the space between his thumb and forefinger to catch a drop before it fell.

Curiosity didn’t kill the cat. It got the cat in a lot of trouble though.

The switch from guitar talk to kink negotiations should have been jarring, but it wasn’t. They met up on the East Coast at Ryan’s house instead of a hotel. Explained to each other what they wanted. And Jolly’s bright idea to test the waters and push Ryan’s buttons within an hour of being there got him slapped and put on his knees in Ryan’s living room with an ease that probably should have scared him instead of comforting him the way it did. Ryan had big hands and those slaps were no joke. He had to explain the bruise on his face to Noah when he got back that night. He didn’t even bother lying.

It takes a lot of trust to let someone cut you up with a knife. Bloodletting is an intimate and dangerous act, and Jolly didn’t trust enough to ask for that at first. Not Ryan, or himself. But eventually, he held out a knife to Ryan and asked for what he wanted. He expected a lot of things from that one question, the first to be rejection, a lecture on the risks that came with putting a blade to Jolly’s flesh and expecting him to bleed for Ryan. They’d yet to find a limit with each other in the few times they’d done this, but Jolly figured there had to be one.

Ryan didn’t say no.

Months later, it’s still working for them. They make time to meet up when they can. This time, Ryan is coming to him. Jolly’s got his arrival information on his phone as he’s putting a set of older sheets on his bed. The last thing he wants to do is ruin any of his good ones. These can just be thrown in the trash when they’re done with them. It was one of the things Ryan told him; Jolly should always have older stuff he was willing to let him ruin during their time together. The first time they ever used knives, Ryan had cut the shirt right off of him, not caring that it was one of Jolly’s newer ones.

Ryan won’t let him pick him up from the airport. He shows up with a duffel bag and jetlag eyes, and it's only after he’s taken a post flight shower that Jolly finds out he literally hopped a flight as soon as the last show of Motionless’ tour was done. It’s oddly endearing, for them at least. There’s also a little bit of satisfaction in the fact that he can bully Ryan into taking a nap while he cooks them something to eat. It makes him feel a little useful.

“So you always like to play with knives,” Ryan says when he finally emerges from Jolly’s room, looking less like a walking corpse. He’d still had eyeliner from the show smudged under his eyes when he got there. “Not just for kinky shit.”

“Not just for kinky shit.” Jolly assures him, and passes him a plate.

Ryan stares at it like he’s never seen food before. “Did you make me grilled cheese?”

“Gotta have you well fed while you’re here. It’s all for selfish reasons, I promise you.”

“You act like me cutting you up depends on whether or not you take care of me while I’m here.”

Jolly does not tell Ryan to shut the fuck up, but it’s very close. And judging by the smirk he gets before Ryan starts to dig into his food, he knows it too. But he doesn’t call him out on it, even if Jolly could possibly pay for it later. Instead, he gets distracted with tour talk and then Ricky calls to make sure Ryan’s not dead in a ditch somewhere because he never checked in when his plane landed.

If he notices that Jolly had gone into his room and changed into one of his older t-shirts, well worn and soft and going thin in some spots, he doesn’t say anything right away. He doesn’t want to be too obvious, Ryan hasn’t even been here a full day. But they both know what he came for.

“I didn’t see your case in your room. Do you hide it?” Ryan asks finally.

He’s leaning beside him at the counter while he loads the dishwasher after they’ve eaten. Of course he brings it up like this, saying it so casually that Jolly nearly drops the plate he’s putting it away. He knows Ryan’s doing this on purpose. He wants to rattle him, and it’s obvious they’re about to settle into something here.

“I don’t exactly keep it on the coffee table with my magazines.”

Ryan crosses his arms over his chest, tilts his head towards the hallway. Jolly knows that look. “Why don’t you go get it?”

He poses it as a question, but Jolly knows that it isn’t. He turns and goes down the hall into his bedroom, opening the bottom drawer of his desk and retrieving the case that holds his knives. There were safe edge play ones in there, as well as his sharps. They only get used with Ryan now, which probably says something that Jolly isn’t really willing to dwell on. He takes it back out into the living room, where Ryan is now waiting for him. The idea of doing this out in the living room makes Jolly’s skin prickle hotly, not because of the location itself. But because of the wall of floor to ceiling mirrors that he never got around to taking down when he moved in. 

The sofa and Ryan are currently in that reflection, and Jolly has to fight the urge to look at it when he comes over. He holds the case out to him, and when Ryan takes it from him, Jolly finally realizes something. Ryan’s nails match the handle of the knife. The knife. The one that Ryan gave him, the one with his name engraved into the blade. It’s one of the ones that will only cut if used hard enough, and Ryan’s very skilled at that. He knows it’s Jolly’s favorite, both for sentimental value and play.

“Why are you still standing?” Ryan asks, looking at the case and not him. “Where should you be right now?”

“So you’re asking me to get on my knees?”

This makes Ryan look up, and he smiles. It’s not a nice smile. “You opting out? You know what you gotta say if you are.”

That’s the thing, Jolly does know. One little word and they do something else. Ryan being here doesn’t solely rest on what’s in that case. If anything, that’s just him giving Jolly what he wants.

“I’m not. I’m just…being specific.”

“Specifically? Get on your fucking knees, Joakim.”

He doesn’t do it right away, only because he likes to push. Instead he takes his time, moving the coffee table out of his way so that he can be closer to where Ryan is sitting. He sinks down on his knees in front of him, putting them at eye level. He’s got to make eye contact with people on a regular basis, but somehow staring at Ryan’s face, at that mean little smirk he gets because he knows that Jolly is weak for him, it makes his face heat up.

He gets a front row seat to Ryan opening the case. Jolly’s long since lost his ability to flinch when a knife passes before his eyes, and he watches as Ryan puts it down beside him before pulling out a second one. This one is smaller, sharper. He rarely uses it on Jolly, it’s more for cutting clothes. He holds it up now for Jolly to see.

“I’m only going to give you as much as I think you deserve. But we’re gonna go everything first, you got it?”

He can’t even push at Ryan for this, because they always have to go over everything. For him, and for Ryan. It’s more than just safewords and rules, it’s step by step what is going to happen so no one gets hurt. Ryan may be the one wielding the knife, but that doesn’t mean he can’t get hurt here. At this point, this part is easy for both of them.

“Go ahead,” Jolly urges.

“What’s your safeword?”

Jolly repeats the word he’s told Ryan over a dozen times by now. “Sunday.”

He almost answers the other questions he’ll be asked but he knows better than to rush this.

“And if you can’t talk?”

Scenarios of what they could do that involves Jolly not being able to speak race through his mind, not as if it would be the first time. Reaching out, he slaps his hand down on Ryan’s upper thigh twice. He knows that no matter what position they’re in, if he can’t talk, he’s supposed to hit Ryan twice. They haven’t had to use his signal or his safeword yet, but it’s always been extremely important to Ryan that they go over them every time. It makes Jolly think that something happened with someone else previously, but he never asks.

“Anything you don’t want this time around? Ryan asks.

It probably says something about him that he doesn’t have anything that’s a hard limit right now. He knows what Ryan likes and it all meshes well with his own interests. He likes to let Ryan lead, knows how to tell him if there’s something he doesn’t actually want. Right now, he shakes his head.

The slap isn’t as hard as it could have been, but Ryan’s got his rings on and he feels each and every one of them. His head jerks to the side, and then Ryan’s grabbing his face and pulling him back around so their eyes meet.

“You answer me with words.”

Jolly shifts on his knees. Not because he’s uncomfortable in this position, but because his cock swells just from one hit. “No, there isn’t anything I’m against tonight. Whatever you want.”

Ryan nods once, letting him go. He turns the knife over in his other hand, the sharp edge of it facing him, before reaching down and grasping the bottom of Jolly’s shirt. The blade parts the fabric easily and he pretends he almost feels the edge of it beneath his chin when Ryan reaches the collar, even though he’s staring straight ahead and Ryan wouldn’t risk something like that. He shrugs out of the ruined shirt, tossing it aside.

“Hands behind your back,” Ryan says, and Jolly does as he’s told, clasping one wrist. He knows this means he’ll be able to speak if he needs to for now, because Ryan would never prohibit him from having some form of being able to stop this for long. 

Ryan puts aside the knife and picks up a second one from the case. It’s still not his favorite, and Jolly thinks that he’s avoiding that one on purpose to draw this out. He has to swallow the disappointed noise he wants to make because they’ve barely just begun and he can’t afford to get impatient. This knife is just as sharp as the last, smaller with a curved blade. Jolly knows what every knife in that case is for, he knows them as well as he knows his guitars. But so does Ryan.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Ryan taunts and Jolly realizes that he’s been staring at the knife that still sits in the case and not the one that Ryan is currently holding. “You haven’t been good enough for it. Your smart mouth proved that.”

He knows when to speak and he knows when to keep his mouth shut. Jolly lifts his chin a little, and watches Ryan’s eyes roam over his bare chest. It would take time for someone who’s never done this sort of thing to realize that he’s looking for scars from marks he’s left before. There aren’t many, Ryan might make Jolly bleed for him but he’s never cut him too deep. His eyes drift from Ryan’s face to the knife, how he holds it, the way his inked fingers look around the handle.

“Don’t move,” Ryan says and those two words make him instinctively wary and he fights to keep the tension out of his body. “Don’t move a fucking muscle.”

The blade is cold against the skin of his throat. It’s funny how feeling it there makes his mouth go dry and he has the worst urge in the world to swallow, but he isn’t supposed to move. This is just about him doing what he’s told, not about Ryan doing anything but holding the knife in place. He wants to turn his head and look in the mirror, but he can’t do that either. One wrong move to satisfy his curiosity, and the blade would slice him open in a way that neither of them want. That shouldn’t get him as hard as it does. He bites down on his tongue, fascinated with the look of concentration on Ryan’s face as he slowly drags the blade downward.

Ryan presses the blade in just below Jolly’s chest piece on the left side. It’s mere seconds, just enough to scratch the skin. Jolly feels a few droplets of blood well to the surface. He wants to look. His fingernails dig into his arm, which makes him twitch, just a little. Just enough that Ryan notices. He pulls the knife away and this time the slap is expected, and a little harder than the first one. Jolly moans weakly, looking back at him through his hair. He doesn’t apologize.

“Do I need to fucking tie you up to keep you still?” Ryan asks.

He wants to tell him no, that he can be good like he’s supposed to. But that’s not exactly true. “Use my shirt. Not like I can wear it again anyway.”

He sees the way Ryan’s jaw clenches, and he straightens himself back up as Ryan stands up, moving behind him to grab the ruined shirt. He crosses Jolly’s wrists for him, wraps the fabric around them and tugs. After a beat, he reaches beneath the shirt to get the hair tie off of Jolly’s right wrist. He pulls Jolly’s hair back off of his face, a tender gesture that makes Jolly close his eyes for a second.

“Move again before I’m ready to move you,” Ryan whispers in his ear, “and you won’t get to come the whole time I’m here.”

He knows that that isn’t a threat but a promise, and he nods. Ryan straightens, walking back around to stand in front of him. His eyes trail up his body, over the outline of his cock straining against the front of his pants. Jolly’s mouth waters, and Ryan rolls his eyes at him.

“Yeah right, you can’t even stay still for five minutes, what makes you think I’m gonna let you—”

“Please.”

The plea falls out of Jolly’s mouth quickly, and he can’t take it back. He’s never begged for anything before. Ryan stares down at him, and despite the impassive look on his face, Jolly can see it in his eyes that he’s intrigued by this. Instead of doing what Jolly was hoping he’d let him do, he puts two fingers to Jolly’s bottom lip. If this is what he’s getting, then he’ll take it. He opens his mouth far more obedient than he planned to, letting Ryan press those thick fingers against his tongue, pushing until Jolly tastes the metal of his rings.

He won’t do this for long, not if Jolly has no way to signal or safeword, but Ryan watches him avidly as he closes his lips around his fingers, letting Ryan push until he gags a little and spit drips down his chin. He does it once, then again, trying to press Jolly further each time. Jolly wants to grab onto Ryan’s thighs for balance, but he can’t. Even if he could, he wouldn’t. He doesn’t move once, not even when Ryan pulls his fingers out and wipes Jolly’s own saliva over his cheeks.

“Good to go?” he asks, checking in.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Jolly promises. His voice comes out strained, the edges of his mouth rubbed raw.

He doesn’t think about the fact that he has no idea how long he’s been on his knees, or that they’ve barely begun. Ryan could keep him here all day and barely do anything. But he watches as Ryan sits back down and picks up the curved knife again. He doesn’t even care if they use his favorite one now. His eyes stay on Ryan’s face as Ryan braces one hand on Jolly’s shoulder and brings the knife back to his chest.

This time, he stays still like a good boy. Breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth with each drag of the blade. Ryan does not cut him deep, he barely breaks the skin but Jolly can feel the itch of blood sliding down his chest in a few places. It wouldn’t be a lot if he looked down to see, but his face actually hurts a little more than the scratches on his chest, and he’s pretty sure another slap would bust his lip open.

“You with me, Joakim?” Ryan’s voice penetrates his thoughts, and Jolly blinks. He nods slowly, sees the corner of Ryan’s mouth tilt upward. “Try verbalizing that for me, sweetheart.”

“Can I have one a little deeper?” is what he says instead of telling him that he’s okay.

Ryan squints at him, trying to gauge if he’s in the right headspace for that. Jolly can count on one hand and have fingers left over the amount of serious scars Ryan’s given him. He’s got one on his bicep from the first time they ever used knives, and then one on his upper thigh. That one he pushed for.

“Tell you what.” Ryan starts and immediately Jolly knows that he’s not going to cut him. He won’t argue. “I’ll scratch you a bit with this one, but we’re not doing permanent stuff. Not today.”

Jolly tries not to feel disappointed, especially given the fact that there’s an opportunity for more while Ryan’s here. So he just nods his head, and watches as he puts down the knife with the curved blade and picks up Jolly’s favorite. The knife itself is acrylic, the blade a translucent aquamarine color. One side was a straight edge that could cut through if enough pressure was applied, the other a sawtooth spine that Ryan usually liked to use to scrape against Jolly’s skin. He knew this knife intimately. Ryan turns it over in his hand, thumb rubbing over where his name is etched into it.

“Afterwards?” Ryan turns the knife flat and presses it beneath Jolly’s chin, making him meet his gaze. “Afterwards, your ass is mine.”

Jolly knew there was a reason that Ryan wanted to do this out in the living room, once again thinking of the mirrors to his left. It wouldn't be the first time they’ve fucked in front of them, it's why Jolly hasn't thought about getting rid of them.

“So much for me putting old sheets on the bed.”

“Oh, I'm sure we're still gonna need those.” Ryan promises.

He lets the knife tease down Jolly’s neck, over his collarbone. The tip of the blade circles one of his nipples and Ryan hesitates like he expects Jolly to move. But he stays still, so Ryan rewards him by putting the side of the blade tighter to his skin and giving a quick drag. The cut is miniscule, he can barely feel it. It doesn’t even count, despite the sluggish feel of his blood welling up in the tiny divot of parted skin. Jolly is just shocked that Ryan did it when he said he wouldn't. 

“What can I say?” Ryan shrugs his shoulders and sets aside the knife to be cleaned afterwards. “You deserved it.”

Jolly surges forward and kisses him, even though Ryan didn't tell him that he could move. Immediately, there's a hand in his hair, but then Ryan is yanking the fabric off of Jolly’s wrists. He sinks his teeth hard into Jolly’s lower lip, giving them both a taste of his blood while Jolly paws at Ryan’s stomach, trying to get his shirt off. He manages to get it up beneath his arms and then Ryan takes over, tugging it over his head and throwing it aside.

He presses his hand to Jolly’s chest, dragging his hand down over the scratches and through the half tacky blood. Jolly hisses against his mouth, yanking back. There’s a smear of red on Ryan’s lower lip, just enough to be noticeable, and a few spots of blood on his hand. Jolly’s stomach twists pleasantly and he shuffles back on his knees.

“You were talking some big talk a few minutes ago, Ryan. Still planning to follow through with that?”

He can’t help but push and he sees the way Ryan narrows his eyes at him as if he’s going to regret the words. Jolly hasn’t regretted a thing about this yet, no matter what Ryan does to him. Still, he starts to back away when he sees that look in his eyes, if only to make Ryan chase him. But he doesn’t get far, Ryan’s hand shooting out to grab him by the jaw, yanking him in until they’re nose to nose again.

“Clean this mess up, I’ll be right back.”

By mess, Jolly knows he means to move the knives out of the way. He gathers them carefully, taking them into the kitchen and putting them on the table. Ryan is back in the living room when he comes back, standing by the sofa. The second Jolly is close enough, he hooks his hand over the waistband of Jolly’s sweats and tugs him forward, giving him a little shove. He’s trying to put him off balance, but Jolly goes willingly, tumbling onto the couch. He grits his teeth when his chest brushes the arm of the sofa, but when he raises his eyes to the mirror, he finds Ryan giving in a predatory look in the reflection.

“You stayin’ like that?” he asks, palming himself through his pants. He drops a bottle of lube and condom package by Jolly’s knee where it’s pressed into the sofa cushion.

Jolly nods rapidly but knows he’s still supposed to give verbal responses. “Yeah, Ryan. Come on.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Ryan grabs Jolly’s pants and yanks them down, before shedding his own and kneeling up behind him. He keeps one foot planted on the floor, one hand sliding up Jolly’s back, pressing him down firmly. Taking a shuddering breath, Jolly’s fingers dig into the sofa.

He closes his eyes, listens as Ryan tears open the condom package. He hears the click of the lube cap, and then Ryan hums. “You want me to prep you?”

Jolly thinks about it, but it’s also a thing for him, letting Ryan push into him without fingering him first. He likes the pressure, the way that Ryan holds him down as he shoves his cock in. Looking up, he meets his eyes in the mirror again.

“Okay then,” Ryan says, accepting the silence as an answer for the first time all day. The hand on Jolly’s back slides down, and he keeps his eyes on him. “Hold still.”

He’s careful, pushing into Jolly so slowly he can’t seem to get his breathing under control but he knows that Ryan isn’t going to go faster and if he tries to rush him this will be over. No matter what it hurts but not in a way that he wants to stop. He wishes he could see, watch him go inside inch by inch, but he also likes it like this. Ryan’s weight pressing him down, as he blankets him with his body and doesn’t stop until his hips are flush to Jolly’s ass.

Ryan grits out a curse, and he pushes his forehead between Jolly’s shoulderblades for a second. He knows it’s overwhelming for him too, and he gives him all the time he needs until they both feel like they’ve adjusted. Reaching back, Jolly grabs onto his thigh. He doesn’t give him the signal but he encourages him to move because if he doesn’t he’s going to lose his mind.

Finally, Ryan pulls almost all the way out and then snaps his hips forward. Jolly groans into his arm, his nails biting hard into Ryan’s leg. At first, his movements are measured and controlled, but Jolly knows it’s only a matter of time, and he’s right. Before long he’s moving faster, each thrust dragging Jolly’s marked up chest against the fabric of the sofa. It doesn’t feel that great, and he gives Ryan’s leg one tap.

Message received, Ryan wraps one hand around Jolly’s throat, pulling him up and back. After that, all bets are off. He clamps his other hand onto Jolly’s shoulder and rails into him hard enough to knock all breath from his lungs. He bites down on his lip, tasting blood again, muffled whines escaping him loudly despite it. When he looks up at their reflection, he sees that Ryan is torn between watching them, and watching his cock go into him.

“If you’re gonna get off, you better be doing it yourself,” he grits out, and his fingers tighten a fraction.

Jolly feels the pinch of metal into his skin, and realizes he’s leaving it all up to Ryan to keep him upright as he lets go of the sofa and reaches for his cock. The first stroke has him choking more than Ryan’s fingers do, and he gives up trying to watch them, squeezing his eyes closed as it becomes his mission in life to come before Ryan does.

Ryan pulls him back onto his cock ruthlessly, and Jolly gives him another tap that makes him loosen his grip on his throat. Black spots blur his vision, just a little, and he sucks in air only to start begging for Ryan to hurry up, go faster, give it to him harder. Which is crazy, because if Ryan goes any harder, he’s going to hurt him and they both know it. Over the sound of his own blood thundering in his ears, he hears Ryan telling him to be patient, and he laughs.

It’s a miracle that he comes first, and Ryan isn’t that far behind him. He keeps Jolly from landing in his own come, instead pulling out of him slowly and then collapsing back onto the sofa with Jolly leaning into his chest. They’re both trying to catch their breath, slick with sweat and somehow, Ryan’s elbow was on the bottle of lube, miraculously getting it out of the way before it busted.

The scratches on Jolly’s chest sting. The one little cut is actually burning, and he knows that he’ll need to clean it. But he basks in the moment, knowing that Ryan is going to take care of him after like he always does.

⇉ taglist

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if you ’d like to be added to the taglist, you can find the form at the top of this fic! thanks for reading/reblogging 🩷

[catfleas]

[littlemissobvious]

🖤🩷

[eltigreslasher]

Here is my Latest Music Video I attended to make

Link:

[miinos]

the degree of seperation between WWE and DOOM is ... 2.

[fandomfucker]

Rhea x singer reader and they're fans just being completely obsessed with them especially if the reader released songs about rhea

I have so many headcannons about this exactly especially when I'm listening to music so pretend some of these actual artists didnt make these songs

You are a huge music artist, like somewhere around Sabrina Carpenter level (who you're also friends with ofc)

You and Rhea are like the gay communities celebrity IT couple

Most (if not all) of the albums you've released since dating Rhea have at minimum, 1/3 of the songs are love songs written about her

You're #1 love song about her though is If Not For You (originally by Maneskin)

Not only is it your personal favorite song, and Rheas, but fans go absolutely nuts for it

There's merch for it, signs, friendship bracelets, you name it and it's been made to the lyrics of this song

One of your favorite songs to perform though is The Death of Peace of Mind (Bad Omens) bc you like to drag Rhea up on stage to dance with you

You have her sit in a chair and when it gets to “the way you fuck the way you taste” you straddle her hips and lick a strip up her cheek, which sends the fans into an absolute frenzy

It's a sexy song and you like to have fun with it, especially with your very very hot girlfriend

The biggest crossover ever though was when you did a collab with Motionless in White

It was charted #1 worldwide for almost a month straight

Fans saw her at some of your concerts and have a meltdown

Also have a meltdown when you show up at one of her WWE shows

Rhea was even able to get you the opportunity for one of your songs to be the like featured song for a ppv

Honorable mention, pop/country songs that remind me of Rhea cause of the lyrics; Nothin Like You & Save Me the Trouble, both by Dan&Shay

If you have any kind of concert/performance on the same night as Raw or a PPV, you will wear either Rhea or TJD merch OR you wear some of her old gear or heavily inspired clothes of your own based off her current gear

Rhea constantly wearing your merch backstage and vice versa

She even forced the boys to wear your merch and attend one of your concerts with her

Don't worry though they all loved it and had fun

And there was a clip or two of Dom screaming the lyrics to one of your songs that went viral on Twitter the next day

Unlike Jojo Siwa, you actually added to the improvement and development of gay pop

I picture you as part of a kind of Halestorm-esc band

Sexy rock singing about your girlfriend

Do Not Disturb (Halestorm) is definitely one of your most popular songs

You have that rockstar girlfriend look, complete with the makeup that Rhea taught you how to do

You dedicated an album to her right after yall got engaged and fans freaked out

Trending worldwide on Twitter for two days

[ackerifle]

Can you make an asylum patient needy yandere levi ackerman x asylum worker or reporter reader also do you do crossovers if so are you familiar with outlast or the Mount massive asylum

a spoonful of sugar!

yan. asylum patient levi ackerman x fem asylum nurse. reader

+ CW. — au: recon psychiatric hospital, reverse power dynamics, solitary confinement, medical drugging, escapement, morally grey darling, mentions of: mistreatment/abuse of patients, illegal medical procedures; my apologies, i’ve no knowledge on outlast, or asylums for that matter (but the effort is there, trust); not proof-read.

there is something innately unnerving about working so late into the night. it doesn’t help that any remnants of the sun’s presence had since been replaced by the humorless light of the moon, almost mockingly as it shone down on the equally dour and somber asylum. but much to your pleasure, you had been away for the entirety of the day, a blessing for you, but a curse for the recon psychiatric hospital. the asylum without its head nurse may have been left in ruins had you not returned any sooner, all thanks to a particularly high-maintenance patient, one you happened to be on your merry way to see.

delivering medications was child’s play; wonderfully easy, lacking in any form of demanding labor, and so effective. in spite of the fact that you were still quite privy to the more intense and morally questionable procedures performed by the doctors and assisted by the fellow nurses, it wasn’t like you to get your hands dirty. perhaps that is why they always stuck you with the night shift, because it was much simpler and favorable to deal with unconscious patients.

in your dominant hand grasped a singular nonbenzodiazepine pill, colorless and bland, an all white capsule with the only labeling being a letter ‘z,’ engraved on the surface of the medication. it was pinched between your forefinger and thumb, and you were careful as not to be too rough; what would be a sign of poor handling on your part, but you also held an insouciant grip on it to prevent any powdery residue from getting onto your skin. a glass, or rather faux-glass, cup took the empty space of your other hand. a glass half empty with water from two corridors down, courtesy of the leaky faucet from the dingy kitchenette. for once, the water appeared tasteful in the luster of the night, it made you lick your lips when you held the clear glassware up above you as you passed beneath the ceiling lights.

your pace was slowed so as to not allow the water to slosh around too much within its confines, and you made sure the uneven steps on the top floor’s staircase wouldn’t impair neither your ankles, nor fingers. when you had conquered the ascent and found yourself steady on flat ground, you stood motionless and inspected your hand, letting the pill gracelessly fall from your fingertips to the cup of your palm. folding your hand to cover the tablet, you continued down the daunting hallway.

had you not been working at an asylum, you would’ve run for the hills upon seeing such a sight: formidable walls and weak floorboards that creaked under the slightest weight, defectively dismal lighting that was unreliable at its best (constantly flickering) and completely useless at its worst (broken and shattered), and an indefinite silence that would likely cause one to go mad. this was the location deemed as ‘solitary confinement,’ seeing that there was no applicable area for those who deserved such a punishment. the courtyards and other floors were regarded unfit, as it was often frequented by patients and staff alike, and the most suitable section, the basement, was… occupied for more unruly operations.

the latter thought causes a cold shiver to crawl down your spine, and you shake your head with leaden stagnancy to avoid remembering the imagery. thankfully, it doesn’t take long to reach your destination, and you bend down to crouch in front of the door before you. with observant eyes, you gently set the cup down onto the floor, grimacing at how it touches the ground, and you retract your fingers from the body of the glass once the water’s splashes reduce to complete stillness. rising to your feet and straightening your posture, you dig into your pocket, rummaging for the ring of keys set, and looking for the singular key to the top floor’s only inhabited room. you avoid looking into the pathetic excuse of a window, eyes trained to the doorknob; insert, turn right, and pull back. sliding the ring of keys back into your pocket, you take a risky hold of the glass, raising it back up to your level by the rim.

there is absolutely no sense of urgency when you open that door, guiding it with your dominant hand as the inside of the room begins to reveal itself. stepping inside and far enough away from the door’s line of movement, you make eye contact with the patient residing within the recon psychiatric hospital’s loneliest floor, and he does not look happy. your gaze doesn’t shift, locked in place as you feel around for the door, pushing it back with a harsh shove, and only moving once you hear the bolts fasten it closed with an obnoxious slam. you idly meander your way over to the bed, where he is sat, one leg crossed over the other and his hands interlocked atop his knee. he doesn’t look to be someone who requires psychiatric treatment like this, but you’re no fool.

“i heard you gave dr. zoë quite the scare earlier.” you turn your hand faced up, unfurling your grip and displaying the capsule that continues to sit unperturbed in the cradle of your palm. a sour expression was already present on levi’s face, but at the mention of your peer, his eyebrows furrow and lips tug further into a frown, “where were you?”

taking a small step forward, you gradually traipse closer towards the bed that was pressed into the right corner of the room. he is motionless, even as you near. you dully tilt your head to the side with a quizzical look, it is only until you’re within arms reach does levi unravel from the stiff position, uncrossing his legs and unfolding his arms, “you can’t go terrorizing our psychiatrists and psychologists—”

“where were you?” your face falls at his demanding tone, but that is the least of your concerns once you feel levi’s eager hands on your body. simultaneously, he languidly spreads his legs apart until there is enough room for you to stand in between them; something you fail to take notice of as you’re far too distracted by him grabbing you by your torso, digging his fingers dangerously close to the underside of your breasts, then sliding down and tapping his fingers against the sides of your stomach, squeezing almost playfully, before he ultimately decides to sink his claws into your hips.

abrasively jerking you forward, levi’s arms snake around your waist until his hands meet one another overtop the curve on your lower back. you gasp when he pulls you closer, gaping with distraught panic at the glass of water, which fortunately did not spill, but it had come close. your knees collide with the inner side of his thighs, and you clasp your hand that was holding onto the z-drug to restrain it in place, so as not to lose it. once fully retaining your stability, your eyes dart down to levi, offering him an irked glare and placing the closed fist of your dominant hand on his shoulder, attempting to push him back to provide yourself some space. he doesn’t budge whatsoever, even when you continue your futile efforts in prying him off of you.

“where were you?” he repeats for the third time, but when he asked, levi didn’t sound pushy or domineering, unlike the previous two times, just bemused. your attention finally drops down to him, analytically observing as he gaped up at you. it was almost as if he looked at you with vacant, absentminded eyes with the way he refused to avert his gaze, but his gawking was anything but absentminded. his eyes felt intimate, accompanied by his endearing touches and the close proximity. you felt intimidated to hold this unspoken staring contest, “i, well, i was away.”

levi leans into you, until his head can rest in the crook of your neck. you’re rigid in his hold, refusing to let up your firm posture, only slightly bending to accommodate his height, “where?” you grind your molars together, and although you have the right to leave his questions unanswered, you do respond anyway just to satiate his curiosity, “my presence was requested for an asylum in stohess.”

“and what business do they have that involves you?” levi withdraws away from your neck, only to place his chin in between your collar bones, angling his head to look up at you, “i’ve been requested for a possible transfer, there is a young girl over there, i believe her name is annie… regardless, they think she’ll do better in my care. that’s why i’ve been telling you that you need to treat the other staff nicer.”

levi gives you an incredulous scowl, hands shooting up to cup either side of your face and drawing you closer until you’re nearly forehead to forehead. his eyes are awfully scary when he’s this close, and his voice goes monotonous, “you aren’t going. that’s ridiculous, they need you transferred to help one patient?” he asserts as if he’s the one in charge of that choice, you scoff.

“it’s ridiculous to stay for one patient, levi.” you’re given a break from the leer he was boring practically into your skull as he rolls his eyes, “it’s not your place or mine to finalize this decision. please don’t be difficult, it’s past time you take your medication.” it is both extremely embarrassing and annoying that you have to beg him to do literally anything, considering it only further feeds into his power and control complex when it comes to you.

he’s quiet for a while after that. perhaps not totally out of the ordinary for him, but you can see the gears turning in his head. levi is thinking about something, and whatever it is, it cannot be good. suppressing your unease, you careen backwards, breaking free from his clutch, but not without dipping your clenched hand into his, finally letting go of the pill. levi’s focus is redirected to the little white caplet, and you nudge the glass of water against his other hand. you cross your arms, waiting impatiently, and his eyes briefly flicker towards you before placing the pill in his mouth, mindful as not to accidentally swallow it, before tossing his head back and taking a hefty sip of water. levi raises the empty glass, and you take it from him, practically snatching it out of his hands and kneeling to set it down on the discolored and tarnished floorboards.

when you stand up and dust off your uniform, levi peers at you expectantly. and you let out a defeated sigh, to which levi smiles, “come here.” you instruct him to do so, but it is you coming to him. levi reels you in by the buckle of your apron, causing you to stumble over your own feet. you place both of your hands flat on his shoulders to ground yourself, wordlessly scolding him with a glare, one that only makes his smile grow wider.

you set your middle finger and thumb on the underside of his jaw, pulling it down slack and examining the inside of his mouth. your other hand finds itself on his cheek while you force his head to the left, then to the right, “lift your tongue.” levi obeys, pressing the muscle to the roof of his mouth, you press an index finger down onto his front teeth, causing his head to incline. you’re far too focused on ensuring that he actually consumed the pill to notice levi had gotten increasingly closer to you, and more level as well. levi catches you off guard when he bites down on your finger—

“ow! levi, i— what the hell? why would you do that?” you jump back, cradling the injured appendage in your other hand, mortified at the bite mark it had left on his wake. levi doesn’t give you much time to fully curse him out like you had wished, seizing you by your hips once more and falling back onto the bed, sitting upright with you at his mercy.

you descend with him, landing in a position that has you straddling his lap. the flat of your palm pries at his shoulder and chest, while your other arm is captured by his own hand, unbothered by your feeble endeavors in distancing yourself from him. levi’s other hand slides across the back of your neck, gripping onto your nape with a strict hold before pushing your head forward. his lips are on yours in an instant, letting go of your arm in favor of cruelly pinching your nose. you almost gag, frantically gasping for air, and without hesitation, levi’s tongue bullies its way into your mouth. and through the feeling of his hand tightening around the back of your neck, of his teeth nipping at your lips, of his tongue dominating yours; there is the feeling of a foreign object, and it feels like a pill.

wildly fighting his hold renders you breathless, and this is a fight you cannot win. tears swell in the corners of your bleary eyes, and the urge to cough becomes more eminent. to subdue the desire to hack and wheeze — which would certainly end in you choking — you instinctively swallow back the build up of both yours and levi’s saliva that gathered in the back of your esophagus. levi draws back from the kiss when he sees the lump in your throat bob and disappear, but he makes no move to release you, only relaxing his hands in their place. and it is now that you remember why he was administered to this asylum in the first place.

“i should’ve done this a long time ago…” apart of you wishes that z-drugs were immediately effective, just so you wouldn’t have to be conscious during your struggle against levi— which was, as always, in vain. it must have been due to the lack of air that you could only recount fragments of what happened. you turned your heel to flee, but levi had pinned you to the ground, keeping you in place with a chokehold that was alarming for someone who had been allegedly sedentary during his time in solitude. if your memory served you correctly, the sound of keys jingling and a door being unlocked could be heard; but whether it was in your dreams or in reality is unknown to you.

but that wouldn’t matter, by now, you and levi would be far from the psychiatric institution. it was easy, laughably easy for him. despite the fact it was such a late hour into the early mornings, and that he was carrying an unconscious and seemingly violated woman on his back, no passerby dared to question him. why would they? he was in a guard’s uniform after all, a stolen guard uniform— and thus, all the onlookers had just assumed that levi was kind enough to help an exhausted nurse on a particularly rough night shift get home safely. oh you were going home alright, back to levi’s home beneath the cities above, and how delighted he is now that he’ll be the one taking care of you. at the end of the day, it is what ‘normal,’ lovers do, isn’t it?

[smolvenger]

A Court of Mischief and Purpose, Chapter 20 (Loki x fem! Reader Crossover Series, A Court of Thorns and Roses AU)

Series Summary: Sarah J Maas's A Court of Thorns and Roses series reimagined with Tom Hiddleston's various characters- Especially the events in the second book: A Court of Mist and Fury. England. 1885. You are dying of tuberculosis right before your upcoming wedding to the Lusty Vicar of Aldwinter, Will Ransome. As you lay on what could be your deathbed, the god of mischief Loki appears before you with a deal. He will heal you in time for the wedding...if you spend a week of every month with him.

Chapter Summary: A sudden confrontation from the enemy...

Chapter Word Count: 4K

Series Masterlist

Warnings: A sex scene that isn't smut. It isn't too explicitly described and is not meant to be super titillating and is brief.

It just occurred to me that said scene, while not explicit, could have what is considered dubious consent. Even if it is in her imagination, even though Reader verbally says "yes" in the fantasy, it is bc she is doing her duty as a wife, I can see how this is considered dub-con and could make some people too uncomfortable to enjoy the chapter. So, for your safety- It scene starts at "Now, hurry and get it over with, Will," and ends at "Then, when he was done-"

Mentions of cheating (I portray the Will/Cora affair in The Essex Serpent unsympathetically so if you have an issue with that, you have been warned). Supporting Women's Wrongs. Violence and blood implied sexual harassment, and fear of sexual assault (but it DOESN'T go there), scary stuff and angsty stuff, but a happy ending. Grammar mistakes and lack of editing or extra super revision bc I just wanted to Get This Shit Done (tm).

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley@jennyggggrrr@five-miles-over@fictive-sl0th@ladycamillewrites@villainousshakespeare@holdmytesseract@eleniblue@twhxhck@lokisgoodgirl@lovelysizzlingbluebird@raqnarokr@holymultiplefandomsbatman@michelleleewise@wolfsmom1@cheekyscamp@mochie85@fandxmslxt69@skittslackoffilter@mischief2sarawr @asgards-princess-of-mischief

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

When you found the letters on your first wedding day, you had a life already set before you. A life that would take an obtuse turn. Where all would happen…but you would not be happy. You had often wondered if the marriage to the revered went through.

You imagined the scene. One image haunted your mind once you saw the inside of your fiancee's house. Of when he was no longer your fiancee, but swore an oath before his God to be your husband. It was after the ceremony, the celebration where you could only stare blankly at the table, barely eating. And he would hold your hand as the sky got dark and lead you to the white house, ducked his head under the doorframe to go upstairs and commence the wedding night.

You lying on that blue bed. You said “yes”, because you were a dutiful wife. A motionless doll for him to play with, for there was nothing inside you to fight now. Stiff as a board on the bed. You would lift the skirt of your shift on the blue bed. Legs open and eyes open, face away and placid, consenting because it was your duty as a wife now. That was what good women did. Now, hurry and get it over with, Will.

The Lusty Vicar…well, living up to his nickname above you to put it delicately. Hearing him grunt in your ear, and feeling him over you, inside you.

Knowing who he was thinking of. Knowing who he was imagining beneath him, in him. Knowing who it was who made him lose his bearing.

And it wasn’t you.

Your face was turned away despite the position of the act, your eyes not wanting to even look at him. Feeling his sweat and how his curls brushed against you. Hoping he wouldn’t notice. Wouldn’t ask questions. Focusing yourself on the far left corner of the ceiling and not him or what he felt like. Creating a mental distance between the two of you in the ultimate act of physical closeness. You would not fool yourself and let yourself feel the pleasure of the marriage bed now that you knew the truth. You wouldn’t think of how much you wanted him, much less how much you loved him. Thinking of what you’d make for breakfast, what the next sermon should be on, or the dishes that needed to be washed tomorrow. Not on Will as he was on you, in you.

Then, when he was done- after he read his Bible on his lap, quietly reading aloud the verses, making a note to skip the fifth chapter of Matthew, verses twenty-seven through thirty.

You would make yourself small. In a feral position with the covers of the marital bed over you. You were a woman now in the town- wedded and bedded. But you wanted to be a child. You wanted to run back home to your father and mother in tears, knowing that a good cry and a little chocolate and tea would make everything better. But no. You weren’t a child anymore. You were a woman wedded and bedded. You were a wife. A priest's wife. A priest's unwanted wife.

You wouldn’t be able to quiet your mind to dream. It would be repeating that question, endlessly, on your lips, knowing it would ruin everything the minute you said it- “Why am I not good enough for you?”

But you wouldn’t speak. A wife never considers herself, she only considers what makes her husband happy. You’d stare at the wall. Waiting for him to fall asleep, tears quietly streaming down your face. You would have melted over the erotic sight of his strong upper body normally- but it wasn’t yours. He wasn’t for you. Not really.

Then, when you were certain he was asleep, you would quietly get up and leave the room.

You ended up wandering to his study. You turned on his lamp by the window. Perhaps you should try to read a dull, intellectual, dense book of his on theology to make you sleepy. But your eyes would only be drawn to the walls.

The green, elaborate wallpaper with vines, branches, and leaves, both golden and emerald. A few white flowers in bloom. You would walk to see more of it.

What struck you most was the image of a white bird with its wings stretched open. It flew over the leaves of various green and yellow branches. Among white and blue flowers in bloom- of a new, exciting life, of promise. And most of all, the animal stretching its ivory wings as if ruled over all. Like it could escape the paper easily, soar over your head, and out the window.

How you wished you could turn into that bird. So you could stretch your wings and fly far away from the town. From him. And leave it all behind for a new place, a new life.

But you couldn’t.

You would go downstairs, past the kitchen, to the main room. downstairs to curl up on the cushions before the window overlooking the wild marshland, the town. And let yourself sob.

Thank the norns Loki called in his deal when he did. You didn’t know what would happen. He’d call in the deal, but by then, it would be too late.

I’m not in that house, I’m in the woods, you reminded yourself.

Giving a deep breath through the woodsy, clean air, you made a mental note. You’d have to give your husband, the one that was your actual husband, who was not a godly husband but a plain old god husband- that long-awaited thank you. You didn’t think you could bear going through the marriage or have the scarlet letter for jilting him at the altar without an escape plan.

You thought you would just stay in Asgard. Take care of the cauldron and Grendel all neat in a little bow. Then things changed.

You would not be that passive, sobbing victim anymore.

You had fought. You managed to take your revenge, completely.

It wasn’t the right thing to do. It wasn’t healthy. But gods, was it freeing.

As you walked further into the woods. A small laugh of relief even chuckled through you. The release, the ridiculousness, and the awe that you had done it- destroyed Will’s ministry, and his reputation, and brought physical harm to both him and Cora all without getting caught.

But…did they survive? That was quite a flame on her. It would be the same for him.

Pausing, touching a tree, you had to think it through. Develop a plan.

If they lived and said something, then the better for you. That would confirm the rumors of the affair, damning both in society. No person would want to associate with Cora at least after that. The visiting council would strip Will of his position with the evidence before them. The superstitious town would be convinced that God had stricken them as punishment for hurting his little Blessed lady. For none knew of your gifts. And none would think you even capable of any act of harm from your reputation as the town’s angel. Besides, none of them knew of your powers. How could even Cora, in her scientific high and mighty mind come up with the solution of why her coat burst into flames when you were far away?

If they lived and said nothing, then at least Will would get in some hot water over what happened.

If they died, then they died. It was their deserving death.

You paused. No, how could you dismiss that? To think- you took two more lives. Not just some nameless bullies, but two people who you met, you knew their names, their histories, and one you loved and were about to marry…you were capable of that! You did something horrible! There was more blood on your hands!

You heard the sound of a branch being stepped on from the distance behind you.

What if Cora survived and ran right after you!? Likely she would. What would you do? With the fury still in your heart, perhaps take out more of her fire and toast her in a place without witnesses until her body dissolved to ash so there would be no evidence. But what if she caught you? You could see her face twisted in her ugly crying and feel her slapping and punching you.

Not that you would have to deal with her. You were headed off somewhere she could never reach. Not even by train.

Taking a deep breath, you let those thoughts of Will and Cora go away. You were done with Aldwinter forever now. Revenge had been taken and was successful. You wanted to see your friends, your in-laws, and your True Love again. You wanted your new home.

You paused in your steps. The trees growing so thick over your head it hid the sunlight and made the woods a little darker.

There was another crunch of feet on leaves. Someone was arriving. No more time for dallying.

You opened the shield. You sent the words clear in your mind.

“Loki…I’m ready to go home…Open the portal. I want to go back to Asgard now.”

You waited one minute. Then another.

But nothing happened. The birds were barely chirping and the air was cold. Shivering, you blinked as you tried not to panic.

“Loki, I am ready now. It’s done. Open the portal, take me back to Asgard.”

Nothing. You heard none of his witty replies or promises or cheekiness. And you saw no portals. Much less Loki. There was only the rustling of the trees.

Did…did he have his shield up? Why? Did something happen in Asgard? You should keep trying.

Then…you heard something- more footsteps.

It was more than one person.

But, you heard more than one footstep. Was it a party of men? In the evenings they would go to the marshes, hunting for serpents and trickster gods with torches, scanning the waters and fields. Some began setting up charms so that their daughters would be safe. Did they realize you were missing and send a search party…

You saw one man, then two, then four. No torches, they were smirking at you like wolves with a plump, injured lamb.

You felt your stomach drop. They were Gerndel’s army.

One stepped forward with short blonde hair and was overly muscular.

“Ah…looks like we’ve caught you. Right where we want to,” he said.

You felt their eyes on your nightgown. Peeking at how your body’s outline could be seen, your breasts hinted at, and feel the air of unwanted lust. And you were one woman surrounded by men.

Terrified, you held out a hand to release fire to them.

But no flames emerged from your hand.

Hurriedly, you tried again. But nothing. Your breaths came fast and shallow and you could feel yourself shaking. They snickered as they walked forward slowly. Knowing no matter what pace they set, they would win.

You retreated, realizing they were going to back you into a tree, as you tried to back into one, they would still keep a steady pace. There was nowhere to run or hide. Bile ran up in your throat. You fought back the urge to cry. You began to gasp for air, seeing their smiles, their eyes bright over you. One unsheathed his sword with a sliiiick, and the blade gleamed brightly in the dark woods. Silver and spotless and ready to be soaked with your blood.

You tried flicking a hand again, but there were no flames. You realized your senses were dulled- you couldn’t feel or hear any presence besides the four men before you and the dark, consuming woods.

“Ah, ah, ah! Someone took a little bit of our old friend’s apples.” The blonde one taunted.

“You’ve…you’ve poisoned me!?” you cried, your voice becoming shrill.

Another, a gentleman with dark brown hair, tall and lanky, shook his head with a half laugh.

“If you dropped dead right now…where would be the fun in that? Oh, not poison. Just a littke Kunigr potion. ”

You remembered the arrow that drained Loki of his magic in Jotunheim. Then you recalled the apple, the only thing you ate today. It struck you…your mother got those apples from a new grocer in town….

It all came into place. Panic made you shake, your throat and chest tight. The brown-haired man lifted his finger, beckoning you teasingly.

“Now…come with us…we can have some fun with you if you don’t struggle. You won’t get a scratch on you…for now. And won’t Grendel be thrilled when we hear who we caught?”

You steadied your breathing. You had to steady yourself- or enough that you could act, that you could fight. Hoping, praying to whatever god was out there, the Christian God, the trickster god, anyone, that your training was enough.

The brown-haired one approached you. Quick as lightning, you punched his jaw and then kicked his groin. As he backed down, his grip on his sword loosened as he groaned in pain. In one brief second, you kicked his hand. His hold loosened and the sword fell. Quickly, you grabbed the sword by the hilt and pointed forward. You were terrified, but you would not give up. Not yet.

“Ah, now, this kitty’s got claws!” the blonde one mocked mocked.

You steeled yourself, pointing the sword. Making your hold steady.

“What, haven’t you considered that you’re outnumbered?” said the third, another brunette with a scar across his face.

You stepped forward, speaking with the powerful venom you could muster.

“Do you expect me to surrender that easily? I will not. I am the Princess of Asgard, beloved wife of the God of Mischief, and third in line to the throne. I may have lost my magic, but I am not untrained in other methods of slaughtering all of you. I have killed, I just killed, and I will kill again. And I will not die here without a fight.”

They all got out their swords.

“That’s enough chatter,” replied the first blonde.

They charged. As did you.

Thrusting the sword forward, gritting your teeth, you stabbed through the gut of one. Blood erupted and he let out a cry. He wouldn’t last long, and you pulled out the sword to hasten his meeting with his maker. As the second tried to grab you, you merely dodged low, his sword through the air. His lower body was left open. You stabbed him through the groin- quickly in and out, blood bursting into gushes as he screamed in pain.

Blood dripped from your sword in its coppery scent. One attacked you and you blocked with your sword, the metal clinging as it stung the air. You swirled around. Stabbing and cutting. Dodging blows and putting up a fight. But they were advancing on you and you had to block two swords, it was harder to keep up.

There were shouts. You turned your head and saw a glimpse that almost loosened your bladder at the sight-

Five more men were coming. Five more of Grendel’s men. You heard the swords being unsheathed and saw them glimmer even in the woods.

They were now in sight and joined their two brethren.

They were right, you were outnumbered. Seven to one. And they were starting to circle you.

Though your muscles ached from the sword, and your nightgown was splattered in some blood-you couldn’t let them win easily. You fought the urge to tremble, to cry. And you held your ground, your sword pointed. You knew your death was arriving sooner with every second, every step of their feet. Your heart hammering despite your aching muscles. You had to keep going. Somehow. Someway. You gritted your teeth and held up your sword to fight until the end. That at least you would face your end with dignity.

They raised their sword to strike at you, and you raised yours, ready to fight this futile battle and-

There was a loud, metallic growl from the distance. A sound you never heard before. So loud, that it rattled the trees. Then another.

Grendel’s men stopped and turned their heads with wide eyes. You couldn’t help but pause in wonder.

It got louder and louder and louder, something was coming. The men looked among themselves. You took their distraction to start to flee, and you made it to a tree when something pierced your field of vision.

Turning back, you saw bright lights.

Their heads turned and they grew pale, holding out arms to block the lights.

One of them grabbed you, dragging you by the collar, almost hoisting you up as you faced him, his eyes glaring into you and his blade ready at you.

“I’ll-I’ll stab you twenty times through your cunt, you little bitch!” he growled.

The sword was knocked from his hand and he cried in surprise. His grip loosened.

You both looked.

There was the sound and two lights ran by with the whirring-it then revealed what it was-

It was the thing Loki told you about. A motorcycle- and a man on it with a helmet- one hand on the steering wheel and the other around a pistol pointed at him.

The man said no reply until a bullet hit him in the shoulder. He let go of you and cried in pain.

You gasped at your rescuer- adn then realized the source of the bright lights-the other thing Loki told you about.

Through the woods, bursting through like a chariot was a car. The men of Grendel all stood, staring agape. But the motorcyclist held up his gun, pointing.

Out from the car, emerged Robert.

“Y/N! Y/N! Hurry- come in!” he urged.

“Get in the car, now!” he cried.

You let out a gasp and could have cried. You hurried to them. The men gritted their teeth and raised swords-

The motorcyclist said nothing as he lifted his weapon and aimed, quickly but steadily. The gun was fired with a loud crack in the air.

One of the goons dropped dead.

Only one of your friends you knew was capable of that, and would come from an era where he knew how to do that-

“Jonathan!” you cried out.

His helmet was still focused his gun raised. His voice distorted, but you knew it was him. Not daring to take it off to give himself a target for them to hurt him.

“The Princess of Asgard with us- let her come with us. And no one gets hurt.”

“YN! Hurry!” Robert urged.

You would not look at the scene as Jonathan began to shoot more at those who attacked. You turned on your heels and ran into the car’s side door, slamming the door shut.

You followed and jumped in. A far cry from any run-of-the-mill carriage you had been! The velvet, soft seats, and big, wide windows and space. You saw the knobs and turns and levers from the front. You covered your ears as bullets rang out. When you peeked back, the men of Grendel were dead.

Jonathan turned to Robert, nodding his head.

Jonathan got out his watch and clicked it.

“Time to go to Heimdall, let’s hurry,” Robert urged.

A portal opened in the woods.

Robert stepped on a pedal, and moved the wheel- he drove through the portal. There was a flash of bright, rainbow light swirling about you.

You landed on the other side, in a golden room. With the night sky in a large window before all. Then Robert hit the brake and parked. Jonathan’s motorcycle followed after.

You noticed a man standing in the center of the room. He walked to you, and at first, you were intimidated. There was an incredibly tall, broad man with piercing yellow eyes matching the gold of his armor and his helmet.

He spoke in a deep powerful voice- he could have been the new king of Asgard and you would have accepted it.

“Well, you both made it.”

His head turned. His golden eyes easily spotted you, not squinting though you were far away. Despite his intimidating presence, his face softened. He gave you a small bow in respect.

“I am glad for our Princess’s safe return,” he said.

“We got her just in time. Can’t blame her for being shaken,” Robert confirmed.

“Yes, I saw it all. Now hurry, all of you. All of the castle is worried for her.”

Robert drove by pulling the wheel, and then the car went down the rainbow bridge. Jonathan’s motorcycle was right behind, whirring along. Looking out, you finally realized- you felt like that white bird in flight at last. Wings stretched out, the beautiful world before you. Not only safe, not only loved- but free.

The blue sky and sun shone. The gentlest summer day. The sea that formed around you in a crystal blue-green. And you almost tore at the outline of the glittering, golden city, Asgard as it got closer, until you were driving through its streets. Passing commoners with astonished faces.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you turned to the doctor driving.

“Robert! Oh, Robert!” you cried. “You -came for me! You both did!”

Robert looked at you with a gentle smile, the speed of the car steady.

“You don’t have to be frightened, Y/N. You’re with us now- you’ll be fine,” he assured you.

You went over and kissed his cheek chastely. “Thank you!”

“Save some for Jonathan too!” he replied with a wink. He was still Robert. And Jonathan would still be Jonathan. Each of them- your friends, your friends! You were going to see them all again!

Excitement gurgled in you as Robert parked the car outside the palace. The guard's eyes flickered to the contraption, as well as the motorcycle. Jonathan parked it and then took off his helmet, his eyes serious, but his shoulder dipping in relaxation and a small smile on his face.

You ran over and gave him a big hug and he hugged you back.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said.

“I’m glad too,” you said.

“Now, I think it’s time you’ve reunited with your husband,” he announced.

They escorted you right into the palace through the hallways and into the throne room. You were astonished to see so many of them there, sitting and pacing about in worry. Thor and Hal were talking quietly. Thomas sitting on the steps next to Stella, doing embroidery anxiously. Queen Frigga remained as composed as she could as Sif paced around.

They all turned and there were smiles and gasps. They took in your nightgown and the blood and you- alive and breathing and seeming physically well.

At once they all gasped your name and charged into you, saying your name. Sif’s eyes flickered to Robert and then back to you.

“Did you give them hel?” she asked.

You nodded, showing her the bloodied sword still in your hand. “I gave it to all who wronged me back there, and didn’t spare Grendel’s men from it.”

She smirked. “That’s my girl.”

Stella ran forward and hugged you.

“YN! Oh, YN! You poorest thing! You gave us all a fright! I thought I would cry- I thought you would be gone forever! I missed you so much!”

You hugged her back.

“Don’t worry, I got scared-but I’ll be fine.”

Thor at once charged forward. He hugged you and lifted you so your feet didn’t touch the ground. He shook you around, hugging you like an overexcited toddler with their beloved toy.

“SISTER! My dear Sister! You are RETURNED! How victorious! My brother said he missed your signal and it FRIGHTENED him! Why, thank the NORNS!”

Hal patted at Thor and he let you down. You welcomed him with a hug.

“Well, I’m royalty as well, dear lady. You shall have no bows from me, yet the title suits you- to see you returned alive and triumphant!”

You hugged him back. “Hal, thank you!”

You then hugged Thomas as well.

“You gave Loki a scare- all of us.”

“My powers were taken away- they have to come back with time. But I’m fine- Jonathan and Robert saved me before I could get hurt,” you assured him.

Frigga even embraced you. She smiled.

“I hoped you and Loki would both realize how much you loved each other. And I thought I would never see you both happy together…I can’t even speak right now.”

She let go and cupped your face and then kissed your forehead.

“You are of Asgard now, and I welcome and bless your union and you with all of my heart,” she said.

You could have teared up.

“But, speaking of unions…where is he? Where is my husband?” you asked, looking around.

Thor folded his arms.

“He was getting the army of Asgard to go to the forest. He got scared that perhaps Jonathan and Robert wouldn’t be enough- they were preparing to search for you, but-”

You heard footsteps. And several voices.

But one stood out

Though it was a voice exactly like so many in your life, past and present, there was no denying whose name it belonged to. His voice.

“YN! YN!! All of you- stand and run firm! Destroy any who dare touch a hair on your princess’s head! Where is-”

Loki hurried forth, several guards and soldiers of Asgard behind him. His black and green robes with little gold embellishments. Typical of him, but with his black curls, ivory skin, and blue eyes, he never looked so beautiful to you before this moment. His eyes met yours and you paused. He froze, blinking. His boots almost skidded to a halt as you took each other in for a second.

Tears welling up some, you replied in a small voice. “I thought I’d never see you again, darling.”

Loki seemed to turn white, and you saw his hands shake at his sides. He frantically checked the others in the crowd. “Is this some illusion? Did mother-”

Robert clapped your back.

“We got her. This isn’t an illusion, Loki. She’s here,” he assured the god.

You cupped your mouth and he stood, breathing fast, crying tears coming out from you despite your smile. He walked again, faster, hurrying through, as if he would tear through each realm to touch you again.

You ran right into each other's arms. He picked you up and turned you again. You broke into crying again. You curled a hand behind his dark hair, kissing his lips and then his cheek and any part of him. A sound came out of you like laughter.

“Loki- Loki darling, I’m here! I’m right here!”

He broke the hug and then cupped your face.

“Are you hurt? What happened? I lost your signal! The one you promised me!”

Sniffling, you began to recount what happened.

“You were right to be worried, Loki. I was tricked into eating a Kunnigr apple. My magic was drained by the time Grendel’s men cornered me…I held them off for as long as I could. Then reinforcements came. Robert and Jonathan hurried in before I could be made prisoner or worse. They brought me here!”

There were big eyes as the others took in this information.

He hugged you again. You felt yourself shake some, crying, laughing, as if every emotion at once was washing inside you.

“How I missed you all, and…husband–my…my husband! My dear! I missed you most of all! I love you, darling! Loki- thank you! You saved me! You brought me back!”

“I would have torn Midgard to pieces to get you back- I love you, my wife,” he replied.

Your heart bursting at the fresh word, spoken from his mouth instead of in your mind, you kissed him on the lips again. Soft, but eager, demanding. Wanting to touch him, reacquaint with him. And never let go no matter what.

Hal was smiling wide and Stella was blushing pink. Jonathan looked down, trying not to laugh. Frigga merely then began to wave them off with her long sleeves. Turning away discreetly.

“Everyone…I think it’s best we let the couple have some privacy…” she suggested. Everyone gave a farewell smile, with a promise of a return.

Loki only held your hands and hurried you through the halls, the guards not behind you, right to where his chambers were.

“But…Grendel, the cauldron-what will we do?” you asked.

Loki caught you in his arms and you gasped. Carrying you, he led you to the threshold of his private room. He smiled mischievously.

“I think the Grendel matter could wait for a few minutes, don’t you agree?” your true love asked.

[luizd3ad]

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊⋆⁺｡☽ ◯ ☾ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊⋆⁺｡

𝑀𝒶𝓇𝒶𝓊𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝐸𝓇𝒶

-Barty Crouch Jr

NFWMB

Music Notes

-Lily Evans

She's My Religion

-Pandora Rosier

Universes Mistake

Friends

-Regulus Black

Amnesia

⤷Pt. 2 Lover of mine (happy ending) Lie to me (sad ending)

Every Step Of The Way

-Remus Lupin

Loss

-Sirius Black

Trapped By Him

!Poly! Fics

-Moonwaterkiller (Regulus x Remus x Barty)

Happy Birthday?

First Home

-Bartylus

Game Time

I Was Just Curious...

-Moonwater

You'll Be Fine

-Jegulus

Late Night

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

𝒟𝒞 𝒞𝑜𝓂𝒾𝒸𝓈

-Jason Todd

When in Doubt, Blame Damian

Headcanons

-BatFam

Batfam At Disney

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

𝒞𝓇𝑜𝓈𝓈𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈

!Poly! Fics

-Bucky Barnes x Jason Todd

Their Light

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳

Request Info

Request are welcome just be patient please if you do. I'm still new to writing but I promise I’ll try my best.

I am willing to write AU's, crossover's, angst with or without happy endings (be specific because if not I’ll end it on a happy note) also comfort fics.

Off the top of my head there isn’t anything I’m uncomfortable with writing but obviously that can and will change but I would try my best to let you know I’m not comfortable so you can find someone who is.

I am willing to write for the fandoms above (obviously lol) as well as other fandoms, including but not limited to.

T.V

The Walking Dead

Sons of Anarchy

Brooklyn Nine-Nine

Game Of Throne

Julie and The Phantoms

Movies/Books

Harry Potters Golden Trio Era

Scream

Twilight

The Outsiders

Pirates of the Caribbean

Bands/ Artists

Hozier

5 Seconds of Summer

Pierce the Veil

Motionless in White

YUNGBLUD

Video games

Sally Face

Hogwarts Legacy

Life is Strange

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊⋆⁺｡☽ ◯ ☾ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊⋆⁺｡

[bondagebimbo]

the time has come once again for me to ask my favorites questions to get to know them better 🖤

1. what is a scent that reminds you of a happy memory?

2. are you most drawn to the forest, the ocean, the mountains or the desert?

3. do you have any go-to comfort foods?

4. what are five things you love about yourself?

5. what is your favorite horror movie franchise or series?

6. is there a song that gives you goosebumps every time you listen to it?

7. if you could magically learn a new language, which would you choose?

no pressure to answer, beautiful! i hope you have a wonderful day 🤗

hiiii honey!!!! not pressured at all!!! I love being asked things that are more thought provoking like this!!! I just hope my answers are satisfying lol

1. my old great grandmothers very light rose scented perfume. I still smell it around my mom’s house occasionally from time to time when I’m over there (she lived with us before she passed, despite her death being almost 12 years ago now) and it’s a really relaxing and comforting scent to catch a whiff of when I’m over and manage to, just in general, because my mom doesn’t have a bottle of it in the house so we take it as a sign that she’s visiting from wherever she is. so it brings back a lot of good memories with her when I catch that scent anywhere in public or whenever I’m stressed out because she always used to help calm my panic attacks when I was young. losing that woman did a number on me, honestly.

2. mountains/forest combination, hands downnnn. throw me in the PNW and watch me flourish as a newfound cryptid 😭😭😭

3. steak 😅 I love a good fuckin steak ONLY if it’s rare as hell. anything more done than mid rare and I cannot stomach it. gotta be blue rare/rare for me lol.

4. oh please don’t ask me this when I’m already feeling not great about myself, I can’t think of a single thing right now, I’m so sorry about this one 😭

5. Silence of the Lambs, if I’m being dead honest. Hannibal Lector could get it (and so could the Mads Mikkleson show adaption, not just Anthony Hopkins lol 🥵)

6.

HEAR ME OUT OKAY: just the fucking INTRO makes me shiver and makes my nipples hard, like, not even hitting vocals. once it gets to that point, I’m already a puddle ngl. this song just does it for me. Maria Brink x Motionless in White is the best crossover tbh.

7. I already know Latin, but I want to learn Italian, Russian, French, god. thinking about it, I’d be content to learn ANY other language tbh. I have an insatiable thirst for knowledge and it’s def triggered by wanting to learn every language I possibly can, lmao 😅

[sitkowski]

🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪 WORDS

NOW

OR ELSE

😇

OKAY FINE 😌

a snippet from the ryan/jolly knife play fic it is.

The whole thing came about in the dumbest way possible, at least in Jolly’s opinion. Because festival season meant tossing a bunch of bands together and hoping for the best, and Folio and Vinny spent a good amount of time getting stoned together, and probably fucking around in other ways, so when Ryan came looking for his missing drummer, he found Jolly instead. And Jolly, well, he had eyes. Ryan looked as if he could throw him around, get him out of his head a bit. Their bands ended up mingling at after show hangouts. More often than not, he found himself in Ryan’s space, listening to him talk about the most random shit like it was gospel. And when Jolly cut his finger open on a beer can while they were waiting around for bus call, he saw the way Ryan looked at him when he licked the blood from his own hand.

Curiosity didn’t kill the cat. It got the cat in a lot of trouble though.

[d3adasf-ck]

The Motionless in White/Sleep Token kinktober crossover fic no one asked for.

For the prompts monsterfucking and fabric fetish.

@ao3userfeistycadavers

[changewingwentz]

Didn’t wanna celebrate empty handed so here’s a wip of the next gen trio

Happy anniversary 🎉 you ruined and made my life better at the same time /pos

Self indulgence crossovers fits based on Dallon Weekes from idkhow's what love mv, Babymetal, and motionless in white in their werewolf mv

[eltigreslasher]

New Guy Members Adventure Series OST Video Posted

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