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lucyandalexiafan · 8 months ago

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I'm scared | Alexia Putellas x Reader | part 2

summary: first time that Alexia and reader talk about sex (specifically: masturbation) after the walk.

warnings: angst, allusion to past sexual abuses. really light smut moment (r comes home early and sees Alexia have orgasm using a vibrator).

words: 3k

Part 1

When you had spoken to Alexia about your past, about those experiences, you hadn't expected her to be so understanding and engaged in helping you.

Even though you knew she was a sweet person, kind, and in some way you knew she loved you, or was starting to develop strong feelings for you, up until that day you had believed she wouldn't stay with you once she found out what had happened to you.

Alexia is beautiful, charming, loved by hundreds of thousands of people; she's the captain of Spain and Barcelona, which means she's surrounded by beautiful women, a lot of them probably much more predisposed to have sex with her and much less anxious about it. She's famous, so not only fans and other footballers would want something with her, but also other celebrities, like models or actresses or singers.

Alexia doesn't just play football, she's also a football activist, a model and she works with some brands, which means she works in contexts that allow her to meet many (beautiful) women.

All these things had made it difficult for you to think that she would stay after that walk.

She took you home once you had returned to the car because the next day she had to go to Madrid for work with Nike. Before getting out of the car, you had kissed her and, thinking it was the last time, you had tried to imprint the image of Alexia so close to your face in your memory. You thought you wouldn't see her again and that she wouldn't contact you anymore, that she would ghost you or break up with you by message.

You had spent that night sleepless, tears flowing heavily from your eyes and nausea that had forced you to sit on the bathroom floor for a few hours, the retching had painfully contracted your body several times during those hours. Even though you hated yourself every time you did it, you kept checking your phone hoping to see a notification from her, a message, a post sent on Instagram or TikTok, and the more time passed, the more you received no news from her, the more nausea and the tears increased, the more you believed you had lost her forever.

Yet, the next day, the sound of the doorbell had woken you up. You had struggled to get out of bed, the headache was killing you and your back seemed to be broken in two by the pain, the sweat covering your forehead was a symptom of yet another nightmare that had invaded your sleep.

You looked at the video intercom and saw a delivery man. "Yes, who's there?" you had asked, your voice hoarse, ruined by crying.

"Hello, I'm from Bakery Adele, I was told I have to deliver this order to this address" the delivery guy had replied, his voice annoyingly shrill, before asking for confirmation of identity.

You had told him he could leave it at the concierge and that you would come down later, but he had persuaded you by saying there was a piping hot double espresso cappuccino and a freshly baked cream-filled brioche waiting for you.

You had put on a jacket that was hanging on the coat rack, a jacket of Alexia, and had gone down. The delivery guy handed you the breakfast, a little note attached to the package, and then said goodbye.

Bakery Adele doesn't do deliveries, never.

Once you had entered the house, you had opened the note, and tears had returned when you had read it.

"I thought of ordering your favorite breakfast from your bakery. Whenever you feel like it, if you want, write to me or call me, I'm always here. I miss you, but I'll wait for you to feel ready to talk to me. Alexia <3"

Tears, tears, and more tears.

You had bitten your lip as you grabbed your phone to video call her. You didn't care about the condition of your face or your hair at that moment, you only cared about seeing if it was true, if she was sincere. You had spent the whole night thinking she hadn't written to you because she didn't want to talk to you anymore, only to find out she was waiting for you?

"Amor," her voice, her sweet voice, invaded the deafening silence of your home.

"Ale-" you had replied trying to articulate a sentence, but inevitably ending up crying.

"What's wrong, amor? Are you okay?" she was worried, her eyebrows furrowed and her eyes squinted.

"I thought you didn't want me anymore and now the breakfast has arrived and I don't understand and-" You start speaking quickly, thoughts overlapping in your mind one after another, as you try to express yourself, to tell her how confused you feel right now.

"Take a breath, amor breath with me. Did you think I wouldn't call you? - you shook your head - Amor, I told you I'm in love with you, why would I leave you?"

You hadn't talked much, actually, because she was about to enter the store and there was a lot of confusion, but she had called you back that evening.

And the day after, and the day after that, until she had shown up at your house with takeout Chinese food.

A couple of days after she returned, you had asked if you could talk, if you could talk about what had happened. You knew that the best idea would have been to go to her place, a place from which it would have been easy to run away from her if things didn't go as you hoped, and not to your place, where Alexia could have stayed even against your will; but the emotional comfort you felt being in your own home was crucial to be able to talk to her, to face the situation.

You were at your home, on the couch: you were sitting cross-legged, your hands holding hers, and you had told her that you understood if this thing was bigger than her, if she didn't want to wait for some time to do something sexual, but you had also told her that a part of you would have wanted her to stay because you wanted to face this thing with her, that you truly wanted to face it.

Alexia, hesitant, had told you, after a while of talking, that she thought it was appropriate for you to start a therapy process, maybe also to go to therapy together, because only then could you fully face the trauma. She also made sure to tell you that if you couldn't afford it continuously over time or with the right frequency, she would help you financially because, yes, facing it, but with the right psychologist. Shyly, she had told you that she had done a couple of searches on the best psychologists in Barcelona for this type of trauma and had found one really good, and that she would also be available to do couple therapy.

You had told her you would think about it and a few days later you had contacted one of the psychologists on her list.

The initial doubts about her seriousness in being faithful to you and not seeking anyone else for sexual satisfaction surfaced when she left for a National Team camp, and they exploded when you thought she was cheating on you with Jenni. The endless social media edits you continued to see fueled the doubt that perhaps, while genuinely attempting to complete the therapeutic journey, she was seeking to fulfill her sexual desire with someone else in secret.

At the third couple's therapy session after that camp, you addressed the issue. You had resignedly told her that you wanted to know if she was with other women, that you would understand but needed to know. She was shocked. She had told you multiple times that she only wanted you, that she would wait for you, that she didn't want anyone else, that she didn't want Jenni.

You had discussed it several times in therapy over the next two weeks, and even outside of therapy, but Alexia always said the same thing: I will wait for you, I want you.

The doubts had more or less disappeared when few weeks later you caught her having an orgasm with a vibrator while she thought you were still out. You were on holiday in the Canary Islands, you had gone out to do some shopping and go to an open-air market while she was sleeping, and you had left her a message saying you wouldn't be back in two hours; too bad the open-air market was on Thursday, not Tuesday, so you had returned after a little over half an hour.

As soon as you entered the house, you heard moans and silently approached the bedroom, only to see her in the middle of the bed, her hand between her legs and a buzzing sound in the background accompanying her moans.

You froze in place, not knowing what to do, or what to say.

You didn't even know she had a vibrator. You hadn't really thought about it, actually.

You hadn't even had time to think about how to react because shortly after she reached the peak of pleasure, so you quickly moved towards the door, opened and closed it more loudly, pretending you had just entered. You didn't know why you did it, maybe you thought it would be easy to pretend you hadn't seen her, but you were wrong, especially for two reasons: seeing her climax had made you incredibly horny and you couldn't remove the image of her having an orgasm from your mind, so you couldn't even look her in the eyes.

Alexia had sensed something was wrong and asked you if everything was okay at dinner, when she asked if she had done something wrong. You almost choked on the water you were drinking, your cheeks suddenly burning, as you tried to come up with some excuses, only to give in.

"Amor, I don't know how to say it - you lowered your gaze, embarrassed to admit it, afraid she would get angry - I... today I came home earlier than you think and I-I saw you-"

"Fuck - Alexia exclaimed bluntly - Amor, I'm sorry, I... it shouldn't have happened, I thought you'd be back later," her tone suddenly guilty, as if masturbating were a fault.

"Are you sorry? - you asked, looking her in the eyes, and she nodded, her face red with embarrassment - But... why?"

Her expression became confused. "I-you weren't supposed to see me, I don't want you to think-"

"Since when you do it?" you asked, then realized the stupidity of the question when the older woman tilted her head to the side; you tried to change the subject, but she asked you to talk about it, to ask her, because it was important for her that you talked about it.

"Do you want to know if I've been doing it since we started dating or when I started doing it in general?" her tone was so calm, so relaxed, that you trusted her, trusted that she really just wanted to talk about it.

That was the first time you had talked so specifically about your sexual life, at least hers.

She had told you she lost her virginity to a girl when she was fifteen, started using sex toys at sixteen, that throughout her relationship with Jenni they had been an integral part of the relationship, but she started using them less when she broke up with her because at that point she was having a lot of casual sex.

"I had sex with other women before I met you, both occasional and steady partners, so I didn't really need to use them to have an orgasm. Then we met, the relationship became serious and we started dating, so I stopped seeing other people, and when I realized we wouldn't have sex, I started using them more often. Since you told me about your past, I've started using them frequently again."

You bit your lip as you listened to her, it was evident that she was hesitant, choosing her words carefully, but at the same time she was so sure, so calm. The calmness with which she spoke about it almost gave you comfort, almost reassured you that she wasn't lying, that what she was saying was true.

"You can ask me anything, amor, none question is stupid."

"Do you do it because we don't have sex?"

She nodded hesitantly. "How does this make you feel? - you raised your eyebrows, confused - I don't want this thing to make you feel bad."

"It makes sense that you do it - you replied, your tone devoid of negative emotions - We don't have sex and you need to... have an orgasm. Why didn't you tell me?"

She took a sip of water in an attempt to stall. "I... I thought you would take it badly, that you would feel guilty or something, and I didn't want that. I told you I want to wait for you, but I was afraid that if I told you you would think that I necessarily need someone to have sex with or for me to tell you to speed things up - she sighed - But as you saw, my sex toys give me great orgasms and I could go on just with them for years" she continued, trying to relax the tension that had been created with her answer.

You chuckled with her, even though you were sorry she did it in secret, that she did it only when you weren't there, that she was afraid you would take it badly.

It was her first orgasm you had seen, and you had never really thought about the fact that she could be satisfied in other ways than having sex with other people.

"I had never thought that you would seek orgasms in other ways than sex - you simply stated - It's a stupid thing, sorry."

"It's not, actually. We've never talked about this, about maybe masturbating or actually wanting to have sex, regardless of whether we do it or not - the reflective tone, the calm voice - For example, when I feel the need to have an orgasm, use a vibrator because the orgasms I have using it are generally more satisfying than when I just use my fingers; but when I want to have sex, as well as an orgasm, I use my fingers because they feel closer to what I could have having sex with you."

You widened your eyes at the revelation, at how calmly she said it. You knew it was normal for her to be calm, you were glad she talked about it freely, but you didn't expect her to be so sincere.

"I've said too much, sorry. Please forget it," she continued, her voice concerned, her gaze now on the plate, her hands quickly grabbing the fork and knife to put them on the plate.

"No! - you replied, scaring her - Sorry, I don't know how to talk about it, but I'd like to, I like that we talk about it."

There was a pause, Alexia was simply smiling at you, perhaps surprised that you were actually having this conversation, perhaps because she didn't know what to say.

"I masturbate thinking about you," you said, a statement.

The woman in front of you widened her eyes, a choked moan escaped her mouth, the dismay obvious.

"When I do it I-I think about the two of us having sex or-or... doing sexual things - you lowered your gaze, a sense of humiliation invading your body when she said nothing - Please don't be mad at me"

You close your eyes, scared at the idea that she might start yelling that it's disrespectful, that it's wrong for you to do it, or, worse, that she might get up to hurt you, or physically punish you for it.

"Get mad? Why should I get mad? - her voice confused - It's normal for you to masturbate, to seek orgasm."

"Even if it's not with you?" she nodded "It's just that we don't have sex but I masturbate and... doesn't it make you mad?"

Your voice sounded more frightened than you wanted, but it was true that you feared she would get angry. You didn't want to have sex with her, you were afraid to have sex with her, but you touched yourself thinking of her; how could she take it?

"I'm glad you can touch yourself, that at least that part of your sexuality hasn't been broken," she moved her hands towards yours, squeezing them between hers "There's nothing wrong, amor, I'd be a selfish insecure person to think otherwise."

You bit your lip as you looked at her, admiring her. How could she always know what to say, always say the right thing?

"So, did you like to watch me while I touch myself?" you coughed embarrassed, not knowing what to say, or how to explain it.

You had enjoyed watching her come, even though it was by chance and for a short time, even though it was an unexpected thing that shouldn't have happened. The image of her coming, of her orgasm, was imprinted in your mind.

"I- you were just so beautiful when you came. I don't know how to say it, I feel stupid, and- it was like, I don't know - you sighed frustrated - it's just that I wish it were me making you come like that, not a vibrator."

"There's time, amor," she told you.

She was right, there was time, but you wanted to be the one instead of that vibrator.

I'm sorry it took me so long to post this, a few bad things happened and I didn't have the mind to write. this is a text that I wrote about two weeks ago but I only translated it last night; I'm not 100/100 satisfied, but I wanted to introduce a moment of discussion about sex before anything sexual could happen. I dealt with the topic of insecurity and jealousy in a very light way (perhaps superficially) but it seemed like the only way to introduce the moment on holiday. the hardest part for me, and what makes me a little dissatisfied, was trying to figure out whether what I wrote about accidentally seeing Alexia have an orgasm was itself a violation of consent, or could be construed as an accident (which it actually is); I chose to interpret it as an accident that Alexia knew could happen and to avoid the parties considering it a violation of consent. If this seems wrong to you, or will trigger a lot of people, I think I'll revisit this chapter. as usual, thanks for reading what I wrote :)

#woso #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #alexia putellas fanfic #alexia putellas fanfics #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

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hungermakesmonsters · 5 months ago

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(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Ten

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R Chapter Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Smutty behaviour in a public setting, use of toys. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story.

Word Count : 5.6k

A/N : I'm sorry these keep ending up so long. Anyway, enjoy some smutty cuteness...

MASTER LIST

Chapter Ten

The second your eyes opened, you regretted it.

Light streamed in through the windows and your head hurt - though you couldn’t tell if it was because of all the champagne you’d drunk the night before, or because you’d sobbed yourself to sleep. One look in the mirror had you grimacing. Even though you’d tried to remove your make-up before bed, you’d still ended up with dark mascara circles under your eyes.

As much as you wanted to crawl back into bed, you needed to wash your face properly, get something to drink, and see if you had any painkillers left to help with your pounding headache. A quick glance at your watch told you that it was almost noon.

Half-asleep, you pulled open your bedroom door, only to almost jump out of your skin at the sight of Billy, sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, knees pulled to his chest and his head resting on his arms.

“Billy?”

He looked up and your heart threatened to stop; his face was bruised and his lip was split and, though his injuries already looked like they were healing, you started to panic.

Before he could say a word, you were on your knees in front of him, cradling his face in your hands, looking over his wounds, while he tried not to make eye contact.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered softly, voice thick with exhaustion, “I didn’t want to hurt you. I never should’ve -”

“Billy,” you spoke just as softly, “you didn’t hurt me.”

“I shouldn’t’ve started this. I never wanted to put you in danger.”

You shook your head. “Where is this coming from? You haven’t put me in danger.”

“I’m dangerous. Just being around me is dangerous.”

“No,” you told him firmly, still holding his face, forcing him to look at you. “I’m safe with you, Billy.”

“No, I -”

“Is that what your friend told you? That you’re dangerous? Because you’re not. You showed me last night that you’re not,” you continued. His eyes closed and he shook his head. Your heart ached at how broken and defeated he looked. “Please don’t push me away. They’re wrong about you. I know they are.”

Without any sort of hesitation, you wrapped your arms around him, holding him tight, pressing your face to his chest, trying to fight back tears.

“I heard you crying,” he said, sounding devastated, as if that one piece of information proved his point. It didn’t.

“Not because of you, Billy.”

“Then why?”

“Because I didn’t want last night to end. I wanted to stay with you, and they ruined it.”

Finally his arms moved, wrapping around you and pulling you closer. You let out a shuddered breath, a tired sigh of relief, glad that he finally seemed to believe you. He moved himself as he pulled you towards him until you were on his lap with your face pressed against his neck, enjoying the feel of his cold skin against you.

“I thought that...” He started but trailed off just as quickly.

He didn’t need to say it; you had a pretty good idea of what Billy thought and why. But it was wrong, and you weren’t going to let him hold onto that thought any longer.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you told him again, prepared to tell him as many times as you needed to in order to make him see sense. “Everything that happened last night happened because I wanted it to.”

Billy nodded but stayed quiet, his arms tightening around you. Minutes ticked by and you were content to stay like that, to hold and be held, to let him know that you were there and that there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

After a while, he seemed to settle and relax, his hand softly rubbing your back, giving you comfort that you hadn’t realised you desperately needed. But there were things beyond comfort that you also needed; answers to questions you never wanted to ask but now couldn’t avoid.

“Last night,” you started quietly, “you said he fucked up your life... what happened?”

His chest shuddered and rose as he took a breath, but you kept your face against his neck, wanting to give him some sense of space without you looking at him.

“Frank’s the one who turned me,” Billy told you. “He’s the one who made me a vampire.”

The revelation had your blood running cold in your veins; his business partner, his friend, was the one who’d turned Billy into something he hated. You had a thousand different questions all at once but had no idea where to start. Fortunately, Billy didn’t wait for you to figure it out.

“We served together and, one day, we were selected for a special task force,” he sighed, his voice turning almost mechanical, like he was recounting the story on auto-pilot. “Things got fucked up and weird; we were seeing things that shouldn’t have existed, that didn’t seem real. I couldn’t handle it, I didn’t want to stay, so I got a transfer back to Force, but Frankie stayed.”

There was a pause, letting you absorb everything he’d told you, letting you make sense of the timeline. You already knew that he’d been turned a year or so before vampires were revealed to the public - was he saying that the military had known about them longer?

“After I left, they started... experimenting. Frank got turned but he managed to escape, he managed to get back to New York. They sent a team after him. My team. They were going to kill Frank and his family.” He paused again, seeming like he really didn’t want to continue, but he did regardless. “When I realised what was happening, I tried to save him and got shot in the back by one of my own men.”

You gripped him tighter, worry consuming you, even though you knew that Billy was alright.

“I would’ve died if he hadn’t turned me, but - but sometimes I wish I had. Sometimes I wish he’d just let me bleed out so I didn’t have to live like this,” he continued, his voice flat, betraying no emotion. “We had to hide out for a while but once vampires became public knowledge, we threatened to go public with everything we knew and they paid us off - that’s how I was able to start Anvil.”

Taking a deep breath, you pressed yourself closer to him, your mind racing. You didn’t say anything, you just kept hold of him, feeling completely useless for not knowing exactly the right thing to say.

The silence stretched on until it became unbearable.

“Please say something,” he prompted, his voice cracking and threatening to break.

“I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to upset you.”

“Why would you upset me?” He asked.

Finally you forced yourself to look at him again. You tried desperately to keep yourself from frowning as you searched his face for some idea of what he was feeling.

“Because I want to say that I’m glad Frank turned you,” you told him and immediately felt him tense. “I’m glad you’re alive and that you’re like this because, otherwise, I never would’ve gotten to meet you.”

You weren’t sure if the look he gave was one of pain or sorrow, but it broke your heart either way.

“I’m sorry,” you continued, “I know it makes me awful and selfish, but I don’t want to think about a world where we didn’t meet and I didn’t feel this way...”

“You’re not selfish,” he told you, pressing his cold hand to your cheek. “I’m glad we met too.”

Words failed and the distance between you seemed to shrink, though you had no idea if it was you or Billy moving. Your lips met and you both sank into a sweet and tender kiss, his tongue slipping between your lips as he held you tight. The kiss helped settle your nerves and caused you to hope that Billy now understood what you were feeling.

When you finally pulled back, you looked at him, your fingers brushing over his bruised cheek.

“Did he do this?”

“Yeah.”

“But why?” You asked. Why would his friend hurt him like that?

“Because he knows about my problem and, because he turned me, he’ll blame himself if I hurt you.”

You shook your head, not wanting to go over everything again, so you let it go, instead opting to get a good look at him. Aside from the bruising (that seemed to have healed even more in the time that you’d been talking), his jacket and shirt had both been torn at the shoulder and on the collar, there were blood splatters on the white shirt, and his hair was sticking up in every direction. But, more than anything, he just looked so tired.

“Do you want to lay down? We could -”

“No,” he interrupted sharply, almost causing you to jump. He took a breath and shook his head. “You can’t invite me into your room, okay?”

“But -”

“Please, hummingbird,” he begged. “It’s the only room in the penthouse that I can’t enter. It’s the only place you’ll be safe if anything happens.”

Part of you wanted to argue, to tell him again that you were safe with him, that he hadn’t hurt you and you didn’t think he ever would, but you recognised that this was one of those situations where Billy needed reassurance. He needed to know that you had a safe place, somewhere you could escape to.

“Okay,” you relented. “But you still need rest. You look exhausted.”

“So do you.”

“I need to go wash this mascara off my face and eat some breakfast,” you told him, smiling softly, not wanting him to worry about you any more than he already had.

You started to move, getting off his lap and to your feet before offering him your hand. After helping him to his feet, you found yourself struck by just how deep your feelings had started to run. You should have been ushering him off to bed, but you were desperate for just one more minute with him. And, Billy seemed equally reluctant to leave you.

“I -” he started but quickly second guessed himself.

“What?”

“Well, since the cat’s out of the bag, I -” he hesitated for a beat “- I don’t want to sneak around and hide this anymore. I want to take you out to dinner. Tonight.”

The corners of your lips started to tug upwards and before you knew it, you were grinning at him.

“Mr Russo,” you said, forcing a dramatic tone, “are you asking me out on a date?”

“Yes, little hummingbird, I am.”

“I suppose I could go to dinner with you, if I can find something to wear,” you teased, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Is that your way of asking me for a new dress? Because I definitely wouldn’t say no to another handjob in the fitting rooms.” He retorted, grinning just as widely as you were, as if you’d finally managed to help lift some of the weight from his shoulders.

Laughing, you pressed your face to his chest again, telling yourself just one more minute again and again.

“You could take me out for dinner every night for the rest of the year and I’d probably still not get through half of the outfits in my wardrobe. I’m sure there’s something suitable in there,” you conceded.

“Be ready by sunset. I’ll book us a table somewhere nice,” he told you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before pulling away from you.

“Don’t you have work tonight?”

“After last night, I don’t think Frank is going to want me around the office for a while,” he shrugged, heading for the door leading back out to the penthouse before you could think to question him further. “Get some rest and I’ll see you at sunset.”

And then he was gone, leaving you alone with the swarm of butterflies that had taken flight in your stomach. You couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t stop thinking about him and how things were going to change between you now that you weren’t hiding.

After eating, you took the world's longest and hottest shower, finally managing to get the last traces of mascara from your face. Then it was straight to the wardrobe to find something suitable to wear for dinner.

When you finally saw him again, he looked much better; rested, with only the faintest traces of bruising left beneath his eye. He stopped in his tracks, taking in the sight of you and the dark blue corset style dress you’d picked, while you admired the dark grey suit he’d opted to wear. Your cheeks warmed as his gaze lingered on your legs even as you stepped towards him to hand him his glass of blood.

“I see you found something to wear,” he remarked, fingers brushing yours as he took the glass.

A moment later he started making his way towards the sofa, explaining that you had some time before you had to leave for the restaurant. You followed after, finally letting your gaze drift around the penthouse, noticing what an amazing job the cleaners had done. If you hadn’t been there, you never would have guessed that there had been almost two hundred people there the night before.

It wasn’t until you sat that you noticed something on the coffee table; the necklace he had given you. He must have found it after everyone had left the party. Without thinking you reached for it, inspecting it, hoping it hadn’t been damaged.

“I’m sorry I didn’t explain what that meant,” Billy sighed. “It was shitty of me to put it on your neck without telling you. It wasn’t fair of me to claim you without asking first...”

“No, it wasn’t,” you told him with a sigh of your own. “You should’ve told me. I-I still would’ve worn it.”

“Really?” He asked, and you nodded. He hesitated for a beat before; “then would you wear it tonight?”

Your breath caught and, for a split-second it looked as if he was about to take the question back. Knowing what you knew about the necklace, about its meaning, the answer should have been obvious; you weren’t his and you didn’t want to belong to anyone.

Only, you weren’t sure that was entirely true.

“I think that depends on you,” you finally answered.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want me to belong to you?” The question left him looking more than a little confused. “I meant what I said last night; I like you, Billy. I don’t know what that means in the long run, but I’d like for it to mean something now.”

“And you’d be happy with that?” He asked after a moment of hesitation. “You’d be happy being mine?”

“Would you be happy being mine?”

You didn’t expect the reaction to be so visceral, for Billy to tense and almost curl in on himself. You’d hit a nerve but you didn’t know how. His knuckles turned white around the glass and his eyes fixed on the windows.

Suddenly you felt sick. You felt stupid. There you were offering yourself up to someone who had no intention of ever doing the same. He’d told you from the start that it would be like this, that he would never give you more than he already had. And you’d just ruined it because you were selfish, because you were greedy, because you wanted more than anything to possess him and be able to say that he was yours.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, getting to your feet and heading for the kitchen, getting a glass of water as an excuse to put some space between you.

Your heart anxiously pounded in your chest and, even when you had a drink, you didn’t turn back. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, to see the damage you’d done by wanting too much.

You took deep breath after deep breath, trying to ignore the way your cheeks were burning and your stomach was knotting.

(Of course he didn’t want to be yours. Who would?)

“No one’s ever wanted me to be theirs before.” His voice cut through the silence and, when you finally turned, you realised he was standing a couple of feet behind you. “My own mother gave me up hours after I was born. Foster families always sent me back to the group home. The only person who’s ever stuck around is Frank...”

Oh. The realisation was painful.

“So, it’s not that I don’t want to be yours,” he continued, dropping his gaze, “it’s just...”

“I’ll leave you,” you finished the thought for him. A moment later, you were shaking your head. “You’re right, it was a stupid thing to say. I’m sorry.”

When your gaze dropped, you realised that the necklace was clutched in his hand. After taking a slow breath, you closed the distance between you and reached it and smiled.

“Will you put it on for me?” You asked.

For a moment, all he could do was stare at you, confused by the request. You were a little confused yourself, not because you were second guessing it, but because the urge to belong to him, to have him claim you, had come on so quickly.

“Are you sure?”

“I want to feel like I belong somewhere, even if it’s only temporary,” you tried to explain.

Before Billy could say another word, you turned, lifting your hair out of the way so he could put the necklace around your neck. The feel of cold metal against your skin and the weight of the choker around your neck had you letting out a gentle sigh; he might not have been able to want you in the same way, but you could at least be happy that he wanted you.

Turning, you leaned to press a gentle kiss to his cheek before excusing yourself, telling him you needed to grab something from your room before you left.

It took about thirty minutes to get to the restaurant and, when you arrived, you were rendered speechless by the opulence. Billy was clearly well known and the staff couldn’t do enough for him, taking your coats before leading you to a secluded table by the window with views of the Hudson. You were too distracted by the view to pay much attention to the conversation going on between Billy and the maître d' - it was something about a rare wine they’d been saving.

Once you were seated, you realised that there were no menus. Billy explained that they used a set menu and, honestly, you felt a little relieved that you wouldn’t have to try and choose for yourself when there was so much to distract you.

Within minutes you each had a drink; a deep, sweet red wine that you were told would pair excellently with the night's menu. Then came your entree.

You frowned, comparing yours to Billy’s, wondering why they looked different.

“It’s blood,” Billy explained, noticing your confusion. “They cater to vampires and humans here.”

“Oh,” you remarked, not sure why the thought left you feeling uncomfortable.

“Does it bother you?” He asked. “Me having someone else’s blood in front of you?”

Yes, you wanted to say, but you knew you didn’t have the right. He wasn’t yours.

“No. I guess I always knew that you had other blood. It’s just -” you let out a huff, frustrated that you couldn’t find the words to explain it.

All the things he could taste when he drank your blood, now he was sitting across from you tasting those things in someone else. It felt almost like a betrayal, even though you knew that wasn’t what it was.

“It doesn’t compare to your blood. It doesn’t even come close,” Billy told you, and that settled you a little.

Taking a breath, your attention turned to your own food, knowing you couldn’t begrudge a vampire his blood. You wanted him to eat and enjoy the evening.

About twenty minutes in, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom and were annoyed to find a familiar face waiting for you as you washed your hands.

“Having a nice evening?” Madani asked with none of her usual concern.

“Very nice, thank you,” you answered pointedly. “What do you want?”

“I want you to realise how much danger you’re in.”

“I’m not in danger. Billy hasn’t hurt anyone. If you want to keep me safe, you should go find Krista, she’s the only one who’s tried to bite me,” you snapped, patience quickly running out.

“You’ve seen Krista Dumont?” Madani asked, surprised. You nodded. “When?”

“Last night. She crashed Billy’s party and tried to bite me.”

“She’s a vampire?”

“Yes, and before you ask, no it wasn’t Billy.” You finished drying your hands and stepped past her towards the door. “Please just leave me alone.”

Returning to the table, you decided not to mention anything to Billy, hoping it was the last you’d see of Madani. Now that she knew Krista was alive, surely she’d leave Billy alone.

You continued to eat and made small talk, keeping the conversation light, both avoiding the more serious topics you’d already covered at the penthouse. And, when the main course was put out in front of you, you decided to do something to make things a little more entertaining for the both of you.

“Do you have your phone?” You asked him, gaze shyly dropping to the table.

“Of course, why?”

“I figured we could have some fun again.”

He looked at you blankly for a few seconds, not understanding what you were trying to suggest. You bit your lip as your cheeks warmed and, finally, the penny dropped.

“You mean...?” he asked, lips pulling into a grin.

“Last night we couldn’t see each other, so I thought...” you tried to explain.

Billy didn’t have to say anything, you knew he could hear your racing heart. You were close enough that you could see his eyes get darker as his pupils dilated, and you heard the hitch in his breath. You held his gaze, barely breathing as he pulled his phone from his jacket and placed it on the table, watching as he unlocked it and opened the app that controlled the toy.

But, then, he hesitated.

“Are you sure?”

You nodded, running your teeth over your lower lip again, struggling to find the words.

“Last night was... fun. I liked knowing you were thinking about me as much as I was thinking about you. When I know you’re thinking about me I...” your words caught on the lump in your throat.

“You can tell me,” he prompted quietly.

“You make me feel brave. When I’m with you, when you look at me like that, I feel like I could do anything.” you admitted.

There was so much more you wanted to say, so many things you wanted to tell him but, after your conversation back at the penthouse, it didn’t seem fair. He wasn’t yours, he never would be. And you would only temporarily be his.

You sat a little straighter when the vibrations started, thighs clenching together beneath the table. Sucking your lower lip, you forced yourself to look him in the eye and let him see what he was doing to you.

“Fuck,” he muttered, “you were right; it’s a lot more fun when I can see your face.”

His free hand reached across the table to hold yours while the other swiped at his phone, changing the intensity of the vibrations. Your fingers tensed against his and Billy smiled.

“How is everything this evening?” The waiter asked, stopping by to refill your glasses, oblivious to what was going on.

“It’s amazing,” you answered, barely tearing your eyes from Billy, who struggled to hold back a laugh.

The waiter said something about dessert and left you to finish your main course.

Billy continued making small talk as you ate, occasionally and very brazenly reaching for his phone mid-conversation to start or stop the toy, spending the rest of the night toying with you and trying to drive you crazy. A couple of times you came close to climax, but he knew you well enough to know just how to deny you.

By the time you had to walk back to the car, your legs were trembling and you had to loop your arm through Billy’s for support.

“Thank you for a wonderful evening.”

“No, thank you, hummingbird.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek as you walked across the parking lot. “After last night, I didn’t think -”

“Let’s not talk about last night,” you decided. “Tonight has been perfect and I don’t want anything to ruin it.”

He stopped to open the passenger side door for you but, before you could get in, Billy kissed you. Time seemed to stop and you were more than happy to let it, not even stopping to let yourself think about how this was the first time he’d kissed out in the open where anyone might see. The tiniest of moans slipped from you and you immediately felt Billy’s lips pull into a smile against yours.

“What?” You asked, letting out a nervous laugh.

“I don’t know, you’re just so -” Billy gave a laugh of his own, “- cute.”

“You think I’m cute?” Your cheeks started to warm, not sure if it was meant as a compliment or not.

“Yeah,” he answered, cupping your cheek and running his thumb across your lips. “You’re cute and innocent and sweet. And I love that about you.”

Before you could respond he was kissing you softly and opening the car door for you. And, for a moment, you were willing to forget about anything but his lips on yours.

“Come on, it’s getting late,” he finally ushered you into the car and, less than a minute later, you were on your way back home.

For most of the drive home, you were quiet, eyes fixed on the world beyond the car window, taking in the sights of the city late at night. It seemed to you like New York really was the city that never slept. From time to time, you glanced at Billy, smiling when his gaze caught yours.

There was a feeling of dread in your chest when he finally pulled into his space in the underground parking lot and killed the engine. When he moved to get out of the car, you found yourself reaching for him.

Billy looked at you, puzzled.

“I don’t want tonight to be over yet,” you told him.

He nodded as if he felt exactly the same way before leaning in to kiss you softly. His hand cupped your cheek but, soon enough, it was drifting down to your neck and, then, as the kiss continued, it started to sink lower. It came to rest over your racing heart, his fingers tenderly squeezing your breast through your dress.

You shifted closer, fingers tangling in his hair, turning the kiss a little more desperate. Your other hand slipped down the front of his shirt to his belt and clumsily started to undo it. As you fumbled, Billy helped, pulling open his belt before helping you with the button and zipper of his pants.

A moan slipped from his lips the second you reached in to pull his cock out, the kiss momentarily faltering when you started to stroke him. You moaned in return when you felt him grow hard in your grasp. You pulled back from the kiss to look at him, taking in the look of lust on his face before your gaze dropped to your hand as it wrung around his shaft.

The glistening tip had you licking your lips, pulling your legs up onto your seat so you could lean over the centre console. Billy started to say something but quickly fell silent as your lips wrapped around the swollen tip of his cock, your tongue lapping up the pre-cum that had accumulated there in a way that betrayed that this was something you’d done before.

Billy swore, groaning your name as you slowly started to take him into your mouth, continuing to stroke him as you did. It wasn’t long before you felt his fingers tangling in your hair. Your lips sank lower and lower, taking more of him. Your movements slow, deliberate. In a way, you were showing off - this was something you knew how to do well.

“Fuck, little hummingbird,” he groaned when you lips reached far enough to meet your hand at the base of his cock.

You would have smiled if your mouth hadn’t been full. When you pulled back a little, you managed to look up at him through your eyelashes, the tip of his cock still in your mouth, just in time to see Billy reaching for his phone.

Fuck. Your whole body tensed as the toy started to vibrate and, for a second, you froze.

“Don’t stop,” it sounded like a breathless command and you had every intention of following it, quickly returning to what you’d been doing.

Billy didn’t mess around, didn’t waste time, he cranked the vibrations up to the highest setting and turned things into a race against time.

His moans got louder the more of him you took and you could feel him throbbing. You drew your cheeks in and sucked, letting you little moans of your own. Every time you sank down, you felt his hand gently pressing against the back of your head urging you to take even more. Your eyes started to water a little when he hit the back of your throat but you refused to stop. You pulled back and took a breath before sinking down the length of him again, relaxing yourself as he slid into your throat.

“That’s it,” he gasped, “your mouth feels so fucking good...”

Your cheeks felt like they were burning with the things that Billy was saying and the way he was moaning as you dragged your lips up and down his shaft, but there was something empowering about it too. You liked knowing that you could make him tremble. Your free hand moved to your neck, fingers brushing against the necklace, wanting nothing more than to belong to him in that moment, to be nothing but his.

You started to moan even louder, too overwhelmed to even think about holding back, trembling and tensing as you started to come.

“Fuck... I’m gonna come,” he warned. Pulling his hand from your hair so you could pull back if you wanted.

But you didn’t want to pull back, instead you doubled down, tracing the throbbing vein on the underside of his shaft with your tongue.

Billy swore and gave you one last grunt of warning before he started to pulse in your mouth and you felt him spill onto your tongue. You closed your eyes tight and swallowed everything, revelling in his desperate groans.

Once you were done, you pulled away slowly, letting him fall from your lips. Your cheeks burned as you turned away to wipe any traces of cum from around your mouth, not looking back again until his hand found yours.

“You okay? He asked softly. All you could do was nod. His hand cupped your cheek and you found that you could barely meet his gaze. “Hey, don’t be embarrassed. You wanted to do that, right?”

“Yeah, I -” you started to answer but quickly trailing off, hating that you didn’t have the words to describe what you wanted.

Your whole face felt hot, trapped between how you felt and how you thought you were supposed to feel. Despite all the time you’d spent with him, the things you’d done since leaving home, the shame was hard to shake.

“It’s silly,” you shrugged. “I’ve never enjoyed doing that before. I was always told women weren’t supposed to enjoy it, but with you...”

The press of his hand on your cheek became a little firmer, ensuring that your eyes stayed on him.

“That’s bullshit. You’re allowed to enjoy it - you’re allowed to enjoy everything we do together. We’re equals in this. If there’s something you don’t like then you don’t have to do it,” he told you.

Before you could answer, he was leaning towards you, making a point of kissing you deeply - something no other guy had ever done after finishing in your mouth - and leaving you with no doubts.

You didn’t speak again until he pulled back and you caught him looking at you with an expression that fell somewhere between questioning and sympathetic. “What?”

“Nothing,” he shrugged, “I just think I’m starting to understand you a little better.” You didn’t respond, you just gave him a questioning look until he continued. “No one had gone down on you before, but you’ve obviously given a blowjob before... that says a lot about the guys you’ve been with.”

Again, you didn’t respond - you didn’t know what you were supposed to say to something like that.

“Now, come on, it really is getting late,” he said a moment later.

You both got out of the car and it wasn’t long before Billy’s hand found yours, keeping hold of you until you arrived back in the penthouse, and only letting go because his phone was ringing.

He gave you a look before letting out a sigh, and you took that as your cue to head to bed. Pressing your lips to his cheek, you held him tight for a few seconds, before starting towards your rooms, closing the door just as Billy angrily answered his phone.

“What, Frank?”

End Note : Again, I got carried away with the cuteness and this ended up really long 😅 The next chapter is also going to be pretty long too and, as a heads up next chapter is going to be particularly smutty, but it's also going to contain some potentially triggering stuff, so please make sure you read the warning on next weeks chapter!!

As always, thanks so much for reading/liking/commenting/reblogging I really love how much you all seem to be genuinely enjoying this fic! Have a great weekend!!

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt.

Tag List : @vaguekayla @thdcre @rensolodriver @house-husband-of-castlemurdock

@snowkestrel @danzer8705 @noortsshift @aoi-targaryen @lincerad

@vxnity713 @readerinsertsaremyguiltypleasure @dreadfulxives18 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @glamourbabe17

@sweetserendipity65 @damagelove @strangerfromketterdam @a-starrynightwith-u @readingabouthim

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@ashy-kit

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #billy russo fanfic #the punisher #(ob)ts ff #billy russo imagine

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emmalandry · 1 year ago

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⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆

𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝟚 ~ ℂ𝕠𝕣𝕣𝕦𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶𝔻𝕣𝕒𝕓𝕓𝕝𝕖༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆

John Price having a massive corruption kink just eases my mind. Let me set the scene, everyone.

Seeing each other for a few months and finally when things start to get spicy between the two of you the words "I'm a virgin.." slip through your kiss-bitten lips and suddenly you see his pupils grow. "It's alrigh' bunny. I'll be gentle." your small head gives him a nod as you silently bite your lip as he runs his fingers along your dripping slit. You squirm against the new sensation your body is being presented with.

He pulls your panties to the side causing you to gasp as the cold air hits your now-exposed pussy. His large fingers begin to prod at your entrance before he slowly eases them inside causing you to arch your back off his bed. "Feels good doesn't it Lovie? You like my fingers ruining your tiny body, don't you?" He begins to taunt you but you're too far gone to even understand. "Wan' your cock...John please." You whimper the words out as best as you can. "Awe Honey, You think this little virgin hole can handle it so soon?" You nod, needing to feel the fullness he could present to you.

He unzips his military-issued pants, before pulling them down along with his boxers as you watch his fat cock spring up and hit his hairy tummy in awe. "It's 's big sir." You bite your lip in adoration. "You think you can handle it, baby?" He asks teasingly as his large hand rubs up and down your slick-covered thigh. You nod quickly before feeling his large cock line up with your hole before he pushes in, in one swift motion, causing you to let out an ear-splitting moan.

He starts out with a slow pace before gradually increasing as your manicured hands claw and scrape down his muscular back. "Feels good huh honey? I'm gonna ruin you. Mold you perfectly to my cock. You'll never be able to be with another man ever again." His head is thrown back as sweat runs down his chubby yet muscular chest. "J-john please..." You beg, for what? You're not sure but it's all you can seem to make out. " 'm gonna cum sir. Please let me cum!" You're so out of breath your words come out broken and breathy. "Awe it's okay honey you can cum. Be a good girl for your Captain."

His fingers begin to rub quick, skillful circles onto your clit sending your mind into oblivion as you squirt all over his tummy. "What a good girl...I'm right behind you Lovie." He groans out as his pace increases to an inhumane pace. "Inside! Please inside me." You beg for him to fill you. "Fuck Honey, Are you sure? Then everyone will know. Everyone will know what you let me do to you." "I'm sure, want everyone to know... Want everyone to know 'm yours!" Your pussy tightens around him, sucking him in and milking him for everything he has as his seed fills you up full.

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆

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pennedwithpassion · 10 months ago

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I had no idea if you would answer my call. It was possible you would be in the middle of something. A meeting with a subordinate in your office; a meeting in the conference room where you wouldn’t even hear the phone ringing.

When you answered, I pictured you working intently on something at your desk. Digesting a perplexing email, or firing off one of your own, any task that held your attention so acutely you didn’t check the caller ID before you answered. Just snatched the receiver and buried it between your ear and shoulder, delivering the blanket greeting.

“Hi, handsome,” I purred. Your smile was audible on the other end. “Are you busy?”

“Hello there, and no, never too busy for you.”

I moaned softly and squeezed my thighs together, weighing down the hand between them. Your voice reverberated through me and made my pussy throb. I chewed on my lip.

“Good answer. I just needed to hear your voice.”

A deep chuckle poured through the phone and burned down my neck. My fingers pressed on my throbbing clit, sending a gasp from my chest.

“What are you doing over there?” you asked innocently.

Smiling through my bitten lower lip, I let out a heavy breath, hinting at what I was doing that afternoon.

“Thinking of you,” I answered, my voice dripping with need.

A long silence held the line.

Then another chuckle rattled the receiver.

“You’re mean,” you breathed. “I should probably close my office door if you’re gonna’ do this to me.”

A wicked giggle left my lips as my hips bucked and swayed. Wetness pooled between my thighs and seeped through the thin fabric. Heat swelled beneath my fingertips. I whimpered.

“Oh god,” you groaned. Sounds of movement and activity crackled on the other end. The sound of a door closing was heard before more movement. “Are you close?”

Hearing those words delivered in your husky voice shot electricity along my nerves. I writhed and moaned. You didn’t need me to verbalize my answer any better than that.

You purred appreciatively. “Mmph, that’s my girl. Bet you’re soaked.”

“Yes,” I gasped. My pussy drooled beneath the circular motion of my fingertips, the wetness smearing over my throbbing clit.

“Let me hear how wet you are.”

Obediently, I brought the phone between my thighs. Stroking my wet folds for your listening pleasure made me whine. Upon returning the phone to my ear, the sexiest growling sound vibrated through me. Broken whimpers squeezed from my throat.

“You sound so fucking good. Are you gonna’ come for me, pretty girl?”

A moan ripped from my chest. The swelling build of my orgasm made my muscles spasm and my back arch off the bed. I throbbed around the desperate emptiness inside of me, wishing your thick cock were stretching my aching hole. Breathless swears spilled off my tongue.

“Oh god damn, that’s it, baby girl.” My eyes crossed listening to your sultry voice. “Come for me. I need to hear you come like a good girl.”

Freefall. Every muscle erupted with its own fireworks show. The phone fell from my hand, but I kept my mouth in its direction. I needed you to hear what you did to me. What you unleashed within me.

“Fuck! Oh fuck!” I howled.

Warm vibrations echoed through my limbs. The tremors working over my nerves sent my voice through several octave ranges. Your gentle praise was distant but clear. I weakly dragged the phone back to my ear, letting the last whimpers tumble freely into you.

“Thank you so much, baby.”

“You’re so welcome,” you cooed before promptly adding, “I’m going to fucking ruin you when I get home.”

》 Patreon 《

#Written with Lust #Buy from me!#Spoil me!!#Patrons saw it first

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angelellipsis-devilofdots · 4 months ago

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"we didn't talk, we made universes out of bitten lips and broken hands"

since ruin seems to be a sequel to drinking song for the socially anxious, these characters obviously both have anxiety. common anxiety habits? biting your lips and picking at your fingernails and/or skin. these characters were able to bond over the fact that they both had anxiety, so social situations weren't easy for them; they didn't need small talk to become close, they just provided comfort for each other.

#the amazing devil #joey batey #madeleine hyland #lyric quotes #lyric analysis #ruin #drinking song for the socially anxious #literary analysis

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sssigil · 2 years ago

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PRETTY WHEN YOU CRY

summary: you came to this party to drown your tears away with alcohol and a curly haired angel cant seem to take his off of the sad girl, you. basically love at first sight^_^

warning: use of alcohol, so so cheesy n tooth rotting

might make a part 2 tbh

Ethan Landry x reader

You felt the crisp cold air hit your skin as you walked out the frat house. The college party you used to drown all your sorrows away with the alcohol provided long gone, you felt tipsy and tears had began to fall down to your soft cheeks slipping down your neck. Fuck you mumble softly in a broken voice sitting down on the grass outside the house.

You observed the people coming in and out the party with tears in your eyes, they all looked so happy I mean fuck its halloween, why cant u just enjoy yourself. You let out a small whine as you felt another wave of tears start pouring out your eyes. You lift your hands up from where they were laying to wipe all the new incoming tears, you knew your make up was getting ruined but you didn't care you just had to let these feelings spill until there was nothing.

Ethan noticed you, he noticed you when you first came into the party in a cute little white lace babydoll dress and your hair was in two low pigtails which were being held with white bows, you glowed under the dim lights. You look ethereal, so so beautiful. He watched every step you took he just couldn't keep his off of eyes on you, such an angel he thought to himself. but he noticed your behavior didn't match your presence, you had been drowning down the alcohol left to right that was until you ran out the house with tears in your eyes. who on earth hurt you that bad.

He was quick to follow slowly after you not wanting to seem weird or creepy, he needed to know what was wrong. It took him a while before he finally did make his way to you after watching you sit on the green grass the moon illuminating on your skin your tears shinning down your face like diamonds, he wanted to comfort you.

"hey are you okay" Ethan spoke in a soft but loud voice, he didn't want to scare you. He felt himself start to lower in front of you so he could be, or try to be, face to face. Ethan swore he heard you say something softly but you didn't budge you did not want to look at him. You kept your small hands on your face as more and more tears spilled after you heard him ask you that stupid questions. does it look like I'm okay you thought to yourself groaning before finally looking up at the boy.

You noticed the way his big brown eyes softened once he got a good look at you, some of his curls fell just perfectly on his forehead and he had the sweetest looking face you almost felt your mouth slightly agape when looking at the boy. he's so.. beautiful you felt your worry, anger and sadness leave you once your eyes met his dark doe eyes.

"how -you began- how come I've never seen you around" you said almost breathless, you felt as if air had been sucked out your lungs when staring at this new face. A face you never want to wish to forget. You tilt your head to the side just wanting to look and analyze every inch of his face, oh did his eyes just sparkle? you felt your hand lift up to his face, as if it had a mind of its own, and began to rub your thumb softly against his cheekbone.

Ethan felt starstruck as he felt your soft hand caress his cheek. Never in his life has he felt so nervous but also in euphoria with another person. He could feel his cloudy mind start to settle with the shape of your face, the way your bangs sat nicely above your thin brows. How your eyelashes were curled and was that silver glitter all over your top lid? your lips were red and glossy and a little chapped with how much you've bitten them. He could see all the flaws on your soft face all the things you'd think are ugly but in reality just perfect for him, you looked as beautiful as a renaissance painting, even more.

"I'm sorry, I'm Ethan'' he revealed still admiring you, just taking you all him. He could feel your breath hit his face softly, he just wanted to breath you in, hold you in. He could see the twinkle in your eyes shine just perfectly, he could almost hear a piano softly playing just like in the movies when the main character finally finds. the one. god he's cheesing for someone he knows nothing about someone he met just now but he will learn every single thing, every thought, every saying just to be with you.

"Hi Ethan, why does it feel like I've known you for a long time" you uttered, tilting your head to the side, but you didn't let him answer you.

"I want to get to know you" you muttered out faster than the speed of light. He nod his head not trusting himself to speak, he was too nervous. You giggled softly missing the way his eyes glazed at the sound of your laugh. Ethan heard you mumble out your name finally, he repeated your name softly to himself. He held your name on his tongue, chest blooming with nothing but warmth after finally learning your beautiful name.

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #scream movie #ethan landry imagine #scream vi #jack champion #ethan landry fluff

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sseanettles · 2 months ago

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For the WIP ask game, oh you know I'm going to ask for more on Ruin. 😁 This series is my Dreamling life blood at the moment.

ohhhhh @windsweptinred yes, yes indeed, I did know you were going to ask for more on Ruin, but what to give you, what to give you, what to giveeeee youuuuuu....

you know what. you have been my biggest champion of nothing grows in corpses and this AU-verse as well as my buddy in "actually Hob and Dream are incredibly cruel and destructive and selfish people and we shouldn't whitewash that, it's a feature not a bug." So I think I'm gonna quickly do some typing and give you That One Fucking Scene where everything falls apart and we hit rock bottom as a reward. (this is a first pass draft below the cut so apologies for any errors or slight OOC-ness)

Gwen has been planning to leave Hob for a couple months now, as it has become clear that this is a dysfunctional dynamic that Morpheus and Hob can’t help but be bound to. She got a job offer at a university back in the States anyway, and he needs to stay here. What she’s planning to tell him (and what she’s practiced with Matthew) is a variation of “Morpheus needs you, and you need him. I need someone who can be present for my lifetime. Because I only get the one.” But then, Destruction comes for dinner. She never gets the chance to use it.

BIG spoilers and long excerpt ahead for ruin (of bitten lips and broken hands). The chapter song will be 2WEI's cover of Crazy for those who like to play along. and...tag warning for gore, violence, and discussions of assault. Talking about Nada's canon gets harder after all the NG fuckery but in light of that especially, I do not shy away from it.

+++++++

Hurt him, the voice, that voice, seethed within him—gnashing its teeth with black eyes and paper-white skin and hair as black as the pitch that filled the throats of animals and men mired alike in its fields until there was nothing left to do but gasp for air and die. Simpering, sickening, make him SEE—

Make him see that which he proclaims he loves in the blackest of mirrors.

“I killed my son, yes,” Murphy agreed, proclaiming the words with something that could almost be called pride, and he saw the flinch in Hob’s eyes as he spoke. Saw the confusion, the uncertainty at his delivery in response to what the man had intended to be context to behavior, not proof of Morpheus' malice. Oh, how blisteringly wrong the low-born idiot was, and when he continued, there was no more Murphy. There was only the truth.

Only Morpheus.

“But I disowned him first.” He stepped closer. Gadling’s balance tipped further, unsteadied. Morpheus’ lips curled, baring teeth like fangs, and he let that light into his eyes that he had kept smothered for so long in this suffocating home: that light of Endless righteousness. “Left him dismembered and begging for the mercy of death and refused him it when I was one of the few who could grant it.” He guided his advance by the backs of the stools at the kitchen island, by the chair Destruction had left pulled out at the table when he had bid his farewell, both too early and too late in his departure. He closed in on Gadling like a predator, like a spider upon a web the humans were only now seeing had been spun about every inch of their home far, far too late. “And when I did grant it?” Was he smiling? Grimacing? Laughing with the tears of the unhinged and anguished in his eyes, with the heat of a manic king? Morpheus could not tell, but his face was doing something, his blood boiling in his veins with the same wild, untethered thing that twisted within him in the way that Destruction laughed and laughed and laughed and— “I did not do so until it served my purposes.”

Gadling looked distinctly ill. Gwen was not far behind him, her normally warm cheeks taking on a decidedly more ashen tone as she stood there with one hand still braced on the counter, near the cutting board and the barely touched bird sliced open upon it.

Perfect. Ill was what Morpheus wanted, disgusted was what he wanted. Enough of this charade, of this pretending. Gadling wanted to preach of his missteps, of betraying his evolution? Gadling wanted to scold him? In the same breath that he championed themselves? Their journey?

Then, let the charlatan face that which he upholds.

“I damned a woman to hell for no greater crime than refusing to love me,” Morpheus spat, drawing closer still, his hands clawed and shaking. Gadling stood tall, unmoved not with conviction but with the paralysis of the doomed deer in the headlights of an eighteen-wheeler. But there was no truck, there was only his Stranger before him, stooped and unfurling like a kettle about to explode. Morpheus’ words came faster, unraveled, more impassioned. “Condemned her for thousands of years—starving, alone, tortured, in agony for millennia.” Hatefully. “For exercising her right to consent!”

None of this was news to the immortal; he had seen it himself in the prison of Fawney Rig. And yet, Gadling’s face had grown as flat as stone. He scarcely seemed to breathe, and somehow the dispassionate response only fueled the molten rage burning away the fallen Endless’ insides. The heat fissured through to the surface, turning his skin brittle and fractured until it was tearing him apart. Morpheus laughed, his eyes creasing, and something as searing as acid cut its way down his cheeks as he did. He dragged himself forward another step by the guideposts of the furniture. His hands shook. His legs trembled in kind, and he forced them to steel.

“I let a universe burn into madness because I could not kill a single child, my pride and my principles were to great a treasure to me,” he intoned, slowly drawing his stooped height up to its full towering form. “I rotted in a glass and iron sphere for a century rather than succumb to my pride and plagued the world with my absence! Robbed millions of their lives, robbed the Kincaid family of normalcy and joy!”

He was so close to Gadling now. Close enough to strike him, and he threw a hand toward the man—a damning, condemning jab, as the furnace blew.

“AND YET YOU FAWN OVER ME, EVEN NOW!” Morpheus bellowed, and Gwen screamed at his sudden, uncharacteristic roar, something clattering across the counter behind Gadling’s back. The mercenary seemed to grow taller and broader at the sound, interposing himself squarely between them.

Between the halves of his heart, Morpheus sneered, and went for the kill, grabbing the man by fistfuls of his shirt front.

“YOU!” Gadling grunted, startled, and took a half-step back only to come up short beneath Morpheus’ stunning strength—an evolution he had kept a carefully guarded secret in this prison of a home. Gadling’s eyes flashed, taking him in head-to-toe in the manner of a soldier, a killer, and not a friend, and Morpheus’ eyes burned brighter at the returning grip that seized his wrists on fighter’s instinct. He laughed again, mocking, scything, aching. “My only friend,” he sneered, almost sing-songy, fracturing, and once again the acid cut its way down his sharpening face, “a human who profiteered over the slavery of other humans, the chattel of Africa—”

He felt the shift in the man beneath him. Felt the grip go from steadying to defensive, from stilling to get the fuck away from me, and he struggled to hold fast as Gadling tried to push him away.

“—who acquired a wife and son as if they were naught but more trinkets to collect—” Gadling tore his hands free and slammed him back a few steps with open palms to the chest—his face, god his face, it had gone pale, his eyes wide, red, stop, stop, too far—

Morpheus caught his balance easily; his stance braced, battle ready, to Gadling’s own, and he glared blindly into his friend’s setting face.

Destroy him.

“A GLUTTON!” he finished in a roar. “And yet!” Morpheus spread his arms, laughing, laughing, laughing—crying, you are crying, stop, breathe— “He preaches to me!”

Gadling was trembling. Head to toe, the man was trembling, his face going from pale to now dark with abject rage, his hands curling into fists, his arms tensing to iron in turn, his back heel grinding as his knees began to bend, and Morpheus’ chest heaved. His mind had gone fuzzy and beyond the bounds of control or sanity. He knew where to go next. He knew, precisely, where to go next, where he had to go next, to destroy this man at his very core, to take a sledgehammer to the last, threadbare beam holding his illusion together like glue and tape—

Destroy him.

He took the breath…

Destroy me.

And the plunge to follow.

“And your latest conquest?” Morpheus prompted with a mocking, taunting saunter back into the man’s reach, a chin jerked toward Gwen where she was still ducked behind him. “Is she merely a method by which you can alleviate your guilt or—”

Pain split across Morpheus’ mouth, his lip scything open on his teeth that knifed with white-hot pain all the way through his skull as something cracked, his nose shattering into a spray of hot blood and crunching agony—

His head snapped back, and he hit the ground just as hard, the air and his words knocked from his chest in kind. And as the stars and the tears cleared from his eyes, Morpheus worked himself up onto his elbows. Gadling loomed above him. His right hand was splattered with their blood, split where the knuckles had struck teeth, and his chest heaved, setting his whole body trembling with the depth of his fury.

“YOU DO NOT SAY THAT ABOUT HER!” Gadling’s rage shook the very rafters, echoed clear out onto the street even through the closed windows, left their ears ringing, and Morpheus lay beneath it in silence, slowly touching a hand to his wounded face. “YOU DO NOT SAY THAT ABOUT ELEANOR! YOU DO NOT SAY THAT ABOUT ROBYN! YOU DO NOT SAY THAT ABOUT LIZZIE!” He paused, his breath stuttering, his body shaking so terribly that for a moment words failed him until his teeth bared in a clench. His eyes glittered. “BUT YOU ‘SPECIALLY DON’T SAY THAT ABOUT HER!” His hand swung around to point toward the last place he had seen Gwen, the rest of him remaining fixed upon his Stranger, and he glared down at the man beneath him as if he could not fathom his very existence, as if he were a wholly alien species, unknown and unknowable to him, disgusting. Incomprehensible. “AFTER EVERYTHING SHE’S DONE?!”

What an impressive display for such a hypocrite, Morpheus glowered back at him. He lowered his hand from his nose and lips as he forced himself back up into a reclined seat, balanced on a single arm with his weight tipped onto his healed hip. His fingers were coated in rapidly darkening red, and he felt the blood coursing down his face, soaking into the black of his shirt, never to be seen again, and spattering the wooden floors. He spat out a mouthful of blood, licked his lips with a reddened tongue, and looked up.

When he did, it was not at Gadling.

“Has he told you?” he panted, his eyes dark, his voice a sickening combination of goading and truly wondering. “Has he told you all he did on those ships of his? To your ancestors?”

Gwen gulped and stepped back from him on shaking legs, jumping near out of her skin as she hit the cabinets, and immediately swung the carving knife to point down at him, gripped in two trembling, pale-knuckled hands.

Murphy just laughed, fragile and mad and mocking.

“Do you know, truly, the man with whom you share your bed?” he pressed and saw in his periphery the way Gadling’s expression changed. “Or has he got you fooled with his stories of woe and regret?”

His final words grew wicked and sharp, deriding, and his matching gaze slid from the shaken Gwen to Gadling as the man let out some kind of twisted, whimpering exhale.

His face…his face was a most exquisite betrayal, as if Morpheus had just plunged a knife into his very heart down to the hilt and twisted. His hands had gone limp at his sides, the fingers still trembling but slowly unfurling from their fists. His shoulders still heaved with battle breaths, those gulping, grounding things that filled your head with oxygen and your limbs with energy, yet every bone in him seemed to be fracturing. Every muscle seemed to be losing its strength, and his eyes….

His eyes were so very filled with heartbreak.

“…How could you say that of me—”

“Were you on the ships?”

Gadling froze at the sharp, wavering demand, his own achingly genuine question to the man he had laid out on the floor dying on his lips. And he followed Morpheus’ unblinking, dark eyes to slowly, oh so very slowly, turn on his heel.

Guinevere stood where she had been stood before, backed against the cabinets with the knife held before her in both hands. But where once she had been terrified, defensive, holding the room at bay with shaking hands, her stance had firmed. She was no longer recoiled against the wood but braced against it. Her eyes had recovered some clarity, some strength, and both sharpened the longer the silence dragged on. Her grip on the blade adjusted, eased from throttling to sure.

“What?” Hob asked.

Her eyes never wavered from his, and she took a step forward, gesturing between him and Morpheus with the blade. The silver gleamed in the warm glow of the island lights, and Hob watched it move with a prowling of disquiet deep in his gut.

“You told me that you profited off the slave trade,” she accused. “That you owned the ships that stole my people across the Atlantic, took cotton one way and my ancestors the other. And I thought…” Hob watched her, held her glittering gaze with quiet somberness. Her chin trembled on her next words, the shine in her eyes brightening. “I let myself think….”

“But the shit you’ve described,” she gritted out and swiped at her eyes with her free hand, “the things you knew they did…” She pointed to him with the knife again. Took another step forward until she was standing alone on her own strength, with no wall to hold her.

Gadling did not move so much as a finger; his breaths grew careful, damp. On the floor, Morpheus grew extraordinarily still, shrunken back toward the floor, as if rendered to stone, and watched all that was unfolding with unreadable eyes.

Guinevere no longer held the room at bay.

She just held the room.

She took another step forward. And she repeated her question, the wobble in her voice worsening even as she tried to embolden her stance, tried to square her shoulders and stand tall.

“Were you on the ships?”

Robert Gadling beheld the woman he loved, with her microbraids and her beautiful, dark skin that smelled of coconut oil and her earth-after-rain eyes and the stray bits of paint around her cuticles that she hadn’t quite managed to clean away. He beheld her height, her strength, her soul, her gorgeous face that had the most beautiful smile and laugh now caught in a horrible moment of realization and denial. Her artist’s hands that were now clenched around an implement of cooking turned lethal weapon….

He slowly raised his hands to his shoulder. Her chin shook and then clenched shut, and she shook her head in a vicious denial.

“Gwen,” he started, quiet, apologetic, placating, and she took a final step forward, bringing him to a standstill with the point of her carving knife.

“WERE YOU ON THE SHIPS, YES OR NO, GADLING?” she screamed.

Silence rang in her wake. Morpheus’ heart was in his throat, his words all dried up inside him as if they had never been there to start with, and he watched Gadling’s back as the man took a deep breath and slowly released it. He could see Gwen’s control spiraling, her mind buckling under the realization of what was coming, the inevitable truth, the truth Morpheus had forced to the surface. Her second hand came up to support her wrist, to steady the blade, and the tears in her eyes neared the tipping point. But still Gadling did not speak. He only stared at Guinevere, held her anguished eyes, held his hands where they were at his shoulders, and breathed.

What was he thinking? What was he doing, what was he—

Robert Gadling beheld the woman he was partly responsible for creating, seeing through her to her mother, her grandmother, her great-grandmother, her great-great-grandmother—to whoever it was that his industry had kidnapped from her home, whisked away to be little more than an animal bound in servitude and cruelty until death. The true answer to her question was a complex one. It was a simple one. And there was a way to say it that would shatter her heart but end with the knife clattering from her hands to the floor as she sobbed and wailed and screamed at him to get away from her as he moved on well-meaning but ill-timed intent to comfort her. There was a way to handle this that did not end in brutality.

But the corner of his mouth itched to smile, to crack open wide like the pavement artist and laugh and laugh until he cried, until he sounded manic and battle-mad and hollow…so very hollow.

There was a way to handle this that did not end in brutality.

But that was not how Robert Gadling wanted this to end. And so, with his last full, painless breath, he answered Guinevere’s desperate cry with the bluntest, simplest truth he could. He gave her a small, sad, I’m so sorry, love, I’m so, so sorry smile—a tragic acceptance, an I forgive you for what you’re about to do, an it’s okay.

He shook his head. Let out that breath in a heavy, sepulchral sigh.

Where you on the ships, Gadling, yes or no?

“I started it all.”

The pause as Gwen processed his words, as she struggled to parse the reply to a yes or no question, as she realized what he had just admitted to, the implications of it, seemed to last an eon. The way her face frowned, first in bafflement, in dismay, in refusal, in rage, in anguish—all the stages of grief switching between each other like a flip book repeating endlessly, mis-bound in the wrong order—it filled Hob’s heart with a sickening lead. But in truth, it took no more than a breath, for he had not completed his next inhale before her tortured countenance made its choice.

And on the floor, Morpheus’ heart stopped beating as Gwen loosed an anguished, desperate scream. It echoed from her very soul, raked its nails up her throat as it tore from the fibers of her heart. It spilled the tears from her eyes, left her eye-teeth bared like fangs, and the grief of generations turned to pure anger as, in a single, life-changing moment, their beloved lady of Camelot moved.

Gadling let out a strangled, animalistic wail of pain as a single line of slicing agony split open his abdomen, and he stumbled back, crashing into the island counter and the stools, as his hands clutched for the source of the pain and immediately found themselves full of something writhing and hot and thick like sailing rope. Something that could not seem to stop expanding, that just poured and spilled, meters of it, endless—

The scream came again, and he forced himself to meet Gwen’s hate-blinded eyes, forced his arms to remain at his eviscerated gut, cradling his spilled intestines rather than defending himself, as she followed him down and stabbed the blade down again.

And again.

And again, and again, and again—

They hit the ground in a tangle of limbs, a wet splat of blood and viscera and flesh and bone, and Guinevere was left straddling a mess of blood and gore where once there had been the man she had loved. His gut had been split from nearly hip to hip, leaving his innards to spill out, to entangle his hands and bind them in his own sinew and flesh. Even now, she could see the intestines moving, the peristalsis causing the organs to shift and squirm in his twitching hands like snakes. His eyes were still open, still blinking through the blood spray that had flecked into his lashes. They looked agonized, terrified, yet somehow accepting all the same. His mouth, filled with blood, continued to try to swallow, to push the pulsing crimson from his airway with his tongue to no avail, and when he coughed, weakly and growing weaker, the blood sprayed and bubbled. His ribcage, riddled with holes, sputtered and quaked as he tried, even now, to breathe through lungs that could not expand, could not deflate—that could only drown and drown and drown. His legs beneath her twitched and kicked, desperate for air, for the fear to be gone.

Drowning, he had once told her. Always hated drownin’ the most.

And as she stared down at him, she saw not the individual pieces of horror detached from context, not the murder of a man who had had it coming for centuries, not the murder of one of the founding fathers of chattel slavery, not justice. Not peace.

She saw the crimson-soaked blade clenched in her shaking hand yet held aloft for another strike. She saw her other hand fisted in the ribbons of his shirt, a shirt they had picked out together last summer break. She saw the blood drenching her clothes, her thighs, could taste it in her mouth.

She saw Robert.

She saw Robbie.

And Morpheus watched the scene in silenced, terrified horror from his paralysis on the floor as Gwen’s mask of rage faltered to a mirror of his own, and she began to wail. Her hands clapped over her mouth, smearing her face with Robbie’s blood, the killing blade still clenched tightly in her fist. She pushed herself off of him, slipping on and crashing to the blood-soaked floors in the process as her sneakers transformed to ice skates in the viscera.

“Uh-uh,” she begged, whimpering, shaking her head desperately, “nuh-uh, wh-what did I—wh-what did I—no! No, mm-mm, no—” The word drew out in a choked-back wail, and she scrambled to her feet, fleeing, as she saw the tears falling from Gadling’s eyes that watched her even now. “No! Nononono—”

And, the knife still clenched in her hand, Guinevere bolted.

#@windsweptinred #mine #WIP ask game #dreamling #how to live with living forever AU #nothing grows in corpses sequel #nothing grows in corpses #ruin (of bitten lips and broken hands)#the sandman netflix #fanfic #my writing

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sleepingdeath-light · 1 year ago

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red and the wolf ; 18+

requested by ; anonymous (kinktober entry)

word count ; 974

content ; sexually explicit content, dirty talk, slight praise kink, penetrative sex

fandom ; mystic messenger

pairing ; hyun ryu / zen x gender neutral reader

read also on ; ao3

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

When your boyfriend had called himself 'a wolf' in the bedroom you'd just brushed it off as a joke about him having a high libido (which your perpetually aching thighs and few dozen pairs of ruined underwear could attest to). But now, with him looming over you in with those sparkling, perfectly white teeth, and glimmering red eyes, and that deep voice that sounded like something between a growl and a whisper, you couldn't help but think he was being far more literal than you'd initially given him credit for.

Not that you were complaining, of course, it was nice to be manhandled every once in a while — even if all of the filth falling from those beautiful lips of his was starting to drive you mad.

Zen urged you to be loud, to make as much noise as you want and more — leaning down to brush his lips against the shell of your ear and whispering in that heavy evening voice of his to ask if you can be 'louder' for him. Practically begging you to keep making all of those 'pretty noises' you know he loves. And every whimper and moan and gasp earned you a cuss, or a grunt, or a perfectly angled thrust of his cock straight into that spongy spot inside of you that makes you see stars. A reward for your obedience punctuated by wet, messy kisses to your lips that were more tongue and teeth than anything else (oh how swollen your lips would be tomorrow, marred with the indents of his teeth and your own, bitten so deeply that you could already taste your own coppery blood on your tongue despite how young the night still was).

He downright worshipped your body between thrusts: groping at every ridge, and swell, and dip, and scar — complimenting each part of you with an earnestness that you knew better than to dispute. Calling you 'hot', 'sexy', and 'all mine' as he sucked, bit, and marked his way along your throat and jaw. Tenderly lapping at your pulse point and chuckling when he felt it jump after a particularly playful slap to your backside. He playfully calls you his 'little pet'; the 'red' to his 'wolf' — and he mouths wet promises against your throat of not stopping until the mattress is hanging off of the bed and you're both too tired to go on (and with his stamina, well… you'll surely have a long night ahead of you).

He then effortlessly lifted your trembling thigh with one hand to wrap it around his waist, feeling the muscles of his abdomen pressing into your skin as he pressed his muscular chest down against yours. And in that same husky voice, Zen praised you for taking him 'so well' tonight, words that barely reach you as you’re far too close to climax to notice much beyond how good it feels to have him touching you and the waves of pleasant heat washing over your body as you start to mount your peak.

Clearly he’s not too far behind as you can just about see him gritting his teeth through your hazy vision as he tried his best to last out for you. Pace quickening and deepening as he eagerly chased your high and chased your lips with his own with the same amount of ferocity you’d come to expect from him, calling you 'perfect', and 'made for me', and telling you how you feel 'so fucking good, babe,'. Each broken phrase an island of coherence amongst the endless stream of growls, and moans, and grunts that slip from his lips as he pounds his hips into yours and fills your hole with his dick in that way you love (and how could you not?).

Long strands of white hair fall over his shoulders and out of his up-do, tickling your nose and sticking to the sweat covering your body and face as you started to rapidly approach your climax. But by now you're too distracted by the way it felt to be stretched out on that pretty cock of his, and the distant sensation of him slipping one of those large, soft hands into yours and holding it tightly — grounding you in the same way that he was kept grounded by the sharp stinging pain of your fingernails digging into the toned, pale expanse of his shoulders and back — to care about anything like that. Even the fuzzy sound of his voice praising you, and cussing, and grunting and moaning against your lips (and jaw and cheeks and throat, always moving and marking and loving you) was too distant to your muddy mind for you to truly notice or understand beyond your short responses in the shape of moans and whimpers.

Then something snaps and the world around you comes crashing down, washed away with what remained of your coherent thoughts by the torrent of burning pleasure that wracked through your body. Kept in that blissful, whited-out place by his soft lips, and endless flirting, and expert thrusting as you lost yourself in the pounding of your heart, and the aching of your lungs, and the intense sensations that left your whole body limp and trembling, and your entrance pulsing and fluttering around your Zen. No longer able to do anything but moan, and gasp, and whimper until your throat was too hoarse to do even that.

And Zen (your Zen, your wolf) followed soon after with a loud cry (howl, even) of your name as he filled you completely with his seed. Pressing his sweat slicked forehead against yours as you both try and catch your breath. Completely messy and blissed out and in love; red and their wolf, basking in the musky afterglow before going straight back into the fray the moment you had both come back down to earth.

#sleepingdeath #gender neutral reader #minors dni #minors dont touch #minors fuck off #smut #smut fic #mysme smut #mysme x reader #zen smut #zen x reader #mystic messenger smut #mystic messenger x reader

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romaritimeharbor · 6 months ago

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MORAL INJURY — a non-romance genshin impact series. ♫

act i, chapter iii "the crow, the mouse, and the doll."

➤ CHAPTER SYNOPSIS :: the mouse bites and gets bitten.

➤ CONTENT WARNINGS :: trauma and recollections of trauma, references to self-harm (briefly mentioned, and not done intentionally—moreso done in the panic of a stressful moment), crying, reader acts like dottore in scaramouche's eyes, choking, burns, bruises, implied broken bones, dissection, general gore/graphic warning, dehumanization/non-sexual objectification (both the reader and scaramouche), reader is fucking MEAN and feels guilty about it later, blood, prescription pills. generally, tread carefully when reading this chapter.

➤ WORD COUNT :: 4.0k.

➤ AUTHOR'S THOUGHTS :: HELLO MORAL INJURY NATION!!! CHAPTER 3 IS FINALLY HERE and it is horrible and terrible. because i love angst <3 a little note, be sure to click around on the words and symbols that are underlined at the top of this post! the word MORAL INJURY will take you to the series masterlist/navigation post, and the music note will take you to the spotify playlist.

➤ TAGLIST :: @zeldadou, @umgatochamadopercyval, @starryshinyskies, @www-songbird, @pookiebearcave, @lesanyanyas, @francisnyx. contact me through messages/asks/etc non-anonymously to be added.

After speaking to Collei—poor thing, they absently mused to themselves—they made haste in leaving Haeresys and returning to the main lab. Had they lingered even slightly too long, they were certain they’d run into its ruling segment, and they simply did not have the time to entertain his… antics.

(‘Antics’ meaning anything from standing next to him and listening to him explain the intricacies of his work with ancient Khaenri’ahn technology and entertaining him with the occasional question to being thrown into an active battle with a Ruin Guard. He insisted that it was to keep their skills with their delusion sharp, but they personally thought he just wanted to see them bleed a little bit. Though they always emerged victoriously, they did not always emerge unscathed. They’re certain their suffering brings him some kind of satisfaction.)

Thankfully, by the time they returned, the Sixth Harbinger was already waiting impatiently.

"Good afternoon, Lord Sixth."

"Hurry up," he scoffed, shooting them a wicked glare. Of course, they reacted naught. Being looked at like some kind of lab rat by Dottore was significantly worse than whatever glare Scaramouche sent their way. "I don't have all day."

"I understand," they reassured, gently setting down their bag on the very same counter that they cleaned of blood a few hours prior. "If you would, please remove your shirt, and describe the issues you are encountering to me."

His eyes followed their motions precisely. They wondered if it was some kind of trauma response. Nonetheless, he—shockingly—obliged their request, nimble fingers working to shed his upper layers as they snapped a pair of disposable gloves on.

"...The issues, sir?" they gently reminded, gloved thumbs gingerly pressing into his ribs to check briefly for any wounds or areas of tenderness they'd need to be mindful of. It wouldn't be unexpected for him, a Harbinger, to be injured, so they figured it would be best to check beforehand. "Would you mind telling me—"

A vague stinging sensation ran vertically across their lips, and they stopped.

"Reflexes." He smirked at the way their hand slowly raised to their now-bloodied lip. The pain didn't hit them for a few seconds, but even once it did, their expression remained boringly the same. The only indication they gave of having felt anything at all was a slight twitch of their lip. "My reflexes have been poor lately."

A surge of rage flowed through their veins. They did their best to suppress it.

"Lord Sixth, please take this seriously."

"Are you implying that I'm not?"

Agitation bubbled in their throat, but they again did their best to swallow it down and ignore it.

"I am not..." Their jaw clenched slightly as they let out a shallow breath. They had hoped their irritance would leave with it; unfortunately, their emotions did not dissipate even a little bit. If anything, the Balladeer's smug look just made them feel worse. "I am not implying anything, Lord Sixth, but I'm sure we both have better things to be doing rather than bickering like children over your necessary bodily maintenance. Would you rather Lord Dottore do this? If so, I will gladly take my leave for the day. I will tell you this once only—I am immeasurably kinder than he is."

"Are you threatening me?"

"I don't know. Do you want it to be a threat?"

His hands were wrapped around their throat in an instant. Within just those few brief seconds, they could already feel bruises beginning to bloom and burns beginning to boil their skin from his electro alignment.

They gathered all the strength they could manage in their legs and kicked him off, forcing all of the air—not that he really needed to breathe—out of his lungs. He remained relatively unfazed, but didn't lurch at them again. Their chest heaved as they shot him a dirty look from beneath their Fatui mask, which had been knocked slightly out of position.

(It wasn't often that they wore it. Honestly, around any of the Harbingers, they would usually just take it off. Both their name and face were well-known by now. Yet, they had diligently put it on before coming to see the Sixth.

They could not be certain as to why. It was only inconveniencing their work.

...Maybe they were trying to hide, as fruitless as that endeavor was and would always be.)

A deep, tired sigh left their aching throat. They turned away from him and laid their face against the icy wall, the bite of the cold much welcomed against the heat that had built under their skin from both anger and the recent struggle.

"Hah, what? Are you going to cry?"

"Do you want me to be honest, Lord Sixth?"

The monotone exasperation in their voice surprised him a bit. Nonetheless, an amused look settled on his face.

"Oh? If you so dare, you may speak freely, then."

"I wasn't asking for your permission," they scoffed, standing up straight again and removing their mask mandated by the Fatui. They turned back to him, meeting his eyes with such immovable nonchalance, such tiredness that only someone who worked with Dottore for years could possibly display. "I was asking whether you wanted to hear the truth or not. You want to? Fine. First of all, you wouldn't be the first to try and strangle me, so don't fucking do it again. Try something else if you really want to kill me. You think I haven't been nearly choked to death by Lord Beta or Lord Delta? Do you honestly believe that? Secondly, you are acting like a goddamn brat. Either let me do your maintenance, or be Lord Second's science experiment again. Your choice. I have not met a single person who would rather be at Lord Dottore's mercy rather than mine, so choose, and do it fast. I don't have all day either."

Silence. Then, a response came:

"...Hah. You've got some guts, talking to a Harbinger like that."

Static tingled along their flesh and danced in the air, waiting for the right moment to strike, waiting for them to say something wrong, waiting for them to cross that invisible thin line from being firm to committing insubordination.

...As if they already hadn't. They couldn't be bothered to care. He was acting like a child. How were they supposed to be patient with him when they'd already been spread so thinly? Either way, it was a lose-lose scenario, because surely the Balladeer would accuse them of pitying him or infantilizing him if they did continue to be patient. Being frank was simply the better option.

Unbothered, they rolled their eyes. "I have no respect for anyone who makes my job more difficult than it already is. You aren't the only one with a hard job. You think I've got it easy? You wouldn't last a day in this position. Make up your mind, Scaramouche. Now."

"Tch."

"You want to be a test subject again? Fine by me. Have a good day, Lord Sixth."

But of course, that was not the end of the Sixth Harbinger's bite. No. It never was, for as they reached for their bag, his sneer reached their ears and made their fingers twitch with rage.

"What, like you were?"

The tattoo on their wrist throbbed with the ache of distant, blotted out memories.

All the nights they spent crying, wailing, hyperventilating, scratching at that foul tattoo on their wrist until their own blood coated their nails and oozed out of their raw flesh to blend with the scorching tears sliding down their cheeks and landing elsewhere...

All of that for a useless little brat to comment on the situation like it was nothing?

No. His Harbinger status be damned—no-one would disrespect them like that and get away with it.

"Don't you ever"—in a swift movement that even the Sixth Harbinger did not expect nor predict, they whirled around and pressed their foot into his chest further and further until they felt something crack under the pressure—"speak of my experiences in such a foul way ever again. It was one time. You have been here, in this very same position, for five hundred years. I was in that position one time. Do not speak in such a manner ever again. I will break you beyond fucking repair."

The Balladeer's porcelain skin burned. It was now his turn to be at the receiving end of elemental fury.

"Fuck you," he rasped. They put their foot flat on the floor again, shooting him a harsh glare.

"Fuck you too. Get back on the table or I'm leaving. How many times to I have to tell you? What are you, five? Are your listening ears off?"

"...Fine."

He begrudgingly stood up, hoisting himself up onto the examination table.

"By the seven," they cursed under their breath. "Finally... You want painkillers or not?" They somehow still found it in them to offer some kind of pain management, though they already knew he would deny it, claiming he 'didn't need it.' "There is no shame in saying yes, Lord Sixth."

"Don't you dare presume to patronize me. You really believe I'm so weak and—"

As expected.

As always.

"Whatever. I offered, so don't go around telling people I didn't give you options."

With that, they adjusted their grip on their sterilized scalpel and made the first of many cuts. If he wouldn't tell them what was really wrong, then they would just have to figure it out themselves—it would take longer, and likely be more painful and uncomfortable, but really...

He did this to himself.

The Balladeer was always a fascinating being to work on. If they were any less bitter, they would earnestly admit to being honored to have an opportunity to peer inside of him and poke around at his artificial systems, satiating whatever curiosity they might have had about him and how he functioned and—because of his creation being the work of an Archon—how one of the Seven's minds worked. As much as they may have disliked him, disliked his uncooperative nature, he was fascinating in his own right.

(It was like they viewed him as less of a person, less of a coworker, and more of a subject to be studied. As more of a thing, a creature. Hm.)

Scaramouche didn't bleed much. He bled, but never enough to inconvenience them. They were always able to simply pat away any blood with a tissue or a cotton pad when it began interfering with their work. He bled, but not like a human. Never like a human.

He wasn't one, so...

A soft whimper, a hitch of breath unnoticeable to the untrained ear drew them out of their thoughts. Their gaze briefly flickered to the Balladeer's face, fingers halting all motion. All the muscles in their abdomen tightened with an overwhelming sense of guilt and frustration.

A stray tear rolled down his cheek. If he noticed, he didn't acknowledge it. They chose to pay it as little mind as possible, if not for anyone's sake but theirs. His eyes were hazy and vacant, as if he were recalling some other event such as this one—as if, above him, he saw someone else.

They shook that thought off before it could spiral into something worse.

Whatever he was recalling was not their fault, and certainly not their business. It had nothing to do with them. It was no concern of theirs. It wasn't their fault. It was absolutely not their fault... right?

Were they being rougher than usual? Surely not, they thought, but upon shifting their eyes back to what they were actively working on... it became clear that they were.

He was bleeding more than usual. Their incisions were deeper than usual. Either way, they would have to peel him open eventually to get better access to his systems, but... generally, they were very gentle about it. As gentle as one could be about something so grotesque, anyway. Even so, for some reason they couldn't really place, he was bleeding more than usual. Their incisions were deeper than usual.

Oh.

As much as they wanted to apologize, the words only stuck to the sides of their dry throat. Their hands trembled a little at the realization of what they had done to him, of how cruel they had been to him the entire time. How could their cruelty outmatch a Harbinger's? How could their cruelty outmatch the Sixth's, of all people's?

Of course, in a job such as theirs, dissociation was a hell of a skill.

There was nothing they could do except grit their teeth, continue, and—ideally—wrap it up as soon as possible.

— flower of the universe !! 🌸

"Are you done yet?"

He sounded so vacant, voice lacking any of the bite, enmity, or sarcasm it should have held towards them. He should've sounded different, not... like this.

He sounded so broken.

...Did they really hurt him that bad? They'd hardly done anything different at all. It was always the same, they swore it was. It was the same as any other maintenance day in the lab.

Deep down, they knew that wasn't true, that they were only lying to make themselves feel better, but there was nothing to be done about it now. They wordlessly cut the last stitch, patting away the little bit of blood that remained.

"...I am, sir. If you don't heal properly, please come see me or Lord Dottore."

He didn't reply.

They reached up wordlessly, shutting the overhead surgical lighting off, hoping that the motion might snap him out of whatever daze he was trapped in. He hardly flinched.

Wordlessly, they pulled back from him, snapping their surgical gloves off. They absentmindedly found themselves a bit thankful that there wasn't much to clean up when it came to him.

"...Um. You can leave." They cleared their throat. "If— if you want to. I don't know when Lord Second will be back, so I would... leave. If I were you. I also need to sterilize the table, so... if you would..?"

He didn't respond.

"Right. Um... I suppose I'll leave it for one of the segments, then... I'm heading out for the day, Lord Sixth."

Guilt nagged at their conscience, and they wanted to apologize, but somehow the words got stuck in their throat and, no matter how hard they tried, could not be dislodged. So, they nodded in polite acknowledgement before quietly grabbing their things and heading out.

A weight settled in their gut as they swallowed thickly, stumbling out of the lab and closing the door behind them. A chill immediately settled into their bones; however, they paid it no mind, keeping their head tilted down as they walked down the halls and giving no response other than a hum to any other Fatui agents that nodded their way respectfully.

In their daze, they did not notice the looming presence they were about to run head-first into.

Run head-first into him, they certainly did.

A sharp gasp was inhaled through their nose, and their instinctive response was to snap at whoever it was they bumped into; before they could, however, they caught a glimpse of the person's footwear.

Il Dottore. One of his older segments, if they had to guess based on shoes alone. They did not get the chance to apologize. In fact, they barely even had the chance to process who they were looking at and how they should go about their apology; should it have been short and to the point accompanied only by a polite nod, or should they have gone as far as to bow at the waist level? The answer would slightly vary depending on what segment it was (there was surprisingly little variance overall, but they did need to express a bit more guilt with some segments for their apology to be accepted without punishment), but they had no time to even think about how to apologize before he began to speak.

"My, [Surname]"—they could hear the entertained smile in his voice, and in an instant, the gears in their head clicked together in recognition of what segment in particular they had run into—"terribly distracted, aren't you?"

"I'm..." They did not raise their head. Instead, they simply stepped back, hands fidgeting somewhat with the handle of the bag they held. "I'm sorry, Lord Psi. I wasn't watching where I was going."

Psi, twenty-third of Il Dottore's twenty-four segments, and—fortunately or unfortunately, depending on who one asked—the one who seemed to like them the most. A polite, straightforward apology without any excessive expressions of fear and respect would do.

He was no different than any of the other segments in that he was an oddity and an enigma, someone who was not easily understood, but he was more personable than most. Oftentimes, it was him who attended publicity events in the place of the man himself. The original Il Dottore was generally not known for patience or grace. Therefore, the most logical action would be to send someone more… agreeable to such events. Psi was the only candidate for that kind of responsibility. He was no less of a threat than the others—he was simply harder to anger and easier to get along with.

They supposed it was preferable to run into him instead of someone else.

"Well, that much, I can certainly see."

"Ah. Yes..." It was then that they finally straightened up and dared to peer at his face. "I should be going, sir. If you'll excuse me—"

"Wait just a moment, mouse."

Mouse. Mouse. He always called them that, if not their first or last name, and it made their stomach twist sickly every single time (they faintly recalled the first time he addressed them in such a way, but with that memory, they also recalled scalpels and cold metal digging into their skin that made their throat close up anxiously). It was demeaning and cruel and belittling. They expected no less from him.

...Yet somehow, he also made it sound fond, but not... fond. Fond, as one would speak to a pet—not fond in the way one might speak to a loved one.

And really, they supposed that to him, they were a pet. They were most certainly not a loved one; they were simply a favored little mouse. Small, docile, and fragile in a way that was endearingly cute—a thing that could be grabbed by the tail and dragged around against its will with nothing to say in opposition for fear of angering its captor. It was disgustingly fitting.

If they were a mouse—the prey—then they supposed that would make him a crow, the opportunistic predator who may not normally eat mice such as them, but could and undoubtedly would if he was given the chance to.

A mouse trapped in a cage, constantly circled by crows threatening to finally kill them at any given point without warning…

…Yes, that was accurate indeed.

The leather of his gloves brushed against their neck, tilting their chin up to get a better look at their throat. They tried not to swallow too harshly—he'd know if they did, and then he would know that they were nervous. Then again, he would know regardless, since their pulse was ringing loud in their ears and his thumb pressed into their neck dangerously near to where he would be able to feel their heartbeat.

He knew, and they were sure he was thriving on it.

"...Sir?"

"That is quite the nasty wound you've attained," he mused, withdrawing his hands from their neck, much to their relief. "I assume that the doll gave it to you?"

"Yes. Lord Sixth and I got into an... altercation."

"An altercation," he echoed, the very same amused tone seeping back into his voice. "I see. In that case, before you go, shall we treat this wound of yours? You would hate to worry your dear parents by returning in such a poor state, I'm sure."

It was clear that he was not asking. They had no choice but to wordlessly nod and follow him back to the lab.

Upon entering, gently shutting the door behind themselves, they were relieved to find that Scaramouche had left. They really weren’t sure if they were relieved for him or themselves. Were they relieved knowing he would not have to face one of the segments in such a vulnerable state of being (though, somehow they were sure that he had done so multiple times in the past), or were they relieved knowing they did not have to face him again? It was truly anyone’s guess.

Psi turned away from them, shedding his leather gloves and replacing them with disposable ones. They did not need to be told where to go nor what to do.

They hoisted themselves up onto the cold, metal table (they could not manage to fully ignore the pounding of their heart against their ribcage—being on the one on the table for any reason was exceedingly uncomfortable) effortlessly, though not before leaving their bag by the door to grab on their way out.

“Are you wounded elsewhere?”

Their heart leapt somewhat in surprise of the voice cutting through the silence, and they chided themselves for being so tense. “No, sir. Only around my neck.”

He hummed in a wordless acknowledgement.

As he turned back towards them, the click of his shoes echoing eerily as he got closer and only ceasing once he stood directly in front of them, they straightened their spine somewhat. When his hands reached out to them, they tilted their chin upwards.

They were not particularly interested in knowing what exactly he was doing; they only wanted it to be over as soon as possible so that they could leave for the day and return to the one place they dared to feel perfectly safe.

“I hear that Beta was quite upset upon learning that you’d been to Haeresys today, yet left without seeing him.”

They did not doubt it. Beta, the second of Il Dottore’s twenty-four segments… no, they did not doubt it whatsoever. He was very easily amused but equally volatile, and they knew he particularly liked the agents that were intelligent enough to understand even a little bit of his research; they were very possibly the first agent that would come to mind when thinking of someone who fit that criterion, unfortunately. They also knew that he was far more prone to anger than some of the others.

They very much hoped that he was only mildly upset. If he was extremely bothered, however, he might just decide to hold them hostage the next time they visit—it was certainly not above him to do so.

“Is that so?” they murmured, flinching somewhat upon feeling a gel’s cold bite against their wounded skin. “...I’ll make it up to him. Since I had to perform routine maintenance on the Sixth, I could not have stayed for long. Perhaps I’ll return to Haeresys on one of the lab’s less busy days.”

“Well, he will most definitely hold you to it. Don’t make promises you cannot keep.”

Somehow, they just knew that was a threat… a threat on Beta’s behalf, no doubt. They had long assumed that all the segments were connected mentally, though they had no real proof of that claim. They never cared to ask; it was simply always implied, a silent fact that they had been consciously aware of for quite a long time now. Moments such as these made them certain that it was true.

They did not reply, opting for a simple hum instead.

Moments passed in silence. Then, Psi spoke up once again after withdrawing from their body a final time:

“You are dismissed, mouse. Take these”—he placed a small pill bottle at their side—”for the next week. One pill twice a day, in the morning and at night. We cannot afford to let your wounds get infected.’

“Yes, sir.” They nodded. Only when he turned away from them did they get off of the table, taking the pills with them. Fear, more or less irrational in its nature yet nonetheless deeply ingrained into their instincts, still coursed through their veins. The racing of their heart had yet to settle down, and their hands trembled somewhat.

It was with quick footsteps that they darted towards the door, snatching up their bag, before making a quick departure.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot! written by aphelion & banner by @www-songbird. do not plagiarize, copy, ai train, or otherwise use my work -☆

#✧— aphe's creations.#divider by @/cafekitsune ♡#platonic x reader #platonic genshin #platonic genshin impact #scaramouche x reader #il dottore x reader #platonic scaramouche x reader #platonic il dottore x reader #platonic scaramouche #platonic il dottore #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin series

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