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thewinchestah · 4 months

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"PREY" - Alastor x reader fic

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Tags: One-Shot, 18+, Smut, NSFW, edging, begging, overstimulation, Alastor does what he wants, there's plot if you squint really hard, alastor in heat, breeding kink, degradation kink, praise kink,

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Word Count: i lost count. it's big.

| Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

A/N: Helloooooo!!! I write a lot but i never publish it! My lovely friend and also biggest inspiration for this fic @smallershorteranduncut ordered me to post this and i'm nothing but her loyal servent! I hope you guys enjoy the fruits of me writing 10 google docs pages today while i was enraged. Also english isn't my first language, no beta we die like men here yadayayfayada! enjoy <;3 (UPDATE!) Part 2 is now up!

Everything about the Radio Demon seemed to be designed to make you desire him, want him. Many times in ways you weren’t even ready to admit to yourself. You haven’t been in Hell long, that’s true. But ever since you manifested here you felt like someone had picked your brain open to make Alastor the perfect bait to lure you into even more sinful, sinister paths.

He had an inexplicable magnetism around him, a piercing presence that made your eyes stuck on him when he worked a room. He had you bewitched and you hadn’t share more than polite pleasantries with each other since you became a guest at the hotel.

Today, again, you were transfixed in his gaze. Sitting in the corner of the hotel lobby, trying to make your embarrassing attraction to him go unnoticed while Alastor waltzed across the room explaining more of his wicked plans to Charlie. God, how you wish he had his wicked way with you.

He seemed more… on edge today. His red eyes glowed a little brighter, his nostrils flared a bit more, static filling the room more often, he was smiling with almost barred teeth, and everyone seemed to be avoiding him. Even Charlie was trying to politely dismiss him, the general feeling of uneasiness inside the hotel just growing larger when Angel stationed himself near your little corner of the room.

“Don’t go near that creepy motherfucker today, he’s about to lose it.” Angel alerted, almost whispering, a pair of his hands making the “crazy sign” near his head

“Isn’t he always creepy and about to lose it?” Husk added, staring at the exchange between the radio demon and Charlie.

“I’m telling you toots, I know that guy definitely isn't normal, but today he is borderline a mass extinction event. I swear, he’s just waiting for someone to give him the excuse” Angel replied, confirming your suspicions. Something was off.

“Uh. Well, about that, I think it’s time we rescue Charlie”

As if on cue Charlie turned to the corner of the room, gesticulating really hard to be taken away from the small commotion her conversation with Alastor was becoming.

“Hey Charlie, do you remember that thing with the hotel’s… personalized stationery you asked me to help you today? Let’s do it!” Said angel gently guiding Charlie away from the Radio Demon.

“Guess that’s my cue Alastor! Greaaaaat chat! As always! Have a nice day!! Byeee!” Charlie’s overly chirpy tone giving away her uneasiness.

Suddenly it felt like all the air was taken out of the room. Alastor’s neck turned into an ungodly angle, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. Static grew around the group, almost suffocating. As your vision went blurry from the sheer power that was being evoked, you contemplated if there was another afterlife. Preferably one where you didn’t inherit a death wish from your previous ones.

And as quick as it started, it was over.

Alastor just said a creepy “hm” turned on his hell, and walked away.

It almost felt like it was all in your head, but your friends standing perfectly still and dead silent next to you gave the reality of the situation away: everyone just had a near death-death experience. Maybe it would be a good topic for Charlie’s bonding exercises, who knows with this place.

“I told ya’ll. Mass. Extinction. Event. Stay out the psycho’s way”

Angel’s voice became background noise in your head, your eyes focusing on the spot where Alastor just threatened everybody’s life without saying a word. As the voices dissipated around you and normalcy slowly returned to the hotel, your mind sank deeper and deeper into the mystery that was the Radio Demon.

They were so oblivious, so naive. Thinking he wasn’t listening what they said about him behind his back. Thinking he was unaware of him being the topic of the discussion when he wasn’t looking. He could bathe in the smell of their fear, and he was relishing it.

Alastor stared at the new pretty little thing that arrived at the hotel. Oh how pathetically sweet and innocent she was, thinking she was being subtle about her infatuation with him. Thinking she could hide her interest in him, when she was nothing but a doe caught in the headlights of his eyes. Oh, she was just the perfect prey for him, wrapped in this lovely red bow she wore on her hair.

Angel was right, he was just waiting for an excuse, and she just offered him one on a silver platter. And alastor was everything but a coward.

You cursed a little bit louder than you intended when you saw the blood dripping from your finger. “Stop. making. a. spectacle. of. yourself” you mentally screamed. You still could not figure Charlie’s “special stationary stapler” out, so stapling your finger was bound to happen.

Even though it was not much, the silly little cut was stinging like a bitch, and your best efforts to stop the bleeding were futile, considering the mess on the hem of your skirt. Still high on the adrenaline from earlier, your shaking hands searched for something, anything to put on your finger so you could continue your work without anyone noticing. Everyone already had enough for one day, it was fine.

“My dear, did you just hurt yourself?” Alastor’s voice invaded your ears. Oh, fuck. That’s it, he was going to murder you for being so incompetent with the damned stapler.

Turning to face him, you meet his piercing gaze, not sure if you should run and scream for help. “Oh no worries alastor, it’s just a small cut, i can manage!” you give him your most confident smile.

Alastor’s head tilts, eyes burning red as he watches the small droplets of your blood make their way down your index finger.

“Nonsense, I can't have my staff running around with injuries and bloodied clothes. We are in hell, but we are not savages, dear” He seems transfixed by the blood, and you are too scared to move, too scared to anything other than hold the weight of his gaze and hope for the best. Your lizard brain is screaming for you to run, ask for help. Maybe Charlie isn’t too far away, could you make a run for it? Somehow your survival instincts override your brain, maybe all those hours watching true crime back on earth weren’t in vain, and you decide against running. Let him initiate first.

He catches your wrist, trapping it inside his deadly claws. His face, towering over you, comes all the way down to inspect the offending finger. You can feel his breathing on your skin.

Your breathing stops. You swallow an imaginary lump. He’s gonna bite off your fing-

“Would you be a doll and let me take care of it? Blood being unnecessary wasted truly abhors me”

You must have said yes at some point, you don’t really remember, now you are holding the red handkerchief he handed you, answering his request to “please follow him”. Trailing behind the Radio Demon, both of you walk through the large corridors.

This might be the time to scream for help. the voices inside your head warn. With every step of his feet you hear his microphone going tsk tsk tsk where it touches the ground. You are walking the death row, the paintings on the wall chanting “dead woman walking, dead woman walking”.

“Keep pressuring the wound darling, we are almost there” he gently commands you, too gently… it feels almost… soft, pleading. The way Alastor goes from 0 to 100 is giving you whiplash.

He slows down, reaching for the door knob of an unknown room. Ever the gentleman, he gestures for you to enter first.

the door locks behind you.

if i’m being murdered, at least i’m being murdered with class.

“Don’t be silly, I’m not going to murder you” Alastor says, almost singing the last part of the sentence.

“Oh fuck, i said that out loud, didn’t I?” you blurted out

“Yes you did. And yes, I also noticed your lovely doe eyes on me every time i’m in the room”

Your brain short circuits. That 's it. You are dead. He’s not going to murder you (apparently), but you are going to die of embarrassment. It will feel like murder. He knows, fuck, he knows. He knows about your crush (?) and he’s going to drag you for it. You are going to be so dragged the angels will pity you and bring you to heaven. A creative way to be redeemed, Charlie should know about this. Your thoughts are going downhill as a big snowball, there are too many of them and you can’t follow a single coherent train of thought. You don’t even want to know how you look in the middle of this. You must look pathetic, truly like a doe caught in headlights. And then you hear your name once.

Twice now, in a sing-song voice.

Your eyes fly open towards the sound, breaking from the anxiety induced spell as you realize the Radio Demon had just called you, by name. He knows your name???

“Ah hahah! You’re back.” Alastor says, as he starts to circle you like a predator. Your eyes, as always, follow his across the room.

“I don’t like to repeat myself, little doe. You heard what I asked?”

Again, you don’t really remember answering, your brain is going AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA as you watch him pace around you, eyes burning red, demanding your attention. Teeth slightly barred, voice on the edge of something. Was that “X” on his forehead always there?

“I asked if you know what you are doing to me” static fills the room as he finishes speaking. Alastor’s clawed hand trapped your bloodied finger dangerously close to his grinning lips. Your brain is doing flips as he stares deep into your soul, and when your thoughts land you make the connection. Alastor is horny. Alastor is horny for y-

“You see, little doe, I know what your eyes hide when you desperately lower them everytime I come near you. I know how you feel you can hide in plain sight if you stay quiet enough. But I can taste it. Your fear. Your lust. In the air. In your blood.” He has a white knuckled grip on your wrist now, same with his microphone. You lower your guard, eyes going from startled to lustful. “Good thing right now there’s nothing more i want in this godforsaken pit than your lust, pet”

You want this. There’s no point in lying to yourself. You want Alastor to fuck you. You’ve fantasized about the Radio Demon taking you more times than you can count. More times than you would like to admit to yourself. This feels deeply wrong, but you crave it.

Fuck it, you are in hell, there’s nothing to lose. Alastor is still watching you, impatiently. For the first time today you realize you actually forgot to say something. He’s waiting. Alastor is waiting for your permission.

“Take my breath away, Alastor”

Your permission might have been really loud, it felt like you were screaming the words. But you can’t be sure, it might have been a whisper. Either way he didn’t miss it, what happens next is fast, angry and delicious.

Alastor pounces and licks the blood on your finger, something clicks inside him as he tastes the red liquid, because he lets go of his microphone instantly and his arms grab your waist aggressively, so forceful you wouldn’t be surprised if it breaks skin. You shouldn’t be so turned on by this, by the sight of a psychopathic demon drinking your blood. But you are, and there’s no going back.

“Strip” he orders. You want to say to him that you can’t take your clothes off your person with him holding you like this. He must have realized the conundrum: if he wants you naked, he has to let go of you. To Alastor, letting go of you right now is simply unthinkable. So he doesn’t: you feel his claws cut the bodice of your dress open, sending the most delicious shivers down your spine. Another claw rips your skirt apart, and you are almost fully naked in the Radio Demon’s arms, pressing your body hard on his still impeccable dressed body.

It’s humiliating, it’s dangerous, it’s hot, it is delicious, to be at his complete mercy, just how you always wanted.

Somehow both of you made your way close to the enormous bed in the middle of the room. Alastor cornered you, so the only way you could escape was walking backwards towards the bed. The brilliant bastard.

You feel your calves hitting the edge of the bed, and Alastor breaks away.

Pity, your mind complains. Get him back to touching you again. right. now,.

“Now now, we should establish some rules for this, pet” Alastor’s hands might have stopped touching you, but his piercing eyes never did. He knocks you on top of the bed, you lay there sprawled open just for him. His hands move up to do a quick work of his bowtie

“Rule one: you will take what I give you. Nothing more, nothing less. What I give you is enough. You might feel like you can’t take anymore, but you can. You will take it, I will make you take it” He takes his tailcoat off, his frame towering over you, even with your body completely flat on the mattress and his in front of it.

“ Rule two: every ounce of your pleasure is mine and mine only. Mine to give, mine to take. And you will give me everything. I want to hear every sound, to feel every touch, to know every nasty thought that runs inside that pretty little head of yours. You will not suppress anything, I wanna hear your moans when you make a mess of yourself as I take everything I desire from your delicious body. I will relish on your desperate screams of pleasure.Nothing outside these walls matter” He is climbing on the bed now. You hold the weight of his gaze, underneath your demonic lover’s eyes your skin burns.

“Rule three: don’t you dare cum without my permission, good girls earn their orgasms and you will be a good girl. Or else…” static starts to pick up around the room, you are seeing the blackest black that ever was, his shadows enveloping you both. Nothing outside these walls matter. “Understood?” Alastor says as he pins your hands on top of your head, against the fancy headboard. His hand cups one of your boobs and he is worrying your nipple between his sharp claws. finally finally, your mind sings. You feel a surge of magic binding your wrists in green chains, attached to the headboard. It’s overbearing, it’s ridiculous. His magic feels like him, another part of him for you to take.

He pinches your nipple particularly hard and you moan softly, pleasure and pain consuming any other sensation. You forgot to answer him, you realize. You’ve barely started and you are already being bad. “yes alastor, yes.. but please don’t stop” the soft whimper leaves your lips.

“lovely.” he replies, and with that his mouth is on your nipple, sucking it while he administers his wicked ministrations to your other one. His sharp teeth prickling on the edge of breaking skin, and you already feel like you won’t be able to take all of him.

His hand trails down to aggressively grip your thighs, his tongue sucking the neglected nipple his fingers left. Your moans become frequent and messy, if he’s already making you go insane with the beginnings of foreplay... You might pass out and die when he starts fucking you, but you don’t care. Let him show you the true meaning of la petite mort.

“My my, what do we have here” his hand leaves your thigh to trace the wetness of your panties. A clawed finger rips it apart, the last barrier between you and total consumption by the Radio Demon. He takes the finger between your glistening lips, not entering, just teasing

“I don’t think i will get enough of this pretty little body of ours anytime soon, pet” he says as his finger finally enters your sex, He moves his digit with an expertise you didn’t really know he had in him, making you whimper his name, ooohs and aaaahs, your hips start threshing from the pleasure. If you continue at this pace, you will be begging for permission to cum too soon. Pathetic. you think to yourself. Because you know how hard this building orgasm will be,you don’t know if he will grant you more than one orgasm. And will you murder you yourself if you don’t feel his cock inside you tonight. You take a deep breath in between your moans and will your hips to stay in place, your nerves to calm down.

Alastor adds another finger, and it takes all of your willpower not to become a puddle of wetness right there. You bite your lip so hard you taste blood.

“you do make a mess of yourself, don’t you? you just can’t help it” he says as he curls his digits inside you. Your hips start thrashing hard again, and you sink them deeper into the bed. The chains on your wrists shake with the effort to hold back. As if alastor wasn’t going to notice. “no no no what did I say?” he snaps angrily, he’s eyes flash red at you and he takes his fingers out with a wet “pop”, you feel like crying at the emptiness. “please please alastor, don’t stop” you plead. His hands leave you entirely, you are left with just his piercing gaze, the one that makes your skin burn. “did I say you could hold back? don’t pretend like you aren’t a common whore for me, that you love how pathetic it feels that you are creaming yourself and we haven’t even really started”

his condescending tone just makes everything even more sublime. It’s so wrong how good being told you are nothing more than a common whore by the Radio Demon feels. But you never felt anything close to this. “please Alastor” you beg again, nothing but a small whisper

“I would love to taste this pussy, so red already for me, but since you broke one of the rules… i’m afraid I will make you understand that are nothing but my pretty cockslut the hard way”

Punishment? His punishment sounds ever better than his praise right now. You moan at his voice. He laughs.

His knees cage you, as he lifts his upper body from you and starts undoing his zipper. He is taking his cock out. Oh fuck, he’s gonna fuck you without anymore foreplay. And he’s not going to be gentle about it either. You shiver.

Alastor pumps himself a few times, his cock is big, thick, and an angry red shade, flush red like that, because of you, just for you. He’s gonna make you pay: pay for holding back from him, pay for making him feel like an animal and almost losing his hard constructed control.

The look on his face says it all, he’s gonna take it out on you and you can’t do nothing about it.

You don’t have much time to think about the repercussions, in one swift motion his tip is already inside you, stretching you deliciously. Your brain short circuits again, the feeling of his cock inside you is everything you imagine and more. Depraved, heavenly, delicious. You struggle in your binds again, you want desperately to touch him. To feel his skin beneath your finger, to scratch him, mark him. But oh well, he’s the Radio Demon, he’s the one in charge and you are his prey.

Alastor starts to slowly enter you, he’s trying his best to hold back. He knows if he does this too fast it will hurt in a way he doesn’t want you to feel. And by the look on his face going slow is as torturous for him as it is for you. tantalizing inch after tantalizing inch he spreads the walls of your cunt apart. You understand now why this is punishment, it hurts in a perfect way, it hurts even more that he is doing it slowly, and not just thrusting like you imagined he would, if he had more time to work on you.

You become a mess of moans and incoherent words. His cock is halfway inside you now “HoLY FUCK ALASTOR” you scream. It’s already too much.

“There’s nothing holy about this my dear. I’m going to breed you. I’m going to break you” and with that he buries himself to the hilt inside you. Now you truly scream in pleasure and pain “you won’t be able to walk straight for days, you will feel me in every step, and you will thank me for it”. His thrusts pick up at breakneck speed, the bed shakes from the sheer force that Alastor is using to fuck you. Every snap of his hips you moan more and more.

The sound you make when he takes everything out and enters you at once is so obscene that it would make Angel Dust blush. He’s growling now, his antlers growing bigger as he fucks you like his life dependend on it. As he fucks you like he hates you.

Alastor pushes your hips higher, and suddenly he’s even deeper. His other hand holding your waist in a bruising grip. The strain on your pinned hands will bruise too. His lips graze the skin of your collarbone, he looks so feral you are scared he will maul, the thrill of not knowing adding to your fucked up sense of pleasure.

He seems to pick up on your fear, and bites down on your collarbone, hauling as he tastes your blood and buries himself inside you again and again. Moans turned into screams, and the only thing coming out of your lips is his name, spoken like a profane prayer. You would give everything you have to Alastor, and he doesn’t even have to ask.

Your orgasm has been building for a while now, the coil on your belly becoming tighter and tighter, like a supernova about to be born. “Alastor, please please let me come” you beg. His unfocused eyes stare down at you, as he takes a moment from feasting on your sweet blood to address your desperate, sweet pleas.

“Don’t. You. Dare” he says, punctuating every word with a sharp thrust. As much as you want, you are not sure you will be able to hold any longer. “I beg you alastor, please let me cum, i will let you do anything you want. but i need it so badly, please please”

You sounded so desperate when you begged, so beautiful.

“Don’t strike deals you don’t know you can fulfill, pet” his voice is low, a warning. You ignore it. “I promise Alastor, anything”. Alastor laughs.

his finger touches your clit as he finally allows your sweet relief “you may come now, sweet doe” and that’s it, you are off, you are dead. You see stars, you see the entire universe as you scream out and climax. Walls tightening around Alastor’s monster cock, eyes rowling, his name a scream on your lips. You ride out your wave slowly, but Alastor is not slowing down.

Instead he is picking up his pace, maneuvering your hips even higher, your chains are stretched to the limit. You can feel them start piercing your skin. Thrust after thrust the sensation becomes too much, you are too overstimulated to go through all of this again.

“i can’t take it, i can’t take it!”

Alastor doesn’t care. “I told you not to make deals if you can’t hold them, didn’t I?” You don’t answer, you can’t. you can’t to anything but let him fuck you as hard and as much as he want. “but you are such a little cockslut for me that you can’t help it. What a shame”

He is gripping your hips so hard it breaks skin, tiny trails of blood on his claws. “you will take it. You better take it, or I will make you take it” static picks up as he threatens the last words. You know you are spent, you know how bad it hurts, you know how bad his words sound, but the lines between pleasure and pain are so blurred that you can’t think coherently. Even this pain of being broken feels good.

Still, tears fill your eyes and you start crying, from pleasure, from pain, you don’t know anymore. What Alastor is doing to you has no precedent. No one can do this like he does. He knows torture too well, and he is tortouring you in the most decadent, delicious ways possible. “alastor i want to, i want to so bad but i just can’t” the tears sting your eyes and stain your face.

Alastor sees it. He slows down just a bit, his voice softening “oh my dear doe, but you can. Just this once more, just for me. One more” his voice is so maddening soft it acts like fuel to your tears. Your skin tingles and you feel giddy, somehow your throbbing hot, wet cunt seems to find the right amount of relief, and you can feel only pleasure again.

Alastor continues to fuck you, your moans returning to normal, you are being so loud now, making a mess of yourself, just like he said, and a big hand comes to cover your mouth.

“Oh we can’t have you being this loud can we?” his voice goes to that delicious mocking tone. His thrusts are slower now, but as deep as they can go. “what would you friends say if they found out that you moan like a common whore for their feared radio demon.. hum,.?”

You start to feel the pit of your belly tightening again, and alastor doesn’t stop humiliating you. The degradation feels just the right amount of perfection. You are exactly what he says you are. A common whore when it comes to him. “weren’t you ashamed just a few moments ago? trying to hold back the sinful sounds you make when I touch you? I already gave you one orgasm. I’ve been way too generous for my liking. I should stop right now since you feel so conscious about this” Alator’s breathing is becoming erratic, his thrusts sharp, hard, and out of the breakneck rhythm he was torturing you before.You start moaning even louder through his hand. “ungrateful little pet. You are just so greedy for one more orgasm, you don’t even care that everyone downstairs can hear you hm??”

You can’t think straight. you feel on the edge of glory, this orgasm threatening to be harder than your previous one, as if it is possible. “alastor i’m so sorry, i know i don’t deserve it” you muffle behind his hand, he hears you speaking and takes if off “but can you please let me cum? just this once? just for you. Please Al” his thrusts are truly erratic now. He’s close too, even though you are too wrapped up on your own sensations to notice

“please” you beg, nothing more than a whisper. Already making peace with the fact that you are going to come without his permission and he will probably never fuck you again

“Good girl, you can come now”

instantly as you are granted his permissions your world explodes, blinding hot pleasure takes over your body, the waves of pleasure making your heart beat so fast you feel like it’s going to stop. The petit mort is coming, and her sweet embrace envelops you, specially now that you feel Alastor’s cock twitching and spilling his seed inside you. You scream his name. Maybe you hear him screaming yours too. You don’t know anymore, your nerves are singing from pleasure unheard of back when you were alive. Pleasure so great it could only be found in hell. The most heavily, depraved way of torture.

You come down from your high, still dizzy, your body going limp. You are not dead, but you are positively spent. You give in into the warm and fuzziness of sleep.

The last thing you remember is the softness of a blanket, a gentle kiss on your cheek.

“Oh my dear, I knew you had one more on you,spending yourself this way just for me! What a truly precious thing, doe”

You might be dreaming now.

You weren’t dreaming. Alastor praises you, knowing his words will be the last thing you hear before a night of peaceful, deep dreamless slumber. He makes sure to put the softest velvet blanket he owns on your body, not to make the damage you gladly allowed your body to take for him an inconvenience. Tomorrow you will wake up to fancy letters of praise and sweet chocolate covered strawberries. And no one will know how Alastor found the perfect doe to breed as he pleases during the height of his mating season.

#hello guys im insane can you tell?#eu escrevi isso aqui na força do odio puro e genuino de quem ta sendo xingada no twitter tem dias #alastor #alstor smut #alastor x reader #alastor x reader smut #alastor fanfic #the radio demon #the radio demon x you #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin fic #autora também está no cio #serio aquela msuica sento no bico da glock rebolo e tiro o short e vem vamo fudeee o gabriel tirou o meu cabaço e me botou de quatro nao #sai da minha cabeça #aquariano nato também não #QUEBRA A CAMA DESSAS PUTAAAAAAAAA #baixaria

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blackshadowswriter · 1 year

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Kneel At The Altar┃Matt Murdock

Summary: The one in which the Devil fucks you at the altar.

Warnings: blasphemy? (because I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to fuck in church), reader (me) having very unholy thoughts about Matt in church and Matt acting on those unholy thoughts, little bit of exhibitionism, smut: dom!Matt, kinda rough p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), teasing, edging, praying while Matt eats you out AND fingers you (???), choking kink, praise kink, spanking, some degradation, marking, multiple orgasms, some overstimulation, dirty talk (not particularly in that order)

God, if you're reading this, stop here, it isn't for you bby 😘

Words: 7,691

AN: Would you believe me if I said that this fic idea formed in my head WHILE I was in church? I'm not even kidding, I got dragged to church, and I literally thought up this fic while sitting in church, half-listening to a sermon. This fic has been sitting in my drafts for a while now, and I guess the wait was worth it because I bring you 7k words of pure sin. My content warnings have never been this long before, and that's probably not a good sign (or it's a very, very good sign)

Tagging my wonderful @farfromstrange because you also inspired me to finish this, and our horny enthusiasm for this fic kept me going, ily sm girl 🖤

As you knelt in front of the altar on your hands on knees with tears in your eyes and the Devil himself between your legs, you wondered how you had gotten yourself into this predicament.

It had started out so innocent: dear Matthew asking you to go to mass with him, swaying you with his plea of "I don't want to go alone, sweetheart, please" and that drowned puppy look in his eyes. For someone who couldn't see out of them, Matt could express a great deal of emotion in his eyes.

You agreed to accompany him to Sunday morning mass and returned the victorious grin that had spread across his face with a fond one of your own. You weren't usually one for religious settings like this, but it was worth it to see Matt in that black suit with the white dress shirt—one of your favorite outfits on Matt.

Half of the sermon fell on your deaf ears as most of your attention was on Matt, studying his gorgeous side profile and that stubbled jawline that you loved kissing when he fucked you. God, it felt even better between your legs. The thought of that sent heat flaring across your body as you squeezed your thighs together.

Besides you, Matt cleared his throat quietly, nudging you in your side, undoubtedly guessing where your thoughts had gone. A faint blush rose to your cheeks when you saw that Matt's jaw was clenched tightly, a sign you had come to know meant that he was trying to control himself. The sight of that only spurred on further thoughts of Matt losing control and fucking you right there.

Matt let out a quiet but ragged breath, and you knew he could smell the arousal between your thighs. His grip on his cane was so tense that his knuckles had turned white, his scars visible against his trembling fist. Your mouth went dry as you remembered those knuckles buried inside of you as you moaned for him just a few nights ago. Thighs clenching even tighter together, you bit back a grin at Matt's low hiss of your name.

Subtly, Matt adjusted his pants next to you, and the discomfort on his face made you stifle a laugh. The quiet growl Matt rumbled in warning did nothing to dissuade you. You could feel the heat of Matt's body pressed against yours and bit your lip, recalling how it felt against your bare skin.

Your fingers started to creep towards Matt's thigh, lightly skimming up and down the side of those muscular thighs that always caged you in when he knelt on top of you in bed. Faster than you could blink, Matt's hand flew towards you and caught your wrist in his tight grip.

"Not here, for God's sake," he hissed in your ear.

"Funny you'd phrase it like that," you murmured in amusement.

Matt turned to glare at you behind his opaque red glasses, but the way he had to fold his hands across his lap to maintain some semblance of his Good Catholic Boy image in church (which you had come to realize was a total façade) told you he wanted it as much as you did.

You should probably listen to him and stop before anything happened. What was the punishment for getting handsy in God's house again? You had a feeling you didn't want to know.

But there was the slight thrill of excitement shooting through you at the risk of doing this in pubic. A sly grin slid across your lips as you tilted your head towards Matt's ear, letting your hair fall forward in a way that would seem to onlookers as though you were merely whispering something to him. Instead, you nipped at his neck right below his ear where you knew he was sensitive. Matt's entire form, every inch of thick muscle and power stiffened at the contact, and you heard him give the smallest, tinniest groan that no one other than you would be able to hear.

Matt growled your name in warning, but there was no denying the lust burning in his dark eyes. His blank gaze had landed somewhere around your lips, and you wondered if he really was going to give into desire and kiss your right there.

But then everyone started to rise around them to sing the closing songs, and the sudden movement snapped both of you out of whatever horny haze you had been in. You stood like everyone else, shoulders pressed together, forced to ignore the blatant lust coiling in both of you.

For now.

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"I'm going out," Matt whispered to you sometime late at night as you laid curled in bed with a book in hand while the shadow of the Devil stood behind you.

At his words, you shut your book and rolled over to face him, eyes roving over the skin-tight black suit through which you could practically see every single ab. His black mask was held in one hand while the other came up to cradle your face gently. As much was you enjoyed Matt in his black lawyer suit, you decided that you enjoyed Matt even more in his black Devil suit when you could run your fingers across his broad chest and feel the almost burning heat of his skin underneath.

You tilted your head up to study Matt's face. Whenever his mask was on, cloaking so much of his face in black, he felt like a phantom shadow that could disappear if you closed your eyes for a second too long. There was something sharp and fiery and dangerous about him.

You didn't mind of course. In actuality, you enjoyed it—enjoyed the danger of dancing with the Devil.

"Okay," you said, sitting up to press a kiss to his soft lips. "Stay safe."

"I will," he murmured, brushing his calloused fingers across your temple. "Stay in the apartment. Wait for me when I get back."

You knew that voice—that low, possessive tone that dripped with promise for what was to come. A knowing smirk flitted across your lips as you hooked your legs around his waist to pull him nearer. "Yeah?" you challenged. "And what are you going to do when you get back?"

Matt chuckled softly, and even though the mask was off, that sound right there was purely the Devil speaking. "Oh sweetheart," he purred. "That's only for me to know, isn't it?"

That low, raspy voice he used rekindled that fiery want that had burned so dangerously in you hours earlier. By the time Sunday morning mass had been over, Foggy and Karen had called you both over for lunch in the office. The rest of the day had went by as normal with neither of you acknowledging what had transpired in the church outside of his promising smirks and your light, teasing touches ghosting across his body.

Now, however, with the Devil ready to be unleashed, there was nothing stopping that eager, burning desire rearing its head in both of you.

Nothing except Matt's duty to the city.

Fucking morals. You could just stay with me in bed, you thought about telling him. You might even be able to cajole him into staying if you could rile him up enough.

But no. You understood Matt's commitment to Hell's Kitchen even if you weren't too fond of the fact he got beat up every night. Still, it would be cruel to ask him to stop what he did just for you, just so he could hear the cries of those who needed him going unanswered in the merciless shadow of the night.

You weren't above asking for a little taste of his promise, however. "Tell me," you begged softly. "Tell me what you want to do to me."

That sharp grin was still on his face. "When I come back," Matt whispered in your ear, "I am going to fuck you into this mattress so hard that you won't be able to keep quiet." His fingers danced down the nape of your neck lightly, and you shivered. "And you're going to be screaming my name so loud, so everyone can hear who you belong to."

"Oh my God," you whimpered, eyes rolling back at the promise. That heat coiling in your stomach lashed out across your body, spreading through you like a wildfire. It pooled between your thighs, making you clench them tightly together with a soft moan. "Matthew."

The devilish smile that spread across his lips was absolutely sinful, a promise of the night to come. "But," he rumbled in your ear, his hand reaching down to grasp your wrist as he had in church. "You are not to touch yourself until I come back. Do you understand?"

You whimpered again.

"I said," Matt growled, "do you understand me?"

"Yes," you whined. "But God, Matt, please...I can't wait that long, Matt, please—"

"You will," he said sharply, "or you'll be punished." He released his harsh hold on your wrist and brought his hand up to trail lightly across your cheek, his tenderness a stark contrast to his rough dominance a few seconds ago. "You can do that for me, can't you, sweetheart? Can't you be a good girl for me? Can't you be a good girl and wait for me to get back to fuck you?"

Fuck, not the praise.

Your head fell backwards with a small shuddering moan, eyes falling shut as your thighs squeezed tightly together, a desperate motion to ease the ache in your core. "Matt," you whimpered. "Please."

His low laugh breezed across your cheek, and Matt's hand disappeared from your cheek. "Be good," came his stern order, and then the radiant heat from Matt's body vanished, leaving you panting and desperate.

By the time your eyes had snapped open, the Devil was gone, melting back into the shadows into the night.

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You tried.

Oh God, you truly tried.

You laid there in bed, body burning with desperate need as you tried not to think about what Matt was planning to do to you lest your predicament worsen.

You tried to read. You rolled onto your stomach and flipped your book back open, trying to pick up where you left off. It did no good—the words wouldn't permeate the fog of sinful thoughts swarming in your head that screamed Matt, Matt, Matt.

You thought about disobeying Matt and touching yourself, just to relieve some of that pressure building between your legs but quickly dismissed the idea. Matt would know if you did—he would smell the scent of your arousal on your fingers and instantly know what you had done. Even though the prospect of his punishment was excitement, tonight you didn't think you could stand his merciless teasing. You needed him desperately.

Eventually, after nearly an hour of lying there, you got out of bed and slipped your shoes on. You would go for a walk around the neighborhood, you decided. The fresh air would help clear your head and calm yourself down.

At least that's what you told yourself you would say if a certain Devil caught your scent and chased you down.

And if you were really just hoping that said Devil really would catch your scent...well, that was no one's business, was that?

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In an interesting twist of irony, you made it as far as the gates of Clinton Church before he caught up with you.

You thought you had heard him behind you several times as you walked, and you knew he must have been letting you hear his small footsteps and scuffles on purpose. If he wanted to, Matt could move like a giant Devilish cat, leaping across rooftops thought the dark in absolute silence.

But then you paused in front of the church, staring at the stained glass windows through which you could see the dark interior as you thought about that morning. You didn't even noticed the church doors slowly creeping open in front of your, too caught up in your thoughts.

Suddenly, a strong arm snaked around your waist and yanked you through the doors into the dark church. The startled gasp that flew from your lips at the quick movement was quickly stifled by a large hand over your mouth, but you weren't afraid. You could feel the familiar, broad line of muscle pressed against your back, his body heat that always burned so warm a comforting feeling after the cold New York air.

"I told you to wait for me," a low voice hissed in your ear.

You bit back a grin, the tingle of excitement in your stomach growing stronger. "I was just going out for a walk," you said innocently.

He growled behind you and dragged you towards the altar through the rows of empty pews. As your feet stumbled along, your eyes darted around the dark interior, sweeping for any sign of company. You shouldn't have been worried though—Matt had far more effectively scoped out the inside already to make sure no one else was there.

"Kneel," Matt ordered when they reached the altar.

You obeyed, dropping to your knees in front of the wooden table. The cloth that usually draped across it was absent tonight—perhaps being cleaned or for some other reason. It didn't matter. All that mattered right now was the man pressed against your back.

"You've been a bad girl tonight," Matt mused, his chest vibrating against your back when he spoke.

"Well, you were taking so long, so I thought I'd come find you," you replied sweetly, unable to keep the grin off your face this time.

Matt hadn't told you that you could move, so you kept still in the position he had ordered you in—kneeling in front of the altar facing forward away from the warm frame of muscle and power at your back. Your eyes turned, almost automatically, up towards the massive statue of Jesus hanging from the cross as you silently wondered if Matt really was planning on taking your right in front of that statue. You decided you wouldn't mind if he did.

Behind you, you could hear Matt pacing quietly, purposefully keeping out of your line of sight. He made a tsking noise. "So impatient," he tutted. "Perhaps I need to teach you the virtue of patience, don't you think, sweetheart?"

You licked your lips slowly. "What does this lesson on patience include, sir?" you asked, emphasizing the last word with a smirk.

His sharp inhale carried to your ears, and your grin widened. Your goal tonight was to rile Matt up enough that he would either forget about your disobedience or not care. So far, the plan was going great.

Then, his hand fisted in your hair and yanked your head back. Matt's burning form reappeared, pressed flushed against your back. His hot breath was in your ear suddenly, growling, "I want you to take these off—" his finger curled in the waistband of your pants and snapped them against your waist "—and get on your hands and knees."

When you didn't move at first, he landed a sharp hit to your clothed ass. You yelped, and his hand darted up to cover your mouth.

"Move, sweetheart," he ordered lowly. "And keep quiet. We don't want anyone hearing us here, do we?"

"No," you panted even though you weren't sure if you were telling the truth. His hand released your hair, and you scrambled to obey him, peeling off your jeans and tossing them aside before kneeling how he told you to. The position felt oddly exposed—you could feel cold air breezing across your naked legs and shivered.

"That's better," Matt murmured behind you. His bare hand—when had he taken off the gloves?—brushed against the back of your thigh, and you whimpered, instinctively pressing back against him. This time, when his hand came down your ass, you didn't have the denim of your jeans to protect you. The sound of his hand against the thin material of your panties echoed with a sharp crack through the church. You had to bring a hand up to fist in your mouth to keep quiet from the sting.

"So." He trailed a finger across the back of your thighs lazily, occasionally dipping them down to slide along the soaked fabric of your panties, taking pleasure in each of your hitched breathes. "You want to explain what that was about earlier?"

"I was just going for a walk," you whimpered, desperately arching back into him, but his fingers disappeared the moment you did. The next second, another sharp smack landed on your ass, jolting you forward with a small gasp.

"That's not what I was asking, and you know it," Matt said calmly. "I was talking about this morning."

A feeling of something—you didn't know what that was—ran down your spine, and you shivered, heart rate picking up at the memory of your little dalliance during mass.

"I don't know," you breathed.

Your heart skipped. Lie.

Another harsh strike landed on your ass. "You do."

"Fuck, Matt," you nearly cried, "please!"

"What are you asking for, hm?" Matt murmured, running a large palm over your stinging ass. "Tell me, sweetheart."

"Touch me, fuck me, anything," you begged. "Please, Matt, I've waited so long."

"Then you can wait a little more, can't you?"

"No," you panted, trying not to move, your body on fire. "Matt, please!"

He gave a thoughtful hum, fingers teasing you lightly through the thin fabric of your panties. Your hips bucked back instantly, a sharp whine leaving your throat at the touch. You tried to grind against his hand, but he yanked it away with a low, almost mocking chuckle.

"You've been naughty today, sweetheart," Matt purred. "Having such unholy thoughts in church—don't think I didn't know what you were thinking about. Tell me what were you imagining, hmm?"

Heat rose to your face, melting right along with the fire raging across the rest of your body. "I don't know," you stammered.

"Lie," Matt said, his voice darkly amused. His hand slid underneath your jaw and tilted your head back, so he could press his lips to the shell of your ear. "Were you thinking about me fucking you, sweetheart?"

A ragged moan fell from your mouth, a pulse of heat running across your spine. You let your head fall back against Matt's shoulder, arching back against him. The hand gripping your jaw stroked your cheek gently, a glimpse of softness underneath his dominating exterior.

"Please," you begged quietly. "I need it, Matt. I'll do anything, please..."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

He let out a quiet, considering noise, his fingers absently stroking your jaw with a gentleness that you had come to know precede the roughness. You whimpered quietly, begging him in your head to hurry up and do whatever the fuck he wanted to do so he could just fuck you already. Your body was aching with need, that fire in your raging to be satisfied.

"How well do you remember the Lord's Prayer?" Matt asked you abruptly.

You blinked in surprise. "T-the Lord's Prayer?"

"Yes."

"Um...kind of?" you said uncertainly. "Haven't done it since middle school." You felt the breath from his quiet laughter skate across your earlobe and twitched in anticipation of whatever he had planned.

"Here's what's going to happen," he said slowly, his tone dipping back down into the low timber of his Devil voice, the one that always sent shivers down your spine. "You're going to recite it for me as penance for your sins."

"I didn't—"

"Thinking about the Devil fucking you in church is a sin, sweetheart," Matt cooed. "You're going to need to repent if you want to get what you want."

"Y-you want me to pray."

"Yes."

"Right here. Kneeling in my panties. With you at my back, half grinding on my ass."

A sharp swat landed on your ass. "Hmm, it seems more like you were the one grinding on me," he chuckled lowly, dragging his finger along the seam of your underwear. "As for the panties, God might mind, but I don't think the Devil does. In fact, he prefers you praying like this. Go on, sweetheart. Say your prayer, and maybe I'll think about giving you what you want."

You drew in a shaky breath, trying to clear your head away from thoughts of Matt, fuck me already and remember the words of the prayer. This actually wasn't so bad, you decided. It was a bit of a weird request to pray, kneeling at the altar in soaked panties, but it was fine. All you had to do was recite the prayer, and then hopefully, Matt would be satisfied and finally give in to you.

Oh, how wrong you were.

"Okay," you started to say, the vaguely remembered words coming to the tip of your tongue. "Um...Our Father...who art in heaven...hallowed be...thy name?"

"Keep going," Matt purred in your ear, his hands sliding down from your face to lightly grip your throat for a brief moment, enjoying your shaky groan at the contact. He pushed you back down onto your hands and knees, hand running down to your waist and dragging sensually across your hips.

Whimpering at the touch, you bit your lip and forced the next words out. "Y-your kingdom come....and, um....your will be done—Matt, what are you—?"

For he had just hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties and started to slide them down your hips. Your breath caught in your throat at the way the fabric slid against your most sensitive areas. "Don't worry about me," he murmured. "Just lift your legs up for me—there you go. Continue."

What the actual fuck? Did he honestly expect you to be even close to okay after that? He slid your panties completely free of your legs, leaving your soaked heat bare to him. You whimpered at the barely there brush of his fingers against your inner thigh, just a few inches away from where you ached for him most.

"Continue, sweetheart," Matt ordered.

You tried to take another deep breath and continue where you'd left off. "Okay, um...will be done...on—on Earth as it is in Heaven. Uh...give us this day our—fucking hell, Matthew—oh my God, fuck!"

You lurched forward, a strangled cry falling from your lips when you felt Matt's mouth suddenly close around your dripping cunt, tongue lashing mercilessly against your clit so fast and so sharp it nearly hurt. He kept up the torturous pace for a few seconds while you writhed and moaned, pleasure striking like lightning between your legs and arcing up to your back and across your legs. His mouth on you was both a remedy and fuel to the desperate need that had been kindling there all night. Your hands clawed at the carpet underneath you, fire burning across every nerve in your body as you shuddered and cried out for him.

Then, as suddenly as it came, his mouth vanished from your cunt in a heartbeat, and you were left just as empty and desperate as you were a few seconds ago.

"No!" you choked out, voice thick with fading pleasure and need as you tried to grind back against him uselessly. "Matt, please!"

He didn't answer your plea for a few moments, instead dragging his tongue across his lips and moaning softly as the taste of you. God, you were perfection to him, you always were. Matt wanted nothing more than to dive back between your legs and drink from you until you had nothing left to give him.

But half the enjoyment of the catch was the chase, and Matt was not done teasing you yet. He laughed darkly, landing another slap to your ass, gentler this time but no less firm. "I told you to pray, sweetheart," he reminded you. "I told you to pray and repent for your sins. And what do you do? Be a filthy little girl and start moaning for me? In God's house? What a dirty little girl you are."

Your mouth fell open at the sheer audacity of this man to accuse you of such a thing when he just fucking ate you out right in front of the altar. Still, there was no hiding the shudder that rolled through you at his words, and Matt gripped your hips firmer.

"You're going to finish your prayer," Matt ordered. "No matter what happens, and then we'll see if you deserve to get fucked."

"'No matter what happens?'" you repeated in a choked whisper. "Are you—you're not actually going to—"

Another hard hit landed on your ass, the sting only feeding the fire threatening to consume you. "Pray, sweetheart," Matt ordered. "Can't you follow a simple command?"

You swallowed thickly. "Y-yes, I can."

"Good. Then continue."

You whimpered softly, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to ignore the burning, aching need for him between your legs. Where had you even left off on the prayer?

"Give us this day our daily bread," you stammered out. "And—um—forgive us our— oh God!"

Because fuck, his mouth was on you again, hungrily lapping at your cunt as you bucked against him desperately. His hot tongue dragged across your clit, and burning pleasure was scorching every inch of your skin. You threw back your head with a wanton moan when Matt circled the sensitive bud with a quick swipe of tongue that had you writhing in his firm grip.

"Matt!" you cried, molten heat rolling across every nerve in your body. Your hands curled against the carpet, desperately grasping for something to hold on to, to brace you against the raging fire licking at your insides.

Matt paused in his motions, pulling his mouth away for a second, but his finger came to replace his tongue, drawing languid circles on your clit that had you rolling your hips in desperation.

"I told you to pray," he told you again, quiet warning in his voice. "Don't make me remind you again."

A strangled noise fell from your lips. "Y-you keep eating me out, and you want me to pray?" you squeaked.

You didn't have to look back to know he had that feral grin on his lips, the one that always drove you insane. "Oh sweetheart, that was the plan from the beginning."

And his deliciously thick finger plunged into you with a sinfully slick noise that seemed to echo through the empty church like a reminder of the blasphemy taking place at the altar, and then you were writhing, whining, whimpering as Matt fucked you slowly with his middle finger. His purposefully slow, deliberate strokes had you moaning so loud, you thought anyone passing by the church might hear you. Each thrust of his finger inside of you stoked that deep, festering pleasure that burned in your very core, making you arch and cry out to a God too ashamed to answer you.

That was okay, you thought through a thick haze of pleasure. You didn't need God to answer you. You needed the Devil to fuck you.

Matt groaned, his eyes rolling back at the smell of your arousal. He dragged his tongue over his lips, bringing the delicious taste of you from the air into his mouth, heat rippling through him at that new sensation. Painfully hard and throbbing in his pants, Matt panted, desperately drawing another breath in just to drag more of your taste into him. You were exquisite. You were perfect, his good little girl, making such pretty noises for him. You were everything he needed and so much more.

His thumb dragged across your sensitive clit, sending jolts of fiery pleasure stabbing through you as that pressure started to build in your lower abdomen, fire coiling into a tight rope, ready to snap. And oh, there it was, sweet orgasm dancing within reach, so close but so far away. Half sobbing, you arched against him, desperately trying to get him to fuck you faster.

But then Matt's fingers withdrew suddenly, leaving you empty and aching, slick dripping down your thighs as a harsh sob left your chest. The burning edge of orgasm was already fading away. "Matt," you cried, "please! Please, Matt, please, you've been teasing me for so long—"

"Isn't that what you wanted?" he snarled, his hand fisting in your hair to yank your head back, so his lips were right against your ear. "Don't act like you didn't want this, you dirty little girl."

A wanton moan slipped from your mouth before you could stop it, before you could register the embarrassment. "I wanted you to fuck me," you groaned. "I need it, Matt, please."

Abruptly, he released his grip on your hair but not before delivering another harsh swat to your ass. "You want me to fuck you? Then do as I say," he commanded. "I gave you an order, sweetheart, and you still haven't followed it. You better finish that prayer before I decide to give you another punishment for not listening."

"I—I don't—"

Another hit to your ass. "Did you not hear me?" Matt growled, his voice all rough edges and heated ash drifting across your skin. "Or do you just enjoy being a brat?"

This, you thought vaguely, this should be embarrassing. The way he degraded you, the way he called you his dirty little girl, his brat—if it had been any other man, you would've beat the shit out of him. But oh, it was him, it was your Matt, it was your Devil whispering filthy words to you, and every single syllable sent another pulse of heat rolling through you like molten lava.

"This is your last warning," Matt said lowly. "Finish your prayer now, or I'll give you another punishment."

Your brain scrambled to comprehend what he was saying, or at least some part of your brain that hadn't shut down, that wasn't giving in to primal instinct to beg Matt to fuck you. Where the fuck had you even left off?

"...F-forgive us our trespasses as we forgive...our—no, uh, those who trespass against us. And, um, lead us not into temptatio—ah, Matt!"

God, this time it was two of his wonderfully thick fingers pushing into you abruptly, thick heat pulsing through you. Your hips bucked against him instinctively, seeking moremoremore. The words of the prayer died on your tongue, replaced by shameless whimpers and moans as Matt dragged them out slowly and then shoved them back in a harsh thrust, the tips of his fingers barely grazing that spot, deep inside of you. Desperate, keening cries tumbled from your mouth as you threw your head back, gasping and whining.

You—oh God—you needed more. Hot pleasure wormed its way through your body, consuming every other thought until you were left with nothing but primal, wanton need. Your arms trembled as you barely held yourself up, cunt throbbing around Matt's fingers achingly.

This time, when Matt pulled your hair back and snarled in your ear, his fingers didn't leave you. Instead, they continued their torturously slow pace even as he purred, "Finish the goddamn prayer, sweetheart, and don't make me ask again."

You knew better than to protest the unfairness of him making you recite a prayer while he fucked you on his fingers in front of the altar. You could barely summon a thought that wasn't fuck me, Matt, please, but you managed to choke out the next line.

"Deliver us from evil," you sobbed even as Matt brushed his thumb across your clit again, making you jolt at the sharp pleasure racing along the bud of sensitive nerves. "I—ah!—don't know the rest—" you stammered, desperate to reach the end.

"Lie," he chuckled in your ear. "Lie one more time, and that prayer is going to be the least of your problems, sweetheart."

Your head fell back against his hand, eyes falling shut as your needy whimpers echoed along the church walls. His fingers had picked up pace, and now Matt pressed them deep enough to just ever so slightly brush against your g-spot. Even that brief, barely there contact was enough to have you dripping and throbbing on his fingers.

"Finish it," Matt cooed in your ear. "Come on, honey, you're so close."

In both ways, you thought distantly in your muddled mind. "Please!" you cried.

"Finish the last bit, and you can come," he promised.

Well, that changed things. Spurred on by his vow, you blinked harshly, trying to put aside the scorching pleasure arcing through your body for a second.

"For the—the kingdom and—uh something about power and glory—is yours, uh, nowandforeveramen," you rushed out, squeezing your eyes shut, and begging, begging that it was good enough for Matt.

"Hmm," he hummed, considering. Should he make you redo that last bit? Technically it wasn't correct, and how he would love to hear you cry for him if he made you repeat it. But then you ground your hips back, trying to fuck yourself on his fingers with a strangled cry of "please, sir!" And oh, how he could deny that?

Matt didn't reply, but you heard him shifting behind you, the rhythm of his fingers pausing for a second. A half sobbed plea was forming on your lips, but it was chased away in a heartbeat when the glorious wet heat of Matt's mouth closed around your cunt again.

Sinfully loud moans and gasps tore from your throat, your head falling forward. Fiery pleasure almost too much to handle burned between your legs, coursing up through your entire body until your toes were curling and your hands gripping the carpet. Matt lapped at your clit like a man starved, all while his fingers resumed their motions, finally picking up pace, settling into a fast rhythm you so desperately needed.

You were racing towards your climax at a speed that would've been embarrassing if Matt hadn't been edging you all night. "Please," you choked out, tears streaming down your face from the sheer intensity of it all. "Please, Matt, you said I could come, I need it, please—"

And his hand that was holding on to you squeezed your hip, and that was all the confirmation you needed. Wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking, Matt curled his fingers inside of you just right, pressing down on that spot, and then you just fell. Off that high cliff you had been dancing to and from for the entire night.

The plummet was truly something else: your back arched, and a ragged cry—almost scream—was falling from your mouth, incoherent noises and words reaching Matt's ears as orgasm surged over you like a tidal wave, knocking you off your feet and dragging you under into a blanket of blissful oblivion. You swore you saw stars popping in the corners of your blurry vision, so much white-hot pleasure burning through you, it was almost incomprehensible.

Matt slowed the drag of his fingers but kept up soft little kitten licks on your clit as you came down until you were twitching and whimpering from the oversensitivity. But he didn't wait for you to fully recover before continuing.

In one swift move, he flipped you over into your back, and you got a glimpse of his powerful form leaning over you, his flushed face, his straining bulge in his pants, his lust-filled eyes burning into you before his mouth crashed against yours in a fiery kiss.

You could practically feel his hunger devouring you from that kiss from the way he claimed your lips, hot tongue pressing into your mouth the second you opened to him. His teeth lightly nipped your bottom lip, and your moan was swallowed by his tongue sliding against yours. Matt groaned into your mouth, his hips grinding down against you.

"Matt," you whined when he broke the kiss to let you come up for air. "Please, I need you."

He growled, the hungry sound nothing short of feral as he dipped his head to suck at your neck. The hot embrace of his mouth at your throat had you keening, tilting your head back for more, which he gave you, his teeth grazed the delicate, vulnerable skin. A low hum rippled through his form before he suddenly sank his teeth into your neck, nipping you hard enough to leave a mark. You gasped, body involuntarily arching up into him as Matt dragged his tongue over the spot he had bit as if soothing it.

"Wanna mark you, sweetheart," he moaned into your neck. "So they know who you belong to."

Jesus fucking Christ. This man was going to be the death of you.

"Fuck me," you begged. "I want it, Matt, please. Mark me, fuck me, make me yours."

Another feral snarl rumbled deep in his chest, and then suddenly, you were lifted up into the air before your back hit a cold, stone table.

Did he just put you on the fucking altar?

You didn't have time to think about that, however, because Matt was hurriedly unbuckling his pants, and the only thought left in your head was finally. Eagerly, you helped him shove those goddamn pants off his hips, licking your lips at the sight of his straining cock in his boxers before you yanked those down too, reveling in Matt's soft whimper. His cock was painfully hard, the tip bright red and slick with his precum that dripped down his throbbing length. The mere sight of his gorgeous cock had you clenching your thighs together as you wrapped your hand around his thigh girth, stroking him softly. The throaty moan of your name he let out sent shivers racing down your spine.

"Sweetheart," he groaned, eyes falling shut.

"Please," you whined, "I need you, Matt. I need you inside me."

"Fuck," he breathed, and his fingers curled around your hips, yanking you forward suddenly. With a gasp, you were dragged across the altar until your legs could wrap around Matt, who was standing right between between thighs, all that thick, powerful muscle cradled between your legs. Matt lined his cock up with your entrance and brought his hand out to cradle your face. "I want to hear you scream for me," he ordered. "I want everyone to hear who you belong to."

You whimpered, nodding frantically. "I—yes, Matt, yes, just please—just fuck me, Matt."

Even like this, flushed, panting, and as obviously needy as you were, he could still manage that cocky smirk as his finger brushed across your lips. "You asked for it," he chuckled and finally, finally pushed himself into you, inch by burning inch.

Your eyes rolled back into your head, your mouth falling open as slowly, he slid his thick length into you, the stretch of him in your cunt welcome after the emptiness of so long. "Matt," you moaned when he finally bottomed out, his ragged groan matching your own. God, he was so big, so thick, seated deep inside of you. His burning body molded perfectly against you, the endless expanse of lean muscle and soft skin glorious underneath your roaming hands.

"You feel so good, sweetheart," he panted, dragging his cock out slowly and sliding back in, his leisure pace driving you mad. "Ah!—fuck—you're so tight, baby."

"Want you," you moaned, arching into him. "Want you to fuck me. Fuck me the way I know you want to, Matt, please."

He let out another ragged groan, the hand cradling your cheek moving down to wrap around your throat, not squeezing but just holding for the time being. "Y-yeah?" he stuttered, trying to sound rough and in control but failing as he swallowed down another eager moan. You loved watching him like this, watching the way he fell apart in front of you, all because of you. "And what's that?"

You wrapped your legs around Matt's hips to let him grind deeper into your cunt, matching his heady pant with a needy whimper of your own. "Y-you wanna fuck me hard," you moaned out. "Could feel it, Matt, could feel the way you want it. Please, I—I can take it, I need you to—oh fuck!—fuck me rough. Take me, Matt, please."

His growl rumbled deep in his throat, and the large hand gripping your throat squeezed just once. Matt dipped his head down to place a kiss on your lips, sweet and gentle one last time as he purred against your mouth.

Then, he braced his other hand next to your head on the altar, and when he dragged his hips back, this time he returned to you with a vicious snap of his hips, slamming his cock back into you. A strangled gasp flew from your mouth as your hands scrambled against the altar surface beneath you, trying to find something to hold onto.

But there was nothing, nothing other than you and Matt and the fast, rough, almost brutal pace he set as he drove himself into you again and again. This pleasure was so much deeper and stronger than before, each delicious drag of his cock against your slick cunt sending sparks careening through your body until your brain felt overloaded with bliss. The sounds you two were making were nothing short of downright filthy: the slap of skin on skin as Matt's hips collided with your thighs, the slick noise of his cock gliding through your obscene wet cunt, the sinfully loud moans falling from both of your lips.

Matt's grip on your throat tightened when you clenched around his cock, and he growled, the sound thick and hazy with lust and need. He picked up his pace even more, fucking you so hard you knew you were going to feel it tomorrow, but you didn't give a shit. Worth it, in your opinion, if it came from Matt Murdock railing you like this.

"Matt," you slurred, half drunk on the pleasure he gave you. He stroked your jaw with his thumb, his blank eyes, dark with arousal and lust, focused somewhere around your lips.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he panted, his hips driving into you with animal-like need. "Y-you feel so good. So wet, so tight just for me. You sound so—fucking pretty getting fucked on my cock."

You whined, writhing beneath him even as his hand not gripping your throat pressed against your waist to hold you down. Every goddamn nerve in your body was screaming, burning, scorching with the pleasure that rolled across your body in throbbing waves. Matt adjusted his grip on your waist, lifting you up every so slightly but oh at that perfect angle that let him hit your g-spot with each thrust of his hips.

Your high moan, pitched almost at a scream, was the result as mind numbing pleasure sparked between your thighs with each harsh thrust. You clenched tighter around Matt, spurring his frantic thrusts on until he was pounding into you at a pace close to brutal, the obscene squelch of his cock diving into your soaked cunt echoing around you like an unholy melody, the chorus being your screams.

Matt leaned over you, panting roughly. You could smell the sweet scent of musk and sex in the air and see the way his pink mouth parted with each heavy breath against your throat. He lowered his head to drag along your cheek until his lips were pressed against your ear.

"Come for me, sweetheart," he groaned. "I can feel you, you're almost there." And you were for the second time that night, you could feel the cloud of your orgasm hovering right above you, pushed closer and closer by each brutal stroke of his cock inside of you.

"Come on, honey, come on my cock," Matt ordered, and you whined. "You're taking my cock so well, all you have to do is come for me. Be my good little girl and come all over my fucking cock."

That was all you needed. Your back arched off the altar, your hands shot out to grab desperately at Matt, your eyes squeezed shut, and your head was thrown back in absolute bliss. This time, orgasm rolled over you slower than the first time but even more intense. It scorched its way through every nerve ending in your body, consuming you like a blanket of fiery heat, making your vision go white. Distantly, you heard yourself scream—actually scream—as you descended into a blank state of pure, utter pleasure.

You could feel Matt's pace growing sloppy and frantic, short, desperate thrusts as he panted and groaned louder and louder until his hips stuttered against yours, and the most beautiful moan you had ever heard left his lips. He emptied himself into you, and you felt his hot seed spilling deep inside of your cunt even as Matt continued to grind into your tightness until every last drop of his spent was buried inside of you. He slumped over your body on the altar, both of your chests heaving in sync as you came down from your highs together.

Finally, Matt lifted his head from your chest and peered at you with his lovely dark eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked uncertainly. "Was that too much?"

You cradled his face in your hands, marveling how this wonderful, wonderful man was yours. "It was perfect," you promised, kissing him sweetly. "It's never too much. I love you, Matt."

"Hmm," he hummed contently into your mouth. "I love you so much, sweetheart. You're sure you're okay?"

"Oh I am absolutely glowing, Matthew. If I had known this is what you meant when you said you wanted me to come to church with you, I would've came ages ago."

═══════ ∘◦ ❈ ◦∘ ═══════ ∘◦ ❈ ◦∘═══════ ∘◦ ❈ ◦∘ ════════

AN: It's been a hot second since I've written full blown smut, so forgive me if it's kinda rusty. Although I feel like I should be asking forgiveness for this whole fic soooo 🤷‍♀️ I wanna say I need to go to church after writing this, but the last time I was in church, I came up with the most unholy smut fic idea ever, so maybe not a good idea (maybe it'll inspire another one though)

If you enjoyed, please remember to like, comment, and reblog! 🖤

My Matt Murdock Masterlist

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anianurst · 6 months

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Dreams Do Come True

Summary: days go by, and Yuji's dreams stop. restless by your absence, Yuji decides to confide in his teacher

A/n: the final part of this mini-series :( im happy that it's received so much love <3 thank youuuuu

Warning(s): mentions of death, puke, mental breakdown, spoilers for jjk season two (episode 17)

It's quiet without you. Not a peaceful quiet but an unsettling one. One that fills your lungs and sits and you struggle to breathe. You hadn't appeared since Yuji was awakened from his last dream with you. Night after night, he goes to bed with bated breaths, hoping you'll appear and he can again relish in your devoted love.

But that doesn't happen. A day goes by, then another, and before he knows it, two weeks pass by with no appearance of you. It's noticeable to everyone that something has been irking Yuji. He smiled a little less and always responded with short answers.

The more noticeable change was the absence of the curse within him. Now that he thinks about it, Yuji doesn't remember Sukuna appearing or talking to him ever since you had appeared in his dreams. The king of curses had been quiet and seemingly lurking in the depths of his soul.

There was one moment that Yuji remembers (more like his body remembers). The moment that you had left with Uraume, he remembered a deep pull from the bottom of his soul. A rough tug that told him he needed to go to you now. The sharp pull then fizzled out as his body turned the opposite way.

"So, what's bothering you, Yuji?" Satoru asks, his bright blue eyes filled with curiosity hidden behind his trademark blindfold. Yuji jolts from the sudden question as he looks up from his phone. An unsure feeling fills his stomach before he sighs and confides in his teacher.

"There's this girl."

"Oh?" There's a teasing tone as Satoru smirks. Yuji's cheeks flare up as he quickly shakes his head.

"It's not how you think it is," he says. "I don't know her." Okay, now Yuji's just talking nonsense, Satoru thinks. "She started showing up in my dreams a while ago, but she hasn't appeared in a like long time."

"Oh?" Satoru says, and it's different this time. He's intrigued by Yuji's confession.

"It's like I know her, but I don't at the same time," Yuji adds. Satoru hums and runs a hand through his snow-like hair. A second passes before he snaps his fingers and makes finger guns at his student.

"You don't know her, but someone else does," Satoru concludes, and Yuji's eyebrows furrow. Why is his teacher always speaking in a metaphorical way? It isn't until Yuji feels something shift on his cheek. A single eye surfaces underneath the teen's left cheek and glares at the white-haired male, warning him not to dig any deeper.

23:14, Dogenzaka, In Front of Shibuya 109

Your lips are parted in awe as you stare at the crater of destruction before you. Even now, in modern times, Sukuna's destruction has always left you breathless, in awe of the beautiful chaos left behind.

A gust of wind comes from behind you, and you turn to look. 'He looks different,' you think, your eyes meeting four ruby-red ones that have always sent warmth through your body.

As he steps towards you, a smirk makes its way to Sukuna's face. A single hand (he has two arms instead of four. a fact that makes you question if you like this change) caresses your face, and you snuggle into the warmth of your lover's hand.

"Be sure to savor this, brat," is all Sukuna mutters as his red eyes give way to brown ones. His hand falls from your cheek, and Yuji's eyes are wide in horror.

He takes in your captivating form, smiling at him and the mass destruction behind you. His hands come up to clutch at his face as shaky breaths leave his lips. Memories of Sukuna's destruction fill his mind, and he falls to his knees.

A groan leaves him as he empties his stomach onto the ground before him. Tears start falling from his eyes as he screams his lungs out. Chants of 'die' and 'only me' fill the air as you continue smiling at him.

His cries die down in volume while you kneel down, your traditional, thin kimono becoming stained with his puke. Your welcoming arms wrap around his shoulders as you pull his figure into yours, your neck becoming damp with his tears.

"Welcome home, my love."

taglist: @aish777 @chuuberrysworld @reigenation @shegetsburned @destroyer-of-za-warudo @darkcowboypirate @cunisna @reverrieee @hotpossumjam @nnasv @sunshinesetsstuff @smolgojo

#sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna x reader #yuji x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk spoilers #jjk x reader #sukuna ryomen #itadori yuuji x reader #yuji itadori

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glassesfreekjr · 1 year

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... Why did they build a whole-ass flood bypass out in the Splatlands, anyway? Is it like California rules where it's arid as hell most of the time except for when everyone drowns, or has the flash flooding caused by Big Runs been more of a long-running issue then we initially thought?

The fan splatband Red Flare District is named in reference to the 190-chapter juggernaut "exercises in gratitude (The Barclay Street Flood)" by @redeyedsheepskull over on AO3. Contrary to what Inkopolis news media would have you believe, the Order vs. Chaos Splatfest was only partly the reason for the mass cultural exodus to the Splatlands. Maybe it had something to do with the fallout after a catastrophic spillway failure submerged a low-class Inkopolis neighborhood in millions of tons of polluted floodwater, I dunno.

RFD changed its name (from RLD) partly to capitalize on the event and partly out of genuine albeit ham-handed tribute.

And here, out in the middle of the desert, is yet another failed flood bypass. The ironic hilarity was too good for them to not write a song about. Fast-forward five years and some still consider the end product to be a tad insensitive.

(sample source list can be found on my YouTube)

#splatoon #splatoon ost #fan music #fan ost #undertow spillway #stage theme #fan splatband #red flare district #splatband #splatoon 3 #arrangement #mashup #ichika nito #psycho pass #bing bing bang rap #guitar #splatune 3 #music #audio

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yarrystyleeza · 3 months

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The 1: You Would've Been The One (M.M)

Matt Murdock x female!reader

Religious settings (at the beginning), implied intimacy, misunderstandings, alleged cheating, things going south, sadness, break—up, exes but pining, no happy ending.

Summary: on an August rainy night, you walked by Josie's and the memories came rushing back in your head.

Word count: 1.4k!

Writer's note: this idea popped in my head when I was recalling 'the 1' lyrics and I get the first and last scenes in my head and I almost cried. This will get a second part from Matt's perspective. Not very proofread but I'm trying to fix it :')

Drop after drop, the rain sweetly bounced off your shoulders as you strolled down the street. The rain makes the sound of sizzling rice from a distance. The ground is glistening, it smells earthy despite you're walking in New York. The city always looked beautiful when it was raining. It was calm, quiet, and cozy. You'd snuggle into one of the walls and they'd embrace you warmly.

Splashing the little water puddles forming on concrete with your steps, you kept walking on the sidewalk to prevent getting water in your boots.

Your hair is damp and your skin is flushed and wet. It's not fall yet, but you loved this time of the year.

Beams of light flared through the partially fogged glass, people's warm breaths created a tepid and pleasant atmosphere.

Your eyes peer inside for an unintended glance and you see him there, sitting at one of the tables with his two friends around him.

Your heart palpitates as if you were hit by a truck and thrown on the side of the road. Broken, bleeding, crying, dead.

Why did it have to end?

Two years ago. After attending the Mass on a Sunday morning, you went to a coffee shop nearby to meet one of your friends at noon.

You sat alone for a while and waited. You called your friend and she told you she had an emergency and couldn't call you. She apologized and you hung up. You ordered coffee and waited for your order.

The bell at the door rung and it caught your ears, you glanced up from your phone and you saw him walk in. You recognized him. He always attended Sunday service, you've often seen him sitting at the last couple pews, he'd always stay after the Mass. You'd watch him kneeling, hands gathered at his forehead in a praying fist.

You've seen him crying a couple of times and you wondered what a good—looking —in the sense of kindness because you've seen it—blind man would've done that would make him snivel and tremble the way he did.

You would've never expected what he cried about. Not in a million years.

He placed his order and you saw him walk in your direction. He took a seat in front of you. It was astounding. You cleared your throat. His head shot up and he himself was astonished to find out that someone was sitting on the other side of the table.

The eleven in the morning sunlight casted upon the side of his face as he sat by the window in front of you. The beams crept into the corners of his gentle face. His eyes sparkled behind the red blinds and you later learned that they were hazelish brown.

"I'm Matt." his voice still vivid in your ears as if he just said it. His voice was gravelly but sweet. Warm. It made your stomach churn with butterflies that you died to keep from rising once again.

You often thought if he did that on purpose, if he intended on sitting in front of you the way he did, if he knew you before you knew him.

It makes you smile. He chose you. Above all. At least for once.

The next Sunday, he stopped you as you paced between the pews on your way out. He asked if he could grab some coffee with you—after learning that you too attended the Sunday service.

You sat together and talked about almost everything. He kept flashing smiles at you and you kept falling deeper. You knew he was going to be the death of you. And how you wished to die in his hands.

Where did it go wrong?

The haunting memory of his lips marking your being, worshipping every inch of your existence. The words he never stopped telling you. The 'I love you's and the 'you're mine's. The sweet flirts and the tempting ones.

You were his death and his living, you were his vigor and his redemption, you were his eyes and his hands and his being, you were his everything.

Heart, head, body and soul. He loved all of you. He wanted all of you, the same way you did.

You accept—hell, you wanted both Matt Murdock and Daredevil, you wanted the lawyer and the vigilante, you embraced both his darkness and daylight, you were in for the deep and the high, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.

If he died you'd die with him, and if he lived you'd live for him.

So why did it all go wrong?

A year of going back and forth, bickering and talking, stitching and love-making, dating and staying in, dinners and brunches, kisses and touches. You did it all. You've never been better.

But then he decided to make it even better.

Saturday night at Josie's. You sat with him and his friends to grab some drinks and bond. Foggy and Karen walked to the island to grab refills when he grabbed your hand, slowly, gently, sensationally and adeptly.

You turned to look at him, a little taken aback by the touch—a little taken off guard. He stood off his seat and knelt to the ground. Red blinds off and his face is so red and torn by a smile, tinted with a bit of uncertainty, of fear but of excitement about the unknown, too.

Maybe he was afraid you'd reject it, or maybe he rethought it and found it was too early. You never knew.

"Will you marry me?" you look at his free hand—but it wasn't that much of free. He had a ring between his digits and his thumb, placed so close to the finger that shoots straight to your heart.

You said yes.

He promised to love and cherish you, till death do you apart.

He never lied, though. Because one night, you died, and to you—he died, too, both of you died.

The night it all went wrong.

He told you he had a mission later that night, but when he returned—he didn't have his red suit on. He wore a tuxedo, instead. You imagined this was how he'd look on your wedding day.

He'd wait for you at the end of the aisle next to Father Lantom as your father escorts you to your spot, your white dress makes you look like an angel—no, you were an angel, that's what he always told you.

You'd look onto both sides, both families are present, all smiling and happy. Your mother is crying—but she's happy, too, she's always wanted to see you in white and this is your day.

You look back straight. Matt is grinning, his bowtie is a little crooked to the side but his hair was combed perfectly. Foggy and Karen are standing on each side along with your other friends—your bridemaids and groomsmen.

Both of you recite your vows perfectly, almost knowing them by heart. You're now a husband and a wife. Even death would never do you apart.

Until you saw the red lipstick print on the white collar of his dress shirt.

Both your brain and heart shattered, you almost heard glass breaking. Maybe it was the glass of water you had once carried in your hand when you walked out of the kitchen to meet him at the hallway.

That's when you really noticed the other details. His loosened bowtie. His wrinkled collar. And the reddened nail marks on the skin of his neck.

Your stomach sunk. The cold crept up your fingertips to fill your body. Your eyes remained fixed on him. Did he thought you wouldn't notice?

You were terrified to ask how he got to look like that. Not from him, Matt never scared you, he was always gentle and kind—but from the things he might have done to get to this point.

There was another woman.

The next events were a blur. Your ears were clogged, you were crying, you threw the ring in his face, you barely put any proper clothes on, you walked away and out of his life.

It was raining. Just like tonight.

And if my wishes came true

It would've been you

You sob. The heavy dew showers you—hiding your tears, to console you, to let you know that you're not the only one crying tonight—the sky is crying, too.

You felt heavy. Head and heart, and clothes. It felt cold to think of it all.

You hug yourself tighter. You glance back for the last time. You walk yourself home.

But it would've been fun

If you would've been the one

taglist: @galaxies-and-moons-and-cox @floral-charlie-cat @bellaxgiornata @1988-fiend @babygirlmurdock @c-mrdck @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @bunmurdock @loveroftoomanyfandoms @everythingsf1ne23 @shiorimakibawrites @shouldbestudying41 @lazyxsquirrel @munsonownsmyass @mindidjarin @v4leoftears (feel free to ask for addition or removal 🤍)

Likes and reblogs are appreciated, thank you for reading! 💞💞💞

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spocktheestallion · 1 year

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why joel was right to save ellie bc i have a lot of opinions and by god i’m gonna share em

so since the show has premiered i’ve seen this debate flare up again and a lot of people saying joel “robbed the world of a cure” when he saved ellie but lets be real, the fireflies were never gonna make that cure.

first off in the original game the hospital and operating room were FILTHY. and yes in the remaster they retconned it to be clean but that just seems silly to me. the fireflies had so little infrastructure that they were wiped out by ONE angry old man in a single night, where are they getting hospital cleaning crews? where are they getting the supplies to properly and i mean PROPERLY sanitize a working OR? more importantly WHO were the medical staff? what were their qualifications? to pull off what they wanted they would’ve needed a team of brilliant scientists specializing in different specific fields and i doubt any of them had been to med school recently. the outbreak was over 20 years old by that point, and medicine is a continually evolving field. those licenses were EXPIRED and even if they had experience during the pandemic it likely would’ve been in field medicine, which is not the same as epidemiology or neuroscience or any of the things they would’ve needed specializing in to get a cure. also the fact that they were saying “we’re gonna make a vaccine!” was another red flag, bc fungal infections aren’t even treated w vaccines. it just goes to show they didn’t know what they were doing. they were just reckless and desperate and ellie would’ve died needlessly.

secondly killing ellie especially right off the bat would make NO sense. what if they find out later on they need a live subject or more samples or whatever? well too late your only subject is dead. why wouldn’t they do blood tests? imaging? or if the cordyceps is only in the brain you can still do a biopsy without killing the person. again, these people didn’t know what they were doing. they were grasping at straws and even if they had gone through with their original plan they probably wouldn’t have been able to synthesize a cure anyway. the sample would’ve expired or been contaminated in the dirty hospital or they would’ve fucked up their sample through ignorance. the whole rushing straight to pulling ellie’s brain out was ridiculous. they would’ve killed a kid needlessly without a second thought.

which brings me to my next point. the fireflies aren’t exactly cut and dry good guys either. i may be reaching w this and i need to rewatch the premiere episode to confirm this but they don’t seem all that picky about their targets and civilians seem to get caught up in them a little too easy. the fireflies aren’t super concerned about human life if it gets in the way of their cause, i mean they were recruiting young kids and giving them weapons just like fedra did. there’s a reason tommy left them high and dry. they’re extremists and they don’t care who they hurt or exploit so long as it serves their cause. they aren’t philanthropists and they FOR SURE would not have been giving out that cure out of the goodness of their hearts. they would’ve gatekept it to themselves and they absolutely would’ve used it as a recruiting tool or political bargaining chip.

but more importantly even in the very unlikely situation they COULD make a successful cure AND mass produce it AND move it cross country which they clearly don’t have the resources for, there’s no way fedra would’ve let them get away with it. their fascist control is all justified in the name of preventing infection, if the disease is no longer a threat that’s a massive blow to fedra’s power. they might’ve been chasing around fireflies for setting off a few car bombs or whatever but if you think fedra isn’t going full extermination mode if they find out the fireflies have a cure you’re kidding yourself. and we’ve clearly established the fireflies would be crushed if they had fedras full attention given that they were pretty much eradicated by one guy in a single night.

and if we’ve learned anything from our own covid pandemic, it’s that if you want to effectively immunize a whole population it needs to be WIDESPREAD. you can’t just treat a few people and call it a day, EVERYONE needs to take the cure or the disease is going to survive and mutate until it can come back in a treatment-resistant variant again and again and again. and after a 20 year outbreak the kind of infrastructure you need to make that happens is gone. it just doesn’t exist anymore. fedra is probably the only group with the level of organization and infrastructure anywhere CLOSE to being able to achieve that kind of feat and i doubt even they could, and even if they could they wouldn’t.

so the fireflies were NEVER gonna be able to make a cure in the first place, they were NEVER gonna be able to mass produce and distribute it, they were NEVER going to be handing it out to anyone they weren’t tight with, and even if they had been well equipped philanthropists who could make a cure and were actually giving it out freely fedra would’ve crushed them immediately.

and i’ve also seen people argue that either way it should’ve been ellie’s choice but i disagree. ellie was a traumatized CHILD with severe survivors guilt. she was not mature enough or in the right headspace to make that kind of decision. JOEL was the closest thing to a legal guardian she had, and it was HIS responsibility to protect her until she was old enough to make decisions like that for herself AND HE DID. a kid should not be allowed to make that choice even if they want to because they’re a KID. also the fireflies weren’t gonna let joel live anyway, i’m pretty sure they were planning to kill him even if he complied.

and ultimately it’s not like joel was considering all this when he made his choice, he saved ellie because he LOVED her. like i’m sure he picked up on some red flags and knew things were sketch and realized the fireflies would probably fail and she’d die for nothing but more than anything he went back bc that was HIS BABY and he wasn’t letting desperate assholes sacrifice her for their cause. “save who you can save” remember? maybe you can’t single handedly change the world or make some miracle cure but you can do what you can for the people you love and maybe that’s enough. maybe you can never make the world go back to the way it was and maybe you SHOULDN’T but you can take it as it is one step at a time and you can do it with the family you’ve made. i think that’s a much better takeaway and i don’t like how the “joel was selfish and did the objectively bad and wrong thing” narrative in tlou2 minimizes that.

#the last of us #tlou #tlou hbo #joel tlou #tlou series #tlou part 2 #joel and ellie #joel miller #ellie williams

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beyondthesefourwalls · 1 year

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Dancing in the Dark

Summary: Bradley was never one for clubs. Flashing lights, dance remixes of the same four songs, and overpriced watered down drinks just weren’t his thing. But you had begged him so prettily to go with you that he couldn’t help but agree. It was exactly as bad as he thought it was going to be, but when he saw how irresistible you looked on the dance floor, he decided to get his revenge in a way that left both of you satisfied but wanting more.

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: thigh riding, dirty talk, language, exhibitionism

Word Count: 2900

Notes: This idea entered my head and then simply wouldn’t leave no matter how hard I tried to ignore it. Here’s the end result.

______

Bradley wasn’t one for environments like this. The flashing lights made his head hurt, and the different dance remixes of the same four songs sounded more like screeching or someone getting tone on him than anything else. Not to mention the drinks were overpriced and watered down, and because of the hoards of people, it took forever to get them in the first place.

You knew he hated it, but had given him that pretty little pout and begged him to go with you anyway. You were going with a few of your friends from college and they were all bringing their significant others. You didn’t want to be the only one flying solo. He had resisted, but then you dropped to your knees in that slinky black dress you had put on for the night and wrapped your red painted lips around him. He was agreeing before he even realized it.

Getting him to do exactly what you wanted came easy; he was wrapped around your finger, and you both knew it.

It was his luck at least that you pulled this stunt on the night the DJ was focusing on music he actually liked, 80s and 90s throwbacks pulsing through the dimly lit club. Even if the techno flare that overlaid them made him want to cringe, the familiarity of the lyrics made listening to it more bearable, especially when you had inevitably abandoned him to go dance.

He did his best to keep track of you in the crowd, but the annoying blonde you insisted was your friend was pulling your group deeper and deeper into the mass of bodies on the overpacked dance floor. He sighed when you finally disappeared from his view and the blonde’s even more annoying blonde boyfriend started talking to him almost immediately, asking about what life was like in the Navy, throwing out every stereotype he’d probably ever heard about the branch, the other two guys quickly joining in with their own takes. He could barely get a word in to answer any of their questions or correct them before they’re firing off some joke about being able to swim that he’d heard a million times before.

Bradley loved you so much, but the two of you seriously needed to have a conversation about your taste in “friends”, and their taste in men.

He threw back the rest of his drink, the liquor going down his throat with a pleasant burn. He stood from the booth with a tight, forced smile.

“Excuse me,” he said. He heard one of the guys calling after him - red head’s boyfriend, he thought - asking to grab him a drink while he was up. Bradley figured the music was loud enough that he could pretend he didn’t hear him. He kept as close to the edge of the room as he could as he weaved his way through toward the bar. It was just as crowded on this side of the club, but at least he was free of forced conversation with people he had no interest in being around. He flagged the bartender down relatively quickly, and when his drink was in hand, he turned toward the dance floor. He had no plans of going back to the booth right away.

It was almost fascinating, observing all these strangers as they danced and jumped around, some clearly with more rhythm and passion than others. He watched them in amusement, and maybe a little bit of judgment.

It wasn’t long, though, before his eyes found you, and those feelings melted into something else entirely. Sometimes, it still took Bradley by surprise how, even after two years of dating, just the sight of you could get his heart racing like this.

The neon strobe lights that filled the club illuminated your body in the dark, and it was almost like you were otherworldly. You had separated from your friends, choosing instead to get lost in the music by yourself, and watching you move captivated him. Your eyes were closed, your hands trailing over your own body, one in your hair and the other running the length of your side. The already hot room felt hotter when your fingertips teased the hemline of your short black dress. He took another sip of his drink as he let his eyes slowly trail back up. When he got to your face, your eyes were open and already on him.

You crooked a finger, beckoning him to come join you. He saw the little quirk of your lips; you knew what you were doing to him and clearly thought you had the upper hand. It wasn’t a far fetched thought; you often did have the upper hand when it came to him doing what you wanted. But Bradley felt the sudden urge to remind you of the control he had, too.

With a slight smirk, he shook his head. Your face transformed into that familiar pout that got him into the club in the first place. He did nothing but quirk an eyebrow at you and sip from his glass in return. Your pout deepend while Bradley’s smirk grew.

You were nothing if not determined, though. Your body never stopped moving and as the song changed to something lower, your movements adjusted to the new rhythm. Even from this far away, he could see that your eyes were dark and hooded. You brought one of those red lips between your teeth and the hand that had been at your side trailed up your stomach to rest on the space between your breasts where your dress didn’t cover. Bradley felt his pants tighten as he watched you.

You were dancing just for him now, and he was mesmerized.

His eyes didn’t leave you as your body continued to sway. The flashing lights provided you with a colored spotlight every other beat, and the way it bounced off you almost made you look like you were shimmering. The way you were moving your hands over your exposed skin had him shifting in his seat and running his tongue over his bottom lip; he was hungry for you, but he wanted to make you wait just a bit longer. This slow kind of torture was something both of you enjoyed.

Once a full song had passed, your head cocked to the side in question. Bradley took the last sip of his drink and set the glass down on the bar top behind him and started moving toward you. Like the tease that you were, though, you smirked at him and moved further into the crowd. Bradley could have rolled his eyes if it weren’t for how turned on he was; he had made you wait, and now you were making him chase you, right into the middle of the dance floor that you knew he didn’t want to be on to begin with.

You turned your back to him once he drew near. He didn’t hesitate to grab your hips and pull you flush against him. The giggle that had been escaping your mouth turned into a soft moan when you immediately felt how hard he was. You went to turn in his arms to face him, but Bradley held you in place with a large hand on your stomach. The silky material of your dress was cool under his palm.

“You wanted to dance,” he said in your ear. A shiver ran through your body. “So let’s dance.”

“Bradley…”

He didn’t acknowledge you aside from beginning to sway his body behind you. After a shuddering breath, he felt you relax against him as you did the same. Dancing together wasn’t something new for either of you, though the vibe in your shared kitchen as breakfast cooked on the stove was admittedly more lighthearted than what he was feeling now. Still, your bodies moved together, a perfect compliment to the other. You always felt so good against him, no matter the setting.

The hand that wasn’t pressing you into him by your stomach ghosted up your body. Your head tilted to the side as he pushed your hair out of the way, exposing the column of your throat for him. He inhaled deeply, letting your scent wash over him. He groaned lightly before placing a kiss to the soft skin where your neck met your shoulder. He let his finger slip under the thin strap of your black dress, caressing the skin for a moment before snapping it back into place. You jerked in surprise, and he pressed you closer. He ground against you with more intention this time. Your moan was lost in the loud, pulsing music, as you reached a hand back to thread your fingers through his curls, the other resting over his at your front.

The music changed again, the beat turning more seductive, and the throbbing neon lights transitioned to something darker. Bradley spared a quick glance around. They were surrounded by bodies on all sides, but the dance floor was so crowded and dark, he could barely make out the faces of those directly next to them. Everyone was so caught up in their own partners and moving to the speakers; nobody seemed to be paying them any attention at all. With that in mind, Bradley moved his lips to your ear.

“Do you trust me?” he asked. You nodded without even trying to look at him, and if anything, the blind faith you showed him made him even hotter for you. He pressed a kiss to the shell of your ear. “Good girl.”

The hand that had been settled on your stomach slowly moved south. He grazed where he knew the band of your underwear lay beneath your dress. You gasped, your fingers tightening in his hair.

“I bet if I were to lift this dress and move those pretty panties of yours to the side, I’d find you wet for me, wouldn’t I?”

He let his hand slip lower and pressed the pads of his fingers down until he could feel you through the layers of clothing keeping you hidden. He only gave you the pressure for a moment before moving his hand back up.

“I’m not the only one turned on right now, baby. I can feel you, too,” your words were steady, but he could hear the effort that went into them. You were teetering on that edge of control and he knew it wouldn’t take much more for you to give in.

Bradley hummed in agreement, holding you still for a moment while he rubbed himself against you, proving your point.

“You did this to me, pretty girl. Watching you dance for me in this dress? How could I not be hard?”

He nipped at your shoulder when you were opening your mouth to respond, the words stolen from your mouth with a gasp. He soothed the bite with his tongue before moving to your neck, pressing hot, open mouth kisses to the skin. He wasn’t gentle; he wanted you to walk out of this damn club with marks on your skin, ones that he put there. You moaned out his name, clutching at his hand. He didn’t stop until he was satisfied that the skin would be blooming a pretty bruise.

“Everyone in this place can see how beautiful you are, but you’re mine, aren’t you?”

You moaned his name with a nod, and he knew he had you.

With no warning, he grasped your hips and spun you so you were facing him. You barely had time to gasp out in surprise before he was pressing his mouth to yours. His tongue swiped against the seam of your lips, demanding entrance. You happily complied. He licked into your mouth, tasting the tequila you had drank earlier. Kissing you always made him crave more.

One of his hands moved down to cup your behind. He squeezed and you rolled your hips into his, chasing friction. His cock throbbed in his jeans.

He tugged your bottom lip between his teeth when he pulled away. You whimpered and chased after him. Your kiss was hungry and possessive and he matched every ounce of your intensity.

After one more rough squeeze of your ass, Bradley slid his hand down to your thigh. He groaned into your mouth at the feel of your soft skin once he bypassed the hemline of your dress. He rubbed back and forth in the way that always made you flush and shiver before he moved you enough to slot his leg in between both of yours. He pulled you impossibly closer, dragging your wet core against the rough denim. The sudden stimulation is enough to have you pulling your lips from his, gasping for air. Your lips were swollen and your chest heaved as you fought to fill your lungs. Your eyes were glazed as they met his in question, but even then, you didn’t hesitate to roll your hips with a soft whimper.

“That feel good, baby?”

You nodded, but your eyes left his to glance around. Bradley clicked his tongue in disapproval and guided your gaze back to him with a bounce of his leg. “Don’t look at them. You look at me. Does it feel good?”

“So good,” you breathed, so low he almost couldn’t hear you as the music pounded through the speakers. Your hips circled again and he smirked. “Please, Bradley. Please.”

“Mmm, I got you,” Bradley hummed in approval. He flexed the thick, corded muscle between your legs and your head lolled to the side again as your eyes fluttered closed.

Throngs of people were grinding and moving together around them, hands roaming over their partners, pressed just as close together as the two of you were. But he wondered what the two of you looked like right now, in the middle of it all. You were practically straddling his thigh as the two of you danced. It was indecent, but it was thrilling, too, knowing that only he could get you like this. He hadn’t been intending to take it all the way; he had been planning simply to rile you up as a punishment for making him come to this damn place at all. But now, bringing you pleasure in this crowd of people who were completely unaware of what was happening, was all he wanted.

He could tell you were itching for it, too.

“Does this turn you on? Grinding on my thigh like this in front of all of these people?”

You whimpered, one hand clutching his shirt while the other tugged at his curls. Your face found the crook of his neck and he could feel you practically panting. The little puffs of air against his skin mixed with the needy sounds falling from your lips had his head swimming.

“I can feel you soaking through my jeans already. You’re so fucking filthy, you know that?”

With a hand on your hip, Bradley helped rock you back and forth. He really could feel your wetness seeping through to his skin. The flimsy material of your underwear had to be molded to you at this point. You ground your hips down at the same time he tensed the muscle you were dragging yourself against and your body gave a hard jerk he was all too familiar with that happened any time he touched your clit. He smirked in delight, doing it again.

“Can feel you throbbing, baby. I know you want to come - I know you need it. So do it, dirty girl. Soak my thigh. Come for me right now for everyone to see.”

Your movements sped up a little, and Bradley’s grew harsher in return. As the song playing reached its crescendo, so did you. Your back arched and your teeth sunk into his neck to keep from screaming, but he tugged your head back with a hand in your hair so he could bring your lips to his. Your mouths connected in a filthy kiss of tongue and teeth and he swallowed your moans as you trembled in his arms, riding out your orgasm. You whined into his mouth when you entered the realm of oversensitivity and he pulled away slowly. Your red lipstick was practically nonexistent now, your eyes glazed over and fucked out; you were breathtaking.

He moved his leg, giving you the reprieve you were looking for. He kept you wrapped in his arms, swaying again like everyone else, as you caught your bearings.

“You didn’t make a great case of me not dragging you out with me anymore,” you breathed out. “That was so fucking hot.”

“Mmm,” Bradley hummed, trailing kisses from your nose all the way to your ear, tugging on the lobe with his teeth before he whispered to you, his voice still rough and low with want. He pushed his center into yours once so you could feel how hard he still was. “The next time you try to get me to come to this place, I’m tying you to the bed, and neither of us are leaving.”

------

Notes: Hope you liked it! Likes/comments/reblogs always mean the world. Thanks to Mak and Em for reading over it as per usual💚

Masterlist

Tag List (please let me know if you’d like to be removed or added!) : @roosterforme - @mak-32 - @hoyaharper - @wildxwidow - @gretagerwigsmuse - @bradshawburner - @iamaslytherin0 - @lilyevanswhore - @too-fangirl-to-fuction - @fav-fanficssss - @benhardysdrumstick - @fandomxpreferences - @acatwriteshere - @1234-angelika - @double-j - @cocoskween - @sunflowersteves - @teacupsandtopgun - @littlezee80 - @sometimesanalice - @je-suis-prest-rachel - @khaylin27 - @infamous-reindeer - @hotch-meeeeeuppppp - @sarahjoestewy-blog - @sunnysidesidra - @notroosterbradshaw - @yanna-banana - @inthestars-underthesun -@avengersfan25 - @wkndwlff - @zbeez-outlet - @lt-spork - @indynerdgirl - @loveforaugust - @mssleepy876b

@kassieesworld - @luckylexie - @lovemesomevesey - @mizzzpink - @books-for-summer - @a-serene-place-to-be - @deviltsunoda - @tv-fanatic18 - @memoriesat30 - @melody-death - @imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog - @dabisblackprincess - @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy - @realdirectionx - @waywardhunter95 - @myownworstenemyyy - @sexualparkour - @sadpetalsstuff - @almostgenerallyalways -@alilstressyandlotdepressy - @14readwritedraw96 - @ccbb2222 - @taytaylala12 - @alittlechaotics-blog - @starkleila

@shelbycillian - @mavrellover91 - @vici111 - @merishfit - @plaper1 - @lunamooncole - @pariahsparadise - @bunny-nonnie - @blackwidownat2814 - @huang-the-geek - @jpgliv - @bluelicious - @loveyhoneydovey - @pisupsala - @nuvoleincielo - @olivezeppelin - @jynxmirage - @shanimallina87 - @ouralcohol - @lumpypoll - @discowitchyy - @bellaireland1981- @princessmiaelicia - @eighthwvnder - @floydflys - @smile-child-13 - @rashelruby10 - @csoutsider - @cowboybarbie - @haydensith - @itsizzythebell - @phantomxoxo - @myhealthymarvelobsession - @winterrebel04

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ruumirmir · 1 year

Text

Reprise of a rolling mist

Part 1 Part 2 (soon)

☽◯☾ Summary - You, the revered God of Healing and Mist, one of the oldest friends of Zhongli, are not one to be easily taken down, but alas, in the Archon war of brutal massacres, you can’t escape death for long. ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ☽◯☾ Characters - Zhongli, (minor) Cloud Retainer, (minor) Madame Ping ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ☽◯☾ Tags - Zhongli x Reader || Gender Neutral || Angst || Eventual happy ending || Description of blood, violence, and fatal injuries || Mention of death ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ☽◯☾ Word count - 1.2k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ☽◯☾ Rumour◇ says - my first ever fanfic to be published on tumblr. In case you haven’t seen my previous post, please do! It has some context in it. I hope i did peepaw some justice,, as much as I love him, it was slightly hard to pin his personality down especially in this wild scenario. I’ll probably belt out the part 2 really soon cause I’m done with it, just gotta decorate the post lmao.

‎• ——————————————————————— The nearby corpse of a beast twitches once before falling still. The loud ringing in your head gets louder by the passing minute. Mouth set into a grimace, you roll onto your back and hack out a wet cough.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ It's hard to breathe with a gaping hole in your torso, still fresh and bloody. Your half-lidded eyes focus onto a speck of ash, floating up to melt into the night air. ‎ ‎

‎ ‎ ‎

The God of War doesn’t fear. No. He is the one who’s feared. And yet...

“No...”, Morax kneels there, watching his old friend, laid upon the charred grass.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

Your once lustrous hair, now melds into the soot-stained ground, tainted by blood and grime. Your breaths come shallow and short. For all the dust and debris left in the battle's wake, Mt. Tianheng had a pleasant breeze to offer.

His palm find its way to yours; cold to the touch. Fingers tighten around you, and the clarity slowly returns to your hazy eyes.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

The stench of burnt flesh permeates the air. His gaze lingers over the yawning cavity in your body; charred at the edges. From such a pair of gods, its not Morax who wields the power to heal and mend. It’s not you who possesses the energy to do so.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ And so. his hands tremble uselessly over your gut, or the lack thereof.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

His most trusted. His closest companion. His oldest friend... The one who shares countless memories with him. The one who had promised to do so for many more years to come.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

"M-morax," his name spoken like a sigh. The corners of his mouth twitch into a small smile. Your stomach flares in pain when you fight back a strangled whine. "I am... not your burden to bear amidst a battle."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

He sits by you, pained. “Hush... do not strain yourself by talking.” You lie before him, bleeding.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

“O great Rex Lapis, won't you be kind? Won't you be wise? Renounce your lands and people? Spare us all a calamity from befalling those subjects of yours? It’s the least of your payment... for eons of slaughter caused by your hands”

A great many creatures had cackled, with many more swarming in. The seething mass of... beastly wasps, misshapen and overgrown, were all too eager for a massacre. A hivemind; disgustingly coordinated in brains and brawn. ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

By the first rumbling of his meteorite that bombed over Mt. Tianheng, a familiar billowing mist had rolled forward to assist. Whether in your solid body, or a lashing mist, it was hard to quell the pyro gnats. ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

The grass is stained red by now. He takes your hand and grips it tight, to his chest. You brush your fingers over his bruised knuckles.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ By the second rumbling of raining spears, Morax’s harsh orders had sent the adepti and yakshas scrambling towards the unprotected city of Liyue. . . . By the third rumbling of his shield molding around you... a flaming projectile had already shot clean through your torso.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

You need to fight to keep your eyes open. From a simple flesh wound... what a joke. Your not the admired deity of recovery, just in name, are you?

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Your fingers twitch, tightening around his robes. "Help me sit upright..."

His sharp exhale falls upon your brows, and with the utmost softest touch, You’re pulled up against his torso. Your head sags against his shoulder, where you can feel the thick pool of sorrow under his skin.

"Please... I do not want to cause you more hurt," The words fall hollow from his lips. He holds you up gently, and you can finally focus on his face. … where you’re met with a wet shine to his eyes.

"What... are you trying to do?" His mouth trembles downwards ever so slightly.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

But you... you break out in a rebellious smile, don’t you?

The pain is unbearable. And you laugh all the harder for it. Sweat beads your forehead, and your fingers dig into his arm when he presses into your stomach to slow the bleeding. You bite out a groan. It burns.

"Don't look at me like that Morax", you pant. "This... this is but child’s play for a healer of my caliber...."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

Yet, your life trickles out like the grains of sand in an hourglass, and your vision flickers.

He wipes the blood off your lip, clearly vexed, "You are still yourself, I see. Even as you lay here, near death, you are still joking."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

"Just... won’t you humor me one last time?" You rasp out, feeling faint. All sensations except the gritting pain have left already. "Lend me some energy- so my body can return to what it once was..."

"Because... I, the Healer God of Mist, am alone the revered one... who holds mortality at my fingertips..." your voice breaks towards the end, but you still flash a smile of dogged arrogance, don’t you? (There is nothing but a theory borne from your feverish thoughts.)

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

He gazes at you; minutes away from the end. The god who holds no regrets, who has not one ounce of fear in their voice. (You have never been more terrified of death, for you only know how to run from it.) With a melancholy rustle of feathers, comes another soft voice, "Ever so conceited, until the very end...”, Cloud retainer murmurs into the night.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

His skin glows alight, veins illuminated on his chest and arms. His gnosis ignites for your fanatical whims. It always did. "How could I ever refuse you...?", his trembling voice, so quiet. You’re met with a familiar embrace.

‎ … ‎ ‎ ‎ “If mortals pray to gods in their time of need, who does a god pray to?”

Two drops fall to your neck, rolling away until they wet your clothes.

“No one.” His smile is soft, and voice raspy. “A god can only pray to himself... but, he may have hope in others.” ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

Your body slowly starts to dissipate into millions of droplets of condensation that scatter into the air, where the wind blows parts of you away, and away. ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The soft tunes of a zither ring out into the air, permeating the atmosphere with a slow melody. An adeptus sits atop a nearby rock, her eyes downcast.

ah. ‘Ping's zither’, you sigh. ‘How kind of her.’

And he smiles through his tears.

Isn't it beautiful?

A great rolling mist dissolves into the air. With dust and ash in the air, it swirls and rises up and above. The wasted grassland is littered with thousands of droplets that shimmer like stars as the moonlight reflects off them. It is as beautiful. as it is empty.

On a night like this, Streetward rambler’s tune graces the wind, until her fingers bleed. Cloud Retainer sheds no tears, but know that she holds your memory well.

And you, Rex Lapis,

Morax,

you weep for me.

Taglist - @ainescribe || @theorchardcollective || @flos-historia || @nightrayseishina || @thesparklingwriter

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divinegrey · 2 years

Note

Hey grey, how r u? You feed my simping over valo women, thank you for that :') Now that your requests are open what about agents having a crush on fem reader and like how they act and maybe confess? Any female agents you want but your ot4 would be great *thumbs up*

one ot4 headcanon list comin' right up! thanks for requesting nonny <3

THE CONFESSIONS | FADE, REYNA, SAGE, VIPER X F!READER

words: 1600 warnings: fluff!

FADE

Fade has never been more nervous in her life.

Get hit by a bullet? Meh. Look a human in the eye as they die? Not bad. Walking onto a battlefield prepared with the inevitability that she may die? Child’s play.

But asking out her crush on a date? Fade’s fingers are twitching and she feels weak in the knees.

So much so that the Prowler constantly at Fade’s side has gotten frustrated with the Initiator's lack of… initiative. They’re visible now, a mass of black shadows and red eyes clinging to her legs, and upon walking into the lounge room with their owner, they see none other than you.

You, standing at the counter and drinking some coffee by yourself.

Immediately, the prowler takes off in your direction, skipping between legs and leaving a wisp of fog in their wake. They hop up onto the counter to nuzzle your arm affectionately, betraying what might be the true emotions of the Turkish Bountyhunter.

“Hey! C’mon, get off of her!” Fade jogs over, waving her hand at the prowler before resorting to picking it up with her own two hands. The Prowler meows insistently, waggling their arms at you.

“Someone’s not giving their cat enough attention,” you remark, sipping your coffee with a fond smile. Your body turns to face Fade, and the Prowler once again stretches their arms to you.

“I’m sorry, they’re not usually like this. They only do it if they really like someone—” Fade realizes what’s come out of her mouth, because everyone knows that Fade’s Prowlers are manifestations made by her hand.

“Really? I guess I should say that someone really likes me then.” The grin slides up your cheeks, and Fade’s face turns red.

Instead of denying it, Fade merely puts the Prowler back onto the counter. “Yeah, that someone is me.”

You blink. “Wait, really?”

Fade nods. “I wanted to tell you myself, but it seems my Prowler did before I could. So— Can I take you out on a date?”

You’re in disbelief, but after pinching yourself and realizing that this isn’t fake, you reply, “Fuck yes, take me out on a date.”

Fade grins, and very shyly, she leans forward, pressing a kiss onto your cheek. If you weren’t holding your mug with both hands, you would’ve dropped it onto the ground. As Fade walks away, you brush your fingers over the skin, still feeling the warm tingle of where her lips once were.

REYNA

Reyna finds you walking down the hallway of the dorm room, obviously seeking someone else out, but this is a better opportunity than never.

She reaches out of her bedroom door the second you walk past, grabbing your shirt to yank you inside. The door shuts with a slam and you stumble onto your feet, catching your balance.

Reyna spins to you, her eyes just ever so slightly glowing. “You. I have a problem with you.”

“Don’t you have a problem with everyone?” You reply, raising your hands. “What did I do?”

“What did you do?” Reyna repeats. She laughs. “Oh, what didn’t you do, cariño?”

You’re confused— even more so when Reyna slowly approaches you, looking like she’s about to devour her dinner. You’re no stranger to Reyna’s danger, but this feels… different. The air is charged with tension you cannot describe, and your heart pounds in your chest when the light under her shirt flares.

With you backed against the wall, there’s nowhere else for you to go. Reyna puts her hand over your head and she’s leaning down to you. This might be the last moment you’re alive, with how Reyna is staring at you like a starving woman.

“Do you know how much it aches to see you, day by day, and not have you?”

Wait, what?

Reyna grasps your jaw, her sharp nails pinching into your skin. “How much more obvious do I have to make it? I want you, cariño.”

“Want me?” Still, you’re not sure if she means as food or as something else, so Reyna— exasperated at this point— slides her hand to the back of your neck and pulls you in for a kiss.

Oh.

When Reyna pulls away, there’s a dumbfounded, almost loopy expression on your face. Reyna stares, then scoffs.

“I can’t believe you’re the one I like,” Reyna grunts.

SAGE

Sage paces in the infirmary.

There are rules against this! Brimstone would be so disappointed, but… I can’t help it. Who could? She’s beyond anything I’ve ever known. The same thoughts circle in Sage’s mind, the healer anxiously picking at her nails.

Sage asked you in the lounge this morning to meet her in the infirmary at a quarter past noon. It’s twelve thirteen on the clock, and you’re not known for being tardy. If anything, you’re one to arrive early.

So when the door opens and you step in, Sage spins around to face you, putting on a somewhat awkward smile.

“Hey, Sage, hope I’m not intruding on anything,” you say with a gentle grin. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes! Yes, everything is okay,” Sage says. She gestures to one of the infirmary beds. “Do you mind if we took a seat?”

Shrugging, you walk over and plop yourself down, leaning back on your hands to watch Sage come over. When she sits, there’s an unusual gap between the two of you. You and Sage have been friends since forever, and closeness is one of the things you share. Frowning, you reach over and take her hand.

“Hey. What’s going on? You seem distracted,” you say. Sage swallows thickly, then sighs.

“What I’m about to say may cause you some trouble. Maybe for the both of us, so if you want to move past it, I completely understand,” Sage starts, rubbing her free hand along the fabric of her pants. Sage takes a moment to center herself. Better now than never.

“I like you,” Sage continues, meeting your gaze. “A lot. More than I have ever liked anyone, and that bit is terrifying by itself, but with you… it’s exciting. But if you don’t return the feelings, I understan—”

You cut her off before she can even finish by leaning in and kissing her. You can feel the shock on Sage’s expression melt away, and her cool to the touch hand rests on your cheek. You can’t help but smile into the kiss.

Pulling away, you say softly, “I’d been waiting for you to tell me.”

Sage gasps. “You were? Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because I know you, Sage. And for the record, you’re adorable when you’re nervous,” you say, kissing her again.

VIPER

Quite frankly, Viper is disgusted with herself.

Looking at you makes her heart pound. Seeing you smile makes her cheeks burn. Watching you fight on the field with precision and accuracy makes her entire body warm from head to toe. Hearing your laugh makes her chest squeeze in a way she is entirely unused to.

“Good morning, Doc!”

Of course, you arrive in her lab, cheery as ever. Viper turns and has to bite back the grin that threatens her emotionless exterior when she lays eyes on you. Beautiful, amazing you.

“You’re extra quiet this morning, everything alright?” You sit on the table near her workspace, resting your head on your hand. “I know Chamber was annoying you for the entire goddamn mission yesterday. If you want me to shove my fist up his a—”

“That’s not necessary,” Viper cuts you off, and you flop over with a dramatic groan. This reminds Viper precisely why she’s so annoyed. Of all people to like, to have feelings for, it was you?

You, who has gotten stuck one too many times by Fade’s tethers on accident. You, who has screamed when Yoru teleports out of nowhere behind you. You, who always blushes and smiles whenever Viper looks your way.

“Okay, but I’m just saying. Chamber is so annoying. I wish he’d stop flirting with you. You’re clearly not interested in him. Or anyone, for that matter,” you say, swinging your legs back and forth as they dangle from the table.

“And who says I’m not interested in anyone?”

You blink. “Wait, you are?”

Viper doesn’t miss the brief expression of… of hurt that flashes across your face.

“Well, whoever they are, they’re pretty lucky,” you say, folding your hands in your lap.

Viper puts down her pen on the paper, turning to you. It takes her less than a second to see that, though you’re trying, your feelings are hurt. She must believe that I like someone else, Viper thinks to herself. That won’t do.

Walking over to you, Viper puts her hand on your chin and tilts your eyes up to hers.

“Chamber can’t have me. He won’t ever, because I do like someone else. And that someone is you.”

The words finally click in your brain.

“Wait, me? You like me?” You say, and Viper nods once. You grin. “Wanna go on a date in front of Chamber’s room so I can rub it in his face?”

Viper snorts. “You are awful. Yes to the date, no to it being on base. We’re going somewhere else.”

“Fine, if you insist.” You hop down from the table, wrapping Viper up in a hug before walking away. “Be ready at eight!”

Damn you, Viper thinks, watching you leave the room. I can’t believe it was you who melted my heart.

~~~~~ A/N: thanks for reading! reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3

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picturesofthegoneworlds · 5 months

Note

If you are still taking prompts: 'new mythologies', focused on the witchy trio. Curious to see what you come up with if you wind up selecting this prompt! I greatly enjoy your writing. :)

There is a woman in the moon (the second moon, that is.) she waxes, she wanes shies and flares but she always stays tethered to one spot and tired of running away. Where she paused her orbit centuries ago crystal arms and legs sprout from the grass and the tides of rivers are pulled, evaporate from heat into clouds that mass. If you do no cover her from your view you will not sleep if you look to someone with her over their shoulder you will not need to speak and if her lightning were to strike, the gemstone-limb-lands will become the petrified home you did not seek.

There is a woman in the sun (there is a second-sun, too.) feels close enough to reach, though she can’t be lassoed she doesn’t spend all of her days here steals - what is offered - takes, often disappears to a more peculiar sky where she instead anchors in time and the flora and fauna with petal trumpets and sinew harps dance and dine on top of beds of canopied candied leather leaves and filigree skeleton branches then returns, here, intermittently, with what she had taken and what was newly granted jewellery adorning flaming tendrils that smelts and pours liquid gold between the fault lines and the landfills Sometimes the sun stays late to greet the moon, others she arrives early to share the sky of the long summer days with her But the sky is still a sky they cannot often share, so once a century they shadow one another reach out for each other with hands of flame and lightning when their fingers converge they tie in knots and bows, in threads red and ribbons green and all who are bound will be unaware, gift-wrapped in what is reality and what is dream can unveil bliss or purgatory there in the in-between- - there is a woman in the sun, another in the moon. They have been there longer than I can remember… longer than my mother can and hers, too

There is a woman in the moon and she is always blushing ‘Red sky at night - shepherd’s delight Red sky at morning - shepherd’s warning’ mourning a crack, a howl, a breeze can be heard from the densest of city cobblestones and the highest of mountain peaks a lonely tune bereft of its melody searches out shadow and turns it to static energy

There is a woman in the moon -a woman in the sun, too and ruins of temples to old gods (I’m told) glass panes long dissolved from between lead canes corners of masonry rounded by rain shingles masking floor tiles carpeted in ivy, grout replaced by root and rot and if you were to build the moon an alter lightning will sunder, shatter, strike it down but the sun accepts offerings, bleaches colours to keep the hues for her own collection, peacocks them as a crown

There is a witch in a cottage in the woods in a clearing, on stilts and platforms and pontoons her garden grows, in both the light and shadow and she wears death like a lace fine-spun from her own marrow land flush with lilac, lavender and violets here it is, where the moon is moored above the glade where the sun passes often on parade and the witch knows both the sun and the moon by name strings up tapestries and dolls from between the branches so that they both can see of friends and loved ones between threads of red and ribbons of green

#Imodna #Imogen Temult #Laudna #Fearne Calloway #Critical Role #Emma writes #Sorry you got a poem.#Prompt fill

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goofyahhcats · 9 months

Text

Hold the Line

Rating: E

Re5!Chris Redfield / Gn!AFAB!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Angst if you squint, Injury, Violence (not related to smut), p in v action, Gn reader, reader is afab, reader usually wears a bra, use of sweetheart, baby, etc.

Summary: After being injured in the battle against Albert Wesker, you find yourself making stupid decisions. How can you face Chris after what you've done? He seems to be avoiding you. Then again, who wants to get chewed out by their coworkers? You can't help but notice a glint in his eye. It's just your imagination, right?

Word count: 3.8k

A03 link here:

Took some creative liberties with the end of/post re5 ignore that

Burning alive inside of a fiery volcano was not exactly your preferred way to go. The heat and smoke had forced their way inside of your throat hours ago, leaving you teary-eyed and gasping for air. Your eyes, open wide and wild with panic passing back and forth between the rocky landscape and the red and bubbling abyss. You watched in horror as the thing that was once your Captain writhed and screamed as he flung one of his many-tentacled appendages toward you. Scrambling in the other direction, you sprinted towards any open path that wasn’t obscured by lava or crumbling to pieces. Your boots thudded over the rough terrain with an unpleasant rhythm. A stark reminder of an unfortunate tumble you had recently landing you directly on your ankle.

You focused on keeping your breathing steady as you stumbled as fast as you could away from Wesker. Who, after tossing a quick look over your shoulder, was gaining rapidly. A mass of Uroboros shot by you, just barely missing your arm and instead making contact with the floor in front of you. Crumbling away and sizzling as it contacted the lava, the stone of the once angled slope ahead now resembled more of a solid brick wall. Your steps slowed and came to a shaky stop as you stared unblinking at the end of the path. Horrified, you cringed as you heard Wesker’s maniacal laughter seeping between the loud bubbling of the active volcano.

You turned, horrified, as he inched closer and closer towards you. His face wore a grin of satisfaction. Bright red and cat-like eyes alight with the fire of the hunt. Suddenly, his eyes locked somewhere above your head. His grin faded into a snarl as you heard a deep and loud voice scream your name.

“Grab on!” Chris’ large hand extended into view as you whipped around, jumping and gripping him as hard as you could. He almost effortlessly lifted you onto the ledge you had been trying to reach. Biceps and shoulders turning and flexing as he shoved you behind him.

“Go! Now!”

Chris lets a few bullets fly from over his shoulder as a strong hand finds the small of your back and pushes you forward and away from the amalgamation that once was Albert Wesker.

“We gotta get out of here!” Chris called, pulling you behind a boulder to avoid another attack from Wesker.

You stumbled, catching the side of the rockface to hold yourself up. You felt a hot and searing pain flare up from the base of your leg. Shit.

Chris noticed your pained expression, “Hey, what’s wrong?” A gloved hand reached your shoulder, turning your upper body to face him.

“It’s my ankle,” you grimaced, “Twisted it earlier when I was running.”

Chris’ eyes flooded with concern, “Shit, can you walk?”

You tentatively placed your foot down and put a bit of weight on it. The searing pain returned and you quickly withdrew your foot.

“It’s no good,” you rasp, shaking your head.

“Here, I’ll carry you,” Chris rumbled as he reached his hands under your shoulders and legs. You protested slightly but quickly shut your mouth as Chris took off in the direction of another alcove. You heard Wesker shriek as Sheva bombarded him with a barrage of bullets. Chris tucked behind the rocks and looked around, leaning against the wall for support. His breathing was hot, ghosting across your face in waves in time with the rise and fall of his chest. Sweat beaded over his forehead as he watched Sheva duel with Wesker.

“The helicopter should be here soon,” he mumbles, eyebrows knit in thought and frustration.

“Just leave me here,” you look up at him sympathetically, “I’m no use to you two down there if I can’t even walk.”

“No. Absolutely not.” Chris’ dark eyes hold contact with yours. The steadiness of his voice surprises you. This was the Chris Redfield you knew.

“But-”

“No!” Chris yells. You feel his hands tighten and release around your sides as the spark of anger in his eyes slowly fades away. “I’m not losing another one.” His voice is once again steady, But his eyes betray his stoic expression. Tired, sad, and angry. For a brief moment, his eyes flood you with an emotion so intense you can hardly think straight. You feel warm inside, and you smile gently.

“I’m good with a rifle. Tell Jill to pick me up,” you hold his gaze as he drops his head, screwing his eyes shut and letting out a shuddering sigh.

“I can’t let you do that,” he looks back down at you.

Suddenly, you are lifted into the air again. Chris pants as he brings his legs up to speed again, running across the volcano. Wesker and Sheva come into view. You breathe out gratefully that your friend is still alive. You feel Chris’ breath hitch as the full scene is revealed, however. Wesker has Sheva’s neck in a tentacled grasp. Her legs kick as she squirms in an attempt to fight back. You hear her gasp for air and struggle to breathe. Wesker smirks psychotically at her weak display of resistance.

“Chris-”

“I know!” His eyebrows are tightly knit, and he looks down at you and back up at Sheva. Taking initiative, you wrestle yourself out of his grip.

“No,” Chris starts but returns his gaze to Sheva as Wesker drops her to the floor, laughing as he cages her in between him and the lava.

He looks back at you, surprised to find your eyes filled with cold hard determination. Your rifle was positioned in your hands.

“Go,” you state. Nodding towards Sheva, “I’ll be ok. Help her.”

A moment's hesitation, but you see his eyes harden again, “Alright. I trust you.”He turns away.

Suddenly, you are overcome with a rush of emotions. Worry. Want. Need. Before you know it, you are hobbling on one leg and grabbing at his bicep for support. Chris stares at you, bewildered, before you drag his head forward by the vest. Your lips meet for a brief moment. Seconds, maybe. His arm cards through your hair and he holds you close. You feel that warm feeling spread through your body again before it is ripped away as you pull from the kiss.

“In case we don’t see each other again,” your expression is somber, patting him roughly on the shoulder and giving him a slight push in the right direction. He takes two staggering steps forward, looking back at you before his expression tightens. He nods and charges off towards Sheva and Wesker.

The rest of the night is a blur. Jill arrives in the helicopter, just in the nick of time. They swing over to retrieve you, and you watch as Chris and Sheva blast Wesker to pieces. You all sit back as the helicopter flies away, the volcano retreating into the distance. The ride is silent, but you occasionally can feel Chris’ hot gaze on your back. Your hands brush his as you exit the helicopter back on base.

You don’t talk to Chris for a whole month. You had been too engrossed in your medical status - doctors confirming that you had fractured your ankle - and had been bedridden for weeks. Your hospital had denied you visitation, instead putting you in trauma counseling. You didn’t need the therapy, this was the fault of the BSAA’s shitty cover story, claiming that a violent house fire caused you to fall a few flights of stairs, losing all of your roommates and extended family in the process. Those roommates and extended family were covers for the deaths of the other members of Bravo and Delta Team, who had lost their lives in battle. Of course, the BSAA only told this story to the general masses and the hospital. The details - although as vague as possible - were disclosed to the families of the deceased. After your counseling, you endured a few more weeks of physical therapy and were now happily on your own two feet once again.

You reentered the BSAA headquarters for the first time in what seemed to be forever and were greeted by many astonished coworkers. You smiled and waved, giving gratitude towards all of the well wishes that you received. In reality, you had been scanning the crowd for a familiar face and a brown tuft of hair. You couldn’t find Chris anywhere.

You became a bit frantic, eyes looking from face to face to no avail. At some point, you excused yourself and rushed through the compound. Twisting and turning through the corridors, you eventually come face to face with a strong wooden door. The engraving read, ‘C. REDFIELD’. You raised your fist and knocked one, twice, three times, before you heard a muffled, “Coming,” and some shuffling from within.

You took in his figure when he opened the door. Once broad and proud shoulders tired and hunched. His arms remained built and impressive, but you could feel the weight they carried as they dangled loosely by his sides. His face was scruffy as if he hadn’t shaved in a while. Although you silently admitted it was a good look for him. His hair was considerably longer, and the quiff in front no longer stood at attention and instead lay half up half down in a feeble attempt. He had heavy eyebags, which encircled his thick eyelashes and lidded gaze.

“Chris,” you shift on your feet nervously, unsure of whether to run away or wrap your arms around him.

A low mumble of your name cascades between his lips. His right arm twitches upward as if to touch you, grab you, hold you close, but then slowly returns to its initial position.

You stand in silence for a few moments, taking each other in with thousand-yard stares. A spark of something, you aren’t sure what exactly, fills Chris’ eyes. He takes a step back. Gesturing to his office, “Come in.”

You walk in and take in the familiar surroundings. This is not the first time you’ve been inside of his office. He always kept it surprisingly tidy, but it always had a comfortable and lived-in feeling to it. However, now you notice trash on the ground. Cups upon cups of coffee are scattered about. On the desk, on the floor, and in the trash can.

Chris takes a seat in his desk chair and you sit on one of the two chairs facing his desk. The quiet was deafening. Chris rummaged through his desk, avoiding your gaze. You open your mouth to speak, say anything to break the silence that was hanging over the two of you like a wet blanket. Chris beat you to it, haphazardly tossing a wad of papers into your lap.

“Need you to file a mission report,” he was speaking in his professional voice. His inflection read This is strictly business, nothing more. You picked up the papers and flipped through them. Nothing caught your eye. You raised your head to find that Chris was already looking at you. His eyes bore into yours as if he was searching for something. You nod, going to stand, to leave, to get away from the warm blossoming feeling. He doesn’t protest. Your hand reaches the doorknob before you are halted by his voice, gravelly and tired.

“What was that?”

You turn to face him, “What?”

“Wesker. The volcano. You know what I’m talking about.” Chris’ eyes catch yours once again.

Oh.

You are flooded again with that familiar feeling. You hate it. His lips had felt so tender, so soft. You felt the need to run to him. Wrap your arms around him, and tell him everything is going to be alright.

“What about it do you want to know?” your voice is quiet, feeling almost cornered by his gaze.

Chris sighs and drags his hand over his face. His eyes break contact and stare at the ceiling.

“We need to talk,” he mumbles.

“About-”

“Everything.” his voice rises slightly, and he stands up. He makes his way towards you and halts. You can feel your heartbeat thundering in your ears. He was so close. You could practically count each scar and blemish that decorated his upper body. You longed to trace your fingers over them. To soothe the aches that he must be feeling.

Chris’ hand reaches over yours, and clasps around your right hand, still resting on the doorknob. You tense up as Chris gently turns the handle and pushes the door open. The knob swings away, but his hand remains on yours.

“Meet me at my place tonight,” his hand slowly retracts, as if he just now realized what he had done.

“We need to talk,” he repeats.

You nod in reply, your throat too dry and your voice too shaky to respond. You stay staring at him for a moment, before turning and leaving his office.

You finish your BSAA duties quickly, rushing home and almost stumbling on your way to the shower to clean yourself up. Only once you had finished getting dressed and were slipping on your shoes did the reality of the situation hit you. Your rushed movements slowed as the anxiety set in. You felt the pit at the bottom of your stomach only grow as your car neared Chris’ apartment building. You made your way up the stairs, practically sick with the idea of actually confronting your feelings.

You raised a fist and knocked only once at his door before it opened. Inside stood the same Chris that you had met this morning, only now in a comfortable white shirt and gray sweatpants. He steps backward, and you walk in as he shuts the door behind you. You look around his modest but homey apartment.

Just like his office, you reminisce. Smiling slightly to yourself as you walked further into the simple living room. Chris takes a few long strides to his couch and sits down. He takes a beer he seems to have placed on the table previously and cracks it open. As you sit, you notice he had put out one for you too. You take it graciously and take a sip.

Chris turns to you, “So, about what happened-”

“I am so sorry Chris. I overstepped. I really shouldn’t have let my feelings get in the way of work, I-”

“Stop.” Chris gently rests a hand on your shoulder to calm you down.

“No! But, it was so unprofessional of me..!” your hands flail about as you talk, words tumbling from your mouth as the coil inside of you unravels faster than you could keep up, “Sheva could have died and I- I was just being… selfish,” You exhale at that last word and look up into Chris’ dark eyes. For the first time in months, weeks, or years, you see a smile spread across his face. It crinkles the corners of his eyes up, and you feel as though you will never see anything as beautiful ever again.

“Sweetheart,” it falls gracefully between his lips as he talks, the other hand coming up to brush a knuckle along your jawline, You feel your face heat up.

“Chris, listen-”

Chris shuts you up by pressing his lips against yours. You let out a muffled squeak in response. It was all passion, Want. Need. His arms wrapped themselves tightly around you and you reciprocated. Fingers finding their way into his hair, alternating between stroking and pulling. He groaned into your mouth and swiped his tongue across your lips. You obliged. His tongue buried against yours as you suddenly found yourself leaning back against the cushions.

The warm feeling is everywhere. Hot and heavy. But this time, you didn’t want to back down. You needed more.

One of your hands took a detour from his hair and began exploring his expanses of muscle. His biceps flexed on instinct as you came into contact with them. You traced up and down the curve of his elbow as he kissed you harder.

He broke away for air for only a split second before diving into you again. You felt and heard him audibly shudder as your wandering hand found the edge of his shirt. He broke away, face flushed.

“Are you sure?” It was quiet, almost difficult to hear. You nodded.

Chris cupped your face with his hand, “Need to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” you whispered, wetness pooling in your pants as he quickly pulled up his top. You were only allowed to stare for a moment before he captured your lips in his again. Instead, you opted to see with your hand, which traveled over every bump, bruise, scar, and muscle it could find. He groaned and fisted a hand in your t-shirt. You pushed his chest away and broke the kiss, hot breaths filling the silence of his living room as you fumbled with your shirt, exposing your chest to Chris.

“Fuck, no bra?” he growled against your ear as he began to grope and explore your body just as you had his.

You let out a small giggle, “Nope, didn’t feel like one today,” you gasped as he gripped onto your sides, making contact with the top of your pants.

He smirks, “Shouldn’t feel like wearing one more often, then. Fuck,” he stares down at your chest, “I’ve been missing out.”

His mouth catches yours and you pull him down flush against you. You can feel his sizeable bulge against your thigh, which only deepens the wetness pooling in your underwear.

With a surge of confidence, your hand reaches between the two of you and palms Chris through his sweatpants. He lets out a low and shuddering moan at the feeling. You fumble with his waistband before he pulls it down himself. His boxers come down with them and you are left with the feeling of his cock springing against your stomach. You swallow heavily as you stare. He was long and thick. You gripped him and stroked once experimentally. He let out a breath and hissed as you slid your thumb over the head. You slid your hands up and down his shaft before he grabbed your wrist.

“Let me take care of you first,” he whispered. In a flash, your pants and panties had been removed, exposing your glistening cunt to the world. Chris groaned at the sight. He experimentally slid a finger between your folds. Your hips bucked upwards at the feeling, a noise escaped your lips that you didn’t know had been there.

Chris raises his finger and chuckles, “All for me?” he presses the finger to your lips. You gently allow him inside and clean him off with your tongue. He takes his finger away and returns it to your folds. One finds its way to your slit and strokes over and around the opening, while another finds your clit. Both fingers circle for a moment until you grow desperate, rocking your hips against him.

“Chris.. don't be such a tease,” you say between each rock of your hips. Your hands find purchase on his broad shoulders. He allows you to rock for a little while. Simply admiring you with a soft look on his face.

“Chris, please,” you whine. He groans, dipping one finger inside of you. You moaned louder than you had meant to as he began to thrust his finger back and forth. The other finger rubs circles over your clit as you pull him down towards you for another kiss. He kisses you passionately, bordering on rough as you whimper into his mouth. You can feel his resolve cracking the more your tongues and lips meet. His fingers speed up until he quickly rips them away from you. He breaks the kiss, staying close to your face. His eyes burn with desire.

“Tell me you need me,” he growls low, one of his fingers returning to your folds. You start to respond but let out a choked moan as he tugs at your clit.

“Tell me you fucking need me,” Chris’ eyes flash “Because I've always needed you.”

“Fuck… Chris, I need you..! I need you right now, please just-”

You are cut off by his cock sliding itself into you, and you moan. Your back arches up as your hands tighten over his shoulders. His lips dip down to your neck, kissing and sucking as he begins to move at a rapid pace. No slow introduction, no pacing, he needed you and he needed you now.

Your moans bounce throughout his living room, skin on skin echoing through his apartment. You bring a hand up to his hair and pull, bringing his head up from its position at your neck. He groans at the feeling, eyes locking onto yours as he pounds into you.

One of his hands grips the flesh of your thigh and lifts, bringing it upwards. The stretch nearly causes you to orgasm on the spot. Chris’ cock nudged that perfect spot with each thrust.

“Fuck.. baby,” Chris rasps in your ear, his other hand holding tightly to your waist, “I'm close. I'm close… fuck.”

You moan in response, reaching down between the two of you to thumb at your clit. Chris quickly grabs your wrist, “No. Let me..”

His calloused thumb rubs against your clit, and you can feel your pussy tightening against his cock.

“Shit, yeah sweetheart. Just like that,” Chris moans. His eyes squeeze shut and his lips meet yours quickly. He’s messy, sloppily kissing you in time with his thrusts. He drops his head and groans a chorus of Fuck’s and Shit, baby.

“Look at me. Are you close?” you meet his eyes and nod, moaning his name.

“Chris,”

“I know, baby.”

His thumb speeds up, and you spasm. Your back arches up as you cum, your legs shaking. You spill fluids all over his dick, moaning and babbling incoherently. It doesn't take long for Chris to find his end as well. You feel a hot sensation flooding between your legs as Chris empties himself into you. He gasps and groans as he thrusts into you a few more times.

His movements halt and you both stay there, breathing heavily. You hold eye contact with him as he gently pulls out of you.

He sits back, admiring his work. He then stands and pads towards another room. You hear a sink running. He returns with a warm washcloth and wipes you down, folding the cloth over and then wiping himself off. Ever the gentle giant, he tenderly sits you up, offering you a glass of water. You lean into his touch, resting your head on his shoulder as you gratefully sip the beverage.

Chris gently strokes your hair with one hand. You smile and nuzzle into his side. His arm wraps around you as you both sit there in silence for a few minutes.

You turn your head up to him, “Did you mean what you said? About needing me?”

Chris sighs, a small smile falling across his features, “Yeah, I did. Did you?”

You return the smile, pressing a small kiss to his cheek.

“Yes, always.”

#NSFT #smut #angst #chris redfield #chris redfeild x reader #resident evil #re5 #albert wesker #idk hes there for a bit im adding him #god i love him #gender neutral reader #no use of y/n #afab reader

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aylish91 · 1 year

Text

A Den Of Snakes

@seirindono I promised you a story about nagas a while ago but remembered you also liked mob/mafia aus. So this little piece started poking around my brain. New Au? Maybe? Don’t know, but I hope you like it!

Sorry if there are any mistakes, my computer has been a little glitchy lately and skips over a lot of stuff. haha!

~ ~ ~

A black and red-bellied naga lounged behind a grand desk drumming his gold-laden phalanges against the hard wood. The clicks from the sharp tipped claws were slow and methodical, prickling the hair on your neck as the man who escorted you scuttled from the room. A brief glance back revealed another standing in the corner, darker blue scales fading into a light underbelly.

Both wore impeccable suits, fedoras casting eerie shadows over their faces.

Both, were heads of the mafia…

Unfortunately for you, you were learning things tonight. Some more important than others, but all things you wished you had known before. Like finding out the mafia existed or that it wasn’t a connotation when you had heard people being called Snakes.

They were, in fact, giant man-eating snakes or those who worked for one.

Before moving here, you would have sworn mobs and mafias no longer existed. But here you were, holding a package filled with who knows what, while a concerningly large naga monster stared you down. To make matters worse, his upper half was that of a skeleton, piercing red orbs intently watching you from the void of his sockets.

It called into question every reason you had decided to become a freelance courier. It also explained why you had been getting jobs with increasingly higher payouts over the last several months.

If only you had figured it out sooner…

The tapping stopped, replaced by a deep drawl from the monster before you as he rose with an unsettling scraping of scales. “Good of you to finally make it, Doll. Been wait’n fer this for a while.”

You tried not to focus on the sheer amount of coils and tail he had or the knowledge that there was a second equally large mass behind you. Instead, you locked onto those red orbs and ignored the feeling of eyes on your back.

You had to be strong. That was all you could do in a situation like this. Suppress the shaking of your hands, show respect, and maintain a polite and professional manner. It got you through some of your more sketchy transactions and would hopefully get you through this one.

Letting out a breath, you did your best to offer a sincere smile.

“I apologize if the delivery took longer than anticipated, Sir. This was a bit last minute and I was not given proper warning as to the procedures of your establishment. In the future, should I be hired to make a delivery here, I will make sure to take that into consideration.” Pulling out your phone, you opened it to the electronic signature page. “If I could just get your preferred signature indicating the package has been delivered, I can be out of your way.”

As you presented your phone and package, you resisted the urge to look down and flinch when something brushed against your leg. The monster behind the desk didn’t move except to smirk and take out a particularly fat cigar.

“That won’t be necessary. I know the guy who sent it and I have no plans on let’n ya go. You are part of the delivery, after all.”

Your smile strained.

Whatever you do, don’t show fear.

It was like a mantra in the back of your mind as you processed what was just said.

Movement behind you broke your concentration, something brushing against your opposite leg. The smug look of the naga before fell into a sneer, eyelights morphing into thin slits.

There was an edge to his hiss.

“Sans, don’t–”

You almost tripped when a blue coil forced you back against a warm sturdy chest, an arm wrapping around to pin you in place. “I was wondering why you had me go through all the trouble of using this one. Heh. Didn’t think it would turn out to be something this interesting, Red.”

Red reared up, eyelights flaring with magic while his body physically puffed and shifted beneath him. Your heart raced, cold sweat beading on your neck from the sudden fear.

“Think ya overstayed your welcome, Sans. How bout ya go back ta the main house where ya belong and stay outta my business.”

Sans’ arm tightened around you but his voice seemed unbothered and relaxed. “Can’t do it bud. Your business just became our business. Think the others would agree with me.”

The air buzzed. “I found em first. Back off.”

You could feel the low chuckle rumble through you at Sans’ reply. “Sorry Red. Maybe next time.”

In a split second, Red lunged, throwing his massive body across the room with a roar. All you could do was close your eyes with a cry and brace for the inevitable impact. You felt strangely breathless after, as if you were falling. Then, with a very jarring sensation and an oomph from your captor, you fell forward and over top a pile of blue scales.

“BROTHER!!! I THOUGHT YOU ALL AGREED TO SHORTCUT INTO THE GARDEN, NOT THE LIVING ROOM!”

Confused by the new voice, you jerked up, frantically looking around. To your relief and horror, you found you were no longer inside Red’s office but in a truly massive and grand room filled with lounging cushions and short tables. However, there were also no less than three naga skeleton monsters among them. All eyes focused on you.

The ground moved.

“Sorry bro. Was in a bit of a hurry. Got an important delivery I wanted to make sure ya all saw.” Gloved skeletal hands lifted you to your feet before gripping your shoulder. “Heh heh. Welcome to The Den kid.”

…

Oh. Oh no…

Grand Master Mafia Master

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johaerys-writes · 2 months

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Hello! Do you mind a Snippet Sunday for any of your patrochilles fics? Have a nice day 😊

Hello! I've been working on As Fate Would Have It today, so here's a snippet of the next chapter (aka baby's first heat):

“You have to help me.”

“What…” Patroclus starts, but doesn’t even know how to finish this sentence. His thoughts are slipping through his fingers like sand. Achilles’ scent is so potent here it almost brings him to his knees. It surrounds him, envelops him like a blanket; it doesn’t leave room for anything else.

Achilles sits up straight on the furs, the blanket he had draped over himself slipping off his shoulders. He’s only wearing a short chiton beneath it and it’s a mess, one of the shoulder pins gone, the milky white fabric draping over his chest. His skin gleams with sweat, his neck and cheeks flushed a bright pink as if he’s touched it with rouge, or as if he has a fever.

“Patroclus,” he says breathlessly, “Patroclus.” He pushes himself up on shaky legs and steps closer to him. His pupils are huge, bigger than Patroclus remembers ever seeing them. His eyes remind him of Thetis’ a little now, the pitch black irises almost swallowing up the white. “I need you.”

“What do you need?” Patroclus asks, slurring as if drunk, his tongue thick and sluggish in his mouth. Achilles catches his arm and holds onto him, and his skin is so hot like he’s on fire. Perhaps he really does have a fever, Patroclus thinks through his own delirium.

Achilles’ features contort a little in pain, and he whimpers. “I need your help. You have to help me.” He pulls him back, towards his bed.

“Wait, wait.” Patroclus swallows thickly and blinks rapidly, trying to shake off some of the haze. “You’re sick. There’s something wrong. I need to get you to Chiron. He’ll know how to help you.”

“No!” Achilles gasps in a panic, pulling him back when Patroclus tries to turn towards the exit of the cave. His grip on him tightens, holding him firmly in place; he’s grasping Patroclus’ forearm so tightly, his fingers dig into his flesh almost painfully. “You can’t leave, don’t leave.”

“But—I don’t know how to help you,” Patroclus stutters, helpless under his hold and the intensity of that scent that instantly grows stronger. It’s sweet and sharp, like a mature fruit; he can think of nothing other than sinking his teeth into it.

Into what? Achilles? It makes no sense. Patroclus must be going insane. Whatever Achilles has must be contagious.

Achilles’ mouth falls open and his nostrils flare as he inhales. It’s like he’s in a trance, beyond himself. “Don’t leave,” he says again. He pulls Patroclus deeper inside the cave. “Come, look what I made. I made it for you, for us.”

“For me?” Patroclus asks dubiously, hoping this isn’t one of Achilles’ weird gifts again.

Achilles nods, a bit frantic, then finally lets him go, the print of his fingers clear and pink against Patroclus’ skin. He turns around and kneels on his bed. It’s more like a nest, by the looks of it, a semicircle of pillows and blankets and furs and odd scraps of fabric. He arranges it frantically, kneading the pillows and setting them upright against the wall of the cave, fluffing up the blankets and the furs. He pulls out a piece of fabric and holds it up to his face, inhaling deeply from it, then hiding it back beneath the mass of bedding.

“Was that… my tunic?” Patroclus asks, incredulous. He did lose one of his tunics the other day; he had left it in the laundry basket, intending to wash it the next day, then never saw it again. He had assumed a badger or a fox might have stolen it to take it back to their burrows, but it seems he was mistaken.

Achilles looks back at him over his shoulder, but doesn’t look guilty at all for having been caught red-handed. “It smells good,” he says simply. “It smells like you.”

Patroclus’ mouth falls open at that. He doesn’t know what on earth to say; and it turns out, he doesn’t need to say anything, as Achilles promptly takes his hand and pulls him down to his nest.

“Do you like it?” he asks anxiously. “Do you like what I made?”

“Yes,” Patroclus says, sinking into the piles of furs and pillows. “It’s… comfortable. Warm. Safe. I like it.”

Achilles lets out a shaky exhale, a visible shiver running through him. He stares at Patroclus for a long moment, his nostrils flaring again; and then he crawls to him, straddling Patroclus’ leg and pushing his fur coat off his shoulders.

“What—what are you doing?” Patroclus stutters, shocked, his skin prickling when the cool air touches it, despite the fire crackling nearby. He tries to reach for his coat again to pull it over him, but Achilles sets his hands on his shoulders and presses himself against him.

“I need you,” he pants. “I need you.”

#patrochilles #patroclus fighting for his life #gods' strongest (and dumbest) soldier #achilles #omegaverse #tsoa #the song of achilles #hades game

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inuhalfdemon · 3 months

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Dirty Dealings (1/21)

Word count = 1,454 Words

Chapter 1: The Deal

“I do not deal in…sexual favors. I find them rather….distasteful. No offense, I hope. Still…” He sighed. “I find there are times it does need stated…” - Alastor

June 25th, 1950

New Orleans, Louisiana

She knew not to go into the forest. She knew even in the light of day, it held its monsters. Now - despite knowing this - in the fading half-moon’s light, she was running deep into its depths. Branches grabbed and tore at her, ripping at her clothes and tearing at her skin. Desperate, she wiped away at the tears that were streaming, blurring her vision.

Clouds skirted the black of night, dimming what was left of the dwindling moonlight even more. Her chest flared painfully from her flight, air rasping sharply into her lungs with each gasp. Stumbling, her feet slid into bog; warm, swampy water sliding over her knees and threatening to hold her fast to the sucking mud beneath. She struggled to keep her momentum, half-crawling up a slick bank of reeds and muck.

Trembling, she paused, pulling air into her burning lungs; feeling the throbbing ache of muscles all over. Pinpricks of light danced and sparked as blinking, she shakily rose from her knees and looked around. She couldn’t run anymore. She was very near to passing out as it was. Blinking again, she waited for the small bursts of light to separate themselves from the soft glow of skittering fireflies.

A cool breeze crept through the swamp and she felt goosebumps crawl across her skin; the hair on the back of her neck rising like hackles. A low groan came from the nearly complete darkness. A mass of shadow moved just beyond the bog; something both solid and hulking but spindly and frighteningly long in limb. Feeling all strength leave her body, she sunk to her knees; starring at the stark form that shifted against the dark of night. It was impossible to make out what was lurking directly before her but she could hear the soft tearing of flesh, the snapping of bones…

An involuntary noise crept from her throat and the thing’s form jerked, bright green eyes burning through the darkness to rest on her. Her heart was in her throat. Every part of her recoiled from whatever this thing was. But, this was it. Her last chance.

“…y-you…you’re a demon.” She gulped, steadying her voice. “I’ve come….I’ve come to make a deal.”

The thing made no move, it’s green eyes smoldering; she wasn’t sure if it was even breathing.

Clenching her fists, she screamed at it; “Well!? What are you waiting for!?”

The black mass shifted, moving ever so slightly toward her. Parts of the unnatural darkness caught a sliver of moonlight, and she thought she saw a quick impression of massive antlers moving among the limbs of surrounding trees. Before she could fathom more, a cool blackness enveloped her into nothing…

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Sounds of the swamp came to her first; the creaking of crickets, the croaking of frogs, the soft buzz and fizz of dragonflies, the soft cooing of an owl somewhere beyond all of it. A flare of light shocked her eyesight and she blinked blindly against the blaze. A flame quickly dimmed, a surreal candle casting light across a small, bog meadow. The candle occupied an antique tea table that stood with two chairs beside it. Sitting at the table, sipping at a steaming teacup was a…..man?

No, he wasn’t a man. He was very tall and long limbed. He wore a vibrant red, pin-striped suit with stark black dress pants and the nicest shoes she had ever seen. Soft candlelight danced from a monocle resting at his right eye. Stranger still, he had red and black hair; styled rather uniquely into a bizarre haircut. He hummed softly to himself as he sipped his tea, seemingly unbothered by her quiet staring.

She blinked rapidly, trying to make out the odd hat he was wearing when he spoke, “My apologies, my dear. My deepest apologies. You caught me in the midst of a feed…the midst of dinner. Not my usual first impression I like for my potential clients to have of me, I assure you.” His voice crackled like it was being played from a radio.

While he was talking she realized he was wearing no hat. Atop of his head were what looked to be a pair of long….ears and even more absurd…a small pair of antlers. The ears swept smoothly with his movements and were even expressive in their placements. They were just like the ears…and antlers of a deer. Most disconcerting though was his smile…

He cocked his head, the smile growing bigger across his face.

“You are a potential client, aren’t you?” He said it like he was enjoying some private joke.

She shivered.

“Oh, where are my manners tonight!?” He exclaimed. “You’ll catch cold, darling. Here.”

His fingers snapped, there were bright sparks of green and she suddenly was dressed in dry, warm clothes and a hot cup of tea appeared at the opposite end of the small table, near the empty chair. Rising, he pulled the chair out for her, sweeping his arm dramatically to invite her to sit.

Slowly, she went to the chair. He slid it smoothly underneath her before going back to his own chair.

“Please. Enjoy.” He continued to smile, going back to his tea.

Her hands shook as she took the hot cup in her hands. It radiated heat and promised warmth. Bringing it to her lips, she sipped. Instantly, she felt her veins flare with a comforting heat and a burst of flavor flooded her mouth.

“I hope I got the spices, right.” He conversed. “The senses tend to get a little muddled when…well…” He shrugged, still smiling like he found humor in some subtle punchline.

“So….” He sipped from his cup. “You want to a make a deal?”

“Yes…” She breathed.

“Hmm…Interesting.” He smiled, almost to himself now. “Can’t say that I’m not terribly curious as to what you might have in mind.” He smiled fully at her now.

“I…” She started, “I’m not sure how to begin…”

He raised his eyebrows but said nothing, waiting.

“I need more time.” She breathed, waiting for him to respond. When he didn’t she continued, “So much of my life…it’s been wasted. I haven’t gotten to do any of the things I’ve wanted…need to do.”

She was having trouble finding the words.

“…I just can’t continue living the life I am now…”

“I see…” His smile glaring back at her. “What…terms have you considered?”

She was confused by the question briefly, then realizing what he was asking she dug into a pocket and was relieved to find it still within her possession. Carefully, she pulled the smooth wooden ring into the light of the candle and slid it toward him. Still smiling, he watched her place the ring before him, then looking at her he laughed lightly.

“Oh, I’m afraid this won’t do.” He picked the ring up between his index finger and thumb. His smile never faltering, his eyes tightened and the ring burst into a lick of green flame before disappearing completely. “Mere trinkets are of little use to me.”

She gasped, watching her one prized possession winking out of existence completely.

Swallowing, she persisted. “What terms would you prefer?”

His eyes softened, his smile never leaving his lips. “I’ve had my hand in a great many sort of deals.” He assured her. “As long as the terms are equally rewarding to both parties, I’ll agree to just about anything.”

“Except.” He emphasized. “I do not deal in…sexual favors. I find them rather….distasteful. No offense, I hope. Still…” He sighed. “I find there are times it does need stated…”

“What do you want then.” She said, her teeth clenching.

“Oh, I think you know.” He told her, his smile jeering at her now. “You knew I was a demon and you knew a deal could be struck with me.” He sat up straighter now. “What do you think I would want?”

“I won’t just give you my soul…” She said.

“And, I won’t just give you what you are asking for free.” He sneered. “You want more time? You want to go on and live happily and freely at your leisure with no obligation? No consequence? At the cost of something with absolutely no value to me. I decline.”

She stood up, her anger flaring in her desperation. She pressed her hands heavily onto the table, glaring back at his smug, smiling face.

“Then take my soul.” She snapped. “Take it from me when I no longer want it.”

His eyebrows shot up, his smile tightening, his interest piqued.

“Just…give me more time first. Let me live my life, do the things that I want and when I’m done…my soul is yours.”

He laughed, heartily.

Taking her hand, his smile twisting into a wicked snarl.

“Deal.”

And she was consumed in green.

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Chapter 2

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