#ruin (of bitten lips and broken hands)

[sseanettles]

@windsweptinred @zzoomacroom once again thinking about how the last time I was in a good writing groove for ruin, it was 2 am, and I was an hour and a half deep into writing The Chapter Where The Idiots Finally Get It On and the vibe is lowkey dark and I had rain by sleep token on loop.

and when it’s late like that, I usually manually restart a song every time it begins to end, helps me keep track of time and stay focused. except there’s this fairly long silence at the end of rain before it finishes and I was so into writing I didn’t clock the silence.

Would you care to guess what is next alphabetically in my music library after rain by sleep token?

cue kermit the frog’s banjo plucking from a log in the everglades.

dear reader, the mood has never been so immediately and thoroughly SHATTERED in the history of writing. did laugh until I cried tho. XD

[bitchimasnake-sss]

☆ fury unleashed!

── a blue lock fanfiction.

synopsis: when the blue lock boys lose a match and come back bitter 'n all to you. pairing: afab!reader x multiple men [aged up isagi yoichi, rin itoshi, hyoma chigiri, rensuke kunigami, nagi seishiro, reo mikage, oliver aiku.] // separate for all the characters. cw: NOT PROOFREAD. WRITTEN JUST CAUSE I WAS BORED. MDNI. nsfw concludes: mean men, penetration, handjob, blowjob, teasing, nicknames teasing, overstimulation, sex in too many places [shower, locker room, car, etc.], marathon sex, aiku's is slightly lovesick help me. like, share, subscribe guys :) m.list

♡ isagi yoichi!

all this anger and only one way to end it: you!

you knew your own boyfriend, of course. you had seen how his words turned razor-sharp on the field, how his gaze hardened and how he almost ripped his own players to shreds when the game didn't go his way.

but despite it all, isagi yoichi was not a sore loser. in fact, he took every loss as another opportunity to be better. maybe... maybe that's why seeing him like this was a wicked surprise.

"baby?" you had called out from the kitchen as the main door had opened, and then shut just as soon. a loud, rippling bang had reverberated through your apartment as you saw isagi pass you by.

"what's wrong? how was your... match?" you had tried again, calling after him. but isagi had just given you a tight-lipped smile, "don't wanna talk about it. 'm just gonna go shower, wanna join?"

"oh?" you had given him an easy smile, thinking you could knead away the tension from his shoulders as the hot water ran across his muscled body, "'course, baby."

that was thirty minutes ago, and now you could barely stand.

perched against the wet bathroom wall, the same hot water was a soothing sting against yoichi's administrations.

"ha-hah, yoichi!" your words were a rough pant, your eyes closing at the harsh thrusts.

but isagi yoichi was unforgiving.

sinking his canines into your shoulders, hot drool collected over the newly blossomed bruises before being washed down and slipping down your syrupy body.

he pulled away, his reddened lips connecting to your shoulders with a lewd string of glistening saliva. his crazed eyes came to search your face, and he brought up a hand to pull your cheeks into a harsh pout. his words were laden with unresolved anger, "can you fuckin' believe it? he didn't even score."

your words were a lost gurgle, eyes widening as he continued, "i really don't fucking get it. that fuckin' idiot."

the star player didn't even give you a moment to recover, using the same hand to press down on your mouth to suppress your gasps and broken whines.

you choked on your own sounds, his palm flat against your kiss-bitten lips as he continued fucking you into the wall behind you. using all his anger, isagi vowed to ruin you utterly the way he would have the rival team.

"y-ichi." your muffled words reached his ears, even more weak under the sound of the falling water crashing against the bathroom floor. the footballer nodded, half in his senses and half in delirium, "what?"

he pulled his palm back, the skin now tainted with your drool and you burst into a fit of moans, "'m gonna cum ag-again."

"oh?" the man bunched his brows together — as if he had quite forgotten what his actions were doing to you, "are ya?"

you nodded and your eyes snapped shut at his repetitive thrusts within your cunt. barely managing a coherent word, you mewled, "y-yeah. fa... faster, ichi ngh—"

isagi grinned, a man maddened who could only see one goal — and that goal being splitting you on his cock and fucking you even dumber if possible, "c'mon, gimme all of it."

"y-yoichi 'm gon—" your words burst inwards, toes curling and nails scratching down his biceps in a desperate effort to ground you. but despite your desolate reactions, your boyfriend kept fucking into your snug cunt, relishing in the spasming sensation against his needy cock.

as you found yourself coming back to earth, yoichi gently picked you in his arms. his biceps flexed, muscles shifting against your naked body as you slumped against him completely. the water was turned off, and he stepped out of the shower.

as yoichi lay you down on your bed, you smiled up at him for his sweet action, "t-thank you, yoichi."

but he just cocked an eyebrow. his words were nothing more than a soft hiss, "what for? 'm still angry."

oh? the night was still young, it seems.

♡ rin itoshi!

the man with jersey number 10 loses his sanity!

truth be told, there was always this air around rin — the kind that always made everyone assume he was mad. with his icy gaze on the field, and snarls and insults thrown around, it was hard not to assume that rin itoshi was a very bitter man.

but in all honesty, rin was never bitter with you. he tried to sigh away his annoyances, and kiss away his anger with you around. as cringe as it sounded, he couldn't help but melt whenever you met his gaze.

maybe that is why the younger itoshi never quite looked at you as he fucked all of his anger into your weeping cunt.

after a match gone wrong, rin had his hand pushing your face against his locker door as he fucked your pliant, destitute cunt with reckless abandon. his strong grip groped the fat on your hips and thigh, ensuring that each fucking thrust within your heat had you betting your sanity on a losing match.

his ITOSHI: 10 jersey held up by his teeth, hair damp from a match gone wrong, and the ITOSHI tag on his locker rattling with each hard thrust into you.

"fuckin' shit—" the man grunted, and the jersey glided down his milky abs and bunched on his waist. gripping your leg harder, your boyfriend pushed your back further in, deepening the sinful arch. his body chased yours, his chest pressing against your stuttering back.

a steady rhythm of thwap! thwap! thwap! resounded in the abandoned room. and the cool metal against your cheek was a stark contrast to the hot sting against the fat of your ass from his body colliding against yours.

"ri-in" you whined, still meeting each of his thrusts with a sly roll of your own hips despite your reluctant words. your skin burnt with another calculated smack! against your ass and your clawed at the metal — deprived.

seeing the desperate action, rin brought the hand on your head down to your hand and intertwined — such a romantic gesture despite the way he fucked into you as if you were nothing more than a toy.

"yeah— fuck, what?" rin thrust deeper at the desperate echoes of his own name. his achy tip rubbed against your volatile spot, smearing pre against your sodden walls with each careful movement.

"rin, p-please—" limbs trembling, your words almost slurred at the way his hand came back up and squished your cheek against the metal, "please aah— f-fuck."

"please what?" grunting, he brought his fingers to your throbbing clit. pressing swift figures against your, he pressed his chest against your back tighter.

rin repeated, this time with a harsh, little slap to your mewling cunt, "please what?"

"please..." barely managing to move your face under his grasp, you looked back at him. your bleary gaze met his sharp ones, and your wobbling lips sagged open to let out a pathetic request, "fuck me harder."

and rin itoshi — the ever stoic man — laughed. he laughed, trailing the hand that was pressing down your head down to your nape and dragging your entire body back into him and his deprived cock.

each pull back into his muscled body had your limbs spasming, each roll of his hips had him hitting your g-spot and each word past his spit-soaked lips led to your demise.

"fuck you harder?" his hips snapped at a deadly pace, brows bunching at the way his own girlfriend had become so cockdrunk, "you want that?"

you nodded just barely, still under the control of his palm on your nape.

"okay, then." rin hiked up your legs impossibly higher, and your muscles burned with each shove into you, "I'll fuck you harder."

♡ chigiri hyoma!

trust me, meaner than he looks!

"hyoma?" your brows knitted together, a soft frown across your face as you recalled the live telecasting of your boyfriend's match online earlier today.

his team had lost, badly at that. and here you were halfway across the world, just to see chigiri's breath stutter and jaw tighten on your camera screen.

"h-hyoma?" you tried again, just to be met with eerie silence on his end. but being a woman of unyielding devotion, you tried yet again, "'sokay, you guys did your best, didn't... you?"

but the man on videocall just grunted, a sliver of a nod from his side.

"hyoma," you tried one last time, "is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"

and those words had landed you in this position.

"faster."

"b-but hyo—" your own hips jerked, too out of control as you tried to hold the position steady, "i can't. i c-can't do it anymore— nghh—"

with your phone carefully perched against your pillow, it showed your boyfriend all the obscene ways in which your essence dripped out of you and onto your shared bed. the sheets under you were tainted with your honeydew essence, a wayward breath stuck in your throat as you pulled and pushed the rabbit vibrator in and out of your greedy hole.

toes curling, head thrown back, teeth sinking into your bottom lips — it was so, so hard to keep your thighs apart and put on a show for your eerily calm boyfriend. the very same boyfriend who was currently using one hand to control the app and another to lazily tug at his erection.

"h-hyoma—" you whined again and your boyfriend cocked an eyebrow at your disheveled demeanor, as if he wasn't the very cause of it. "why're you whining so much? too much for you?"

and acting as if he were a benevolent man, chigiri clicked the button on his phone and the buzzing ended abruptly. the slightest of smiles tugged at his lips as he hummed, "that better?"

your arched back fell back onto the sheets, your sweat-slicked skin falling limp in disappointment. this wasn't the first time chigiri had shut off your toy, or the second, or even the third. your benevolent boyfriend had been turning the precious toy he had bought you on and off again, and again, and again on his vicious whims.

with a shuddered breath trapped within your chest, you looked at him and whined yet again, "can you ju-jus' fuckin' turn it back on."

"huh?" your pretty boyfriend bunched his eyebrows together and drew closer to his laptop screen. nimble fingers still tugging on his tip, coated with his pre, he almost laughed at your tone, "are you really giving me that fuckin' attitude?"

"n-no." your eyes widened, body coughing up a shiver at the way chigiri's cold words rung through the speaker. you swallowed but your mouth felt awfully dry, "h-hyoma... just please, please turn it on."

"fine." the pro-player pressed the button on the app with reckless abandon, and the toy started up against your drenched, quivering cunt... and then stopped yet again. throwing your head back dangerously, you felt your limbs shake with frustration, "hyoma. please."

and even with your eyes clenched shut, you could hear the slightest of smirks in his words, "say nicely. y'know i don't have it in me to be nice today, baby."

snapping your eyes open, you tried to meet your unsteady gaze onto the phone screen, "i'll be good. i'll be s'good, i p-promise— just please let me fucking... c-cum."

there must have been something worthwhile in your drunk, lewd words that made chigiri finally tap the button on his phone again. and this time, he threw his phone somewhere on his bed, aiming to let the device get lost within the foreign sheets.

this time, he planned to watch the show without any interruptions.

the buzzing against your needy clit, and the shove within your greedy, gummy hole rendered you useless with orgasm upon orgasm till all you were doing was babbling on and on and on about how fucking sensitive you were.

"s-stop." holding your thighs together, you brought them up so that the toy fucked into your pussy with another angle. tears pooled at the edge of your eyes, and you found yourself aching for freedom from this torment. words just a wet plea, you asked, "pl-please ohmygod— hyoma, fuck fuck fuuck—"

with the blood rushing in your ears, you missed your boyfriend sodden, little hum — a warning, "you can do more than that, can't you?"

♡ rensuke kunigami!

swear up and down, he's the devil!

you were sure there was god up there somewhere, because how else could you explain the very re-incarnation of devil that was fucking into your spongy spot? you couldn't quite see his eyes, but if you did, you were sure to find no traces of guilt in rensuke kunigami's eyes for the way he was ruining you.

the muscles in your thighs burned, your limbs pinned upto your chest with his broad palms. perspiration across your body dripped onto him, your soaked back rubbed against his chest as kunigami snapped his hips into your inviting, plush cunt with inhumane stamina.

"c'mon." he panted, hips following the soft rhythm of his syllables, "the last stretch, 's the last."

"fu-fuck, fuck fuck re-rensuk- nghhh—" your nails dug into the very hand that was holding you still, trying to pry him off your malleable body. but it was all in vain, he had already planned your demise.

your head lolled back as you found the pro-played clawing out another orgasm out of you. limbs spasming, lips kiss-bitten and raw, and your poor cunt bulging obscenely with his length within you — you didn't even know how you ended up in this situation.

rensuke had come home with a dangerous glint in his eyes — of course, you hadn't been able to see that.

he had come upto you as you were unloading the clothes from the dryer and had pressed such a sickly sweet hug to your back. his hulking body was steady against yours, and his breath was hot against your neck.

"rensuke?" you had laughed as his grip across your waist grew tighter slowly. bringing up a hand to his hair, you had softly patted him, "what's wrong, ren?"

"think you can help me?" kunigami had breathed the question out so gently, "let me fuck you, yeah? i had a hard day."

and despite being such a simple question, here you were with your throat scratchy and muscles aching.

your boyfriend had planted his feet onto your almost-broken bed with all his strength, using it to leverage nasty, bruising thrusts within your sensitive hole.

"jus-just a bit more." your boyfriend sunk his teeth into your shoulder, and you yelped at the added stimulus, barely coherent with whatever was going on. all you knew was that you were being ravaged by the beast underneath you.

with every mean, little thrust inside you, kunigami's jaw tightened, his muscles flexing and unflexing as he supported your completely limp body. he heaved again, a ragged promise on his tongue, "i promise, just a bit more. jus' hold on a l-little bit f'me, baby."

how were his words so sweet when his actions were not?

"you can hold out for me... ri-" a harsh roll into your cunt, and the man felt himself losing his coherence, "right?"

"uh huh. i- fuck oh ngh— i can, i can." being an ever-loving girlfriend, you nodded. frankly too cockdrunk to really grasp his words, anyways.

a bit of drool threatened past your lips, and all you were aware of was the dreadful coil in the pit of your stomach. it wrapped it's tendrils around your muscles, then your throat and lastly, your sanity.

but kunigami kept on babbling his candied lies, as if blinding you with his words would undo the hell he was unleashing on your poor, sensitive cunt. each word a rough pant, he reminded you, "you're doin' so well for me, holdin' out s-so well for me, aren't you?"

"i- i am, ren." you nodded, and he felt his tip ooze out nasty smears of pre to paint your insides at your pliant reactions. tightening his hand around you and holding you steady, the man brought his skin against you in an accursed symphony of skin upon skin, "good girl, such a fuckin' g-good girl... yeah?"

"just." smack! "a." smack! "little." smack! "more." smack!

his length throbbed inside your spasming, inviting cunt with heinous intentions. fucking into you like he was fucking into a ragdoll, he asked a question — a question you were too fucked dumb to even answer.

"we're going again, right?" kunigami nudged his face next to yours, holding your shivering body as he felt his own body tightening up, "when we finish?"

despite the lack of oxygen in your brain, and lack of logic in your system, your eyes widened as you babbled out your own nonsense chorus, "w-what? ren... but y-you said—"

"—again."

"b-but i can't..." walls spasming, you tried yet again to pry him off, "i can-not."

"but you can." the man pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, the kind that were in clear juxtaposition with the depraved plunges he placed within your heat. he repeated with just the tiniest bit of insanity mixed into his syllables, "you can."

♡ reo mikage!

got an heir wrapped 'round my finger!

"reo?" you had cocked your head to look at the mikage industry's heir's sideways, trying to check if he was okay after that failure of a practice match, "you okay?"

he hummed out a faint yes but his knuckles tightened against the steering wheels far too easily. chuckling, the words came out somewhat strained, "of course, why wouldn't i be?"

you had tried to put a palm on his thigh, just to find the clothed muscle tighten, "can i help?"

the car steered sideways on the long-abandoned road, now coming to a steady crawl as he parked it.

reo's voice shook, eyes clenching shut as he addressed you again, "can you?"

despite the dangerous lilt to his words, you couldn't help but trail the hand on his thigh somewhat higher, teasing him. you smiled, and your lips curled so cashmere at your lewd intentions, "i can help take your mind off of things, reo."

his veiny hand gripped the headrest harder, manicured nails indenting frenzied dents onto the expensive leather. strands of his hair fell in front of his face in shuddering gasps as you flicked your wrist with each tug of his sensitive cock.

down on your knees for the man, you looked up at him with a sinful gaze — the kind that had reo hiss out weak moans of your name with each one of your reckless flicks.

"reo, are you okay?" you purred, lips curling deviously at the way his entire body stuttered out a falsetto. from the bunched eyebrows, to the quivering lips, to his lead-like limbs — reo mikage was rendered useless under your kitten licks and sultry tugs, under your already pearlescent hands.

how many times had he come undone, anyways? two? three?

"thr-three." reo breathed out shakily.

the man attempted to nod quick after, trying to forge a sign of sanity despite his shaking thighs and curled toes.

oh? did you ask that out loud?

"three?" you cocked an eyebrow, the same vicious smile still tugging at your lips like you were planning to suck the soul out of him tonight. "then, you can still go for one more, right?"

at your purr, reo's eyes widened, "n-no, this is— 'senough. i f-feel better, i promise."

but your tugs didn't halt, still such cruelly pulling at his sensitive tip, "but you're being such a good boy for me, right?"

at the petname, reo let out such an obscenely saccharine moan. eyes rolling back, he ran his helpless fingers through his soaked, hued hair. thighs trembling all over again as the mikage industry heir almost cried, "y-yes."

maybe you were a woman capable of mercy. because you stopped the slow, dragged out flicks of your hands against his flushed tip slowly. half-standing, you leaned to press a kiss to the tip of his flushed nose.

"tell me, baby." you cooed, pressing another kiss to his cheek, and another to the side of his swollen lips. dragging your vixen-like figure over his body, you caged him in so helplessly, "tell me, think you can handle if i use you?"

"i— ngh ple-please." and you heard the most sinful whimper tear out of reo's throat, eyes all but rolling into the back of his skull with the way you straddled his hips and pressed his wet, sensitive dick up and down your syrupy folds.

still playing with the flushed mushroom tip, you found it all-too-easy to hook the tip against the hood of your drumming clit. repeating the action again and again, you found yourself lazily biting out a moan of his name.

afterall, reo mikage was being so nice.

he was holding his breath in his throat, clenching his fist around the leather, biting down obscene curses — all in an effort to be good for you.

so, ofcourse, you had to reward him, didn't you?

with a hasty roll of your hips, your ravenous cunt pulled in the tip of his aching cock. inch after inch, the veiny, overstimulated muscle stretched within you and—

"—fu-fuck, fuck, fuckk." reo panted, eyes widening and body shivering when he let out the salacious beads of his orgasm within your voracious cunt.

"'msorry, 'msor-ry," he clenched his eyes shut, not quite looking at you as you were pumped with his essence, "i did-didn't mean to... to so— soon."

when his jitters subsided, you hooked a careful finger under his sweaty jaw to pull him upwards. a soft hiss on your tongue, "feel better?"

reo nodded softly, and you smiled so easily at him. but maybe you missed that glint in his eyes, or maybe you forgot that reo's play-style was copying. because now his fingers pumped in and out of you, a sly smile on his spent face as his demolished you.

reo mikage said it real slow, "tell me, angel... think you can handle if i use you?"

♡ nagi seishiro!

breaking that pretty cunt tonight!

"sei!" you had turned your head from the couch to the door that had opened to reveal your boyfriend, "hey!"

hair damp and face monotonous, he had given you a nod, "hey."

"something wrong..?" your voice had trailed off as the man walked upto you and easily picked you up in his arms without even as much as a sliver of explanation.

"need a shower," nagi seishiro had quietly answered, yet you could hear the slight rattle in the fractures of his words, "just tired."

"s-sei... c-can I move?" now, your manicured fingers kneaded his shoulders, trying to ease away the tense feeling lodged within the fibres of his muscles. the snowy-haired man had his head in the crook of your neck, lapping on the soaked skin lazily at the slow gyrations of your hips against his.

sitting in the heated bath, it was your idea to cockwarm him, your idea to sit excruciatingly still to let your boyfriend feel better. and yet, as your slick glossed over his muscled thighs, you shuddered out a pathetic sigh, "s-sei, please..?"

it just had been so long, almost felt like an eternity with the way your drooling cunt kept clenching around him — brewing up a violent storm of heady desires in the bottom of your stomach.

"se-i." the syllable rolled of your tongue with another desolate plea but nagi just tipped his head back, ignoring your forlorn words.

the damp strands of hair stuck to his forehead and glinted under the overhead ambient lighting. he sighed, and his deltoids flexed as he stretched his limbs out on the bathtub's edge.

biting your lip, you tried again. this time growing mouthy, "sei, jus' let me move."

the man cocked an eyebrow, a feeble smile tugging at his lips with the way your aching cunt seemed to suck him in, "nah, don't feel like it yet."

"i-i'll do all the work," you found yourself striking a deal with a demon reincarnate, found yourself pleading to a deaf god, "i promise— jus' let me move."

at the statement, your stoic boyfriend laughed. and once done, he nodded — an action so soft that you would have missed if not for the fact that your entire body was finetuned to his. at his action, your depraved hips caught up a lewd rhythm. grinding up and down, his flushed divot caught against your fraught spots and with each manic plunge.

"shi—" his usually downturned eyes widened for just a second, a restrained mewl lodged in the back of his throat as your greedy pussy sucked up the sloppy, spilling pre, "s-slower, baby."

but you just looked at him so dolefully — with your wretched, doe eyes tearing and lips quivering, "n-no."

"can't go slower?"

"don— don't want to."

and despite the tension etched into his sore muscles and the meagre patience, nagi laughed. plump lips curling up, he planted a careful hand on your soft waist to support your delicate figure, "that good?"

after an eternity of cockwarming, how could nagi seishiro even ask you if it was 'that' good? how could he ask that when practically each trivial stutter of his achy mushroom tip against your walls had you gasping for air and throwing your head back?

but you didn't have the coherence to say all that, so, clawing your nails down the same flexed deltoids, you nodded vigorously, "mhm— y-yeah, so good sei—"

with each nod, your body shivered and cunt mewled distraught at the way his cock split you apart at his sheer length.

bringing his quick fingers up to your face, nagi plucked away the damp strands of hair from your flushed face with a soft sigh. tucking the same stand behind your ears, nagi rolled his pelvis once and you fell forward onto his chest.

his lips ghosting over the shell of your eyes, the pro-player smiled, "having fun?"

nodding again, you stole another needy gyration or two as if nagi couldn't feel it, as if he couldn't feel you — you and your filthy, yearning pussy pulsating around his dick.

you heard the slightest click of his tongue, "'msorry then."

"f-for what..?" before you could raise your head to meet his eyes, or to question his words — nagi seishiro splayed his fingers against the fat of your hips and pulled you up and down on his whims.

with each nasty smack! of skin on skin, the man seemed to hit a deeper spot and you— oh, you were seeing stars.

head lolled, eyes rolling back and nails still digging into his flesh to mark him — you came on nagi's dick with a few, mean strokes into your heat, "jes—jesus fuck! se-i... sei— ohmygod—"

still now out of your orgasmic bliss, still caught up in the trance of his skin against yours, you almost jumped when you heard nagi seishiro whisper again, "'msorry. trust me, i am."

wobbling lips too tired to conjure up a reply, you just looked up to a strange, almost barbaric look flash in his irises. his hips snapped into yours, his cock ramming into your bruised walls with an inhumane force.

"sorry, babe." the pro-player breathed out a half-baked excuse, "sorry— think 'm gonna break this pretty pussy tonight."

and you didn't miss the slightly sadistic resonance in his words. oh no.

♡ oliver aiku!

fwb aren't supposed to do this, right??

"what d'you want?" you had slammed the door open to see the man of the very hour — oliver aiku — standing at your door, leaning against your wall all so nonchalantly as if it weren't three in the morning.

rolling your eyes, you regarded the tired man, "what? hoe no.3 busy that you had to come to me?"

"don't be ridiculous," aiku slipped past you and into the familiar apartment he had spent far too many nights in. his cadence dropped low, "you're hoe no.3."

although bitter syllables clung like dew onto your glossy lips, you closed the door behind you anyways. "what do you want? we didn't have any plans today, righ—"

"needed some help." and the former captain found himself turning on his heel to face you, "needed to blow off some steam. please."

well, plans be damned. this was the first time the oliver aiku had uttered the word 'please' to you.

"oh my god—" one of your fists clenching against the fabric of his shirt while the other rubbed desperate figures against your sloppy clit, you barely held your gaze steady against his heterochrome eyes.

he had been so desperate — oliver aiku had been so desperate — that the dress that you were wearing had been hastily bunched up on your waist, and his shirt had stayed on.

he had kissed you, and then he had kissed you again and again and again till his lips were bruised and swollen and his head wasn't quite screwed on right.

shoving your figure against the nearest wall, the man had caged you in with a forbidden whimper of your name. his muscles shook, eyes searching your salvaged form like a predator on hunt, "i tried going on a run, i hit the gym— fuck, didn't fucking help."

the clicking of the belt, followed by a swift shove within your velvety hole, and you heard the man audibly hiss at the feeling of his tense erection bruising your walls with every dragged out, filthy plunge. he mumbled false nothings, praying to a deity that would never answer, "i tried everything. b-but you—"

now, clenching his jaw, the former u-20 captain tightened his hold against one of your thighs, stretching the limb out so that he could fuck into your sopping cunt harder. all while another hand supported your crumbling figures against the creaking bed.

"too much? too much?" meeting your pelvis against his in a lewd dance, the man grunted out strained words, "sorry— 'msorry, tough... tough day today, ma."

"mhm," you nodded, your sugary lips falling into an easy pout, "'s okay, what's wr-rong?"

oliver scoffed — you and him were nothing more than a series of horny, reckless favours, and yet you were looking up at him like you meant your question.

usually, your sessions were fast-paced; the sound of skin on skin, damp hair, scratches down his skin and bruises blossoming on your skin where people could see — rabid animals in a wicked arrangement. that's all you two could ever be.

but today, his thrusts were slower, more calculated despite the anger that lingered in each movement of his lagged limbs. and if you had been in your senses, you could see the sliver of yearning in his eyes as he took in your shaking figure under his gaze.

"i—" words a wet gurgle, he tried to think of the reason he was fucking you like this — soo slow, like you meant something more, "s-shit match."

"oh— aah—a-aiku!" whatever reply you had thought of dissolved as oliver shoved his tongue in your mouth. the muscles caught in a lewd dance, the pro-player tried to shove down any thoughts. moaning against him, you sounded so sinful... did you always sound like aiku's demise or was he imagining things in his lucid state?

when he parted from you, the glistening strings lingered between you — a haunting sign of the way you were making him feel. so, obviously aiku just clutched your leg harder — almost bruising — and fucked into your cervix.

body moving mechanically, each crevice of his mind was occupied by you. how soft your skin felt under his skin, how warm you were, how your breath hitched with another orgasm knocking down your insides.

and as you threw your head back, exposing your shuddering neck and chest, you clenched your eyes like you always did. weak fingers kept rubbing frenzied circles onto your drenched cunt, rosy cheeks scrunched up in a forbidden delight — oliver had seen this scene so many times, then... why did he feel so utterly stupid looking at you?

didn't he come here to blow off steam..? and yet, the pro-player felt like he had found more things to be worried about as he found himself spilling the pearlescent fluid within your plush cunt.

well, nothing another round or two couldn't fix, right?

a/n: did you know aiku is his first name and oliver is his last?? bro. insane. anyways make isagi and bachira kiss u losers i know they wanna. also, im sowry cause i know some part is long and some isn't, i have been writing this over the course of many days, hence, the inconsistency in writing style and length :') tagging: @fantastically-imperfect @moodswing101 @isabellalovesyou @mininji @scara-simp69 @heartfeltstarry @actuallynarii <3 hope you enjoy mwuah mwuah <3 m.list

[2tarbell]

happy birthday!! could i get vanilla birthday cake with crybaby!reader and “she’s so pretty, she still looks like an angel while i’m doing the most depraved and ungodly things to her”

- 🕷️ (if it’s available)

MEAN!RAFE + CRYBABY!READER ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

participate in my bday celebration!!!

“good girl, right there, yeah?”

the drooling sounds of crybaby’s cunt swallowing the length of her boyfriend filled her frilly room. the baby blue decor seemed to judge her — being ruined in a space that was so precious. she could feel the beady eyes of her stuffed animals watching them. it should’ve felt wrong, but nothing wrong could make her feel so good.

the sex was always great with rafe. she thought he was heaven sent, so good with that mouth and seemingly all knowing when it came to her body. he knew all the spots to drag out animalistic whines and pearly tears from her.

it was all nasty words and sobs that filled the space. rafe’s large hands guided her movements roughly, pushing her to ride him in a way he liked. the realization that she was being used for his pleasure made crybaby clench around him. he rewarded her with a buck of his hips.

she mewled at the feeling, the sensation of him nudging her cervix making the tears fall harder and faster. fingers scratched at his toned chest, searching for any kind of stability.

“daddy, i— i can’t—“

a sting to her tear-stained cheek caused a choked sob to fall from her kiss bitten lips. the slap wasn’t even that hard — rafe tutted and gripped her chin, pulling her face down to his. body pliable and melting into him, her head all muddy from the contact of his palm to her cheek.

“yeah? you done, baby? tell me to stop.” he whispered, almost a threat. like he was daring her to back out.

but he knew her too well; silence broken by her little sniffles was all the response he got. those wet eyes stared at him pleadingly and pitifully. she wouldn’t say it — even if she had a gun to her head. too cock drunk to even function.

a wicked smirk etched its way onto rafe’s handsome features, resuming dragging her back and forth on his cock with her jaw still tightly in his grasp. her lips parted in a silent whine, he kissed her open mouth hotly.

“s’what i thought. you need this shit, huh? don’t fuckin’ tell me you can’t—”

she was a mess above him. hips canting when his tip kissed that perfect little spot, beginning to black out as stars dotted her vision. or maybe that was just the tears and mascara coating her lashes.

the sight had rafe pulsing inside of her, eyes flickering over her whole face and trying to commit her expression of pure ecstasy to memory. so beautiful.

his breath was ragged, a gravel texture to his voice that gave crybaby goosebumps, “love you… like an angel while ‘m doing dirty shit t’you. fuckin’… depraved and ungodly shit.”

she was hiccuping and writhing, almost to the precipice of that little death. from the way his navel continuously bumped her puffy clit. the pressure just right, his gaze so intense, his hands so rough—

crybaby came with a sob, babbling dumbly through ‘thank you’s and ‘i love you’s. her body was shivering and trying to squirm away from the blond boy. rafe caught her, working her through the sensations patiently. he pushed her onto her back and settled back into her warmth, pussy eagerly accepting his hard length with a squelch.

“get your lamb, there you go, atta girl—“

a soft white stuffed lamb was thrusted into her arms, limbs like jelly but clinging to the familiar source of comfort. her tears soaked into the plush of the animal and she bit the ear to muffle the choked cries that involuntarily left her mouth.

her pathetic little head lolled to the side into his forearm, nose nuzzling the warm skin. listening to the muffled sounds of his grunts and praises. she could feel him in her stomach — hazy eyes floating down to where they’re connected. a creamy ring collecting around his base and creating even worse sounds.

but crybaby couldn’t find it in herself to care anymore. their gazes connected and she felt the pleasure build once more. one objective on her mind:

it can’t get more ungodly than letting him fill her to the brim.

[scealaiscoite]

.☽༊˚ a hundred assorted prompts

¹⁾ raspberry lip gloss

²⁾ pajama bottoms

³⁾ a silver lighter

⁴⁾ fresh honey

⁵⁾ flushed cheeks

⁶⁾ a fogged-up mirror

⁷⁾ the imprint of a belt buckle on skin

⁸⁾ helium balloons

⁹⁾ a broken cocktail glass

¹⁰⁾ old playing cards

¹¹⁾ chipped green nail polish

¹²⁾ a brown leather wallet

¹³⁾ bullet holes in a wooden wall

¹⁴⁾ seashells lined up along the curve of a spine

¹⁵⁾ beaded curtains

¹⁶⁾ pomegranate seeds

¹⁷⁾ a carabiner heavy with keys

¹⁸⁾ fresh-cut orchids in a pottery vase

¹⁹⁾ vending machine cigarettes

²⁰⁾ an out of date map

²¹⁾ a creaky wooden gate

²²⁾ a minifridge stocked with budweiser and paracetamol

²³⁾ snapdragons growing between pavement slabs

²⁴⁾ smudged yellow eyeshadow

²⁵⁾ slept-in braids

²⁶⁾ library books that’ll never be returned

²⁷⁾ a pink-tiled shower

²⁸⁾ a honeybee on a linen shirtsleeve

²⁹⁾ burnt popcorn

³⁰⁾ watching an eclipse from bed

³¹⁾ a black lace bralette

³²⁾ a tattered patchwork quilt

³³⁾ blue raspberry bubblegum

³⁴⁾ a rusted fishing rod and a dried-up lake

³⁶⁾ the taste of whiskey on someone else’s lips

³⁷⁾ rose-scented candles burned down to the wick

³⁸⁾ crescent-shaped coffee stains on a wooden tabletop 

³⁹⁾ odd socks 

⁴⁰⁾ a loose thread on a jumper sleeve

⁴¹⁾ warm sheets on cold skin

⁴²⁾ amber-tinged perfume

⁴³⁾ gold jewelry 

⁴⁴⁾  a calloused palm against a soft cheek 

⁴⁵⁾ a busted headlight

⁴⁶⁾ sunrise from a jail cell

⁴⁷⁾ hand tattoos that weave around fingers

⁴⁸⁾ coconut shampoo

⁴⁹⁾ a doorbell sounding in the middle of the night

⁵⁰⁾ ladybugs crawling across a headstone

⁵¹⁾ grass stains on blue jeans

⁵²⁾ a loaded saddlebag

⁵³⁾ a dusty wine cellar

⁵⁴⁾ a bikini top draped over a bedpost

⁵⁵⁾ snow in july

⁵⁶⁾ dirt-red mountaintops

⁵⁷⁾ goosebumps in a heatwave

⁵⁸⁾ an empty dinnertable

⁵⁹⁾ a fresh manicure and bruised knuckles

⁶⁰⁾ zombie movies

⁶¹⁾ bitten lips

⁶²⁾ dark eyes full of tears

⁶³⁾ a soft cast in summertime

⁶⁴⁾ stale coffee in paper cups

⁶⁵⁾ frozen peaches on a black eye

⁶⁶⁾ acrid smoke

⁶⁷⁾ bound hands

⁶⁸⁾ animal tracks

⁶⁹⁾ unwound vhs tapes

⁷⁰⁾ cartoon plasters

⁷¹⁾ lipstick marks on shirt collars

⁷²⁾ silver bangles

⁷³⁾ sharing a coat in a downpour

⁷⁴⁾ fields with grass at waist-height

⁷⁵⁾ daisy chains up to your forearm

⁷⁶⁾ rolled-up shirtsleeves

⁷⁷⁾ the smell of bleach in a dark room

⁷⁸⁾ a shared sleeping bag

⁷⁹⁾ a new haircut

⁸⁰⁾ swimsuit tanlines

⁸¹⁾ perfume clinging to a pillow

⁸²⁾ lollipops dangling between lips

⁸³⁾ a badly-timed grin

⁸⁴⁾ old books

⁸⁵⁾ tongues stained from slushies

⁸⁶⁾ waking up in a hailstorm

⁸⁷⁾ dying sunflowers

⁸⁸⁾ colourful sunglasses

⁸⁹⁾ the last pew

⁹⁰⁾ tall, rattling windows in a storm

⁹¹⁾ six missed calls

⁹²⁾ sticks of incense burned down to the last

⁹³⁾ bunk beds

⁹⁴⁾ matching sets

⁹⁵⁾ ruined mascara

⁹⁶⁾ a boxing ring

⁹⁷⁾ stained glass windows

⁹⁸⁾ fairy forts

⁹⁹⁾ a cluttered bedside table

¹⁰⁰⁾ a hangover in the evening

[vanillasweetpie]

۶ৎ too much ⋆. jax x fem!reader

tags: nsfw, p in v, kind of rough sex, public sex, praise n degradation, dirty talk, based on episode 4

“fuck, too fa-fast,” you whimper, your words slurred, dissolving into little gasps. your thighs trembling as Jax pounds into you against the rickety staffroom counter.

you’re shaking, so goddamn delicate in the way your soft thighs quake around him like you’re nothing but a pretty doll to be played with. and those eyes of yours, all glossy and pretty, fluttering shut every time his cock slams into your messy little pussy, spreading you wide like you’re meant to be filled and ruined. your lashes are wet with tears, clumped together like some kind of masterpiece, and your lips, all pouty and red and bitten, trembling with every little needy gasp you make. how could anyone resist you when you look like this? Jax couldn’t.

“poor thing. what’s wrong, doll?” he sneers and you hate how his voice makes your cunt clench down so tight around him. his cock is so deep, hitting places no one else ever has, grinding right up against your cervix like he’s trying to ruin you for anything else. your soft walls cling to him, sucking him in, so warm and tight it’s a miracle he doesn’t lose it right then and there. his hips snap forward brutally and you’re so wet it’s dripping down to the base of him, coating his dick in a shiny sheen that glistens obscenely under the dim fluorescents of spudsy’s. “owwh, all fucked out already? i thought you were tougher than this, baby.”

“sh-shut up,” you manage to gasp, digging your nails into his shoulder. 

“shut up? real cute coming from the girl who’s dripping all over me right now. you’re lucky i don’t drag you out there and let everyone see how pathetic and slutty you look.” Jax, being the asshole he is, punctuates his words with a particularly harsh thrusts, the head of his cock rubbing against your cervix with brutal precision as his balls slap against your ass from how fast and hard he fucks you.

his long ears twitch, those yellow eyes narrowing in amusement as he leans back and grips your thighs to hoist you higher, teaching you a lesson, allowing himself to penetrate you even deeper. the position forces your legs to dangle over his long arms, your cunt spread wide for his relentless thrusts. “you’re so deep— hhngh jax. . .”

you let out a broken little cry, head lolling back as your nails dig into his uniform, what makes him grin, that cocky grin you both love and hate. “juuust like that, there we go, pretty. . . i know you like it like this, baby, feeling me so deep you can’t even think straight.” and god, he’s right. you do, you hate how much you do, how your body shakes with the force of it, how you can’t stop moaning his name like some pathetic, fucked-out thing, begging him to never stop ruining you.

“Jax, jax, jax. . . jax! f-fffuck, so good!” you let out a strangled moan, your head spinning and vision blurry as he leans back to watch the sight of his lovely girl fucked dumb, watch the way your pussy sucks him in, stretched so obscenely around his twitching cock. 

“fuck, you’re so tight,” Jax moans, his voice losing some of its usual snark as his thrusts grow erratic and messy, too lost in pleasure and the way you feel. “squeezing me so goddamn good, i— shit— can’t get enough of this pussy.”  

Jax adjusts his angle, and fuck, it’s like he’s trying to split you open, dragging that hot cock against every trembling inch of your insides. you feel it everywhere, stretching you, filling you, it’s burning you, like he’s carved himself into your very being. his hand comes down, gloved fingers slapping against your clit, your poor, swollen pearl, and you jolt, thighs jerking against his arms as you sob out his name. “p-please, Jax, i can’t—”  

“can’t what? can’t take it? don’t give me that, baby. this little cunt is so fucking greedy for me, squeezing me like you never wanna let me go.” his voice sounds mean but god its so hot it makes your stomach twist in knots. “don’t play dumb now. squeezing me so tight, you can’t lie to me.”

and you know he’s right. you’ll be ruined, absolutely ruined and the thought makes your cunt flutter, makes you whimper as tears streak down your flushed cheeks. he notices, because he’s a bastard like that. leans in close, his sharp teeth grazing your jaw as his voice lowers to a whisper. “pretty little thing, crying so sweet for me. you’re perfect like this, doll. so soft, you feel so good.” 

the words make your head spin and when he slams into you again, grinding his hips against yours with enough force to rattle the counter beneath you, you let out a sobbing moan. “please, right— right here, aahh!!” 

outside, someone yells about dropping a tray of fries, but the noise is so distant, barely registering over the wet slap of skin against skin and the breathless sounds spilling from your lips paired with Jax’s groans.

“Jax, m’gonna— fuck, gonna cum!” you cry out.

“yeah? me too, d-do it,” he groans and circles his fingers on your clit faster now. “cum for me, baby, want to feel you clench around me.” 

your whole body locks up and you obey his words, your abused pussy convulses and clenches so hard it drags a low groan out of him and his knees weaken. you’re trembling, ruined, your mind wiped blank by the force of your orgasm, and he doesn’t even give you a second to catch your breath as he keeps driving into you, muttering “just like that, yes, yes, just like that”, drunk on the way your greedy cunt milks him dry, squelching, squeezing him, his pace erratic now, desperate, until he’s spilling his seed deep inside you, filling you up so much it leaks out around his cock. 

he doesn’t pull out right away, just leans in to press a little kiss to your temple. “guess that’s one way to make the shift go by faster, huh?”

however the chaos of the restaurant continues, you clearly hear Gangle’s voice and something what Ragatha responds to her, but to you nothing else matters except the smug, shit-eating grin on Jax’s face and the way he is already tugging you off the counter only to bend you over it, spreading your legs with his knee, muttering something about round two. and you’re too dazed and fucked out to do anything but let him have you all over again.

[joannasteez]

conejita

pairing: damian priest x reader warning: smut. nsfw!! use of pet name. “conejita” means “bunny” authors note: yeahhhhhhh…. expect more probably? this also works as a “sister fic” to @harmshake recent damian fic because we’ve been at it for days talking about this man lmaooooo. word count: like 800 i think…. tags: @333creolelady @kill-the-artiste

"mhphm".

a bright, little noise. sounding from the throat. a little broken. shuddered up really. far too breathy to be anything other than delicate. like a feather. flitting and fragile. a trembling in your legs, the weight of his touch—his caress and the sweep of his thumbs, just there, swirling over your nipples—a measured thing that makes your head spin. a swimming behind the eyes. 

you dig into him. needful. nails holding over the motion of his hands. searching for a reprieve, some grounding. thighs spread wide, an accommodation despite the ache. his frame, his build, kneeing into the sheets, your legs bent over his waist. that full, woodsy note to his cologne rushing your nose. bathing your lungs. everything of him, everywhere. a full consumption. lip bitten teeth, tender from that awful fight with patience. a taunting song under the skin, a quick tempo, pulsing deep, right there, trailing from the pit of your belly till its unfurling harsh in your clit. the tender little nub, untouched still, the fabric of your panties darkened and damp. the lavender color ruined by that awful fight still.

and he's particular about these things. colors and scents and temperaments. loves your skin in pastels and littered with spicy, sweet notes. drapes the room in a silent expectation. those eyes. those hands, kneading in again. a soft pinch that makes your breath hitch. and he's unblinking here. looming over. hair falling over his shoulders and his shoulders wide. littered with ink and flexing strong. 

and he's cupping your breast still. a deep thorough touch. a luring out that won't stop till his satisfaction warms over into a hot bursting. lips pulling in to join. a peak of tongue. sweeping the tip of it over. kissing sweetly. a dangerous repetition. soft slipping tongue, wet and curling. a hiss through your teeth and that faithful hitch in your hips. a sharp, ill-mannered grind into nothing but the fabric of your panties. a dirty mixture singing from your throat. a groan and a whine. that awful fight with patience. shallow breaths and a sweet little shake in your hands. 

he breaks off your skin with a pop. humming dark. his eyes closed. focused. fighting with his patience just the same. and what a terrible fight it is. his tight shoulders sagging just the slightest bit. suckling your nipple whole. like the taste there is too much of not enough. like perhaps if he stayed a little longer, that full satisfaction will come, only to find that it's a long ways away. so he stays, groaning into the skin. cheeks hallowing. a lewd sweeping over as he pulls in. your fingers in his hair. a lazy run into his scalp. 

"...fuck...", breaking brightly. thumbing the nape of his neck. arching up into him. the pillows stuffed under your hips soft, as you roll into him. 

he moves, catches your lips into a sloppy kiss. licking in to taste the balm there. another hum that speaks to that reach of satisfaction. a flavor that catches ahold at his tongue, sinking into the palette till he's breaking with a rough shiver all over. the tender split of your lips play into the air. a sweet twist. touch roaming else where, a fine grazing over your belly, closer and yet so far away still. his fingers done up with cold metal rings. that awful fight with patience seemingly the greatest losing battle. your breaths shallow still. hips canting again. eager and a little ways away from unmodified. 

he smiles. kisses your lips and your cheeks. pulls himself upright. pushes against the bend in your knee. the other hand playing and toying with the damp fabric of would be lavender panties. humming amused. your breath hitching again, his thumb sneaking under the messy fabric to glide faint. a dangerous tease of a touch, enough to verify his presence and nothing more. and when you moan annoyed, rife with a terrible ache, he pinches firm. snags your clit between his thumb and pointer for a short little tug. a softness to his eyes that make you melt into the bed. "...my precious girl", he breathes. amused still. "...what'd i say about breathing? about patience huh?...", a note of something firm in his tone. waiting for that sure compliance to befall. your body settling more, releasing, breaths coming easier. "...there you go". 

"damian...", you lament. a grief there in the tone from all that terrible build of an ache. 

and when he peels over the mess of your panties to reveal your pussy, a groan shifts the air. leaves his belly and urges from his throat. like he's been testing his own patience just as harshly, willing himself into waiting, delaying the sweetness of this for a tastier gratification. the thickness of his fingers sink in. a delicious, slow, agonizing stretch that leaves you arching off of those gentle soft pillows again. feeling him nestle deep, enough till he's wet and sticky at his knuckles. lip tucked under his teeth. "how's that feel baby?"

"..i want more..", you groan. grinding to stroke along his fingers. 

he pats your thigh. short bursting stings that keep you from falling too far too fast out of his methods. "...easy hermosa, you'll get everything you need, right? don't i always do that for you?"

you look to him. lashes wet from the overwork of your nerves, nodding quickly. 

he looms over again. the smell of him rolling in. his lips kissing at your ear. slotting his fingers through the tight pulse of your pussy for a lazy little working in. 

"my little conejita".

[lucyandalexiafan]

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 :)

[vir-bellanaris]

Veilguard Finale Drabble (Solavellan)

Because I think it's good (for my mental health) but a missed opportunity to not have a romanced Lavellan react to the bad ending for Solas.

Lavellan paced back and forth back and forth, her feet wearing down the ruined stone within the dark corridor. Her nails were already bitten down to the quick, so she chewed her lips bloody instead. She only paused to listen, the sounds of fighting in the chamber beyond had ebbed, straining she could hear angry voices muffled by the thick obsidian walls.

She paused, her mind a war of indecision, her heart pounding in her throat. She couldn't leave him. Solas needed her. She could feel it dragging through her gut like long claws of dread.

Her feet moved almost of their own accord forward, gathering pace when she saw blue light shining beyond the grand doors left ajar.

They were atop the dais, the torn Veil shimmering and gossamer behind them.

She saw him.

His visage broken and bloodied. His hands bound by the energies emanating from the Veil, twisting tighter even as he struggled.

Rook held the real lyrium dagger.

"No!" Lavellan's cry was choked in her tight throat, panic and horror paralyzing her for two crucial heartbeats.

Then she began to run.

Her legs burned as she clambered up the seemingly endless stairs, toward the one thing that mattered. Despite all the bitterness, loneliness, and heartbreak, he had always mattered.

Rook sliced the dagger across Solas' palm. "Now the Veil is once again tied to the life force of an ancient elven god."

The words were muffled, the meaning barely registering.

"No!!" Lavellan's voice broke free, her eyes wide and starting, full of hot tears as she pushed Rook aside.

Solas' angry expression alighted on her, taking her in. His features twisted, anger transforming into shock, then terror, before settling on broken grief.

Lavellan sobbed, her fingers scrabbling uselessly against the magical binds around his wrists. "No, no, no!" She grabbed desperately at him as the Veil drew him backwards, away from her.

"Vhenan." Solas' voice was so achingly familiar, trying to soothe her even now, though his low cadence was fringed with a darker emotion.

Lavellan followed after him, grasping his arms and pulling against the inexorable draw of the Veil.

"Let me go, vhenan."

"No! I won't!" The brightest burst of emotion she had felt in ten years rocked through her body, the remnants of the anchor responding, flickering sparks of green energy lighting up the veins of her shoulder and neck. "I will not allow this!" She focused her will upon the torn Veil, commanding it to close, to release her heart.

"You must." Solas was bound still, unable to move so much as an inch closer, though he tried with every fiber of his being to close the distance to her.

Lavellan's efforts slowed the pull to a stop, both of them knew it had bought them only moments. She cupped his face, tracing a shaking touch over his haggard features.

Tears fell freely from his eyes, hot upon her fingers.

Solas shook his head. "I am sorry."

"Tell me how to save you." She whispered, drawing herself up onto her toes so she could nuzzle gently against his face.

"I have been bested. You will not share this fate." Solas drew upon the remainder of his magical energies, fighting the bonds of the Veil for a moment more.

He did not heed the pain that tore at his spirit, bending forward just enough to brush his bloodied lips against her mouth.

Then he sagged, his body ripped from her grasp, landing with heavy impact against the swirling primordial lights of the Veil.

His gaze did not leave her, even as he was slowly drawn in.

She ran for him, screaming his name, reaching for him. For all her efforts even she, once so adept at manipulating the Veil, could do nothing.

In that last moment, she saw a faint and sad smile touch his lips as he locked eyes with her.

His mouth opened, the last part of him to be swallowed up. His words echoed in the now empty air like wisps on the wind.

"Ar lath ma, vhenan."

[hungermakesmonsters]

(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...

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE

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!!

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[emmalandry]

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

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.

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

[pennedwithpassion]

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 《

[sseanettles]

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.

[ikkyfics]

Hi, I was wondering if it would be possible to request a peter maximoff fic where the reader is a normal human who works in a nearby zoo/with animals, and peter likes visit the zoo to annoy her all the time, but one of her colleagues tells him that the reader would be better off with a human like him and peter gets all insecure and the reader had to let him know that she's not gonna be scared off by his mutation when she literally gets bitten by animals on like a daily basis

On Thursdays

Peter Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: “‘Don’t ruin everything,’” he repeated, mimicking your voice in an intentionally exaggerated way, a smug smile on his lips. “Oh, come on, sweetie, you practically handed me that confession on a silver platter. You really think I’m going to let that slide?”

Warnings: none

A/N: I'm SO SO SO sorry for the delay, I had some creative problems and only managed to finish it today - seriously, a thousand apologies. I hope the reading is at least fun

Masterlist

Thursday was the day of the guided tour, or in other words, the day Peter Maximoff dedicated himself wholeheartedly to his personal mission of getting on your nerves. He usually showed up without warning, a silver blur through the hallways, startling unsuspecting visitors and leaving you on the verge of yelling at him — something he absolutely loved, by the way. Who could blame him? You looked adorable, with your cheeks flushed and your eyes sparkling with frustration. He said he had a special ability to “rekindle the fire in the eyes of normal humans.”

But today, today he was different.

You noticed it the moment you stepped into the bird section, carrying a basket of food. That area used to be one of his favorite spots, after all. All you had to do was turn your back to a bag of feed and BAM, Peter would be there, imitating the parrots’ squawks or whistling at the toucans, as if he had special permission to be unbearable.

But at that moment, he was sitting on a bench, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze distant. The speed, the sparkle in his eyes, and the confident grin seemed to have been left at home.

“Hey, where’s the trouble today?” you asked, almost casually, even though you could feel the discomfort settling deep in your chest.

He turned his face toward you, offering a weak smile — weak, which was practically an insult coming from him. There was no glint of his dimples, no teasing look. Just the sound of a murmur that made you furrow your brows:

“I don’t know, I guess I got tired of bothering ‘normal humans.’”

You blinked, the bag of feed almost slipping from your fingers.

“What?”

“Forget it.” He shook his head as if regretting having said anything. “It’s just… nothing. I’m taking the day off.”

You set the basket on the ground, crossing your arms. You knew how it was with Peter: either you faced him head-on, or he’d slip away — literally and figuratively.

“Let me guess,” you started, your tone dripping with fake irritation. “You heard some nonsense and now you’re acting like the world’s right.”

He didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the ground. The wind tousled his silver hair, making it glint under the morning sun. After a while, he muttered softly:

“One of your colleagues said that…” He made a face, as if the words hurt. “That you’d be better off with ‘someone normal.’ That I should stop bothering you.”

For a moment, you just blinked. The silence that followed was broken by the annoying sound of a parrot, who whistled loudly.

“And you heard that and believed it?” Your voice came out louder than you’d intended.

“I didn’t believe it, but…” He shrugged, avoiding your gaze. “I didn’t want you to have to deal with it. With me.”

Now, the feed bag slipped from your hand, hitting the ground with a dull thud.

“Listen here, Peter Maximoff,” you moved closer, finger pointed at him. “First: you don’t bother me. Second: I actually love when you show up with that annoying habit of trying to irritate me. And third: ‘normal’? Normal?! I work with animals every day, do you realize that? I’ve been bitten, pecked, scratched, and once, even a monkey tried to steal my radio.” You paused dramatically, your face flushed with frustration. “I deal with fierce feathered and clawed killers daily, so cut the crap thinking you’re gonna scare me.”

Peter finally lifted his eyes, surprised. A soft laugh escaped his lips.

“You call little birds and squirrels ‘fierce killers’?” he teased, but there was a new sparkle in his eyes, something that felt more like… him.

“Some squirrels are pretty sinister, okay?” you shot back, chin raised. “And the issue here isn’t them. The issue is you thinking there’s no place for you here.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but you continued, more serious now:

“The truth is, I love the silver blur you leave behind wherever you go. I love watching you smile when you think you’re winning an argument. And, for your information, your visits are the best — and the most annoying — part of my week.”

There was a pause, one of those moments where the air feels lighter and the world quieter. Then, Peter smiled. For real. His dimples were back, along with the teasing gleam in his eyes.

“So, you admit you love it when I show up. I knew it.” He stood up, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “That’s basically a declaration, you know?”

“Don’t ruin everything,” you muttered, trying not to smile as well.

Peter couldn’t resist and let out a low laugh, the kind that made his chest vibrate and his smile widen, with his dimples clearly visible. He seemed much more like the Peter you knew — or at least, like the Peter who made it his mission to annoy you every week.

“‘Don’t ruin everything,’” he repeated, mimicking your voice in an intentionally exaggerated way, a smug smile on his lips. “Oh, come on, sweetie, you practically handed me that confession on a silver platter. You really think I’m going to let that slide?”

You rolled your eyes, but your face was burning. Of course, he wasn’t going to forget it. You could have stayed quiet, but no, you had to open your mouth and practically admit that you liked his presence — the silver blur he left behind, his charmingly irritating smile, and even his provocations.

“You’re the worst,” you murmured, looking around as if you were searching for an escape route. But he was right there, standing in your way, as if he was making sure to block any attempt you might have to escape the situation.

“And you like me anyway,” he retorted, leaning slightly forward, his eyes shining with mischief and a crooked smile that seemed especially sharp.

“I don’t like you,” you lied, your tone defiant, but your voice came out softer than you intended, almost a whisper. His gaze locked onto yours, full of certainty, making you blush even more.

“No?” Peter raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk. “Then why are you so red? Is it hot today?”

You huffed, looking away and crossing your arms, as if that would hide the fact that he was absolutely right. Damn it. Why did he have to be this way? So unbearable and charming at the same time?

“Stop being so full of yourself,” you grumbled, still not looking at him.

“Full of myself? Me?” He placed a hand on his chest, feigning an overly dramatic offended expression. “I’m a humble man. See how you treat me? Just because I’m too fast for you, little human.”

“Little human?” You glared at him with mock indignation.

“Yeah, well. You said you deal with animals all day, so I thought it was a term of endearment,” he said, shrugging and giving you an innocent enough look. “What’s wrong? Did you like it?”

You rolled your eyes for the thousandth time that day, but couldn’t stop a smile from escaping. It was impossible to talk to him without feeling like you were being dragged into his own game — a game you didn’t even want to win, deep down.

Peter tilted his head, watching you with a sudden intensity that made your cheeks heat up once more. He seemed at ease again, back in his element, as if all the insecurity that had made him look down had evaporated into the air.

“What is it now?” you asked, unable to endure that look for too long.

“I’m just thinking,” he started, his voice slow and teasing, “about what my next grand entrance will be next Thursday. I’m torn between showing up riding a pony or bringing a full orchestra to play while I walk towards you.”

“My God,” you whispered, covering your face with your hands. “You’re unbearable.”

“And yet,” he replied, leaning closer to you, “I’m starting to think you wouldn’t trade me for one of those sinister squirrels you mentioned.”

You lowered your hands, feeling a sudden surge of courage rise to the tip of your tongue. Maybe it was because he was so convinced. Maybe it was because you were tired of pretending you didn’t like it when he showed up, smiled, and messed up your whole day.

“Not gonna ask me out?” you blurted out without thinking.

The expression on his face froze, and it was worth all the embarrassment that came right after.

For less than a second — which, you imagined, must have felt like an eternity to him — Peter Maximoff was speechless. He blinked, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. You could almost see the racing thoughts running through his head, like a train with no brakes.

“What?” he finally managed to murmur, his voice almost hoarse.

“You heard me,” you replied, crossing your arms, trying to sound more confident than you felt. “Or are you just fast physically and slow mentally?”

The shock on his face dissolved into a wide, surprised grin, his cheeks taking on a light rosy tint that honestly made you feel a little powerful. Peter Maximoff was embarrassed. You could add that to your résumé.

“Well… I wasn’t expecting that turn,” he admitted, running a hand through his silver hair and looking away for a second. “But now that you’ve asked…”

He straightened up, returning to his Confident Peter mode, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“Want to go to dinner with me?” he asked, his smile softened by something sweet enough that it couldn’t just be teasing.

You smiled, pretending to think for a moment.

“Only if you promise not to beat me to the restaurant.”

“Oh, I promise nothing,” he replied, his tone mischievous. “But, little human, you just gave me the perfect day. I’ll make sure to pick you up, you’re going to love running with me.”

“Is there still time for me to change my mind?”

“Not in a million years,” he answered, and before you could think of any reply, he vanished. Only the silver blur remained behind, accompanied by a gust of wind that messed up your hair.

You stood there, alone for a second, smiling at the empty space and feeling your heart race faster than it should.

And then, almost as if he was still nearby, his voice echoed in the back of your mind:

Next Thursday is going to be the best one yet.

And you believed it.

[angelellipsis-devilofdots]

"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.

[sssigil]

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.

[sleepingdeath-light]

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.