#the utter SILENCE. after 'you cant make it'

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

— i’m in love with a dying man

rating: mature. or explicit? i’m not sure. angsty study on grief in unconventional forms. (mild) smut purely for poetic reasons

word count: 4,1k

pairing: viktor x gn!reader

cw: terminal illness. several mentions of death. everyone is horny in a heartbroken way, so grab a napkin—but not for the reasons you think. and yes, you may dox me for making you even sadder after whatever happened in ep 6.

—

He licks a tear off your cheek, and it seeps in between the bumps on his tongue, all prickly salt running down your face in two glossy trails of sorrow. Stinging, when his calloused thumb swipes over a puffy eyelid, only to inevitably fall to your lip and tug, nudging your mouth agape. His desperate grip softens when you oblige and arch, letting him grunt over the slope of your throat; wheezier than you remember, raw, rhotic and ravenous. The hard shift of his lungs is palpable under your hand, ruckling heavily in his sternum. It almost breaks down to a cough when he cants his hips into you, slanting one last slow, weak slam. Spilling all his pent-up frustration deep inside you through that bitter orgasm, leaving a clumsy mess of stickiness to dry on your inner thigh. Stilling for you to hold him through that collapse, grateful for the shaky hand that you firmly fist into his hair. Not receding until at least a few kisses are strewn upon your shoulder. 

It’s always like this now. Viktor clings to you, and you cling to him, nails digging into handfuls of him hard enough to draw blood, each embrace so tight your ribs might just break if he doesn’t retreat in time. And god does he wish to let it linger, to drag it out until eternity tumbles in—even if his eternity is reduced to a question of mere months at best, even if he must crawl out of a casket to have your touch back. 

The night you almost lost him still has you in shambles. You remember it all too well—hell, it’s almost like that acute smell of hospitals and doom still coats his skin, more slimline than it ever was, its once ivory shade fading to chalk-like disaster. The utter horror of crushing verdicts, endless heaps of bloodied handkerchiefs and palms so cold that even the heat of your breath fails to make the feeling of him any less chilling. 

The dark humor of sneaky death: she’s right around the corner, the cruelest of all mistresses. Ready to snatch him away whenever your fingers ghost over his spine, stroking a languid count over each prominent vertebrae. And no matter how tight you curl up beside him, she will supplant you, and her proximity can’t be measured in miles, feet, or inches. Because death is a termite—she gnaws at his very heart. And blooms metastases everywhere you still have him. She’s inside him. She’s merged with him into one.

At first, you denied it. Knuckles drummed against the wall in a frustrated fistfight, painting that scabrous canvas bright with your frustration. White and crimson—the speckled pattern of your hysteria. You recall how bad it stung, and how shame creeped up your spine—frightening and so, so sticky. Throttling, when he tended to that self-inflicted disaster, bandaging your smashed hand in motions sick to the core with gentleness. 

And it felt so ugly. Like you’ve grown to loathe everything around you: the doctors, for their disgusting prognosis; life itself, for being hardly fair. And even Viktor. Especially him—for slowly slipping out of your pale-knuckled grip. Well, red-knuckled, more like. That angry stunt did cost you a decent injury. White and crimson, remember? 

Naturally, grief doesn’t always progress by the book. However, denial always comes first. It’s an axiom, an invariable component, and you’re sitting on Viktor’s hospital cot, hand in trembling hand, eyes snapped wide and ferocious. Wrapped up in fear while the silence rings in your ears. 

His doctor addresses the quandary. It doesn’t feel vicious—at least, not yet. Flimsy, more like. Deceptive, too. Like if you just blink it away hard enough everything will snap right in place, and you’ll find yourself at home again—where that aseptic smell of medication can’t reach either of you. 

Well, of course, there’s always a possibility of postponing the inevitable. Winning over a year or, even, two—if Viktor’s lucky enough, that is. But you both know that he’s lacking in that department.

And yet, you grab your little hope by the throat: to look into later, when your comprehension is intact again. Surely, it’s just not plausible: so what if Viktor’s cough pulls you out of sleep every night, so what if every shirt he owns has tiny blood stains on it? Yes, he spends more time in bed than he does at the lab. He’s simply tired. He needs the rest. Not in peace. 

The retraction doesn’t linger, though. It survives a few more blood tests and a lengthy, dreadful discussion of his calamity—most strikingly frightening when the doctor talks him through each option. And not a single one manages to appease you. To stop your fury from retching out and causing an ugly scene. 

So you fling the door to his room ajar and leap inside with a bitter scowl, teeth gritting hard enough to crumble into powder. Arms a tight crisscross over your chest, step wide and listless—punctuated with a muffled clack of heels. Viktor’s eyes follow your tremulous circles—a lazy, sheenless flick of pupils, each widened into a bleak void from the rancid dose of painkillers. He lays supine, with his hair ineptly slicked back, umber waves awry, loose and sweat-damp. He’s almost mellow, tongue barely a glide over his chapped bottom lip—a martyr-like stiffness, the carrion of a man. 

But you don’t look at him. You pace, and pace, and pace—in that same tiring route, all around his creaky cot. Viktor rasps something indistinct—a muffled plea that tickles the back of his throat, rupturing yet another coughing fit. You silently hand him the speckled handkerchief. 

He looks up, eyes the saddest shade of buckwheat honey—dark with remorse; seeking comfort. But you don’t have any to give. You stare past him, gnawing at your tongue hard enough to draw fleshy copper. Dodging the kiss he tries to press to your wrist—pulling yourself back and out of his loving grip, igniting a staring competition full of glassy eye-daggering. Blink slow and borderline drowsy. 

“Milackú,” he pleads. Pulls at the corner of his mouth to wipe the bloody evidence of his withering. 

Your tear catches in your bottom lashes. 

“Milackú,” he rasps again, kicking the blanket aside. Stepping one bare foot on the cool tiles and reaching for you: arms, legs, and heart—all yours for the taking. If only you consider crawling under his minty sheets again. 

You don’t. 

“Why?” It’s so meek you barely recognize it as your own. Taut throat tightens even more, and, suddenly, you’re choking on a gasp. “Why did you turn down the treatment?” 

“Please, if you could just—“ He husks, but you can’t hear him through the ringing in your ears; the room already smudged into wattery, astigmatic lumps, Viktor’s face but a bunch of fuzzy dots you’re struggling to make out. All missing jigsaws, blurry little fractions. 

“What did I ever do to you?” You yell, shielding your eyes. Turning away from the arm he extends, his weak fist clenching to grab thin air, then tumbling as he stares at his palm in sheer dubiety, upper lip trembling. 

He winces. Ceases you by the hand and tugs as hard as it gets—frail enough for you to easily nudge him away—but you don’t bother this time. Your knees ungainly bend into shaky arcs, drifting apart when he clasps around you and pulls until you finally land on the sheets next to him, your tears mingling with his cold sweat—a salty fusion of mutual suffering.

Then comes a sequence of guttural, squealing whines and you stay twined with him for a while. Lithe fingers run through your hair, spreading to untangle an occasional knotted strand—up, and down, and over your shoulder in a caress. His lips purse on your temple, sucking an indistinct kiss. His heartbeat trails off under your fingertips the second you rake them over his thin hospital gown, growing frenetic again when you tug at the fabric, demanding closure.

“Please. Please don’t do this to me.” You exhale your choked up entreaty into his neck and it pours over his skin in a rigid breath, aftertasting of stinging desperation. His hand seeks your face, taking a forcefully gentle hold of one puffy cheek, drinking in your unsightly, woebegone rebuke. Looking at you like a repentant devotee, his timid eyes meeting your fierce ones.

“This is not about you,” he wheezes, too stern for your liking. Presses his forehead against yours and holds you through yet another shudder—and there’s no avoiding his pleading stare. “I’m not trying to get away from you. I merely want to escape my conundrum.” 

“These aren’t mutually exclusive, Viktor,” you hiss, voice simmering with betrayal. 

“Unfortunately.” 

“Unfortunately?! Is that all you have for me right now?” 

“I’m afraid so.” 

He sighs like he means it. His words keep slipping away from him, drowned in coughs and ambiguous humms. You get it, though. Your semantics became sparse the minute Viktor almost died in your arms. 

You melt into one-another in a teary, sniffling twine—simply breathing, trading tense silences. His stately stance collapses into a lifeless hunch, straightening a bit only when your fingers billow over his shoulder-blades—chiseled like ones of a famished dog. There are plenty of dog-like things about him now—the pleas lodged in his glances, the newfound hunger for your touch. Especially for the way you’re holding him; every embrace like a loving headlock—and the pressure soothes him. 

“I’m tired of taking risks,” he finally whispers against your temple. “All these… labored efforts for mere fractions of peace. Decaying steadily. Constantly hurting. I’m spent.” 

“Exactly. Which is why you need the treatment.” 

His lashes shudder against your cheek in a prickly tickle. They keep fluttering when he recedes, shaking his head with a bitter frown.

“But its success is… highly improbable.” 

“Yes, but there’s still hope—“

“It’s running thin as we speak. I shouldn’t squander it on… the imminent.” 

Viktor’s irksome choice of words had you springing backwards in glossy-eyed delirium. Staring in disbelief as if he’d requested something inexorable: which he did, inherently so. 

He curses when tears slice your face again—tends to them with the softness of a man most contrite of his omission, shaky hands already catching holds of your waist, using your temporary pliancy to swiftly nudge you into his cot. Curling up close enough to have your weeps reverberate in his sternum. 

“I’m sorry,” he repents with a deep rasp. “Please, don’t cry.” 

He held you in reticence again: this time horizontally. Offered you every solace his body could provide: your fingers in his hair, fumbling mindlessly (he put them there himself). Tangled legs. Apologetic neck-kisses. His head heavy on your shoulder, its weight a welcome tranquility. And only when your last tear soaks his pillow does he commence with his explanation. 

“I don’t want to spend what little time I have left miserable,” he tells you, drawing a breath. “Yes, the treatment might win me a year—a year I would spend bedridden, nauseous, and weary. A travesty of life. An illusive salvation. I’ve had enough of those.” 

Your hand stills in his hair, nestled within unkempt strands. You’ve run out of tears, so this bitter truth is met with nothing but a piteous sigh—the only thing you can still master after crying your heart out into his skin. Now you can only stare at the ceiling, chewing on your cheek in cruel denial. 

He’s right. He always is. 

Viktor sees the shift in your face—knits his eyebrows together in tender pity, tucking himself firmly against your face. Wincing, when he feels the aching tension in your temple. 

“I know I’m asking a lot of you. Too much, even.” He’s sincere when he says that, and you can sense the gratitude in his voice—for even allowing him to utter this excruciating of a thing, for attempting to understand. 

You simply nod. Yes. It is a lot. But you want to hear everything he has to say. 

So Viktor continues.

“I would hate for your last memories of me to be tainted with despair and hospitals only for all the struggle to go to waste when I inevitably pass away. I have no desire to postpone this torture at the expense of growing indifferent towards everything that makes me feel alive.” 

“But what if we manage to cure you?!”

“That’s too much of a ‘what if’ to risk dying a grim death for. I want to die…content. I want to enjoy myself before I do. Please. Don’t take that choice away from me.”

His eyes brim at you with every ounce of guilt he possesses, big tears wallowing in his eyes like an earnest plea—tacit, weary, earnest. Yes, it’s not like you have a word in his terrific decision, but Viktor wants your blessing. It’s only right that he includes you. Even if he’s intending to refuse the treatment regardless. As absurd  a bid as that is. 

You clasp his face like it’s about to vanish. Like you won’t be able to make it out when he’s gone if you fail to remember it right this instant, your gaze frantically jumping from one feature to another, seeking to embroider the image into your very eyeballs. Roaming over the artifically-white hospital light hallowing every streak of his hair. Indulging in a bittersweet smile when you note how prettily it spills over the pillow. Lingering on the patterns in his ochre irises—almost fully swallowed by his void-like pupils. Observing how they match the insomniac, mauve shades under his bottom lashes. Tracing every convex little thing—two lovely moles, thick eyebrows, the pointy mouth. Everything you’ve grown to love so dearly. Everything his illness keeps taking away from you. 

You wince, cradling his cheeks, your thumbs dipping into the hollows of them gently. Urging him to scoot closer—eye to eye, lips on lips. Breath over shuddering breath. 

“Are you sure?” You mouth the question on his skin, barely even uttering it. Hot pressure meanders into your head like a prickly impulse. It’s timid like motion sickness—borderline nauseating, too—all murky splashes of trippy lights under your closed eyelids. And the unease is diluted only when he finally kisses you—an approbatory, guilt-ridden thing. 

He’s certain. And for that, he’s so, so sorry. 

You try not to think of it, focusing on the feeling. No tongue, no teeth: just sheer tremor and so much rawness. A soft, soothing exhalation straight into your mouth like the gentlest of placebos—and yet, it works for you, slaps your pulse out of its frantic antics, and the stiffness slowly leaves your limbs under his touch. 

When it’s over, he winces at you in that sleepy, adoring way of his. Attempts a wry, sad smile. The cold light besieges his head into an even clearer halo—a foreshadowing of what is to come, an inconspicuous little thing. But everything about him is conspicuous to you. Loving Viktor has made you wary, and you wanted to hold onto that attention to the detail before it eventually slips away alongside him. 

 “Are you sure?” You repeat, tightening the inadvertent chokehold around his neck. The grip weakens only when he pulls away to clumsily clear his throat. 

“Yes.” And you know he means it when his face turns just as solemn as when he confesses his love to you. 

“I’ve had a nice life with you,” he adds, hoarsely. “I want it to feel nice when my time comes, too—whenever that might be. Sooner than later, I presume.” 

The figurative knife in your stomach twists anticlockwise. 

“Will you stay with me?” He dares to inquire. Meek, shaky hope tingling in his throat. “For however many months I have left?” 

And when you look up at him with a hurt frown, he’s reminded not to ask you rhetorical questions. 

— 

A few days later, Viktor is discharged from the hospital and insists that you both go back to normal. Well, to the new, tainted definition of it—where one spoiled napkin less is considered an ephemeral improvement and grief is a fixed variable by your side. 

Your slow-paced, quiet life that keeps turning even more timid in a frail attempt to savor what’s left of it. Faux preservation, but he allows it—savors it just as earnestly as you do, and your weeks weave into a darling, familiar routine. With some minor, necessary changes, no less: rest comes before the lab now, all deadlines fashionably late to accommodate this newfound tempo. Mandatory hourly breaks. Weekly check-ups. Four days off for every three he spends bent over the parchment. But this time, he doesn’t protest. His body demands it, inconveniently so.

You don’t tell anyone about your horrific arrangement—not yet, at the very least. It’s all you can think about, and the words threaten to slide out every time you speak—but you’re forced to swallow them with a smile so lopsided that everyone around you can only suspect the worst. A mantra of countless ‘What’s wrong’s irritating your ears with pure sincerity. 

What is wrong with you, indeed? You’re a spectator to death—not just any death, but the one you dreaded most. And not only are you witnessing it in the making, but this decision was never forced—you handed Viktor the choice and accepted whatever he went with so obediently that it felt absurd, and it had your skin crawling every time someone vaguely mentioned anything even remotely related to his condition.

But they—whoever that refers to—could never get it. They wouldn’t know what it’s like: to be stripped of your selfishness for the sake of Viktor’s peace. Defying your needs. Forcing yourself to find relief in demise. You might’ve failed to intimidate her into allowing you to keep him, but you could still accompany him into her arms and make it glorious. Here it is. Your new, appalling reason. It’s all that you want now.

Or is it? 

There’s plenty of nobility in being his chaperone—welcoming him into bed every night, painfully aware that it can become his death one. Treating every new invention of his like a soon-to-be postmortem legacy. Mourning the living. Anticipating the inexplicable. Marking every shared kiss the last, just in case. 

But then it came—unabashed and sudden. That blurry line where mourning merges into something dubious, a confusing paradox that leaves you full of filthy carry-over somewhere within your gut. The scorch his lips engrave into the column of your neck. The way it ignites a swell you can almost convince yourself is actually tangible, running your fingers over it recursively like a tactile little prayer. The gaze he throws at you across the lab ever so sneakily—a figurative punch that feels surprisingly close to a kiss. And you never resist turning it into one. Escalating. Claiming. Indulging those ambiguous, yet-to-be-defined things and having them wash over the remnants of your decorum. 

You try to fight it when it first happens, but it doesn’t last. There’s no place for restraint in grief—not when it turns into a beautiful desire to be all over him, to take everything life has to offer before he runs out of it. And Viktor doesn’t judge you. He encourages it. He craves it, just as bad—if not more—than you do. How many more undoings can he claim before the final one absorbs him? You’ve already lost that count. So much for having your love bleed on every inch of his skin.

Tonight you let it bleed mouth to mouth—a sweaty, heartfelt thing that commemorates your hunger for him in a kiss so dizzying that he has to lean back with a silent, breathless plea for brief interlude—foggy eyes staring up at you so devotedly. Shuddering, when your arms wander over his chest to feel the rasp, pointed lips bruised full of spit-slick swell. He’s a beauty—exquisite, albeit worn-down, his lines and angles blurring together into one eager, contourless essence, and you cage him in a firm straddle—your bare thighs over his clothed ones—grinding in a whiny attempt to reach him through his pants. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, leaning back to let him breathe. He’s sprawled out beneath you, tortuous hands already busy with tugging his tie off—impatient, clumsily nervous. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me,” you say at last, averting your gaze almost shyly. His fingers lurch to your hip, locking it in a gentle cradle, stilling above your backside in hesitation—asking for a laze caress, pushing your flimsy limits. As if forgetting that you never set those for him. Or, perhaps, he simply likes hearing your excited ‘yes’ every time. You can’t quite figure out which it is. 

He grabs a handful of you with reverence, and yet there’s something resilient about that grip—like he dreads that you might slip through his fingers if he doesn’t hold on possessively enough, staring up at you with his head thrown back in a curious, admiring droop. Aiming to dispose of your shirt in a nimble pull. Plotting a sequence of kisses from neck to collarbone. 

You expect it when he rises on his elbows, then grips the bedframe to shift beneath you in a silly leap. Inelegant, but he couldn’t care less, releasing his hips from the hedge of your legs to make you slide up his crotch instead—a most welcome, brusque change that you adapt to in a squealing instant. Your moaning mouth agape under his grin. His hips thrusting through restraining fabric. Shaky. Erotic. With your arms tumbling astride his shoulders. 

“Don’t apologize,” Viktor insists in a lulling whisper, switching to a cautionary nip on your ear. “I’ve missed you, too,” he confesses somewhere into your hair, brushing through it with a tip of his nose—breathing you in through a tender whiff.  

Your words get lost in a deep fluster, rolling back into your throat and lingering there in a suffocating lump. They have you stiffening, heavy eyelids squeezing shut—a voluntarily blindfold to help you explore him through touch only. An invitation to feel you where he pleases. And, well—it just so happens that your whims align with his—a cohesive, welcome collateral. 

Viktor starts at the slope of your shoulder. Pulls the shirt down and traces that lovely curve—fingers first. Throws a brief, askance glance at your face to make sure that your eyes are closed, and, when met with the flutter of your lashes, gets back to his lovely tease. Tender, warm lips taste your skin with delicious, savoring sounds. Getting wetter when his tongue makes a fickle appearance—leaves a slick, capricious lick in the dip of your collarbone, fluffy hair tickling your face when he bends to tend to your chest, too—and you shiver as he sucks a plum love-stain that you’ll proudly wear under your shirts. 

“See,” he cooes. “Whatever gets into you must be contagious.” 

You give in to a half-lidded peek and find him begging for your assistance—a sweet request that you understand in half-nod. Arms up in the air and over your clouded head when he unleashes your skin from the thin garment—throws it on the floor for you to find later in the morning. 

“But it feels wrong.” You sigh. “Ever since we found out…”

“I’d rather you quit talking about that in bed, please,” Viktor reproaches, eyes heady with want. His fingers slide into your underwear, contemplating its fate—should he make it join your shirt or pull it to the side in hasty fashion? Either approach had him shivering at the thought. 

But the sudden sorrow stops the rush, rendering your urge for consolation. It wraps you around him all over again, legs locking in a tangle around his waist, drooping hands combing through his hair in a brusque, fervent tug. Seeking succor. Heart to heart and thumping an anxious march. 

“I’m afraid,” you admit, but it’s not a revelation. All shuddering shoulders under his idolatrous caress, and you pang with guilt at that, too—it’s you who should be fondling him this delicately, warm reassurance seeping into his ears—not yours. But Viktor wants to be your comfort. If anything, it’s the only thing on his mind.

“What are you afraid of, beloved?” A little shiver at the unforeign endearment—a rare occasion. His thick brows still drawn together in a concerned arc. They relax only when you rake your fingers down his body—counting ribs, toying anxiously. The hurry is gone, there’s only caution now: his enamored eyes, waiting for you to find your slippery words. 

“Of losing you before I get to show you how much I love you.” You whisper, suddenly tasting teary salt in your mouth. His thumb comes to the rescue, swiftly flicking the wet trails. So you chuckle at the affection in a silly stagger to bump sweaty foreheads together.

“Nonsense,” he insists. “You’re showing me right now.”

“Indeed.” You shrug. “But… Is this the right way?” 

And when he puts your palm over his eager heartbeat, you’re reminded not to ask him rhetorical questions. 

—

tags: @zaunitearchives @blissfulip @nausicaaandhermouth @thehistoriangirl @vyshnevska

[nejackdaw]

Thinking about that time in our first campaign my character's dad (adoptive, a very important baron) almost died.

Apparently, he was supposed to. He was not supposed to survive contact with the lich. Don't even ask me how or why we got to the lich, genuinely all I remember is panicking because all of a sudden he had like five hit points and as the party schemer I had two thoughts that erased my awareness of everything else: (1) MY FUCKING DAD (2) THIS LICH IS GOING TO KILL US.

See, my job is finding ways to get us out of things, and as a wizard, I was well equipped to handle that. Except thought one, "MY FUCKING DAD," took priority over EVERYTHING ELSE. My little wizard was orphaned and down his only brother. This guy was all he had. His whole world. World's #1 dad.

... And the lich almost one shot him. He was collapsed on the ground and struggling for breath. This did not register as a cinematic moment to me because I was PANICKING. We roll initiative.

The lich rolls highest. I'm frantically looking through my notes to see what's available to me. Tries to kill me, too. Counterspell.

My turn. Throwing ALL CAUTION to the wind, plan only vaguely half formed, I run up to the baron and tell the DM I'm going to drag him back to the party.

"Your speed is halved from carrying him. You can't make it in 15 feet."

There's dead silence. Everyone is waiting for my response. Seconds of silence. "What are you going to do?" (DM speak for "please hurry up.")

"... I'm a tabaxi. I can make it in 30."

I double my movement speed and drag him back there anyway, to the confused relief of the party. Our sponsor (MY FUCKING DAD) is safe for right this second, but how are we going to fight a LICH?

"Anything else?"

"... I have a scroll of teleport in my bag. And I'm within 10 feet of everyone." Most importantly, I'd DUCKED BEHIND A WALL OF BARRELS AND CRATES so the motherfucker couldn't see me to counterspell.

There's dead silence for a few moments. The voice chat proceeds to blast my eardrums with excited cheering and laughing. The DM and I both pull up the spell. "Roll for it. Where are you going?"

"Home."

I roll a 99. We vanish from the lich's lair and are deposited, battered, bleeding, without guidance, in the charred, crumbled ruins of what had been the baron and I's residence. (It had not been that way until very recently. It was news to me.) There's relieved silence. There's an emotional reunion in what remains of our living room. I cast Tiny Hut in a defensible corner of the ruins after we all chat and we get what sleep we can.

(The DM would later confess that the baron wasn't supposed to survive and he had to change his plans now lol. We were supposed to be cut off from all resources at that point. My dad showed up in the final fight since he'd survived TWO murder attempts [ig the BBEG was the third lmao] and, well. I schemed then, too.)

[monzamash]

easy to please lando norris x you rating – mature (sexual themes, coarse language) blurb for ✨monzamusings✨

thinking about u, the text read. above it, there was a photo – dark, a little bit blurry, possibly a figment of your weary imagination. a hand pressing down on black cotton, tanned and veiny – a hand you immediately recognised. fingers too, gripping the thin material and an outline that had you sitting up in bed, lazy smile slipping across your flushed cheeks as the picture came into focus. lip bitten. baby, was all you sent in reply. your eyelids fluttered shut momentarily, loosing the battle to sleep until you felt your phone buzzing, resting in your slack hand. they were coming thick and fast and bringing you back into the present. your fingers tingled from the sensation when you held it up and nearly dropped the bright screen on your squinting forehead. don’t baby me i miss u can i call please???? winky face emoji.

you sighed sharply into the plush pillow beside your head, wondering whether or not you had the energy for it. the appetite was always there. hell – all you could think about was him; even in the mundane moments, he was everywhere you looked – your work, your friends, the cheesy rom com that made you cry before wrapping yourself up in a blanket and falling asleep. you missed him. the back and forth, the will they won’t they bullshit nearly sending you into a spiral of complete and utter confusion. the future was uncertain; the distance between where you were and wherever he was in the world unbearable but what you did know was that you loved him, missed him. and he was yours.

heartbreakingly so. alright romeo but make it quick always am hehe. dickhead.

the phone call connected after one, maybe half a ring – there was no pretence anymore with you and lando. this was routine now, the late night calls across oceans, and it was always the same. whispered, i miss you's and i love you's, strangled moans, hands frantically chasing the high of what you knew felt like heaven together, by whatever means necessary, the best dirty talk you could ever imagine, barely tiding you over until you could be close enough to feel each other again.

“hi pretty girl.”

“hi boyfriend”

“ugh, i love it when you call me that. say it again…”

and you did, over and over until the late night giggles took hold and lando couldn’t breathe – the goofy smile scrunching the corners of his dry eyes, fatigue and exhaustion lingering in his hoarse voice.

“you should be sleeping.”

“i would be if you were here,” he stated matter of fact, not even a blinking, “i think i got used to having you with me over winter break… spoiled me too much and now i'm ruined for life.”

“so dramatic.”

“i’m being so real,” he yawned and by the soft grumble on the other end, he was definitely stretching out his sore, weary muscles like cat. there was a beat and a click of the tongue before lando spoke again, the ominous silence already making your eyes playfully roll.

“so… what are you wearing right now?”

“unbelievable…”

“you cant blame a man for asking, especially in my hour of need… show me pleeeeease” lando whined, toothy smile no doubt lining his chapped lips.

“what if I’m not wearing anything?” you taunted, snapping a quick photo and sending it through without a second thought.

lando quickly peaked, side-eyeing the screen sneakily and sighed when he realised you were pulling his chain, “i'm wearing some shirt you left behind because it’s hotter than satan's asshole here in london at the moment.”

he groaned more to himself than to you, eyes scanning your curves under the thin material, fixated on how unconstricted you were under the shirt he recognised, breasts pert. lando was restless and you really did deserve more than the desperado ‘what are you wearing’ pick up line but god, he wanted to know, no, he needed to know because if he didn't find out, he feared he may never recover.

after all, it was you that had him sick in love. and perpetually horny.

“think i might like you in my clothes more than naked…"

“you’re a sicko.”

“mmm you make me like this… and no bra, like are you trying to kill me?”

“always.”

you cupped your chest over his shirt and took another photo, teasing the gorgeous man waiting for your every move with bated breath. he’d sucked in his bottom lip, you could hear by how shallow his breathing had become, reminiscent of a panting dog – the sound alone quickened your heart rate. the image of him sitting in a hotel room alone, hand pressed to his aching cock thinking about you, parched to the point of a sleepless night was dizzying.

and it was easy with lando, the familiarity of his voice and the rhythm you effortlessly fell into. all remnants of consciousness melted away with him.

“wish i was there with you baby,” he whispered and you nodded, smiling, even though he couldn’t see how happy it made you to hear him say it.

“me too,” you sighed, relaxing into the stillness until your loud, obnoxious doorbell shook you from the peaceful silence.

“fuck!” you cursed, frozen in place.

“what?” 

“someones at the door…”

“what time is it there?”

“like 11pm… should i ignore it?” you were already grabbing the cardigan you'd thrown over the end of your bed and halfway to the door, curiosity winning out.

“nah, nah. you’re on the phone with me – answer it,” he encouraged, “i wanna make sure it isn’t your side piece coming ‘round when i’m not there.”

“ha-ha, actually my other boyfriend is already here, i've been trying to get you off the phone this whole time...”

"hmm, lucky cunt." he mumbled.

lando made you brave, stupidly brave so you swung the door open without hesitation, locked and loaded with a line of interrogating questions for the person interrupting the precious time you had with the man you love.

but you were hearing double as you held the phone to your ear and looked up – you knew that mess of frazzled curls and tired eyes anywhere, peering back with a smile the size of the moon curling at the corners of his lips. he was bundled up in a hoodie, one you knew would feel warm to the touch and smelled like him.

you had to be dreaming.

“better go tell your other boyfriend to pack his shit and get the fuck out of our house.”

“lando…” tears welled in your eyes as you lunged into his open arms.

“hi pretty girl…” he chuckled, picking you up without hesitation and hooked your legs around his waist, carrying you over the threshold.

“why didn’t you say you were coming home?”

“surprises are sexy, no?” he asked, voice deliciously low. he knew your answer.

“very sexy.” you moaned and pressed firm, fiery kisses into his strong neck, “you’re so sexy – all of this is sexy… god, i love you.”

“love you too sweetheart – let’s go to bed.”

“to sleep?” you asked, with doe-eyes and a devilish grin.

“yeah, i flew eleven fuckin' hours to just sleep… oh and by the way," lando narrowed his eyes and pointed to the crinkled shirt hanging from your shoulders, you looked a mess.

"i want my shirt back right now.”

you hummed and twirled down the hallway, “you’re gonna have to pry it off my cold, horny body, norris…”

“mission accepted,” lando confidently stated, chest puffed as he started stripping his hoodie from his body and inched closer and closer to where you were stood and all you could do was admire the gorgeous man stalking towards you.

oh, and blink a few times to make sure you definitely weren't dreaming, "i can't believe you were sexting me in the back of a cab."

“i know," he chuckled, "it was getting a bit much by the end there, so i walked the last couple of blocks to calm myself down."

you couldn't suppress the moan building in your throat at his touch and his confession – your mind was running wild, "that's so hot."

"you are." he quipped, hands slowly tracing your sides and cupping your chest in his warm palms.

"this is way better than phone sex.”

lando shrugged as you ran your hands down his toned stomach, thumbs circling the indents just above his hips, “i’ll take anything with you – it’s all good to me.”

“you’re easy to please.”

“well, you make it easy – god, look at you,” he exhaled, brushing the loose strands of hair from your face and all you could do was smile.

“i’m glad you’re home, ya goof. it doesn't feel right without you here."

“me too, baby. meee too.” lando smiled and planted a longing kiss to your pouty lips.

more writing...

bit of backstory with this blurb; it was originally going to be a follow up to another fic i wrote called lost in japan and then got buried in the wip graveyard. somehow it resurfaced in my doc folder right when i needed it and i feel like it still kinda fits in the lost in japan universe - selfishly i love those characters. anyways, i hope you enjoyed it 💋

[fairlyang]

Miss me🕷️

w/c: 734

tags: 18+ smut. so horny for ur bf, voice kink, masturbating, light teasing, phone sex, dirty talk, mutual masturbation

a/n: maybe a part 2 where its phone sex again but w mig initiating it.... maybe

imagine getting horny while on the phone with your bf miguel after not being able to see each other for a few weeks…

you couldn't help but get horny when just listening to his voice as he was talking about who knows what happened in the lab with whoever he was with. your brain couldn't even comprehend anything he was saying, just focus on how pretty his voice was.

you'd just let out little "uh huh"s and "right.." so he knew you were on the other end. meanwhile you bit your lip and let a hand fall between your thighs. 

you slid your hand under your shorts and immediately started to rub your clit as he rambled on. your eyes rolled back with the instant pleasure from your fingers, miguel still talking in your ear. "mhm then what happened?" you asked, already breathless. 

he continued on and you were in the clear so you kept going. 

his tone changed to frustration and it was just the motivation to move your fingers faster. you really couldn't help being hopelessly and utterly in love with everything about him, his voice especially. 

his voice was the only one that drove you madly insane and had the ability to have you how you were now, desperate and insatiable. his voice was not only good for giving you orgasms but amongst other things like helping you sleep. which was the whole point of this call, to help you sleep but your brain had other ideas.

you felt your wetness seep through the fabric of your panties and you slowly pulled them to the side, spreading your legs and just dipping a finger between your folds. immediately drenched. 

you only prayed he couldn't hear it but that was an impossible ask given how wet his voice makes you.

he stopped talking and it was just utter silence. 

you stopped for a second just to check if he hung up but noticing he didn't, you kept going slowly. somehow even that just felt loud so you went even slower. 

suddenly you hear him chuckle and you realize the jig was up.

"did you miss me that bad baby?" he murmured, making you whimper and just nod your head as if he were there.

"use your words my love." he purrs and you sink into your pillow.

you started rubbing your clit and let little moans leave your lips before you respond, "fuck yes I-I missed you so bad-" you whimpered again making him awe.

"my poor baby.. getting so needy just hearing me talk huh?" he coos softly earning himself more pretty moans from you.

"pobrecita.." he whispers and you felt your wetness drip down. (poor girl)

you closed your eyes and went faster not being capable of responding. meanwhile his breath was becoming heavy and you could hear wet noises from his end too. 

"también te extraño nena.. ni te lo imaginas." he moans out making you cry out. (i miss you too baby… you cant even imagine.)

you thrusted your hips up and went as fast as you could. you were already feeling close and you needed that release.

"doing so good for me nena.. don't fucking stop." he murmurs and the noises on his end become louder as well.

"need you so bad baby." you whimpered, making him groan.

"i know baby, i know. just a little while longer and you won't have to use your own fingers." he says and chuckles.

"need all of you. miss your mouth on me… your hands touching, groping me…" you murmur and grind your hips up desperately. 

"yeah baby? miss me kissing your neck while i squeeze your perfect fucking tits?" he murmurs then moans at the same time as you.

"y-yes- fuck-" you let out, subconsciously squeezing your legs together and feeling that coil in your stomach about to burst. 

"baby im gonna-" you start then stop, letting out a gasp as he moans into your ear, "good girl baby, cum for me.. just like that.." 

you cried out as your orgasm hit you hard and he groaned along with you, his own hitting him at the same time with his load landing on his stomach. your legs shook, your heart was racing, and you could barely hold the phone to your ear. he then started whispering sweet things in your ear and you finally ended up falling asleep.

part two

[uhohdad]

(18+) ♡König♡ Voiceline Inspired Drabbles

“Who else is with you?”

Jealous!König Shows Ghost Who Reader Belongs To

WARNING: ABUSIVE & NON-CONSENSUAL THEMES

“I can hear them with you, don’t even think about lying.”

“It’s not that big of a deal.”

Your response was meant to sound nonchalant, but it comes out wavered and squeaky. Shaking fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt.

“Who is it?” König demands, but you both know he already knows the answer.

“It’s- it’s just the guys,” You mumble into your phone, shoulders braced and lips pulled back in unease.

“Of course it is. Is Simon there?”

“Who ya talking to, bonnie?” Soap asks, and you give him a panicked push on his chest in an effort to shut him up.

“Come home, right now.”

König’s tone leaves no room for argument. Grit and threatening, it sends a chill down your spine and raises the hairs on your neck.

Your lips part to speak, stammering through your sentence.

“I- I’m not driving, I cant-”

“You have twenty minutes.”

The line cuts off, the phone shaking in your rattling hands as you pull it in front of your face, staring at it with wide eyes.

“Simon,” You utter, “You have to take me home, now, please.”

The car goes silent, the light atmosphere sucked from the car the moment your frantic words cuts through.

“What’s wrong?”

“I- nothing,” You say, eyes darting to the side, “Just-”

You cut yourself off, debating whether or not you should tell the truth, scrambling for an excuse, but your mind draws a blank.

“You have to take me home.”

“Lover boy?” Simon asks.

Your silence confirms his suspicion. You wince, knowing this is being filed in his ever-growing ‘Reasons to Hate König’ folder.

“Simon, please,” Your plead is made of only breath, fingers fidgeting beyond control.

Simon says nothing, the car suffocatingly silent. He continues driving, not so much as activating his turn-signal.

Your voice picks up vigor, the desperation palpable, “Simon- Simon, please. Take me home.”

“No.”

The car sucks in a collective breath, only the hum of the engine filling the taut, awkward air choking you all.

“Simon,” You whine, your eyes pinch shut and your hand rests on your collarbones, “Please.”

Soap raises a brow, lost, “What’s wrong?”

“Lover boy doesn’t like it when our dove has a good time,” Simon answers gruffly.

You unclip your seatbelt, sticking your head in between the two front seats.

“Simon, you have to take me home, now, please.”

He says nothing, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Simon!”

Without thinking, your trembling hand darts out to grab the steering wheel.

“Sit back!” Simon demands, the car swerving in its lane as he bats your hand away.

The sudden harshness in his voice makes you flinch, eyes wide and your hand retracting to your chest. It is not a request between friendly co-workers after hours, it is an order from your Lieutenant.

“Now,” He says, glaring you down in the rearview mirror.

At once you shrink in on yourself, shoulders slouching and eyes fixated on your shoes as you sit back in your seat.

The burn of Soap’s stare is searing, he’s looking for an explanation, but you can’t meet his eyes, too busy swallowing the shame of Ghost’s scolding and the fear of your boyfriend’s fury. Your stomach is twisted in knots, breaths shallow and knee bouncing to expel the nervous energy.

When Simon pulls into the pub’s parking lot, you whip your phone from your pocket as you scramble to order a ride, but Simon snatches your phone from your hands and ignores your objections.

“Simon, please! You don’t know what you’re doing!”

“I’ll handle it,” Simon grits without looking over his shoulder.

He gives you a look piercing enough to make your knees knock together. You swallow, unable to find the strength to argue.

After a few drinks, the energy of the group has relaxed, but you’re still fidgeting, darting your eyes around and trying to keep the beer in your stomach instead of throwing it up from pure nerves.

You freeze when you see him yank open the pub’s door, hard enough he nearly rips it off the hinges. Your heart stops, your mouth parts, wide eyes locked onto him. He scans the pub for a moment before he finds you, wearing those scary, half-lidded, dangerous eyes that bore into you. From across the pub, his stare makes your stomach twist, and you have to stifle the urge to claw your way free from the booth and flee from predator eyes.

König crosses his arms over his chest, and tilts his head at you. An impatient finger taps his opposing bicep. Even from the other side of the noisy room, his message is clear.

‘I’m waiting.’

You swallow and look to the sticky tabletop, both your knees and your voice trembling when you speak.

“I gotta, I gotta run to the bathroom,” you mumble to no one in particular, shimmying awkwardly from the booth.

“König,” You start once in range, “I can explain, please, just let me-”

You cut yourself off with a gasp when he snatches you by the wrist with a crushing grip, forcing you to stumble over your own feet as you’re dragged out of the bar and along the sidewalk.

“König, please- I tried, I swear I tried, Simon just-”

König’s other hand grabs you by the waist with enough strength that bruises are surely to bloom at his fingertips. He ignores your writhing and winces of pain when he pushes you up against the pub’s dingy alleyway, blocking you in with his massive frame. His voice is hissed, his eyes devoid of any emotion other than rage.

“I don’t ever want to hear his name again. You understand me, little one?”

You choke, sputtering and stammering out syllables that will never get flushed out into sentences as his eyes narrow at you. Your body curls in on itself as he towers menacingly over you, his size alone more than enough of a threat to keep you compliant.

You nod, shaky but quick.

“Say it,” He growls.

“I understand,” You answer, just a squeak with words warbled in.

“Good,” He says, but you can tell by his tone he’s still not appeased.

A hardened hand snatches your wrists, pinning them to brick. Another yanks at the waistband of your jeans, ignoring your objections and your squirming legs.

“König, no! Here?” You whisper frantically, head whipping around to search for watchful eyes.

“You had the opportunity to come home. And you chose not to.”

He leaves no room for argument, a boot coming up to step on the pants bunched at your mid thigh, forcing them entirely to the ground when he plants his sole back on the concrete. You obey when he nudges you to suggest you free your ankle, and he wastes no time taking his cock from his pants.

You whimper when he presses himself to your panties, nestling between your lips with a grind.

He laughs, low and sinful in your ear.

“Already fucking wet, schlampe?”

A raspy grunt leaves him as he ruts his swollen cock against your panties.

“Just a little hure, whoring herself out for every man who pays you attention.”

You shiver at the vibration of his words against your chest, the tickle of his breath on your ear.

“Guess I’ll just have to remind you who you belong to.”

With your wrists pinned to the brick above your head, his other hand snatches your jaw with a tight grip. He forces your head to the side, sinking his teeth into the sensitive, exposed flesh of your neck. You can’t help the strangled cry that leaves you, and the hand on your jaw quickly covers your mouth, muffling your wails with his calloused palms as he leaves imprints of his bites on your skin.

He laughs into your slobbered skin, kissing over the tender indents in your flesh.

“Don’t worry little one,” He coos in a sickly sweet voice, “It’ll be over soon.”

Your whimper is stifled by his hand, but he gives your voice back when he reaches down to yank your soaked panties to the side.

“But you still need to learn your lesson, ja?”

He lets out a groan when the tip of his enraged cock swipes along your slick cunt.

“König, please,” You whine on a shaky exhale.

“Sh, sh, sh.”

König grinds between your lips, coating himself in your arousal before lining himself up. He is by no means patient, bullying half of his cock inside of you on his first thrust. Your head lulls forward, sniveling in his hold as your cunt stretches around his greedy cock.

He grunts through clenched teeth, pulling himself from you only to thrust mercilessly back in.

“Take this cock like a good girl,” He grits.

He finds a steady pace, hardly letting you adjust to his size before he’s fucking more of himself into you, your arousal soaking his throbbing cock.

“You want to act like a hure, hm?”

He leans in, letting go of your wrists to pick you up by your thighs, and gives you a stint of particularly brutal thrusts, your tits bouncing degradingly against your ribcage as he fucks you further into the bricks.

He snarls at you.

“Then I’ll treat you like a fucking hure.”

With your hands free, you’re clawing at him, trying to expel the overwhelming sensation of him robbing you of your tight, sensitive cunt. White knuckling his shirt and digging into his chest with your finger nails, pathetic whimpers leaving your lips.

“See? You can barely handle me, hure. You don’t need anyone else.”

You suck in a sharp breath when you hear bootsteps echoing at the end of the alleyway.

Sprung eyes lock with Simon, standing still in his spot, watching you get pounded against the wall.

König laughs, low and truly gut-wrenching. He doesn’t even have to look to know Simon’s there. As soon as he’s aware of his presence König doubles the pace of his thrusts, forcing his entire cock into you and filling you to the brim with each bottom out. His brute cock, his mound slapping against your clit, it turns your moans choppy and unrestrained as you succumb to the pleasure, the pain, the humiliation of knowing your Leuitenant has a front row seat to your punishment, watching König demean you and have his way with you.

You’ve gone entirely limp in his hold, intoxicated and cockdrunk, only able to focus on his ruthless cock ravaging your dripping cunt, the feeling of being stretched and filled, the burning eyes of Simon at the end of the alley.

“Alles meins,” He growls strictly, “Got it? All mine.”

You nod, stuttered moans pouring from your lips without thought. His grip on the back of your thighs tighten painfully in threat.

“Say it.”

“A-All yours!” You cry, lulling your head against the brick in defeat.

The pleasure is building in your lower abdomen, an electric and exponential euphoria taking control of your body, every muscle tensed and shaking.

“Tell your Lieutenant who you belong to.”

You twitch in his hold as he pushes you over the edge, not letting up in the slightest, cruelly abusing your g-spot as he works out every last wave of your overwhelming finish.

“König!”

♡ Jealous!König Makes A Bet With Reader ♡

♡ König Drabble Masterlist ♡

Dividers by the lovely @strangergraphics

[ninibeingdelulu]

Tch, brat

synopsis: oh, to have a love-hate relationship with Levi..

Levi pinched the bridge of his nose wearily, feeling the telltale throb of an impending migraine pounding against his skull.

You were at it again - defiant arms folded tightly, bottom lip jutting out in that infuriatingly bratty pout he'd recognize anywhere.

"Don't give me that childish look right now, you stubborn little brat." He growled lowly, leaden eyes boring into your indignant glare.

"I'm already in no mood for your usual antics after dealing with those incompetent morons in the field all day."

You scoffed audibly, canting your head to one side as long strands spilled over a bare shoulder.

"Well excuse me for being born with a spine and healthy dose of self-respect, Captain. Unlike some of those spineless lapdogs dangling after your every whim."

Levi's jaw flexed visibly, mercurial temper spiking dangerously at your snide implication. In three strides, he'd closed the distance separating you - muscular frame now looming mere inches separating your contrasting forms.

Close enough for you to detect his clean, earthy musk intermixing with familiar notes of black tea and steel.

"Tread very carefully with whatever smart-mouth bullshit you think you're about to spew next, brat." Levi murmured almost inaudibly.

Yet the scorching intensity laced behind those softly uttered syllables brooked absolutely zero rebuttal.

His towering presence was suffocating - practically enveloping your more diminutive frame like a silk tourniquet steadily tightening around your windpipe.

You found your cocky facade instinctively fracturing as Levi's unyielding dominance flooded every receptor with electrifying undercurrents of shivery awareness.

Yet a petulant flicker of defiance obstinately refused extinguishing no matter how intimidating his aura radiated outwards.

So instead of submitting with instant contrition like any sane person, you leaned upwards - eliminating that final breathless sliver separating your noses with one pointed tilt of your chin.

"Make me, old man." You taunted, voice a husky murmur dripping with insouciant dismissal as foreheads brushed together. "Unless putting mouthy, disrespectful underlings in their place is truly beyond the great Captain's abilities these days."

For several heartbeats, only the harsh rasp of your mingled breathing filled the dense silence enveloping your conjoined frames. Then before any reactions sparked into action -

Levi grabbed your face with one hand with bruising force. Yet the accompanying look of dark, undisguised hunger ravaging his flinty features dispelled any implications of fresh hostilities escalating further.

Because you recognized that particular glint flickering within his blown pupils very intimately indeed.

Somehow anticipating occurred first, your ankles instinctively latched around Levi's hips just as he gripped beneath your thighs and effortlessly hoisted you upwards.

Until you found yourself pinned flush against the corridor's adjacent wall with a solid thump audible doors away.

A dangerous little smirk slowly inched across his face as Levi ground his hardening arousal into your pelvis without preamble.

However, his next gruff words all but growled past those thin, quirked lips nevertheless.

"I'll give you precisely what this filthy little mouth has been begging for all evening, brat - whether you can take every unforgiving inch properly remains to be seen."

[purin-gambler]

‘a piece of advice’ - suna rintaro

wc: 1.3k

cw: timeskip spoilers, minimal cursing

⚄ notes: bestfriend suna, fem reader, fluff, heavy implications of romantic feelings, suna might be terribly in love you as way more than friends- but you didnt hear that from me, mentions of past failed dates, suna kinda clowning atsumu at one point ( affectionate )

☁︎ a/n: i kept thinking about this troupe with suna??? the ‘hes your best friend but hes in love in you and is tired of seeing you go through other men that isnt him’ troupe and ughhh i had to write it myself. this was supposed to be a drabble oops, but i started to write it like a fic… i just might love this man. like a lot.

“i told you. you shouldve listened to me.” suna’s expression through the handheld device was deadpanned, as he knew from the very second your contact name popped up onto his phone for a video call, he would have to pull the ‘i was right, you were wrong’ card on you. all on the very same evening you would come home from this blind date, he would remind you of your decisions, and hed only received a huff of your breath in response.

clicking suna’s contact name and dialing his number was a common reflex at this point. especially during times like these. suna made it all too accessible to talk to him, knowing that he had no excuse not to answer, since the man was always glued onto that device of his no matter what situation he found himself in.

with all the times youve called, he would answer before the first ring had even rung, never wasting a second, always immediate to talk to you as if he were waiting to hear your voice again.

his willingness to chat and your endless rambles made it easy to connect, considering he was all over the country for the sake of his volleyball career. so video calls like the one you found yourselves in now were more common than youd like to admit. calls where suna found himself taking it easy in his hotel room, miles upon miles away from you to participate in a volleyball match the following morning. while you on the other hand, are on the line ranting in a frustrated manner to him. the opposite demeanors in your personalities clashing at this very moment, suna unsure of what to make of your current rambling outbursts of disappointment.

because calls like these were about men that werent him, taking you out on dates, and disappointing you again.

“i cant believe you went on a blind date with a guy atsumu set you up with.” he sneered.

with an elbow prompted against your desk to support your head resting on your hand, you slouched over your desk, the uncertainty of the matter apparent in your wavering tone. “but the guy sounded nice enough though… thought id give him a chance.”

hearing the way your voice faltered, he mused shortly after, “seemed nice? give him a chance? this guy walked out on you before you even got the bill.”

you watched the way he slouched back onto his chair, arms crossed, and not sparing you a second away from his disapproving gaze. “you couldve left first you know? but youre telling me you stayed, listen to him give you shit, watched him leave, and ended up paying the dinner for his sorry ass instead-?!”

silence was all that sat on the line, suna observing the expression sat onto your face. the display was clear as day, you embodied a disappointed frown that radiated your upsetness through his phone screen. all the time you wasted on some guy who couldn’t even spare you a glance, a ‘date’ that didnt care to let you utter a word, or understand you any more than just your name. an absolute waste of time he was, and it was a mutual agreement between the two of you. suna knowing well that you were way too good for him, and way too good for all these horrible excuses of dates you would find yourself going on. it was unfortunate to him that he knew all these experiences were accumulating in your memory, all too aware of the way they would tear you down.

these were absolutely memories you really didnt need. suna hadnt even experienced what you would tell him, but he began to grow frustrated with the way he had to hear you come home disappointed every single time. though he was never upset with you spilling all the details to him, in fact, he always encouraged it. always keeping an open ear to attentively listen to the spews of the pain and frustration you expressed onto him. listening to the way you explained how these dates wouldnt even give you the time of day. weather they had gotten too caught up in their distaste for your softer appearance, or found your personality unalienable with their own. your best friend couldnt deny his own disappointment that these guys were too stubborn to see you on a deeper level, hours gone on men who wouldnt dare to go as far as to desire any part of you. it upset him more than you knew, even though he never expressed all of it to you.

he just failed to understand time and time again, why they werent able to see you the way he did.

was it so hard? to love your curves of you body he found so beautiful, to love your face he was so happy to see, to love your voice that filled his heart with each of your words, to love the entirety of who you are and your existence without wanting to alter a single thing? he just couldnt understand.

because such a thing was as easy as breathing air for him.

loving you is just that easy.

“you know, atsumu can set volleyballs, not set you up on good dates. this better be the first and last time you take a suggestion like this from him.”

the stiffening weight of the silence between you both being fully broken once you responded with a grumbled, “lesson learned…” falling bitter from your tongue.

“good.”

though the frown on your face was all but faded, still all too prominent for his liking. he was fed up with this sight, because it was too familiar now. a light sigh escaped suna’s lips before he prompted himself forward, taking his phone into his hands.

“now give me the details. full name, photos- it can be some drivers license photo or some shitty thirst trap selfie- i dont care, occupation, date of birth- whatever atsumu showed and told you about. tell me everything.”

you scoffed in disbelief clearly laced with amusement, watching the way suna’s camera paused and cut off, indicating he was now tapping through his phone and opening up social media. ready for you to spill the details, until he was typing various combinations of your date’s name into the searchbar.

whatever he did with that information you provided him was far from your care or concern, knowing that suna was always just on his phone, doing who knows what. you assumed this was just him curiously trying to match a face to your story, since it wouldnt be the first time hes asked about these things.

though with you unaware of that growing irritation from your best friend on your behalf, you wouldnt have known that the second he found the guy, suna, with absolutely no hesitation, compiled together a little message to be sent his way. something he hadnt bothered doing before, but was sure as hell doing now. it was a message he couldve tied up in a little bow if he wanted to, hoping that it wouldve at least softened the blow of the contents written inside.

lets just say, the following morning, you received a heavily detailed apology from your previous date. a message which had caught you completely off guard and jolting you awake in the early hours of the day. staring at the detailed apology, you screenshotted the entirety of its pathetic glory, ready to relay the large paragraph to your best friend after his volleyball match later in the day.

if only you got to see the stupid look of pride on suna’s face after he received your messages.

[t0rturedangel]

╭ . . . 𝚆𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚕 ੭

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄, 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐖𝐎 ; ♰ ৎ﹕𝘦𝘹𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘢 𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘶𝘮

TUMBLR DECIDED TO FUCK ME SO HARD BC IT CRASHED AND I LOST ALL OF MY ORIGNAL WORK. AUGHRRRRRRRR I'M GOING TO SCREAM SO HARD.

but here is scene two as promised my lovlies, I'm sorry that it's short

➷ ＰＲＥＶＩＯＵＳ ＳＣＥＮＥ | ＮＥＸＴ ＳＣＥＮＥ

With her fall,

the cherubim went mad,

with sorrow and hate

she now sat on jagged rocks

     You glared at the sky, or whatever it was above you- the bottom side of heaven? whatever it was, this place was not the earth the angels created nor was it the hell your Lucifer was dammed to but there is one thing for sure- you fucking hated this shithole. There was no life here (no life that was thriving, all the nature that could have been here is now reduced to rotten carcasses of what they used to be), just barren land with not a single soul in sight- besides yours of course though your soul was practically torn to shreds. 

     For endless days of your damned punishment you'd scream at the top of your lungs, begging heaven for it's forgiveness, to be let back in- making empty promises of never betraying them again. You'd sob into your hands when your voice finally gave up, your tears felt unusually acidic and whenever you did cry a weird feeling over came your senses, almost as if you had to get your hands on whatever moved- just as long as it didn't watch you. Eventually, when your crying sessions would end, you'd make an attempt to fly to heaven though their skies, those clouds you'd always rest on, the clouds you and Lucifer would fly through in utter glee were now so far to reach, no matter how fast and strong you flew. For hours, you'd manage to make your wings fly and then- they'd give up, your feathers simply gave up just as much as you did then once again you'd plunge down into the mossy yet rocky ground.

     ˓˓ HEAVEN! ʾʾ you screamed out as you fell ˓˓ HEAVEN FORGIVE ME! I BEG YOU! ʾʾ though as always your words were never heard, you were sure they could hear you- at least even some of them, perhaps St. Peter?... yeah you heard of him, you heard of his arrival- from who or where you cannot remember but you knew he was now by the gates of heaven allowing good moral souls to enter- GOD FUCKING DAMN IT YOU ARE MEANT TO BE WITH THEM! those shitbags dont care about anyone but them, they're selfish little fucks who only want to see the good- never the bad! Cant they open their fucking eyes to see that they aren't perfect?! 

     Sharp rocks dug into your back as you landed on them for the umpteenth time for that day, or week, or month- you didn't know any more, time was a concept you lost the knowledge to a while go, as much as other things. Your old social behavior was sure to have faltered, gone wrong, your mind had probably twisted into something horrific. That Cherub that once thrived is now dead, in her wake a new angel- a weeper angel now takes her place.

Now with heaven's ignorance and silence

the weeper lost hope for salvation,

and then she turned to the ground beneath her feet

     Out of sheer anger of the lack of reply from the heavenly skies, you kicked yet another rock out of your way- while flying from where it once stood the rock broke into several pieces. It's been so long. So long of you begging and pleading with heaven for one more chance and they have done nothing but ignore you, you'd tried so many times to reach out to them you flew for hours- screamed for days- wept so loud you were sure all three worlds could hear you crystal clear. ˓˓ GOD DAMNIT ʾʾ kicking more things you looked above you ˓˓ CAELO TE DAMNO! TE ANGELOS PATHETICUS OMNES ʾʾ 〔 DAMN YOU HEAVEN! DAMN ALL YOU PATHETIC ANGELS 〕 if heaven will not answer your calls, then you'll turn to hell. While yes, you saw Heaven as a choice first it was mainly because you could not bare to see Lucifer again, after you failed to keep his place in heaven he would surely hate you, he's want you to suffer but seeing as even heaven will not take you- Hell was your only chance of escapism, but how would you get there? Would you be able to stomp onto the ground with such power that the ground would crack and open up?

     Perhaps not, after all what if you end up on the earth's land- with humans, eugh, the thought of them makes your stomach twist, full of virtue or full of vice they were disgusting mortals- your presence would send them into insanity, they'd all go mad and kill one another and plus they were dirty, vile creatures- you felt that if you even saw one, they'd end up dead by your hands. Something was wrong with you, you never thought that way before. It was this isolation that was breaking your mind, you needed to get out and fast.

     again, but how? There was no way you were willing to break the ground, and the only other way to even get there was through the extermination- yes this was another thing you were aware of, after all Angels needed to pass through your current home to get to hell, so maybe just maybe while they're flying through the portal you'd be able to sneak in too. There was only one problem, you dont know where the portal appears, it never appears in the same place and whenever it does appear you're too far away.

     But, it was your only chance and you had to take it, or else you'd go truly mad, turn into a beast and kill anyone and anything you set your glossed over eyes on. Now the waiting game begins, though it wont take long at all- the last extermination was 350 days ago, you counted. Only 15 days left until you could be free from this torture.

     Forget heaven, forget it all- now hell is your new destination.

     ＷＡＩＴ ＦＯＲ ＭＥ ＨＥＬＬ

𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 ⠆(want to be reminded when I post a new chapter? Lmk!) ⸺ @reverse-soe @jellibean2018 @aliazy @sugarrush-blush @littledolly2345 @immahuman @marsilis @c0sm1cstqrsx @redqueeen99 @persephosposts

[curvykittyyssmutfics]

corrupt!Nanami

A/N: For @mozlov. Enjoy! 🫶🏽

corrupt!Nanami shifted personalities like flipping off the light switch on a dark stormy night: Your big soft bear was more savage than ever. "You're not listening. She's not takin time off. And as long as y/n works here, so do I. End of fuckin story." Nanami snarls at Yaga. Rolling and flexing his shoulders like he's getting ready for a fight. He's always so ready to box these days. Especially over you. "Nami, its okay. Let's just go-" You're pulling at his dress shirt, afraid shits bout to go down. But Yaga simply holds up his hand for silence. "If you can control yourself while we figure out your condition.. Y/n can stay, but-" Nanamis already taking a step forward, eyes narrowed. You gotta put yourself in between them to make sure your husband doesn't swing. "We'll allow you on the grounds for visitation but you simply can't teach like this. Not at the moment, Kento." Nanami stares at him coldly for a moment before turning to you. The adoration in his eyes gives you whiplash, but it's relief when he puts away the malevolent beast and returns your loving husband. "Long as she's good, I'm good." Said with too much conviction, slowly rubbing a thumb over your bottom lip, shallowly dippin between your lips to tease the tip of your tongue. You gasp, eyes wide at at how quick Nanami goes through the motions. Fuckin guy is now starin at you like you're his prey. "But she's takin the day off." He quickly pulls you from the room without another word, Yaga starin at Nanami's back in utter disbelief.

corrupt!Nanami turns out to be fuckin elated not to be a teacher anymore and quickly loses his dedication to the cause. He's only interested in the art of slaughter, no longer needing a valid reason to pull out his cleaver. Tries, and often fails, to keep that shit to a minimum. Dont get it twisted, Nanami's a murderous bastard. Isn't limited to just killing curses anymore but anyone that gets in his way. Yet.. he's aware how that fucks with your conscience. Knows he can sleep like a baby after but doesn't fuck with how that shit keeps you up at night. So he hides his bloody clothes after a long day, making sure to shower before coming to bed and scooping you into his arms. Falls asleep peacefully as his mind flashes scenes from his lastest kill.

corrupt!Nanami no longer asks your permission for shit anymore. Bent over to pick somethin up? That ends up with your husband puttin you on all fours, giving you back breaking back shots as your try to crawl away. "Quit that, y/n. Told yo fine ass bout doin that shit, right? Bendin over so just so I can see.. 'S all your fault.. You know I can't help it. Ass is too perfect to ignore." It's worse when you try to work out. Always sneaks up from behind to grab you, accusin you of excersing for hours just to tease him. So you find your self in Nanami's lap, cock warming him as you try to catch your breath from your workout. "Aww.. Poor baby, so tired. Don't worry, won't take long. Dicks been so hard watching this whole time. Help me baby, please. You're the one that did this to me.." Christ you cant even get any sleep round your torturer, most nights waking up to his dick hard between your thighs. This times he's awake, thrusting slowly as he holds you to him tight, growling your name at your ear. "Been waitin for you to get up. Look what you did to me.. Throwing that ass on me in your sleep. Come on, y/n. Lemme fuck. Took everything in me not to fill your sleepy lil pussy. Deserve a reward, huh? Gonna help me out?" Not like he needs it since you already feel his first load starting to dry on your thighs.

corrupt!Nanami doesn't have any more patience for you excuses on why you can't give him a baby. Tired as fuck of talking to you about it. So takes it to the next level and starts to plot on you, replacing your birth control with placebos. Then.. He waits to catch you off guard one pitch black night when you're walking to your car from class. You're energy completely drained, you just don't hear him swiftly comin at you from the side. A huge gloved hand blanketing your lips, trapping your scream. Nanami's snatches your wrist together, brawny body restraining you to the car. You struggle against him, too fuckin weak to curse him due to your overwhelming day. But he knows that already; deceitful ass went through alotta trouble to make sure your itinerary was extra full today. "Shhhh." You ignore him, the familiar voice and planes of his muscled chest against yours back not registering, buckin and tryin with all your might to break free. Fuckin turnin Nanami on watchin you attempting to escape, juicy ass repeatedly trapping his dick between your cheeks as you wiggle wildly against him. He ain't waiting a second longer. Fuck your screams, he'll deal with whoever interrupts him accordingly. Lets go of your mouth to rip at your bottoms like they're paper, making your struggles double. Might as well be laying limp, absolutely no match for the 1st grade. Nanami unsheathes his cock, spitting in his hand generously and lubing up. You're body's tense as fuck when you feel him stab through your opening. Pitiful insides clutching his dick like a dear old friend. "Loosen the fuck up woman.." The fuck? "Nami?!" He let's go of your wrists, slamming his hands on either side of you to trap you further. "I told you to be quiet." Snatches your head back by your hair and thrustin the rest of his dick into you. "Nami!" Shrill cry piercing the air. It's uncomfortable without foreplay to prepare you, still he digs you out without remorse. "Shhhh, y/n.. shhh." Nanami squishes you to the car, molding your body to his. Strokin deep as he can, like he'll never see you again. Literally fuckin loud moans from your throat, so damn good that its not your fault your gettin wet; slick building and forming a white ring around him. "Shhhh. Screamin your fuckin head off, baby.. So you not gone listen? Never do. Just like when I told you I wanted to breed this perfect cunt, make you give me a pretty baby. But you didn't listen then either. Now look what you made me do." So that's what this is? The revelation makes you try to get away again but Nanami's hold on your locks keeps you right where he wants you. Sharp yanks that makes you shriek, scalp stinging. "H-hurts, Nami. 'M sorry. So sorry." You whine to him, body fallin pliant against your car. But your husband rolls his eyes. He aint buyin your BS this time. "Naw, you gonna take this nut. Gonna give me my baby, woman." Pulling you off the car and into his body, your husband pummels your lil puss likes he's in heat. "Ahhh fuck, y/n.. Love you. Love you more than anything, finally gonna show you how much, honey." You're disgusted. At doin something this at the school. At him for startin a family like this. Most importantly, at yourself for still loving him, knowing that this changed nothing between the two of you. Even as he breeds your lil puss without consent. "Here it comes- ohshitohshit! Daaaamn, y/n.. Got so much for you. Mmmm.. So good for me. Thank you, sweetheart. Thank you so fuckin much. Only want a baby with you. Only you, y/n. Always been only you." Youre whining when his hips still, Nanami pressin his dick deep as possible when he finally impregnates you. "Love you so fuckin much, honey." "Love you too, Kento.. Fuckin asshole." He chuckles, pulling out and tucking you into the car. "Let's go home, sweetheart. Gonna make your pretty lil pussy cum before I fill her up again." "Kay, Nami."

[lunarw0rks]

What about ☝🏽 angry sex with soap (afab reader) you both just woke up in the wrong foot and are in a bad day, so after yall eat dinner theres finally peace when you’re both sitting in the couch watching tv but one of you just said something then started arguing again so he just makes you shut up by giving you ONE OF THOSE kisses, and he just fucks you for hours until ur ovestimulated and cant even say ur name at that point❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

cw: no foreplay, rough/hate sex, fem!reader

ANGER MANAGEMENT | SOAP MACTAVISH

it'd be so common for you two to clash; two differing personalities, topped with a life-or-death work environment for johnny. days like that are a complete and utter mess.

sitting in silence on the couch, both of you with scowls on your face. "will you turn the tv up?" you spit out your words, not giving him the courtesy of making eye contact. it's only fair; he isn't either.

soap scoffs, "what was that? couldn't bloody hear ye over that attitude." a surge of irritation reappears when you hear his petty reply, and how it ripped open the fresh wounds of your argument that morning.

"jesus christ," you shake your head, climbing over his lap to reach the remote on his armrest. his fists clamp around your biceps, tight enough to make you struggle. you curse at him, words verbatim of the spat you had before.

with a jerk, you get jostled along the couch, until you're straddling him. despite using your entire body to climb off—you were still chest to chest—and his nails were starting to dig.

"johnny, stop being a fucking prick and—" he kisses you. violently. his tongue intrudes your mouth, effectively silencing your fury. soap lets go of your arms, but you remain in his lap, unable to resist the heated intimacy.

the jingle of his belt startles you, and you feels his fingers tugging and rustling between your legs. leaning back, you watch him shimmy his jeans down his thighs, then free his length.

apparently, wrath is his aphrodisiac of choice, because he's already rock-hard.

you don't know why or how, but his furrowed expression has you weak and unable to find excuses. before you know it, he tugs at your panties, pulling them down to get a view of your cunt.

he grips the base of his cock, lining it up with your entrance. without any warning, he grabs your hip with his other hand and pushes you downward. the stretch pinches, making you gasp in shock and dig your fingertips into his neck. "you're an asshole." you grit your teeth, only met with a harsh grip on your jaw.

"enough." johnny retorts, with the voice of a hardened sergeant and not your boyfriend. the hand on your hip pushes with more force until your pussy has swallowed his entire cock, your walls clenching with the same death grip you wish you could use on him right now.

but you can't. it's an indescribable feeling of relief after all the bickering, despite the sting of his aggressiveness. his hips start to buck upward instead of controlling your hips, yet it isn't any easier to move. acrimony bubbles in you, along with the pleasure starting to form. you hate yourself for enjoying this; letting sex become the solution.

your head sinks into the crook of his neck, unable to see past all his petty behavior. in an act of impulse, you bite into his neck — enough to make him hiss and cease his thrusts.

your axis tips, sent face first into the couch. "this what y' need? bein' fucked until you cannae see straight?" he sinks inside once more, giving no time to adjust, before he's pounding into you harder than before. one calloused hand raises your hips, while the other holds you by the back of your head, keeping your cheek pressed against the cushion.

"dirty fuckin' girl with no respect; we'll see about that, won't we?"

⋆꒷꒦‧₊˚ divider cred. - cafekitsune ˚₊‧꒦꒷⋆

[madame-fear]

So we've evolved into dark!Lucerys where after luke's inheritance is questioned, rhaenyra proposes to break off yours and his betrothal in favor of luke marrying baela to further secure the driftwood throne. He'd be so against it during the council meeting that he resorts to "y/n is with child". You werent in the said meeting so youre blissfully unaware of why luke is in your quarters kissing you like mad, muttering "they cant take you away from me" and is on a mission to get you pregnant. Too dark? Sorry 🙊🔫

YESYESYESYSES FFS ANON ILY. MORE LIKE THESE IM CRAVING DARK! LUKE

I can imagine that the moment Rhaenyra proposes to break off your betrothal with Luke simply to have him marrying Rhaena instead of you, he would be absolutely outraged, to say the least. How dare his mother propose such thing as that, taking his beloved darling away from him?

Of course, when the council meeting arrives to discuss the betrothals and the heirs to the throne of Driftmark, he'd make it clear that he is not willing at all to break off your betrothal. Lucerys is already head over heels for you, the mere thought of you makes him go feral with obsessive love.

And knowing that everyone will try to be so convinced to unite House Velaryon and House Targaryen for the future of Driftmark, Lucerys will try every single option he can just to keep you by his side — even, the wildest options.

“(y/n) is with child.” Lucerys boldly stated, making the whole council meeting fall dead silent.

Oh, bless your poor unknowing soul. Though, lucky Lucerys that you weren't in that council meeting. Because, obviously, you are not pregnant — but saying that you were with child was his last, and only opportunity to keep your betrothal, and have you as his true future Lady of the Tides.

So, now, he has a very important mission to complete: make you pregnant. And the second he leaves that bloody meeting, he won't waste a single second in taking a visit to your chambers.

As expected, you were peacefully sitting on your bed reading, when Luke abruptly entered your quarters, and closed the door shut behind of you with a completely serious, obsessively-in-love expression on his face. A certain lustful glint on his green eyes. Before you could properly greet him, he would wildly throw himself on top of you, and his lips would crash against yours.

His kissing would be absolutely fervid, tightly cupping your cheeks. Luke would occssionally pull apart to catch some air, but he wouldn't stop for a single second, until both your lips are swollen, and completely moist. As you wrap your legs around his body and your arms around his neck, Lucerys would then descend to place wet kisses all over your jawline, neck, and collarbone.

“They can't take you away from me, (y/n). They won't take me away from you.” Lucerys kept muttering those words like an utter madman, in a slightly hoarse voice as his kisses wouldn't stop for a single second. “You are mine, (y/n). Mine to have, and no one else's. They can't take you away from me...”

Like a wild beast, and having you completely vulnerable and right under his control of passion and deep love, his hands would go to suddenly lift your dress up to your waist in a rather desperate manner. Then, would rapidly take off your underwear along with his own, and as he takes a firm grip on your hips, he would begin to fervidly pound his erect member against your already wet core in a profound way — kissing, biting, and nibbling on the skin of your neck.

His pounding would be intense, rough, desperate, needy; and deep. His name would roll off your lips as a scream of pleasure, throwing your head back and your eyes fluttering shut. The silence of your chambers would rapidly be filled with groaning — mostly coming from him — and moaning.

“You're mine, only mine. They can't fucking take you away from me.” he would continue muttering, occasionally stuttering from the pleasure your moist and tight inner walls bring him.

Don't be surprised if he goes 2-3 full rounds controlling your body and using different positions, always releasing his fluids deeply inside of you, until he makes sure you were properly filled with his breeding seed.

And also, don't be surprised if you do end up getting pregnant by the intense intercourse. Which, would not only satisfy him because he will begin his very own family with you, but because... now, no one can take you, his sweet, most treasured darling, away from him.

You are the mother of his children, and his wife. No one else to have, and no one else will be able to take you from him, not under his watch.

♡ taglist : ♡

@jjamieberry @anemicroyalcore @countsmoon @tickle-euphoria @beeebo234 @manuholland6 @capellaadara @kyuupidwrites @tchatso @phantasyy @tasty-nutella @mstxdes @valeriecash

[asmutwriter]

Just A Lady (Part 4)

DESCRIPTION: After the party you go back home. But you don't go back alone.

A/N: The second half of season 3 came out yesterday (as of me posting this) and I am so excited to watch it! Sadly I go on holiday the day it comes out so I may not be able to watch it until the following week!

I do hope you enjoy this part - it doesn't follow the timeline of the story so no spoilers are in here if you are concerned. Just have some pure Benedict smut and fluff

WORD COUNT: 3383

From Beginning / Previous / Next / Master List

WARNINGS: brothels, sex workers, swearing, smut, oral (f recieving), fingering, biting, use of 'sir', soft dom Benedict, sub reader, hair pulling, unprotected sex, p in v

DISCLAIMERS

- I wrote this in my knowledge of sex workers and I am truly sorry if I got it wrong and/or is offensive, that is not what I intended to do and Im sorry if that is the case

-  This is fiction. Please always talk to your partner before doing anything and make sure they are ok with what you are doing beforehand

You stretch as the morning sun leaks in through your curtains. Sitting up as you look around yourself. Flinging the covers from yourself as you head to the window. Moving the curtains as you take in the sunshine. Taking in a breath, admiring the view. A knock at the door brings you out of your thoughts. You turn to face the doorway.

"Come in". You say. A servant comes in. Smiling at you.

"Ma'am. Breakfast is being served. Lady Bridgerton asked us to come and inform their guests". You nod and smile.

"Thank you. I will get dressed and be down shortly". She nods. Exiting the room and shutting the door behind her. You go over to your bag. Taking off your shirt and placing it onto the chair. Putting on your day dress before you head to the breakfast room.

Ornate food layed out. You stop yourself from uttering a curse in shock at the sight as you see the Bridgertons sat down. Sitting next to Daphne as Anthony sits at one end of the table, Violet the other end. The oldest son giving you a very disgusted look as you pull in your chair.

A silence fills the room as they start indulging in the food. You grab several of the pastries. Stuffing your face with them. Looking opposite you, seeing Colin shake his head slightly. Silently showing you how to eat the items. You smile. Dabbing your mouth with the back of your hand before delicately eating the food laid out before you. Some time passing before Violet speaks up.

"It is getting quite late. What is the time?" she says. Looking around to locate a non existent clock in the room.

"Just after 10 am ma'am". One of the servants says.

"Really?" you say.

"Everything ok?" Daphne asks next to you

"Yes. Yes. I just planned on being home at 10 today"

"No do stay for longer" Eloise says. Smiling at you.

"I cant I'm sorry. I need to go back home. I've got stuff I need to attend to"

"No do stay. Please" she smiles at you. You tilt your head slightly.

"If she needs to go then we should let her leave" Anthony says "For the best, I feel" His gaze harsh as he looks at you. You try not to laugh at his obvious annoyance of your presence. Nodding as you smile at him.

"Exactly Mr Bridgerton" you stand. "Thank you for the food and the place to sleep". You pick up another pastry. "I'll just take this to go". Violet looks at you in a slight confusion as you take a bite from it. Turning as you head out the room. Picking up your evening dress from the chair as you shove it into your bag. Eating the rest of the bun as you push it in with your other hand. Placing the bag onto your shoulder before walking out the door.

It was a long but joyous walk home. A smile plastered on your face as you get to the brothel. In a state of euphoria as you change into your more mundane clothing before walking back home. Being greeted by your girls. Being bombarded by them as they ask you a multitude of questions. You answer them all. Placing your bag onto the sofa as you do your chores. Washing up. Washing in general. Plus the outside animals.

You tend to Rebecca. Her arm seemed to be in good condition. Not seeming to be infected and healing nicely. Going out to grab the clothes from the line as the girls stop questioning you. Well, more you started threatening them with helping you. Causing most to run away. Apart from Sofia and Daisy who started to help you fold the clothes up. The others off admiring the chickens. Playing in the garden.

The day goes by as normal. You all get ready for bed as the day ends. Piling into your overcrowded room at night. Two beds being shared between the 7 of you. It was a squeeze but you were used to it. Different experience to what you had the night before.

You wake up early. Quietly getting out of bed and getting dressed. You go to the chickens. Collecting the eggs. Heading to the house and placing them into a basket. There is a gentle knock at the door. You place the last egg down. Wiping your hands onto you dress as you go over to the door. Opening it your smile is met with confusion as you see Benedict outside.

"Mr Bridgerton" you say. He smiles at your obvious confusion. You step put. Him stepping to allow you room as you pull the door behind you. "What are you doing here?"

"You have my shirt from last night. Or the night before I suppose". You shake your head.

"No I don-" you think back. You remember chucking the shirt on the chair. The chair that had your evening dress on. The same dress you packed in the morning. In a rush. Not paying much attention to anything else. "I may have accidentally picked it up"

"I thought I'd come by and collect it first hand. If I don't take it back then word might get out that you borrowed it. And then rumours will spread about why you would have my shirt"

"Ah. We cant be having that". You open the door again. Going over to the bag as he follows you inside your small home. "How did you remember where I lived?"

"I may have gone to your work and asked about you"

"Yeah I'm sure that's the only reason you went to my work" you smile at him. Taking out his shirt and handing it to him. He takes it. Looking at the material in his hands. "You ok?"

"Yes. I'm fine" he looks up at you. "If I leave this here then it gives me a reason to come back tomorrow". You roll your eyes as you smirk at him.

"You read to many romance books"

"Or I'm just a hopeless romantic" he smiles at you. Causing you to chuckle.

"Either way, you need to get back to your family. I'm sure they're missing you"

"They probably haven't even realised I'm gone".

"Well... I need to do stuff today". you shut the bag with your dresses in "I have a day of housework to catch up on".

"I can help, if you'd like". You look at him. Biting your bottom lip.

"I don't expect you to invite me to a party then 24 hours later help me organise and tidy my home". You pause momentarily. "How about this - I'll be at work later tonight. Why don't you meet me there? We can catch up, away from prying eyes". He raises an eyebrow. A cocky smile on his face as his eyes dart to your lips.

"You want me to meet you in a brothel?"

"I can come round to your house if you'd rather. See your brothers agai-""

"No. No need for that"

"Are you sure? I think Anthony is really warming up to me".

"I'll meet you tonight". You smile.

"I look forward to it". He smiles back. Turning on his heel before walking away. "I start work at 7" you call after him. He turns and waves at you. Walking backwards you see the grin on his face before he turns again. Shirt in hand as you see him walk off into the distance.

-

You say goodnight to the girls before heading off to work. Telling them you'll be back later. You have a quick smoke before meeting with a client. A very, very quick ordeal happens between the two of you. Leaving him very hot and sweaty and you feeling... nothing. You bid him ado. Taking his money and placing it into your knee high sock. Wrapping a silk dressing gown around yourself as you go back out to the main part of the brothel.

You have a drink. A quick shot of whiskey as one of the newer girls comes over to you. Grabbing your arm, she speaks in a very high pitched tone. "You have a friend. This is the second time hes come here asking after you". She turns. Following her gaze you see Benedict. You smile at him, catching his eye he smiles back. You lift a hand, waving him over. "No what are you doing?"

"Telling my friend to come over to me"

"You don't understand. That's a Bridgerton. They are loaded. Plus he is handso-"

"Ladies" he says. His smile enough for the both of you.

"Mr Bridgerton" you smile at him "I'm glad to see you got my invitation"

"Is this your usual type of meeting place or?" Your friend speaks up. Smiling at him as he chuckles.

"No. Not usually"

"Ok. That's good. I think. Isa is that good?"

"I don't know" just as shes about to say something else you cut her off. "Shall we go somewhere more private?" Meeting the males eyes. Both of them looking at you. He nods. Standing up you hold a hand out towards him to which he takes. Leading him to a room and shutting the door. "I apologise about my friend. She's new and doesn't quite understand the etiquette yet". He chuckles and shakes his head.

"Nothing to be sorry for. She seems nice". He watches as you go and sit on the bed. Pulling the robe around you a bit more.

"I don't think I did ever say thank you properly did I?". He tilts his head slightly.

"For?"

"The party the other day. My goodness it was amazing. And..." you lean forward slightly. A smile on your lips "your brothers didn't murder me. Which I'm taking as a good thing". He laughs. Folding his arms as he leans against a wall.

"That was a surprise to be fair". You nod. Leaning back as you look at the ceiling. Resting your hands onto your lap.

"I still cant believe that you live like that everyday"

"We don't have a ball everyday" he says. You tilt your head. Watching as he makes his way over to the bed. Sitting next to you.

"Whats the point of having a house that big if you don't have parties in it at every opportunity" he chuckles. Moving his gaze forward as your head remains turned towards him.

"Its a lot of work. Gone into each party that is. The catering and the dancing"

"I can imagine it gets quite socially draining too. Always needing to say the correct things to the correct people". He nods. Turning his head back to you. "I don't think I could wear a corset for that long either". He chuckles softly.

"Thats why I enjoy your company"

"Because you don't have to wear a corset around me? Oh I'm flattered" you smile as his grin grows.

"I know I don't have to be proper with you. That I can be who I truly am and you wont judge me or think that there's someone better out there". He reaches forward. Taking one of your hands in his. His eyes remaining on yours as he brings your delicate hand up. Gently kissing the back of it. "I am grateful for our friendship". You smile at his words. Softness in your eyes as you look at him.

"You sure you don't want to take up poetry rather then art? It seems to be your calling" he chuckles. Looking downwards. Holding your hand in his as he rests it on his leg. Stroking the back of it with his thumb.

"No words I wrote could describe your beauty and grace. Only an image could do it justice". You smile. He moves his head back up. Your gaze falling upon each other. You move your body. Facing towards him more. Your free hand coming up and gently brushing the stray hairs from his forehead. Tracing down his temple. His cheek. Jawline. Your eyes following your finger as you use it to outline his features.

He brings his hand up. Gently cupping your cheek. Drawing your eyes to look at his. He leans forward, kissing you. You melt into him. Your hands falling to his chest. He brings his hands to the tie of your dressing gown. Undoing it. His hands trailing up the sides as he pushes the soft fabric from your shoulders. He moves away. Bringing his mouth to your neck, then shoulder. Kissing along it. You shut your eyes. A soft sigh leaving your lips as you bring a hand to his hair. He bites at the skin. Causing you to gasp. The suddenness making your back arch. Pressing into him more.

He moves his body. Kissing your lips as he comes in front of you. Pushing you to lie on the bed. His body coming over yours. Your hands coming and cupping his face. He moves away, about an inch. Looking down at you as you lie beneath him. You nudge his nose with yours. Brushing your lips against his. He smiles. Kissing you again. Then your jawline. Throat. Collar bone. Making his way down. Kneeling before you. Gently placing his palms onto your knees as he pushes them apart.

"So beautiful" he whispers. He strokes over your legs. Throwing them over his shoulders before he leans forward. His tongue pressing against you. Your breath hitches, followed by a low groan. One arm wraps around your hip. His hand resting on your stomach. Bringing the other up, he pushes his finger into you. Curling it once his knuckle hits you.

"Holy fuck" you drawn out speech fills the room. Both your hands reach down. Grabbing his hair as he inserts another digit into you. Dragging them along that sweet spot inside of you. His tongue doing wonders on your clit as mewled speech leaves your lips. His hand resting on your stomach pushes down. Adding just the right amount of pressure to your build up.

"Please. Please sir" you beg. Trying to grind your hips against him as he attacks your cunt. He hums against you. Wet sounds filling the room as your high builds and builds. You clutch at his hair. Trying to bring him closer to you. The continuing motions on you causing your orgasm to hit you. You squeeze your legs together. The filthiest moan leaving your lips as you let it wash over you. You breath heavily as he slows his fingers. Removing his mouth from you, he comes up. Gently kissing your neck as his fingers still move inside of you.

You run a hand through his hair. The other running up the length of his arm. "I-I want to feel you. All of you. Please" you whisper. Head tilting downwards so you can speak into his ear. He removes his fingers. Tracing his fingers over your clit, causing you to jolt. A soft whine leaving your lips as he moves off of you. Your eyes on his as he stands before you.

His hand goes to the bottom of his shirt. Bringing it up and over his torso. You lean up on your arms. Biting your bottom lip as your eyes scan over his torso. He brings a hand down. Undoing the button of his trousers. Pushing them and his undergarments down his legs. You take in a breath at the sight. Eyes going back up to his eyes as he gives you a cocky smile. Coming back over he takes your face in his hands. Kissing you harshly. You hands gripping his wrists.

He pushes you back down onto the bed. Resting on his forearm as his other hand stays on your cheek. You put your legs either side of his waist. Lips still connected with his as he removes his hand from your face. Lining himself up with your opening. He moves from the kiss. You hands gently running over his shoulders. Eyes watching your face as he pushes into you. Agonizingly slowly. You moan out. Your hands gripping at him.

"Fuck" he mutters. Filling you up completely. You wrap your arms around him. Your legs crossing over his waist. His chest pressing into yours as he kisses you. Starting to move his hips. A slow grind. His hand comes up. Resting near your head. You moan into his mouth. Moving away as your mouth becomes slightly agape. Soft gasps and moans filling his ears as he watches you. A smile continuing to stay on his face as you break underneath him. You flutter your eyes.

"Keep your eyes on me". You nod slightly. Opening them. Making eye contact with him. A gentle blush coming over your cheeks at the intimacy of the moment. "Good girl" he smiles. Kissing you. Moving his hand from by your head downwards. His hand finding where you two meet. His thumb gently stroking over your clit.

"F-fuck". You mutter. The blush growing more as you keep his steady gaze. His slow movements inside of you matching perfectly with the delicate movements of his thumb. "You f-feel... s-so good...". He smiles. Gently kissing your lips again as he fastens his pace. His thumb stilling on your clit. Pushing down onto it hard as his hips start to piston in and out of you. "Fuck fuck fuck". You groan. Your nails digging into his back. Every ounce of you keeping your eyes open as you keep his gaze.

"Sir. P-please". His smile growing. Kissing your forehead. Your toes start to curl. A moan leaving your lips as you feel your second orgasm hit you. Your legs tightening around him, bringing him close to you as you clench around his length.

"Shit" he mutters. Pulling himself out of your incredibly inviting hole. Seconds later feeling his seed hitting your thigh. You come down from your high. Shutting your eyes as he rests his head onto your shoulder. You kiss his temple. Stroking his shoulder blades. Feeling the small indentations from your nails being left on his skin. He kisses your shoulder before rolling next to you. Lying on his back as he shuts his eyes. His chest heavy as he regains his composure. You stand up. Walking over to where you keep clean towels. Grabbing some and cleaning yourself up first. Going back over to him.

"May I?". He looks at you. His cocky smile having softened as he nods. You clean him up. Gently kissing the centre of his chest before you grab your gown. Wrapping it around yourself, doing the tie up in the front. He sits up. Holding a hand out towards you. You go over to him. Taking his hand as he pulls you onto his lap. Resting his hands on your hips. You kiss him. A soft hum leaving your lips. Wrapping your arms around his neck before you part.

"We should do this again sometime" he says. His smile ever cocky as he runs his hands up your sides.

"That we should. However, I need to get back to work". He fake pouts. "Come on handsome. You need to get back to your home. And I need to get back to mine". He nods. Kissing you. His arms going around your waist. Pulling you close to him. You smile into the kiss. Shaking your head as you stand up. Playfully pushing his arms. "If I stay here with you then I will never leave this room"

"Would that be such a bad thing?". You bite your lip. Smiling at him. He smiles back. Grabbing his shirt and trousers he stands up. You turn to give him privacy. Hearing him shuffling as you assume he gets dressed. Feeling a hand come to your shoulder. You turn, looking up at him as his hand moves from your shoulder to your cheek. Leaning down and kissing you. You have to control yourself not to melt into him. He moves away.

"Thank you for a wonderful evening Isabella. I will remember it". He moves away. Straightening his clothes again before he opens the door. Turning back to face you as he gives you a last smile. You smile at him as you watch him leave through the building and out the front door.

TAGS

@runs-with-sciss0rs @nevillescomslut​ @lightdragonrayne​ @random-bouts-of-randomness ​​​​

Previous / Next 

[metalheads-trash-bin]

THIS WILL BE THE LAST TROLLS POST I EVER MAKE.

First off, thank you to those of you that continued to show all the work I make love. Thank you for caring for my work other than Trolls.

Now, onto this post and my final statements about this fandom.

I joined the fandom late, I’d always technically been a part of it but never interacted until about a year or so ago through this site. Immediately I got interaction and a good amount of followers, a lot of people enjoying my work and wanting more.

That “wanting more” slowly became harassment as I got messages every day from a select few people commanding me to continue writing or making fanart. This slowly started to seep into me but was NOT the nail in the coffin. Even as i got handfuls of asks commanding more.

The nail was how the fandom handles abuse and abusers. I am a punk person, to those of you that know my Tiktok i post a LOT of punk content and have gained so much interaction. I am well known in a lot of communities and am even trying to advocate for the people that cant. It is BASE LINE respect to “always believe the victim”. Base line. Yet as soon as a very POPULAR and HIGHLY FOLLOWED creator who is being accused of abuse posts content back showing very explicit conversations and mental breakdowns to embarrass you into silence everyone FLOCKS to them. I had so many friends in this fandom, and as soon as i was publicly HUMILIATED by him for speaking out, i was being blocked. Some of the people i used to make fanart for and support are now people i look at with fear and disgust. This includes my fans, people who BETRAYED me and did not stand with me. Didnt QUESTION why all of a sudden I deleted everything?

Let me lay things out for you all, FINALLY. Since im fucking PISSED. He BLACKMAILED ME INTO SILENCE. He got his boyfriend to THREATEN ME. And when all was said and done as i was choking on my sobs? He kept the post UP. His post with THOUSANDS of views and comments saying disgusting things about me. Because no one gave a FUCK about the fact that me and my friend both came out about horrors when it came to him and his new boyfriend.

I am so disgusted and disappointed as to how my fans reacted to this all, i had even gotten a dm PRAISING ME for going back into silence. That broke my fucking heart.

Why am i bringing this up now? Because a multitude of his art for Fliff had had messages for me. Which NO ONE but me and my fiance knew about. Dictator barb? Message. Floyd saying insults to riff? Message. Are you all that illiterate to context of someones character? Did the INCEST HE PUT ON HIS TWITTER NOT SAY ANYTHING??? JD and his BROTHER having a threesome, completely naked said NOTHING? And when someone pointed it out he said he didnt give a shit.

No one gave a FUCK. I have so much dirt on one of his friends i used to ADORE that i will never utter even though he also fucking abandoned me because he knew him longer and believed i was the wailing banshee.

So overall, trolls fandom, get your FUCKING ACT STRAIGHT. About victims. And about context.

I am a HUMAN BEING. My callout was not something to laugh at and silence just because you like the PORN he draws.

He’s once again posting after i was able to get him to fuck off from this fandom for almost a year. The relief i felt for that year was bliss. And now? I can barely fucking breathe. Once again i feel trapped.

So FUCK YOU ALL.

Have a fucking ANGRY and HURT tw of self harm under this sentence.

Good riddance, Trolls fandom. This is the last i will utter a word about the fandom or my experience. I am so disappointed.

[s0urw00lf]

Can’t catch me now; N.Sully

Months. Even years after the passing of neteyam y/n cant seem to shake him.

I this is my first neteyam fic so be nice. And i kept hearing this song and I think its neteyams anthem now.

There's blood on the side of the mountain

There's writing all over the wall

Shadows of us are still dancin'

In every room and every hall

Y/n found herself staring at the ocean from the beach, it hadn’t been long since the war had ended. Since she lost her neteyam. She still couldn’t fathom that he was gone, even though all she thought about was the feeling of his heartbeat seizing, the cries of his mother, and the complete and utter emptiness in her body like all of her insides had just dissolved. Gone. Y/n sighed as tears brimmed her eyes, threatening to spill over. She heard quiet and stealthy footsteps coming close to her before they stopped right beside her. She looked up to see Neytiri. Her heart clenched, as she saw traces of neteyam all over his mother’s face. “It is nice to see you out of your cot,” Neytiri said quietly looking from her to the horizon. Y/n sighed “I hate to be that person, but I don't think he’d appreciate me closing myself off from the world,” she said following Neytiri’s gaze back to the horizon. The Navi took a seat next to her “he wouldn’t” she said.

There's snow fallin' over the city

You thought that it would wash away

The bitter taste of my fury

And all of the messes you made

Yeah, you think that you got away

“How are you?” Y/n asked with a quiet voice. “Furious” Neytiri said simply, y/n nodded “Me too, I want revenge because of all people neteyam deserved it the least.” Y/n said shaking her head “All to save spider, who didn’t even need saving.” She said, cursing to herself internally because she had known he didn’t but he was her friend as well. Neytiri nodded “I know, but just because he isn’t here in physical form doesn’t mean he isn’t here at all. Think about how we connect with Eywa, she is everywhere. In the trees, the breeze, the water, and the soil. We just have to know how to listen” Neytiri said to Y/n. The younger na’vi shook her head “I don't” she said looking up to Neytiri, who turned to return the eye contact. “You will.” She responded.

But I'm in the trees, I'm in the breeze

My footsteps on the ground

Y/n found herself running through the forest, hair whipping at every turn, heartbeat racing using her body went to an abrupt stop. She felt a familiar feeling set in her stomach, one of complete safety and content. She looked around on full alert, the wind had started to blow softly, almost making a barely audible tune, one that only Neteyam had known of. Her stomach dropped and she smiled. She closed her eyes and listened to the tune before whispering “neteyam” and just like that the wind had settled and she was met with complete silence. However, the feeling in her stomach didn’t falter.

You'll see my face in every place

But you can't catch me now

Through wading grass, the months will pass

You'll feel it all around

I'm here, I'm there, I'm everywhere

But you can't catch me now

No, you can't catch me now

The day was hot and y/n decided she wanted to spend some time in the water with her ilu. Shed been so focused on learning a new trick that she hadn’t noticed anyone come up behind her. Shed had a glance at the water and saw him, in all his glory. She whipped around with a look of shock on her face, only to let out a breath when she saw the person was Jake Sully. he looked at her in confusion “You okay kid?” He asked. Y/n quickly nodded “Yeah, yeah I just thought you were… so body else,” she said, disappointment lacing her tone. “You see him too?” Jake asked. Y/n looked at him shocked, before nodding “Yeah. Like everywhere. In you, neytiri, lo’ak, tuk.” She said looking him in the eyes, studying his expression. “Sometimes I feel him when I’m hunting, his presence is so strong, but as soon as I acknowledge me it’s gone, ripped away over and over.” She said, “All I want is a touch, or a glance, just something.” She finished. Jake came closer to her and brought her into a hug “I know kid. I know.” He said with a quiet voice. Just then the water had begun to ripple making the two break away from each other. Jake’s face mirrored her amazed expression. Jake went to speak but y/n cut him off when she put her fingers to her lips as to ‘shh’ him. He nodded. Y/n began to follow the trail that the water led. And it had led right to the spirit tree, y/n heart dropped. She hadn’t been here since neteyams ceremony. She looked back to Jake who had dismounted his ilu ready to swim down and connect to the tree. Y/n followed right behind him without hesitation. She connected her queue to the tree and was immediately sent in.

She opened her eyes just to realize she had been in her and Netayam's shared cot. She looked around in confusion, neteyam wasn’t in sight. Until light from outside had made itself apparent in the room, she wasted no time turning to the opening. Tears quickly filled her eyes “neteyam?”

———————————

Pt. 2?

[bluetortoist]

Time to show off some doodles of one of my OCs after binging as much batman series as I could, including BTAS, The Batman 2004, Brave and the Bold, the movies, etc. I fell in love with the Gotham Rogues all over again.

I've already made a few OCs, but to start, this one is Mavis. She is a harpy who imprinted on Penguin at birth and considers him her father. He kept her to be, at first, just as another loyal, powerful pet, but soon came to see her like a daughter to him too. Thus, a bird family in crime.

Last pic was my first ever sketches of chick Mavis and Penguin. You could tell I was still trying to figure out how to draw pengie haha!

Penguins note in full:

Note #5 - "Any news of strange phenomena that could be connected to the child's existence came up short. None of my connections had any clue of where she could have came from. The only hypothesis I could come up with is, admittedly outlandish, but not completely out of the question (Im not blind to some of the inhuman things that happen in this city). I refer to beings called 'harpies' from the mythologies. Stories of bird-like women who lead men of all kinds to their deaths, or who torture the damned souls in the underworld. All utter nonsense, but everytime I look at the child, I cant help but think there is something otherworldly about her."

Below is a bit more stuff about her

Name: Mavis (Unofficial) Cobblepot

Age: About 18-19

Gender: Cis Female

Identifies: Pan/Demi

Race: Harpy

Current Living: Gotham City

Allegiance: Neutral Evil - True Neutral

Powers/Abilites:

• Hypnotic Voice: Uses her singing voice to charm and manipulate the minds of anyone in her range into becoming submissive to her under the delusions of adoration for her.

• Typical features as like that of a bird of prey, keen eyesight 10× more than humans, Flying in silence, Can see in the dark, Heightened hearing. etc

• Strong, sharp, powerful talons for feet that can be used not only for attack, but for stealth capturing people (sometimes it's how she carries Penguin in means of escape).

• She is also efficient in knife combat and close quarter combat (for when shes in a finite space too small to fly around in), Knows how to use a gun, but rarely ever uses or carries one.

History: Oswald found her as an egg under mysterious circumstances, not knowing how she even got here or where she came from. Because she imprinted on him already, he decided to raise her and form her into another, stronger one of his loyal pet birds. However, as much as he tried keeping her under the conditions of a pet, Mavis still ended up seeing him as her father. And eventually Oswald, who denied for the longest, felt the same way as well.

Notes/Quirks: Mavis struggles a bit with human speech due to Harpies having different vocal chords than humans, so she was mute along with saying simple sentences for a good half of her life; she is very intelligent however and understands human language, can read and write very well, excels in math and business skills, just takes time talking./ She molts once a year and lasts over 2-3 weeks; it's very itchy and irritating and makes her grumpy the whole time./ She is a carnivorous bird and her favorite to eat is liver.

[missmeinyourbones]

TO LOVE IS TO BE LOVED (TOUYA x READER) 

part 6 of the series: to love is to…

"And what kind of madness is it, anyway, to be in love with something constitutionally unable of loving you back?

Are you sure—one would like to ask—that it cannot love you back?” 

- Bluets, Maggie Nelson

“We can’t keep doing this.”

The words are not new—to you or from him. Tonight, they cut through the silence that rocks you to sleep in the midnights of your bedroom.

Your phone read a blurry 2:41 AM when the familiar rhythmic knock on your window pulled you from your slumber. Touya crawled through the half-open sill with ease. No words were exchanged when he tracked his clunky boots across your home. Dirty and soiled with mud and guilt alike. 

The routine had unfolded as it usually does, seamlessly and like the back of your hand. Touya throws his shoes clumsily by your door and sits wordlessly as you pick and prod at the newer burns and cuts decorating his face. He doesn’t say anything when you reheat your dinner leftovers and put them on a plate in front of him. And you don't say anything when he goes to shower and you hear him emptying his stomach into the toilet. 

It's normal, it's your normal, and while it isn't ideal, it's him. You don't care how it is, you just care that it is. 

And now in bed, Touya utters ther recognizable words as he fights off sleep in a guilty haze. 

“We can’t keep doing this.”

After a moment of his words lingering in the open air, he feels your voice vibrate his side, “M’not having this conversation again. Go to sleep.”

“I can’t keep doing this to you,” he persists, voice devoid of any emotion though you know he feels anything but barren. 

With a sigh, your head is lifted from his side and finds its home resting on top of his torso. Your ear pressed against his stomach, you can hear his insides digesting what’s left inside of him. It's a bittersweet reminder that he’s alive; tangible and real according to all of your senses. 

“You’re not doing anything to me,” you gently remind him. 

“I’m ruining you,” he repeats the script he always finds himself reciting, “by letting you love me.”

When I know I’m gonna leave, he wants to scream. When I know I'm dying.

“Touya,” you breathe, and he winces. The name is new, to your lips and to his ears. “You don’t know anything,” your words seem to answer his thoughts.

“I know you probably deserve someone normal,” he spits out the word like it's venomous on his tongue. “Some bitch of a businessman with a 401k who can hold down the hot meal you make em’ without throwing it up.”

His eyes aren’t on you, but instead focus on the speckled drywall of your ceiling. He exhales and you watch the grey smoke slip from his mouth like a ghost, the cigarette in his hand held far away from you as he clicks the ash against your bed frame. 

“Deserve someone who doesn't show up at your window in the middle of the night all bloody and filthy. Someone who can at least pay you fuckin’ rent if they cant give you a place of their own.”

You hate the way he thinks about things. How he views this, the love for him you refuse to tuck beneath your pillow, as an exchange of goods or a favor you decide to spare him. 

You pluck the cigarette from his hand and press it against the edge of your window. Touya doesn't resist, but his eyes flicker to where the end of the stick glows red between your fingertips. 

“You’re always talking about what I deserve,” you note. “Have you ever wondered what I want?”

He pauses in thought.

“Don’t know why you’d want anything fuckin’ less than that when you—”

“I want,” you interrupt, “to love you, how I am right now.” 

Your hand finds his cheek and gently turns it to face you. 

“I want to hear you come in through the window on rainy nights and track your ugly boots through the hallway. And I want to clean up the mess the next morning. And I want to cook for you and watch you eat it because even though it’s short-lived, it still fills your stomach.” 

Touya feels the building of tears that can never come beneath his lashes as he watched your eyes scan his face with adoration. 

“Because it’s you, and it feels like you. And if this is how I’m able to get you, then I’ll take it ten times over.”

A kiss is placed on his lips; it tastes of ash and mint and love, and though he should know what the latter tastes like, he overwhelmingly does. 

“Because I want to,” you whisper with a smile, one that Touya can barely see through the dark but ignites him like the sun all the same. 

“You’re so fuckin’ weird,” he whispers into your mouth.

If anything, your smile grows. “Thank you.” 

Your head is returned to his chest with ease and he can’t help but scoff at the situation at hand. His hand finds refuge in your hair and its the softest thing he’s ever known. 

“There’s somethin’ seriously wrong with you.”

“Don’t care,” you retaliate with ease. He feels a kiss on the scarring of his chest before you speak up once more. 

“So just shut up,” kiss, “let me love you,’ kiss, “and go the fuck to sleep.” Kiss, kiss, kiss.

The lack of light in the room doesn't seem as intimidating as it was a few moments ago. If anything, it feels comforting. Like a blanket that can shield his childish blush and contrary scowl. 

“And if you hate the window so much,” your hushed voice is the last thing Touya hears that night, “just use the spare key next time.”