#you can fucking rot in there for all i care. maybe when your flesh falls from your bones it will form a beautiful shape out of some

[numetalpuppygirl]

is there anything worse than trying to talk about art with people with closed minds. "i don't like this" "oh? why's that?" "it's just weird. i don't like it." fine then never look at or listen to anything again. since you are so insistent on not appreciating it

#this is vastly different than talking to people with entirely different taste even if functionally they seem similar #because if your taste is different than mine i can at least appreciate that our perspectives are different and i will perhaps #learn something in trying to understand your outlook #but a bitter refusal? a cold glassy aversion to any kind of new experience or sympathy to another person's world? #fuck you. i hope you get trapped in the stone pit for 100000 years. maybe enjoy staring at blank rocks instead. since you are so boring. #maybe you'll find some kind of art in the cracks between them. maybe then you'll understand. for your sake i hope so. but by then #by then i won't care. i'll already have moved on. to better brighter things #seeing the world. understanding the vast wealth of human emotion and experience. #you can fucking rot in there for all i care. maybe when your flesh falls from your bones it will form a beautiful shape out of some #cosmic force's sense of delightful irony

[johnwickb1tsch]

A Yandere Tex Johnson x Witness!Reader x John Wick Imagine Part 6 by:

@treedaddymcpuffpuff @sweetwolfcupcake @johnwickb1tsch and now featuring @tammykelly

Warnings: So many dead doves! Do not eat! Unless you like dead doves, that is. You're in good company here. 😘 Violence, sexual content, blood, murder, kidnapping, possessive behavior, dubcon, yandere sh!t...it's all here! Please take care! 😘

ALL CHAPTERS

Treedaddymcpuffpuff:

Bradford keeps you cuffed to this chair for a whole lot longer than you can stand. You’ve tried getting out, but only succeeded in cutting steel into your wrists and ankles, leaving bloody raw rings that sting and throb.

You’re not a medical professional by any means, but you know it just can’t be a good thing that your fingers and toes are numb and stiff and bloodless. Of course, maybe that’s in part due to the temperature of this room - the room that he has left you in to rot. 

No, not rot, it’s too damn cold to decompose. Freezing. Like the dead of winter without snow. And all you have is this little ripped sundress to protect from it. 

Bradford left you here bolted to the floor after letting you know that when you were ready to give up information on Tex and John, you could just say so and it would end. 

You won’t. You won’t give that asshole the satisfaction. But, god, you’re cold, thirsty, listless, unable to flex your fingers without hot pain shooting up your arm. And really, you don’t know much about your boys, anyway, right? Except for what the inside of John’s house looks like and the brand of the sometimes too strong cologne Tex uses that makes your nose crinkle up and your toes curl. Little stuff. Would revealing that hurt them?

Of course it would. Of course these government parasites would latch onto every little detail and use it to smoke your boys out. You keep your mouth shut, your eyes on the table. You want to bawl, sob, scream, but make a solemn vow not to give Bradford anything except a blank glare. 

You don’t know how you actually manage to fall asleep like this, but a cold bucket water wakes you up,  screaming and thrashing, handcuffs cutting deeper into your flesh, blood in the water pooling at your feet. 

“Wakey, wakey,” Bradford tells you. “Time to go watch Tweedle Dee and Dumb die.” 

“Fuck you,” you try to say, but the chatter of your teeth and violent tremor of your muscles make it impossible to form coherent insults. 

Four of Bradicks goons manhandle you into the trunk of a car, and, honest, you do try and fight, kick and bite and scratch while they uncuff you from the chair only to string you back together again.

Before Bradford can close the trunk of the SUV, you look up at him and ask, “why?” 

He flicks damp hair off your mouth in an almost fond gesture. “You’re insufferable, anyone ever tell you that?”

You manage to find the gumption and roll your eyes at him. “Yeah, bigger and badder men than you, agent fuckwad.” 

He slams the trunk down, leaving you in the darkness. And whoever the driver of this car is does not go gently into this good night. They make sure you roll around and slam into seats and knobs and handles and acquire some nasty bruises.

The next time you see anything, it’s bathed in the white fire headlights of a car army. You feel the need to fold in on yourself, cover up the welts and bruises and wet, shredded, clinging dress. You didn’t even bother to put underwear on before you started rummaging through the kitchen, and now here you are half naked and shaking in front of a group of angry Russians with big guns.

A young man with a thick accent - you assume him to be the recent successor of the Nobokov Bratva - smiles and it sends ice through your blood. “Hank,” he calls, like he’s seeing an old friend. “How are you?” 

“Fuck off, Igor. Where are they? And before you go into some fucking Russian monologue about debts and consequences, know that we have a time limit here. I don’t come out in 3 minutes, the agency lights your boys up with c4.” 

Igor’s grin turns wider.

The body with the black hood over its face is one you intimately recognize. Your fears are only confirmed as the hood gets torn off and Tex’s bloody, bruised face is revealed. 

You make a desperate, croaking sound, and try to go to him, but Bradford pulls you back by the scruff of your neck. You’re pathetic. A pawn in a game. A speck of dust hiding in a corner that can’t even save itself from the vacuum. 

“His buddy gave him up,” Igor explains. “Turns out John Wick isn’t that tough when you pin him against a hundred men and his only ally.” 

Bradford nudges his gun into the air. “We had a deal, Igor. Both of them. And my wife.”

Igor clicks his tongue like he’s disappointed. It reminds you of John. You feel hot tears spring down cool cheeks. Tex. That fucking bastard. Of course he would sell John out. You should have expected it, but your heart still aches. 

You look at John, and he looks back, only able to keep one eye open because the other one is swollen shut. He winks at you, and even though the grin on his face is a weaker version of what it usually is, you know for a fact that this is not John Wick. Oh. Oh.

“Hank,” Igor continues, “do you really need Texas Johnson if you have John Wick? Baba Yaga? How many confirmed kills under his bloody belt? Oh, it must be in the thousands now, eh John?” Igor kicks Tex on the hip, making him grunt in pain. 

You glare at the bastard son, and he turns his wicked smile on you. “Ah, this one has fire, and I hear she likes being kidnapped. Maybe I’ll kidnap her for a while before I kill her.” 

Bradford gets a ding on his walkie. “Yeah?” 

Something about moving in and securing the target and cutting losses, and Bradford sighs. 

He pushes you forward, and you land on the wet gravel face first. “My wife, Igor.” 

“Oh, yeah, you know you really should have just called her yourself, Hank. These chicken shit assholes didn’t even go to the trouble of actually taking her. They used ai technology to clone her voice.” Igor chuckles. “Don’t worry, we all make mistakes.” 

“Fucking bastard,” Bradford - Hank - spits at Tex. 

You raise your head to look at him, see his handsome face maybe one more time, and Tex Johnson is scowling, seething, an animal that only gets angrier the more you beat it.

Just like how John’s rare smile unnerved you, Tex’s glare does the same.  You’re not sure how it happens. You’re not even sure you’re alive - not after fire tears through the sky and shakes the ground and busts your eardrums open. But Tex is not in handcuffs anymore, and he’s wrapping his arms around you. Gunshots, screaming. One minute you’re in the dirt - the middle of a war zone, and the next you’re cradled against something solid, broad and warm, watching the ground zip by.

You touch your saviors cheek, feel the rough blood caking his facial hair. If you’re dead, this is heaven. Because Tex has got you and you somehow know that he’ll die before ever letting you go again.

“Where’s John?” You ask.

“I missed you too, rattlesnake.”

Johnwickb1tsch:

You are hiding behind a boulder with Tex, his steady arm around your shoulders, holding you upright, if you’re being honest. Bradford’s unkind methods of keeping you immobile rendered your limbs into an unreliable fucking mess.

One last distance to cover, Tex claims, before you reach your getaway vehicle, and with any luck, freedom.

You hurt everywhere, and all you want is to go home.

“What was that, rattlesnake?”

You realize you accidentally said that part aloud, and you sigh, banging your head back against the rock. How insane is it, that your idea of home now is a soft bed with Tex and John wrapped around you?

You should be enemies.

You should be fighting this tooth and nail, trying to find your own escape that doesn’t involve Bradford, the Bratva, or your assassin Beaus.

But the fact is…you don’t want to, anymore.

The system that was supposed to protect innocents like you instead fucked you royally, exposing the true corrupt underbelly of the way the world actually works. You’re beginning to grasp that it’s all a construct to keep the little people like you in line. The elite need a complacent workforce, after all. And that makes you question everything else you’d ever thought was wrong, or right, or something in between.

Tex is looking at you intently, even through his swollen eye, a warmth in his gaze that makes your insides melt. Fuck it. You all might die today. Maybe you should tell him. “I said—”

A hail of bullets cuts you off, Tex shoving you down nearly into the ground. He returns fire with a pistol he picked up from a dead Russian, and you press your hands over your ears, already half deaf from all the explosions and gunfire. Apparently the FBI had descended on the Bratva in what they thought was an ambush, and John…John was killing everyone.

You’d seen a glimpse of it from a distance while Tex had been pulling you to safety. The absolutely savage beauty with which John killed. It was like watching a vicious deadly dance, the artful way that man could seemingly effortlessly unalive a group of armed and dangerous people was a sight to behold.  

“I know it’s you, Tex!” rises a hoarse voice from the darkness beyond.

“What’s it to ya, Bradford?” answers Tex, checking his clip to see how many shots remain. He frowns at the one bullet he has left, and he slides it home back into the gun with a menacing click. racking the slide to feed it.

“Slick trick you two played. Well done.”

“Thank you kindly!” Tex looks down at you, making a jerking-off motion with his hand and rolling his eyes. It makes you giggle quietly to yourself, winning that heart-stopping devil-may-care grin.

The fact that the two of you can joke at a time like this probably means you’re both half insane. You’re probably in shock, which is your excuse. You’re afraid Tex doesn’t have one.   

“Give me the girl and I’ll let you go!” offers Bradford, winning an incredulous scowl and a shake of the head from Tex. The FBI agent sounds haggard. Desperate. Tex hopes he can take advantage of that. He peers around the boulder and squeezes off a single shot.

This is answered with a full-on barrage, and then the clicking of an empty gun. “Fuck,” you hear off in the distance.

“Stay here,” Tex mouths silently at you. You shake your head, clinging to him, desperate not to be left alone in this chaos. Gripping your chin none too gently, Tex kisses you hard, stealing your breath, and your senses. His hand possessively runs up your thigh, to your bare ass, squeezing you with his fingers maddeningly close to your center. With a devilish glitter in his eye he licks his fingers, whispering, “Keep that warm for me, darlin’.” He renders you into a befuddled little puddle of molten desire, then disappears into the night.

Fuck fuck fuckity fuck!

You hear more gunfire, then grunting, the sound of flesh striking flesh. You dare to peek out from your hiding place to see Tex and Bradford fighting with fists, grappling on the ground. Tex gets the upper hand, straddling the FBI agent. Between punches he snarls, “Did I—” punch “hear you,” punch “lay hands” punch “on my woman” punch “over the phone?” punch “you piece” punch “of pig-fucking shit?”

By the time Tex is done with him Bradford can’t give an intelligible answer, just groans with excruciating pain through broken teeth and bloodied lips.

Tex spits on him before standing, and delivers a kick to the man’s ribs for good measure. Bradford grunts again, coughing blood. You run out from behind the boulder on shaky legs, and Tex loops his arm over your shoulders again, pulling you in the direction of your escape route. You’re not sure who’s leaning on who more now.

You look back at Bradford one last time—and see he’s pointing a gun in your direction, specifically, at Tex’s broad back. “Tex!”

You don’t know why you do what you do. It just happens, and you are throwing your weight with what little strength you have left against Tex’s body. “Wha—”

It seems simultaneous. The report of Bradford’s last shot, and a searing pain in your side. It burns, and you whimper in Tex’s arms. He’s shouting something at you, maybe your name, or bawling you out for being stupid. Your ears are ringing, and you watch as though through a tunnel as John—dressed in a black western-style shirt a-la Tex—emerges from the shadows, and shoots Bradford in the head.

“What fucking part of keep her safe and I’ll do the rest did you not understand?” snarls John, going to his knees beside you, his laser-like stare fixed on your side.

“I was!” protests Tex, equally as worried as they examine you. “Goddammit, woman, why did you do that?”

“Shut up,” you manage weakly, winning yourself a grin despite everything.

John produces a black handkerchief, folding it and pressing it to your wound. It hurts. “Keep pressure on it. Time to go.”

They help you to your feet—but your legs aren’t really working. You almost fall again, but Tex hoists you in his arms. “I got you, honey. You’re ok.” You’re not sure who he’s trying to reassure more—you, or him. But you nestle your cheek against his collarbone, and your thought from earlier returns. Home.

Through heavy lids you are vaguely aware of the boys—your boys—loading you into some kind of 4x4 vehicle. As it starts with a mean grumble and you pull away with tires spinning in the dirt you pass out.

-----------------------------

Murmuring voices. A beeping machine. So annoying.

Hands on your side, pulling, prodding. You wish it would stop.

Voices speaking rapidly, not in English.

The bright flash of treetops and sunlight speeding past.

Palm trees. Blue skies. Birds singing.

Fingers sliding through your hair. “You’re gonna be fine, sweetheart. Promise.”

Promises, promises, promises.

When at last you wake, you feel as though you’ve been dreaming for days.

Your vision focuses selectively. First, upon the sloping contours of a muscled bare back adorned with black ink. The chiseled cut of a bicep, and raven-dark waves of hair. Beyond that you see a gauzy curtain waving in the breeze, the shimmer of impossibly blue water just visible beyond. You hear waves, and the plaintive call of sea birds. You can smell salt on the breeze.

Oh. So you’re not dead. Isn’t that nice?

There is a furnace of a body behind you as well, a heavy hand upon the curve of your hip.

The warmth you feel, not just on your skin, but kindling in your heart…is a wonderful, damnable thing.

You lift your head a little, winning a grumble of protest from behind you.

Then you notice dark eyes shining from behind the curtain of that mop of hair on the pillow next to you. “Hello, beautiful.”

“John?” Your voice sounds like you swallowed a cup of borax, like you haven’t spoken in a week. You reach out to touch him, and find that even that makes your side ache.

“Next time,” advises your assassin boyfriend no 1, kissing your fingers, “Just let Tex take the bullet.”

“Hey,” grumbles Tex from behind you, nuzzling his nose into your hair. “That’s not nice.”  

__________________

Sweetwolfcupcake:

Things are slow at first. You remember you were thirsty--parched, to be precise, you drank around a jugful of water and you remembered that everything ached. Especially your side. Left shoulder.

How lucky, you think cynically, could have been your spine cord.

Then, Tex gave you a pill, and you were awake enough to eat before you fell asleep again.

This time, you are more aware, more coherent, and surprisingly far more tolerant of the pain. Or maybe it is the painkiller in your system. Whatever, the pain is not a bitch on your shoulder, on your whole body anymore. The bed is soft, it seems like it's late and you are wide awake.

You are alone in the room, you notice. Although (surprisingly), it is a little bit disheartening, it helps you to think. Process things, finally after the storm is over and it has left a silence behind.

So, your life was pretty normal, and then you became an accidental witness to a crime, you were whisked away by the two assassins who were paid to kill you and somehow they decided that you are interesting enough to be kept alive and to be taken for themselves. You are practically dead for the world. They faked it. No one is coming to get you. The one person you thought was on the right side, turned out to be the villain in your story.

Now, coming to Bradford--- asshole showed his true face, the fuckling system failed you, your moral beliefs, your perspectives, everything has toppled down, turned into ashes and through this wasteland, emerge these two handsome assassins who eerily look exactly the same and harbour similar affections for you.

Also, you are falling in love with them.

With your brain in survival mode, you had not even properly registered the torture Bradford put you through, and the dangerous situation he pushed you into. Heck, you barely understood anything before pushing Tex away and taking a bullet for him.

You don't understand where you stand, where your relationship with them stands. But if they are willing to risk themselves to save you. It might just mean something.

You don't feel the tears streaming down your face, not until a few drops land on your hand. You are finally processing. And of course, you are at the brink of ugly crying.

If someone advised you to ugly cry a few days ago, you might have rather held things up within, bottled it all up, gulped it down and raised your chin instead.

But now, you think of it as the only way. You need to let it all out. Too much has happened. Too much has changed too soon. So you allow yourself to ugly cry, not counting the ticking of the clock, not heeding to your pain, not even hearing the door open with urgency.

"Hey, hey, hey--what's wrong, what's wrong?"

It isn't Tex's panicked voice that pulls you out of your deep dive into your own pit of loss, confusion, and misery, but rather his touch, his hands cupping your cheek.

Funny how a few weeks ago, you would rather take any possible escape route to slip through their clutches, and now you can recognize them by their mere touch.

Through the blur of your tears you can see his worried expression, especially his panicked eyes. You feel the bed dip beside you and fingers running through your hair.

"It's alright, let it out, let it all out."

John's voice is steady and soothing as he tries to comfort you. He is much better at deciphering and handling your situation, you assume.

"Does it hurt?" John asks, wiping away your tears. You look up to meet his concerned gaze. But there is something else in it-- something dark, sinister. "What did he do to you?"

You instantly know that he's speaking about Bradford. His thumb rubs against your sore wrist. So, he knows... Of course he knows. Your eyes flicker between your wrist and his eyes. His burning orbs that let you get a hint of why is he so feared in the underworld.

But you have no energy to elaborate any further, you have no energy to even reply. You just shake your head and look away. Lips still quivering, eyes wanting to be, ironically, anywhere but on them.

Tex mutters something under his breath that sounds more or less like a snarl, but you're too far gone to care. You feel John's fingers back on your hair, but you don't look his way. His touch is comforting, yes, but you can't bring yourself to acknowledge that.

Too bad because it is the softest Tex has sounded so far. Nothing is teasing or mean about him at the moment. You would have teased him for the panic in his voice, but you just can't bring yourself to care. It doesn't even occur to you to pass any comment.

Everything that has happened has finally dawned upon you, and you have at last acknowledged it. It's all too much, too bad, and you feel yourself spiraling. But deep down, you know. You somehow know that they won't let you fall into the abyss.

Tammykellly:

- a flashback-

You feel like you are one of the dead doves, forever frozen in a cage that is deafening loneliness and drug-like need for love. Love that’s gonna give you purpose to keep waking up. A visceral need to love and be loved. Love with a price tag of $2.5 million.

Sofa cushions bend under your weight, before you take a sip of your tea. You notice birds fly in the distance, across the dawn sky. You can’t remember the last time you woke up before the sunrise. But this sunrise feels cold and almost menacing. As hot water makes contact with your throat, your chest tightens, as you think of how those little creatures can fly anywhere they wish to, almost always together, in a flock. Your gaze shifts to the water, trickling across the porch outside the panoramic windows, and a tiny squirrel, running around the backyard, bringing food to its nest, before a cat comes to catch it. You feel a sigh, escaping your mouth.

You lean back, listening to the sound of silence. When you’re alone, the peaceful world inside the house is so otherworldly mundane in the sense that you’ve never known before. Your ears take in the distant sound of the washing machine in the laundry room, loaded up by one of the boys, who, you’re sure, are out and about by now. Your eyes notice the dim blueish hue of the living room, that’s connected to the kitchen and the terrace, the misty colour of which seems to have bent the glass, separating both worlds. Two worlds, divided by the bulletproof glass. One world - mocking you, the other - keeping you away from it.

You try not to notice a lump in your throat and burning sensation in your eyes. You don’t bother to wipe a tear, running down your cheek, before placing the cup on the designer coffee table. For you don’t think you should hold anything right now, when, in fact, you can’t hold anything in at all. Your arms wrap around your body, bringing you anything but warmth - a reminder that you’re alone, so utterly alone, no one will see you’re inside this glass house, built by your captors.

But what you don’t know is, the walls have eyes. The walls have ears. And shadows in between the walls hide secrets, spilt by the devils. One of which is watching you with his intense obsidian eyes just around the shadowy corner, letting you cry your heart out, for he knows some lines aren’t meant to be crossed. Yet. He’ll make sure to be your comfort, but for now, he’s just an observer, for he guesses he’s the reason why your cries fill the space. John’s gaze takes in your broken, lonely shaking form, as you’re holding yourself in the middle of the sofa. A tiny smirk curls up the corners of his lips.

The code that is you turns out to be so easy to crack.

You wake up on the couch in the living room from the warmth that touches your skin. The cold blue of the early morning has been replaced by bright yellow midday sunlight. You hear clinking in the kitchen and steady steps towards you, as you stretch. A cup of hot tea appears in front of you, as if it’s been waiting for you to wake up to taste it. Your eyes lock with jet-black chocolate ones, warmth radiating off them, making you feel more cozy and relaxed than the soft cushions you’re sitting on and the scent of your tea.

You feel the sofa fabric dip beside you, a warm body now sitting next to you. John smiles at you: “Change of plans, princess, you’re spending the day with me”. You can’t help but return the gesture, before quickly touching your puffy cheeks and dried up tears. “Oh, what a delight”, - you sit in a way your body is facing his, “what’s Tex up to?” John watches you throw one arm on the back of the couch, taking it as a sign to slightly lean in closer.

He says: “You’re here with me and asking about him?” The warmth of the teacup plays on your fingers again, before it touches your lips that hold a reminiscent scent of toothpaste you’ve used in the morning: “Y’all are like two peas in a pot. One can’t go without the other”. John quirks an eyebrow, seeing you freeze, your mouth slightly open upon realisation. He darkly chuckles but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes: “Cowboy has really gotten to you, hasn’t he?” He can’t help but notice how adorably innocent your wide eyes gaze up at him, still in shock you’re picking up Tex’s manner of speaking.

John lets you place the cup back on the coffee table, and you feel his large hand around your wrist, pulling you closer. “Get over here. Now”, - he tells you, his muscular thighs now in between yours, the thin layer of your silky pyjama shorts doing absolutely nothing, apart from making you feel the harsh fabric of his jeans. He feels your arms loosely wrap around his neck, never breaking the eye contact, letting you study him however much you want, akin to a shark, showing its fins through the murky waters, before disappearing into the depths of the unknown.

And it works, for you’ve been caught by his mesmerising charm, as you notice how pretty he can be from up close, so serenely majestic, wrapped up in your arms, his energy never letting you fully escape him. You run your fingers through his raven hair, mixed with silver strands. You can’t help but feel stuck in the emanating jet-black radiance of his eyes, that you discover have many colours you haven’t seen before.

And that’s how you learn darkness has different shades and they all taste like John. You lean down to kiss him, which he reciprocates without missing a beat, bringing you closer to the whirlpool that might drown you one day. You play with each other’s power of will for a while before you have to pull away for air.

“You taste like oblivion”, - you whisper against his lips. “What does that mean?”, - he replies, a curious glint in his eyes and his lips eager to feel yours again before you let him relish your sweet flavour once more. You pull away slightly to look him in the eyes, watching him study you. You simply state: “It means there’s no way out”, watching a smile appear on his face again, as his hand travels to the back of your neck: “You’re going to be a good girl for us, right?” You don’t reply. For it’s not about the possibility of the fall anymore, but the depth of the crash.

Playful midday sunlight slowly grows into early evening specks of light, splashed across the living room that you’ve been in and out of. Your crying session in the early morning seems like a distant memory, replaced by conversations with John and slow afternoon sex.

Could this be a dream come true?

You can’t help but look over at John, feeling his magnetic gaze on you. Instead of feeling stiff like you often would under his intense dark eyes that emit power and control, you choose to embrace this new feeling of being seen. Moments turn into long seconds, passing through the slick of time in between the kisses.

“Baby”, - John calls you quietly. You hum in response to his lips against your neck. “I want you to fuck me”, - he tells you before looking up into your eyes, that strong threatening flavour of power and attraction catching you deeper in its web.

“Huh?” - you can only manage to get out of your mouth, that might hit the floor at this rate. Strands of hair fall across the man’s face, as he tilts his head, his hawk-like eyes testing the limits of your self-control. He doesn’t wait for you to continue: “Fuck me, before I change my mind”. You don’t even try to hide the possibilities flashing through your eyes from him, knowing exactly what he expects of you.

Behave, be a good girl. It’s all just a game.

You lean down to kiss him, before dragging your lips across the sensitive skin of his throat. “If that’s what you want, sir”, - you lick up to his jawline, before his palm finds its place on your cheek. “Is this what you want?” - he questions and you believe he sounds genuine. For the first time, he watches a playful and almost cunning sparkle appear in your irises. He doesn’t believe the sound of your voice when you tell him: “I want you to beg”, which makes him smirk. Your fingers inch closer to his pubic bone and nether, as you expectantly look at him, at last, giving him the taste of his own medicine.

“Please, fuck me, babygirl”, - John calmly asks, though swallowing, when you wrap your hand around him. Now it’s your turn to return the smirk. “You gotta do better than that, sir”, - you begin to pump him harder, watching his chest rise and fall a bit deeper, as he twitches against your skin when you swipe your thumb across the most sensitive part. It’s so satisfying, seeing a man like him cracking down because of you. A little rattlesnake pinned against a serpent.

“I need you to fuck me”, - his breath becomes a bit more shallow, “now. Please”. You line him up before starting to painstakingly slowly sink down on him, not breaking the eye contact that makes you both feel like the house of glass is about to burst into shards around you. “As you wish”, - you kiss him and bite his lower lip, seeing the way his eyelashes flutter, when you close the distance between your bodies in one move and feel his full length inside of you.

John’s hands grip your thighs, but you don’t move, his questioning eyes find your teasing ones. “I told you to beg”, - you whisper, “so be a good boy and fucking do as you’re told”. You add: “Sir”, for good measure. John’s fingers sink deeper into your skin, both of you knowing it’s gonna get bruised later, which makes you involuntarily clench around him, receiving a guttural hiss from him.

“I want you to fuck yourself on me so hard that the only thing you’ll remember is how to scream my name”, - John’s tongue collects the sweat, dripping down your chest, as you slowly move your hips, both of you feeling every part of the other’s body in the most delightfully hot sense possible. His hands guide you to increase your speed, which you cannot get ahold of controlling anymore. You feel John’s breath on your face: “And you’re gonna do, as you’re told, princess”, he sucks your lower lip and kisses you hard, which earns him a moan from your lips against his mouth. John looks up at you, his eyes filled with brooding darkness that holds a promise of a tsunami, something so primal you dare not to even attempt to overpower. “Yes, sir”, your shuddering breath barely escapes, before his lips hungrily find yours again and you feel yourself move against him, without his hands on your hips, as if your only purpose is to please him.

As the sound of sloppy kisses and moans fill the living room, you don’t care to pay attention to the way John takes in your sweaty form that he knows is desperate for him, while you pick up the pace, his hands placed loosely around your waist. His eyes lazily roll over your body, down to where your skin meets one another, his chest filling with pride and joy that he is the one making cracks appear all over the essence that is you and everything about you.

With every thrust and love bite, you feel yourself lose the control and further tangle in the triangle of devilish delusions, daunting dreams and dangerous desire. With every deep kiss from John, you let go of your position in the Devils’ game and succumb to the faceless decay, akin to a house of cards eaten to ashes by the flames of pretense and a masquerade of hopes. John’s arms pull you closer to his heated body in a possessive embrace, every fibre of his being titillated by the thought of you. For, as you and John cross the joint everlasting limit, you become the incandescence of a fire and the event horizon of all consuming oblivion.

- present -

You get off Tex, his arms still wrapped around your body, the AC blasting on both of you, as you watch the Seychelles sun grow closer to the horizon. Tex kisses you sweetly, making you smile against him: “What was that for?”, you lean back to take a long look at him. “Nothing”, - he replies cheekily, putting a loose strand of hair between your ear. “It’s never nothing with you”, - you chuckle, basking in sunset light, letting Tex stare at your magic after sex glow. You lay your gaze back on him, as he asks: “Is this how you see me?” You feel the warm sunlight lick your skin, as you put your silky dress back on, still careful around the almost completely healed bullet wound, still not used to seeing it on your body. You sit back down: “I don’t know, you tell me. We are nothing more or less than what we choose to reveal”. You and Tex watch the ocean waves sparkle under the setting sun, cloudless sky turning more orange and pink with each passing moment of silence between you. You feel a small sigh leave your mouth, thinking about what happened months ago, hoping the sentimental softness for the two men would slip away from your heart with specks of dust.

The more you think about it, the more you begin to sense your blood flow through your veins, your cheeks painted with blush not just because of the sun and the sex.

First, months ago, there was a flood of tears and denial. Now, anger takes the stage, setting up the diverse uncanny possibilities for a deal with the Devil.

You clench your jawline and let it go before saying as softly as you can: “Hey, listen…uh…I gotta talk to you about something”, from the corner of your eye, you can vaguely make out Tex turn his head to face you, as you keep the ocean and palm trees in your direct view, “It’s been bothering me for quite a while and I know it might seem like a silly little thing to you, but it matters to me a lot”.

You finally look at him, choosing not to divide your attention on the way his eyes and skin beautifully glow under orange sunset lights. “Okay, lay it on me”, - Tex tells you in a soft voice, as you pace your breath, so as not to give into the temptation of letting him see right through you.

“It’s about the day I got kidnapped and shot”, you watch Tex stiffen.

“Why didn’t you give me something to cover myself up?” - you question, tilting your head, watching Tex’s eyebrow twitch.

“What are you talking about?”, you hear his deep voice.

“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you”, - you tighten your jawline again for a split second, “you saw I was literally butt ass naked and you didn’t even offer anything to cover it”. A shuddered breath from the man next to you enters your personal space, as he replies: “There wasn’t enough time”. You raise your brow: “But there was plenty of time to touch me, wasn’t there? You just didn’t care enough, did you?”

You calmly watch him search your eyes, though the smile you have put on reflects none of how you feel. For how you feel is far from letting his hand brush against yours. Your hand slips away onto your thigh, while Tex apologises: “Listen, I’m sorry. I’ll never forgive myself for what happened. All I could think about was saving you”. You stop yourself from clenching your fist, sending an unkind smirk his way.

“Oh, you want a cookie? Having to save me is nothing to be proud of. It shouldn’t have happened in the first place”, a cushion next to you dips, as the man shifts, while you continue: “and, Tex, I was so fucking scared I thought I was out of my mind”.

You poke his chest: “Admit it, you see me as nothing more or less than a plaything”.

Tex seizes the opportunity to snatch your hand, which, in turn, makes you flinch, as he smiles: “That’s not true. You’re my woman”, you shakily wiggle your hand out of his grasp, crossing your arms, chuckling, unamused: “Yeah…I heard when you were punching the life out of Brad”, your voice full of sarcasm and venom, “well, guess what, Tex Johnson, you don’t let dozens of blood thirsty men watch your woman’s private parts”.

Tex doesn’t reply, so you continue: “and it’s not even the fact that you didn’t offer your clothes to cover me that makes me mad”, you inhale slowly before looking into his eyes, illuminated by something more than sunlight. “It’s the fact that you further took away my dignity by touching me. I felt so exposed, so vulnerable and hurt”, your voice raises slightly, your fingers digging into your skin, “and you took advantage of that. You just wanted to show off, didn’t you?”

Suddenly, you feel Tex’s hand on your throat, his breath on your lips, your heart pumping so fast you think it might jump out and spill into the waves of pain when you hear the man’s growl: “I’ve been so good to you for the past few months. We traveled everywhere you wanted”, he makes you lock your eyes on his fiery ones, “Why? Because I care about you”. His jawline dangerously plays under the skin, as he tells you lowly: “Be careful with your words now. Or you’ll pay for it”.

You quietly laugh, earning a look of confusion: “I already did, I fucking took a bullet for you”.

Tex watches your eyes narrow, as you smirk, the fire in your stomach adding fuel to the way you spit in his face, mirroring the growl of his own: “Do you really think a bird forgets how to fly once you lock it in a cage? The thing is, toys break. You don’t wanna see me at a breaking point, do you?”

You feel like you can breathe again, as Tex leans back, saying: “What are you talking about, y/n?”

You lean closer: “You don’t fucking know me, Tex. Neither of you do”, you let yourself drown in the couch cushions, for it’s Tex’s turn to laugh this time, his words and self-indulgent voice punching holes in your soul, as you try your hardest to stop the burning occur around your watery eyes. “We know everything about you. Your background, your family, who are all dead, you got no friends. We know your hopes and dreams, how you like your eggs and pancakes in the morning, how you like your tea in the evening and what you look like when you’re sound asleep. We know what helps you feel better when you’re on your period and how you look like when you’re falling apart because of our touch. Everything”.

You exhale sharply, as the cushion shifts under the weight of the man, when he gets closer: “Look, doll, I’m so sorry”, his voice so unbearably soft, sweet and apologetic you feel your stomach turn, “We are so sorry that it happened and we’ll have to live with that guilt forever. We’ll never let it happen, ever again”.

You slap his hand away, the boiling fire in the pit of your chest coming out sooner than you thought it would, as you scream: “Stop fucking saying that! I’m not your fucking doll!”

You feel tears pooling in your eyes and quickly wipe a fallen one, as you repeat in a low shaky breath: “You don’t know me”, before getting up in a swift motion and storming off, as Tex’s loud voice chases after you: “We never wanna lose you, Y/n!!”

Tex hears a click of the door lock, making him curse, feeling a strong presence behind his back, as it’s coming out of the shadows.

“Let her cool off. You know she doesn’t actually mean any of it”, - John sits down on the couch, handing Tex a beer bottle, which he opens with his bare hands, saying: “Yeah, didn’t sound like it. She started crying, for fuck’s sake”, his voice frustrated and almost sad. The men look ahead at the ocean and palm trees, engulfed in flames of sunset lights. John exhales: “She’ll come around”.

Behind the closed doors, you don’t even understand yourself anymore, for you can’t recognise any of the pieces of who you’re seeing in the mirror.

Point of break when you got nowhere to run looks different on everyone.

They want a plaything? They’ll get it. You’ll get them hanging by the strings. Before they decide to break your wings, completely.

You continue to study yourself in the mirror. Maybe that lucid knife play was a prophecy, disguised as a dream.

The mask of sanity has slipped.

.

--------------

ALL CHAPTERS

#wicked johnson fic #john wick #tex johnson #john wick x you #john wick x reader #john wick fic #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #yandere john wick #tex johnson x you #tex johnson x reader #yandere

[astranauticus]

not sure if this counts as an AU but.. thinking about the Per Aspera crew as horror game bosses like.. you are wandering through a forested mountain range and you know somethings wrong because the forest shouldn't be this eerily silent, this devoid of life, and then you hear the crash of falling trees and there is a hand that is half your size glowing golden in the night and it is grabbing you and its claws are digging into your flesh and you see the spines running down the golden arm that is far too long as it lifts you over a crater in mountain, over a coiled, serpentine thing with a visage that is not of this world, and if you look closely you can see the shape of a child curled at the centre of the thing, golden hair reflecting the glow of the creature and if you listen closely you can hear her sobbing, 'Don't hurt me, I don't want to do this'. you are sailing through the astral sea when you see an ephemeral, resplendent spelljammer cutting through the starry waters and you rejoice because you have been lost on the seas for so so long, so you board the ship looking for help, supplies, anything, and you are greeted by a blue fire genasi (you wonder, do those even exist? but you can't get off the ship now because where else will you go?) and she tells you she is the captain of this ship but as far as you can tell there is no crew on board, and if she is not appearing right behind you from a trapdoor you've never noticed she is always in the engine room 'fixing the ship' even though the ship seems to be sailing perfectly fine ('Where are we going?' you ask her once and she doesn't even turn to look at you, 'Don't worry about it') and if you are ever so unlucky as to damage the ship in any way, you begin to catch flashes of red and orange out of the corner of your eye, a fire genasi wearing the woman's face who whispers at you with hollow, angry eyes 'Don't you fucking dare hurt my ship'. you are sailing through the astral sea when you see a rotting, decaying spelljammer, so badly damaged it's barely moving although you have to wonder how it's even staying afloat at all, and out of some morbid curiosity you climb on board and the deck of the ship is in no better shape than the hull, the marks of hard-fought battle - scars in the wood from sharp blades and arcane energies, stains of blood and oil splattered about - still fresh but you know time doesn't pass on the astral sea so who knows how long ago this all took place, and as you climb below decks you start to notice the writings on the walls, pieces of parchment nailed to every surface and connected with fraying, rotting threads, or words etched directly into the wood, the deep gouges barely readable, and you start to hear the creaking and clanking of rusted machinery slowly moving about and you turn a corner to see a figure standing in a room facing the wall, slowly scratching yet more of that unintelligible writing into the bones of the ship, and it turns as the rusted dented mechanite stares at you with eyes ablaze and he asks 'Who are you? Where is my crew?' as sparks of arcane lightning begins to arc through the room. you are running through a feywild forest and you know, even without the figure chasing you, that you have made a horrible mistake, you should have known better, should have been more careful, should have kept your impulses in check, and now you are being chased through an unfamiliar forest and the figure, the Hunter pursuing you knows this realm like the back of his hand, knows every tree and shrub and vine that is slithering up to grasp at your ankles, and you glance back desperately to catch any glimpse of your pursuer but there is no pursuer, he has hidden himself with some arcane trick or some innate power or just the knowledge that this realm is his home, and you hear his voice even though you cannot see him as he cries out 'You should not have hurt my family. Prepare to face the Hunter of Hundkiln'

sorry no Vhas yet maybe I'll update with one for him once we get more of his whole deal

#rolling with difficulty #asto speaks #well i lied only kyana's and finbar's really work as video game bossfights #dani's is more... horror short story? vr-la's is horror comic #bc dani's much more psychological and the environmental storytelling of vr-la's one would be pretty interesting.. probably #in hindsight vr-la's reads like it could be a magnus archive entry LMAO #contrary to whatever you may think (especially if youre in the discord) i dont actually like most horror #like i've only listened to abt ~10 episodes of tma bc it started fucking up my sleep thats how much of a wuss i am #like i dont actually *enjoy* horror but idk i had so much fun writing this. for some reason #hell i dont even enjoy *writing* most of the time #all the others are kinda based on a specific scenario like kyana's is if she never left the cenobium and suvi snapped before she did #(if you've watched/read jjk0 video game bossfight suvi is very much just orimoto rika) #vr-la's and finbar's are pretty self evident #dani's is kinda.. inspired by alfonso of the stultifera navis making this my second rwd brainworm that's just an arknights reference #captains that are cursed to haunt their empty ships plagued with has beens and could have beens #(her one is the only one absolutely not meant to be read as literal btw its a very 'that house has been empty for 40 years' kinda vibe) #found it kinda funny that dani's and vrla's start in very similar ways bc they both kinda have that i am the ship and the ship is me thing #dani's vibe in this is just more illusions and delusions and vrla's is more decaying forgotten grief #a ghost of a mechanite haunting a corpse of a ship

[mara-xx217]

Can you write something nsfw about pyramid head seeing the reader get her clothes ripped off because of the cage of atonement ? I really love your work

Yes yes YES YESYESYES! I've been wanting to do more with him for so freaking LONG!

Warnings: Blood, Critical Injuries, Body Horror, Monster Tongue😏, Throat Fucking, Cockblocking

Your shoulders burned from the sharp, oddly shaped and surely rusted over metal spikes that had punctured them through and through. Though you have no proof, you’re almost certain that the Executioner has a hate boner for you. Not because you’ve been forced into this cramp, painful sharp cage, oh no. This is on par with the usual, here in the Entity’s realms. What’s not typical, however, is your fucking clothes slowly being ripped to shreds by said cage.

There was no way for you to get away from the spikes poking and prodding and tearing into not only your clothing, but your soft flesh, too. You could only kick and flail helplessly for so long, and sooner than later, it’s gonna get fucking awkward around here… You had no fucking clue where anyone was, or why they haven’t come to get you out of this damn cage, but you were starting to get pissed off. Oh, and embarrassed. Really fucking embarrassed…

The sound of ripping cloth filled the empty classroom you’re trapped in. You grit your teeth, tears of stinging pain and self-consciousness welling in your eyes. Maybe you’d get lucky and be crushed to death before anyone sees you look this pathetic. Probably not, though… Your skin crawls as near freezing air cools your sweat and blood soaked body. You’re almost certain that both your shirt and bra have been cut into, leaving your back completely exposed and burning from the vicious gash that you just received.

Something inside of you was at its breaking point. You wanted out. Death, rescue, it would all be the same to you. You needed out..! Something else was torn, at the back of one of your thighs. You didn’t know how long or how deep it was, but, at this point, you don’t care. You don’t fucking care! Someone get me the hELL OUT OF HERE!! I CAN’T FUCKING TAKE IT ANYMORE..!!

A mute groan of pain echoed down the neighboring hallway. Struggling to quieten your hysterical breathing, you strained your ears. At first, you weren’t sure who- or what- was approaching you. An injured survivor? Him..? You silently plead to any god that might be listening to you: Please please please pleasepleaseplease don’t-..! The unmistakable scrapping of sharp metal on the broken tiled floor sealed your fate.

…fuck…

The Executioner had to lean forward at an unnatural angle to fit his massive helmet into the doorway, somehow managing to not fall face first despite all that weight forcing him forward. Every hair on your body stood on end as the dread that burned the back of your throat threatened to spew from your nose. You were choking on your fear, struggling starting anew as you tried vainly to either escape or usher along your death. You’ve heard things about this monster, from Cheryl and James. Horrific things. If that thing got his hands on you…

Every muscle in your body jumped violently as the Executioner stabbed his Great Knife into the ground, just in front of you. Every single one of your injuries screamed and burned in protest, causing hot tears to finally cascade down your face, washing away some of the blood and grime from your cheeks. Somehow, you just knew that the monster in front of you was admiring his handiwork, especially when he began to subtly tip his helmet side to side, as if thoroughly examining your pained features.

He shifted even closer, close enough so that you could feel his rancid breath washing over your face in a humid puff. You regret keeping your eyes open. Between the smell of rotting flesh and the mass of writhing flesh dripping with… some sort of murky, viscous liquid that threatened to splash your face with each sour breath he took, you were either going to vomit or pass out. He stopped moving, so close to you that his helmet bumped and scraped the seemingly alive metal cage that still hasn’t stopped stabbing and nicking your battered body. Holding your breath, you screwed your eyes shut, praying that whatever was about to happen would be over soon.

…Silence, then…

SQUELCH!

Just as your eyes snapped open, a wet, slimy, tongue like appendage was dragged across your face and your fucking eyeball-!!! You shout in disgust, unable to fend off his tongue from wandering your blood and tear soaked face. It was long, blackish grey, and somehow smelled worse than it looked. Between the blood loss, the putrid, acrid smell, and the terror of the entire situation, you were about to faint any second. Every harsh breath that you involuntarily sucked in, you gagged violently, warm and bittersweet bile flooding your mouth and sinuses. It was too much… Too fucking MUCH-!!!

When that terrible, slimy thing dipped lower, past your collarbone, you couldn’t stop a pitiful cry of revulsion from slipping past your gritted teeth. You’ve never felt so violated before in your entire life. The killer knew exactly where to lick, what places to focus on, and for how long to lavish a specific place to send you over the edge of being overwhelmed with disgust and a sickening warmth that rose throughout your body against your will. Your neck, your chest, your navel, all of it was slathered in thick, brackish mucus. A broken sob wracked your body. It was horrible… You just wanted to crawl out of your skin and fucking die.

Why me…? You thought bitterly as one of the Executioner’s large hands wraps around your jaw, holding your head in place as he attempted to force his tongue in between your clenched teeth. When his other hand went for your surely ruined pants, you went slack from shock just long enough for him to shove his tongue past your teeth and halfway down your throat.

How could it taste even worse than you could possibly imagine…? You couldn’t fucking breathe..! Screwing your eyes shut, you struggled vainly to breathe out of your nose, or between the thrusting of his tongue- FUCKING SOMEBODY…! HELP ME..!! It was too much..! You were about to resign yourself to your fate but then-

CLANK!

The tongue assaulting your throat pauses it’s decent before, without warning, retracting itself from your gullet. Saliva and bile gushed from your mouth and nose, running down your chin and staining your already filthy body. The hand around your jaw remains, tightening until the pressure placed on it becomes unbearable. The Executioner had turned his head opposite where you were held captive. You couldn’t see around his hulking frame, but you’re pretty sure it doesn’t matter. I’m so fu-

“OI! YA FUCKIN CUNT! LEAVE ‘ER ALONE!!”

That voice… I-Is that..?

CLANK!!

You’re released, but not before the remains of your tattered pants were effortlessly ripped off your body, leaving you completely humiliated and exposed. Or rather, you would have been, had you not lost so much blood. There was more shouting, but your ears were ringing too much to clearly make out what was said. It’s unfortunate that they came too late, but at least they tried…

You couldn’t keep your eyes open. It was past time to let go. You allow the Entity to take you, not wanting the killer to come back to finish what he started. The way he touched me… It was revolting. Even after you were returned back to camp, you could still feel that disgusting tongue all over your body and down your throat and in… other places that it didn’t even have the chance to explore. Yet…

Shuddering, you furiously rub your skin. You’re unable to rid yourself of the feeling of viscous mucus coating your skin. All you wanted was to take a bath, but that would never happen here. All you can do is hope and pray that you won’t face the Executioner anytime soon. Because, if you do… It won’t be that Great Knife that will split you in half…

@prettycutebunny @randomyklol @kennbb @furanshinufuransu

#dead by daylight #dbd #pyramid head #pyramid head x reader #guest starring david #ask response

[wallflowerimagines]

I love your writing so much, it's very great! Anyways, can you make one with the lords with a s/o who can see ghosts, but everytime they see one they tensed up ? Thanks alot! <3 <3 <3

In a horror game???? With a horror villain s/o?????

Anon, you are so brave 😔✊ let's get spooky.

Alcina Dimitrescu

There are SO many ghosts in Castle Dimitrescu. And they're all so LOUD.

The majority seem to be victims of House Dimitrescu. All of them drift through the air, drained and skeletal, eyes sightless, and they just wail non stop. The wailing itself is actually kind of a lower volume, but because there are so many ghosts around, the sound layers and echoes through the space until you can barely hear yourself think.

They remind you of jellyfish in a way. They just aimlessly drift through the air, clothes billowing around them, sliding through the walls. Constantly screaming.

You actually prefer the ghosts of the victims of the Cadou experiments. They might be horrible, shuffling abominations of flesh and oozing blood, but at least they're quiet.

Alcina notices you flinch without any kind of visible stimulus, and immediately gets suspicious. She pulls you into a room and demands an explanation of your behavior.

If there is a problem, she's going to fix it.

When you tell her about the ghosts, her lips press into a fine line. You mean to tell her that these worthless wastes of space are crowding her halls, polluting her home even after their death?

They dare to not only crowd the noble house of Dimitrescu under her nose for years, but they're bothering you while they do it?

Yeah, Alcina is Furious.

She gets a couple exorcists on Retainer. Every month or so, priests of various religions are paraded through the house and cleanse the place from top to bottom. She has you follow them around and check their work, too. If any of them happen to be charlatans, they'll just join the horde of ghosts. No skin off her nose.

It is a little annoying that she has to hire even more people to clean up the mess in her Castle, but Alcina is a highborn lady. Any kind of clutter (living or dead) is unacceptable. Her home should be pristine.

Besides, her favorite reward is seeing you fall asleep in her arms, entirely peaceful. You had been so obviously stressed by the situation. It's such a relief to have you relaxed and calm once again.

Donna Beneviento

When Donna finds out you can see ghosts, she gets a bit ...manic.

This is a woman who lost her entire family, and is unable to deal with grief in a healthy way. She's constantly in mourning garb, and her veil rarely comes off. Hell, her grief was the catalyst for her current hobby-- which is what turned it into a hyperfixation.

I'm not going to lie to you, this revelation puts your relationship on pause. She's going to use you to get what she wants, and she wants her family back.

Donna pulls out all the family photo albums and portraits. She coaches you on her mother's laugh, her father's focused expression. She gets the projector and plays you home movies to show you how they walk and talk. Anything she can show you to help identify the ghosts of her family, she does it.

If you tense up, Donna gets so excited. Is it someone she knew? Her sister, maybe?

Unfortunately, most of the ghosts around are Donna's victims. They huddle in the corners of her home, rocking back and forth in terror, clawing at the walls in a futile attempt to escape whatever horror they've been eternally trapped in.

Sometimes, at night, you hear soft whimpers and scratches at your door...

If there is a ghost that isn't a member of her family around, Donna gets frustrated with it. She will banish any ghost that isn't a member of her family, or a member of the previous staff that could help them in the afterlife.

Eventually you need to sit her down and have a serious conversation with her. You're not something she can use to connect to her family. You might be willing to help, but all she's done lately is treat you like an object, not a partner. It has to stop.

It's the wake up call Donna needs. You both hold each other and cry for a long time, because the last thing she ever wanted to do is hurt you, but... She misses them. So much.

You still look for their ghosts for her, still tense in the hallway, but Donna stops asking you to describe them to her. She trusts you to tell her if they look familiar now. She can be patient.

Salvatore Moreau

Fish man might have been a doctor once, but he is a Small Town Doctor from a small fishing Hamlet. I don't care how much "logic" and "reason" you might think he has. This man is SUPER-fucking-STICIOUS.

Salt over your shoulder, four leaf clover carrying, fear of curse having man DOES NOT LIKE the idea of being haunted.

The ghosts of the reservoir are extra spooky too. Some of them are mid-mutation from the failed Cadou experiments...But the drowning victims are more common.

There aren't many ghosts around, but when they do appear, they're bloated, skin slipping off their bones, clothes dissolving around them as they glide through the air. They move much slower than other ghosts too, like the fact that they died in the water has permanently trapped them in that state.

If you tense up out of nowhere, Moreau does too.

What did you see?? Are they close?? Do they look bound to an object??

Salvatore will turn into his giant fish form and yeet anything that you might feel to be haunted over the mountain range. He takes no chances with that shit.

You two both are regular customers of the Duke's specifically for new exorcism methods. The Duke doesn't scam you guys either-- he provides candles, scriptures, holy water, perfumes, all of it works to keep the spirits at bay.

You and Moreau will walk around the reservoir, on guard for any hauntings, and clean up any area that might possibly have a ghost attached to it. It's a incredibly weird and very niche bonding experience.

By the end of the day, the reservoir is the least haunted place in the whole Village. Just how you and Salvatore like it.

Karl Heisenberg

Eat my ass, spirits

Heisenberg is not afraid of ghosts. He actually makes fun of you a little bit for even believing in them, until he sees you tense up out of the blue.

He trusts you enough to know you're not lying to him, so he knows that you are seeing something. He just doesn't know if they're really ghosts.

There aren't as many ghosts in the factory as there are at the Castle, but there is still quite a few.

A lot of them are missing limbs, unsurprisingly. They gasp and scramble around, eyes (if they are even there) bulging out of rotting faces as they scan the surrounding area for their missing pieces. They scuttle around like spiders up and through the walls, poking their heads into random rooms and constantly searching for something, anything to make them whole.

The worst thing about them is that they ALL scream when they see Heisenberg. It's not even a wail like from a normal ghost-- this is a full on shriek of rage and grief. They know who he is. They know what he's done. And they can't do anything about it.

Is it any wonder that you tense up all the time?

After you describe the ghosts in more detail to your partner, Heisenberg sets his jaw, gets pissed, and finds a way to exorcise the lot of them. While he can't see them, you can, and they might make you think less of him. He can't have that.

Plus, they're obviously bothering you. Karl does not tolerate some dumb spirits harassing his partner. If he has to nail a couple crucifixes to the wall and get a spray bottle of holy water, he will.

He also sees if he can kill his victims in an isolated section of the factory. Maybe having one specific room might limit the range on these things? It also makes for easier clean up.

#lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader #donna beneviento x reader #salvatore moreau x reader #karl heisenburg x reader #re8 #resident evil village #resident evil #resident evil 8 #alcina dimitrescu #donna beneviento #salvatore moreau #karl heisenberg #lady dimitrescu #ghosts #SPOOKY ASKS are AWESOME #can you tell I loved describing the spooks? cuz i did

[divine-mistake]

bitter fruit

Summary: “The mission was already a success!” you say and you can feel tears burning the back of your eyes. You will yourself to blink them back. “You had the files, the base was set to detonate, I don’t understand why you didn’t just stay on the fucking jet.”

“Because you were going to die.”

Characters: Bucky Barnes/(f)Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut (oral fem receiving, Bucky is a slut for consent), language, graphic depictions of violence, blood

Word Count: 9338

A/N: This is a tumblr request for @buckybarnes101 who requested an enemies to lovers with eventual smut and I got so so carried away with this request and ended up writing this 9k chonker! (5k of it is smut so, carry on) HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY! Enjoy!!

main masterlist | AO3

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you snap, “maybe about saving all the innocent people that’ve been trapped in HYDRA’s basement for god knows how long?”

Bucky snarls at you, grabbing the front of your tac-suit and pulling you up until your nose is inches from his. A striking pain shoots through your side like a bullet, which is funny, considering the hole he stitched up for you what seemed like seconds ago.

But just like your relationship, numb one second and blazing the next, it’s like some switch has flipped in his brain in a matter of minutes.

You should really give him some more credit—the man describes his brain as spaghetti most days. And as funny as it sounds, it really isn’t. You’re keenly aware of the haunted look that fills his eyes when he struggles with his past.

Except when he acts like this, it’s hard to remember that.

Something smells of smoke and gunpowder. People are screaming. The men who just ran through the door are shouting in Russian, you know, because you’ve heard the same language from Bucky’s mouth when he’s having nightmares. Faintly, you realize there’s a pain just above your hip. You don’t have time to look. The gun is in your hands and you’re firing. Someone—innocent, crying—bumps into you as they flee the scene. Your shot goes wide.

Bucky’s voice crackles over the comms. “Where are you?” He sounds panicked.

“Got held up,” you respond. “I’m on my way. Civilians headed to you.”

He curses your name. “I told you to get back to the jet!”

The butt of an assault rifle is hurtling toward you and you duck, rolling across the dirty concrete. The pain in your side flares up, burning. You think you might’ve gotten shot. You return the favor, killing two more HYDRA agents.

“I took a detour.”

A moment to breathe. Your eyes roam over the cells that you uncovered in the base, checking for any signs of life you previously missed. It’s all dead bodies and blood. You’re starting to feel weak.

“Get back to the fucking jet, agent! The base is rigged to blow!”

Before you can reply, someone grabs you by the hair, the muzzle of a gun pressed into your neck. On reflex and instinct alone, you thrust your elbow into his side and disarm him just in time. The gun goes off, bullet lodging in the concrete. Fucking slug would’ve ripped right through you.

“Bit busy,” you reply to Bucky.

Your name is lost to the sound of you firing the last few rounds into your attacker. When you’re sure he’s dead, you slump to the wet floor, knees unable to hold you any longer. The pain in your side is killing you—probably literally. A gasp escapes you when you press your fingers to the wound, trying to staunch the blood from the bullet hole, but at this point, you guess it doesn’t matter. The base is going to go up in flames in a few more minutes and you don’t have the strength to get back to the quinjet.

And really, you don’t want to. Bucky’s gonna be pissed.

“Hey, Barnes,” you wheeze through the comms. He doesn’t reply. “You know how you got all pissy at Sam when he ate your last loaf of that banana bread, and you put all those laxatives in his brownies and he was shitting for like, days? Yeah, that was me. I ate your banana bread.”

He never replies, but you chuckle all the way until you fall asleep, cheek pressed into a pool of someone’s blood.

He says your name now, catching your attention again, and when you roll your eyes at him he shakes you again. With a hiss of pain, you try and shove him away from you, but his dumb super soldier ass is too heavy.

“That hurts!”

“Good!” Bucky finally lets you go and you slump against your seat, wincing. “Maybe the pain will make you stop being so fucking reckless! You defied a direct order from your captain. You could have died.”

“Maybe I should have,” you mutter back, not looking at him.

“I should be so lucky,” he seethes. “If I hadn’t gone back for your dumbass, your body wouldn’t have even been recovered. You would have rotted in that damn HYDRA base. Is that what you want?”

You snort. “Ain’t like I got a family who wants my ashes.”

Bucky throws up his hands, exasperated, and then decides to pace up and down the aisle of the jet. He doesn’t look at you, and you only sneak glances at the rage painting his face when you’re sure he isn’t going to see you staring. He looks just as worn as you, the sole sleeve of his tac-suit bloody and ripped up, charred remains and soot skimming his boots where he’s tied the laces tight. Sweat-matted and probably dried with blood, his hair is falling in chunks from the bun he usually keeps it in for missions now, and he has to brush it out of his face every few paces he takes.

In another phrase, Bucky is fucking hot right now.

Maybe death would have been tragic, you muse, since you wouldn’t get to see the absolute specimen of your partner anymore.

For as much as you two hate each other, you can’t deny how gorgeous he is. Ripped to match the gods, carefully trimmed beard only a little more bristled than the one Steve sports these days, and god, the man wears a sweater like it’s Armani.

When you blink, you realize he’s looking at you, and your face flushes. It isn’t the first time he’s caught you staring at him hungrily, you’re sure, but most of the time he gets this stupid smug look on his face, lips wide in a smirk, and sometimes he’ll even throw you a flirty little line that has you gnashing your teeth and snapping at him to fuck off.

But this time, he’s so angry that he just stares at you, eyes narrowed in a glare.

“When we get back,” he says, nostrils flaring, “I’m benching you.”

“What?” you cry out, eyes wide. “Why the fuck—who the—who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Your captain!” he roars, and you almost swear the whole jet shakes with his fury. “You disobeyed my direct order to retreat to the jet and instead you almost cost us both our lives. Why the fuck shouldn’t I bench you?”

“I didn’t ask you to come save me!” you shout back, trying to stand from your seat. Almost immediately, Bucky shoves you back down.

“Not only am I your captain for this mission, but I’m your partner. I’m responsible for you. What, you just expect me to leave you behind?”

“The mission was already a success!” you say and you can feel tears burning the back of your eyes. You will yourself to blink them back. “You had the files, the base was set to detonate, I don’t understand why you didn’t just stay on the fucking jet.”

“Because you were going to die.”

The way that Bucky is looking at you right now steals all your breath away, steals all the fight you feel in your bones. You watch the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the way the vein in his neck jumps, the way he holds his jaw tight. His eyes, a blaze of blue, are looking at you like he’s afraid you’ll dissolve right in front of him, leaving behind a body bag of skin and bones and teeth. That’s all you are, maybe.

“Stay with me,” he says, voice so close to your ear. “Please, just stay with me, doll.”

It’s all hazy. The world is black. You can’t open your eyes, they’re so heavy. Your body hurts so bad, so fucking bad. Someone is jostling you and it hurts so bad and you just want to open your mouth and scream.

“You’re okay.” It’s Bucky, you realize in some vague fog of a dream. “You’re going to be okay, I’ve got you.”

Your leg feels like it’s on fire. The air smells like the fourth of July, all fire and gunpowder and barbeque. Burnt flesh. It’s hot and thick, the smoke you’re breathing in.

“I have so much to tell you,” he whispers, maybe. Or maybe that’s just how it sounds in your mind. “So much to say to you. So much to apologize for. I need to tell you something. You told me about that dumb fucking banana bread. I have something I gotta tell you, doll.”

What? What does he have to tell you? You want to ask but your throat is so dry and your lips are glued together.

You want to tell him you aren’t dying, and god, he’s being so dramatic. But you can’t, because you might actually be dying.

Instead, you try so so so hard to open your eyes, and a sliver of light invades your vision, and even with the way your eyelids shudder, you can see Bucky’s face. Just a little bit. He’s covered in blood, you think.

Oh, but his eyes. Fuck, you love his eyes. Thank god you opened yours so you could stare at his eyes before you go to sleep again. So blue. So deep. So icy and sad and hurt and beautiful.

“Please,” he says, and you swear it’s the only time he’s ever begged you for anything.

Of course, you tell yourself before your eyes close again.  I’d do anything for you.

“Why do you care?” you whisper, and he blanches, because you swear his damned super soldier hearing can even hear your thoughts.

But fuck it, you’re young, wild, and free, and you’re alive now too, so fuck it.

“Why do you care?” you repeat, louder this time, very clearly addressing him. “Why do you care so much if I die? You’ve hated me since the day you met me,” you spit the words out like poison.

Bucky turns away, gaze trained on something other than you and your bloodied tac-suit.

“We’ve always fought about this,” you continue. “This isn’t anything new, Barnes. You knew I’d go down to save those people. You knew I’d risk my life to get them out. You know this and you still fucking went after me. So why?”

The silence eats at every edge you have until it consumes you, and Bucky never replies.

You watch him walk away, toward the cockpit, and you don’t have the energy to follow him and finish the fight.

“Get it through your pretty little head before you go on a mission and get yourself killed, doll.” Bucky’s smirk sends a shiver through you and you aren’t sure if it's anger or arousal. You bite down on your tongue to keep from lashing out. “You can’t save everyone.”

“Bullshit,” you say before you realize. Bucky’s eyes go wide. “I took this job because I have the ability to save people, so I’m going to save everyone.”

His mouth opens but you cut him off.

“I don’t care if you can’t save everyone, but me?” Your finger is braced against his hard chest and he doesn’t recoil. “I’ll save everyone or I’ll die trying.”

“Hey,” Steve says, trying to move between you two, but you barely notice his presence.

“You’re stupid,” Bucky hisses.

You smirk. “You’re not as skilled as you think you are.”

“Shut up,” he snarls.

“Make me,” you snap back.

“Guys,” Steve tries to interrupt.

“Meet me in the ring.” Bucky’s eyes are glaring down at you, heated. “Let’s see if you can handle me, doll.”

“Buck!” Steve’s hand falls on Bucky’s shoulder, working to hold him back from stalking off to the gym. But Bucky shrugs him off.

“Back off, Steve.” He looks over his shoulder at you as if daring you to follow.

And, fuck, you’ve never backed down from a challenge in your entire life, so you follow him all the way to the training room, watching the way his muscles strain through his tight t-shirt the whole way.

He’s kind enough to hold the ropes up so you can duck under easier, but you roll your eyes and leverage your foot against the spring and tuck your legs underneath you to jump the top rope easily. You throw him the same look that he did, a coy gaze over your shoulder, and then you beckon him forward.

His nostrils flare and you wonder what he’d look like on top of you in bed.

“Wrap your hands, for god’s sake,” Steve shouts, but you ignore him in favor of cracking your knuckles for good measure.

“I’m not planning on getting mine bloody,” you tell him, and Bucky laughs brusk.

“You should plan on losing,” he says, smirking.

With a twist of your jaw, you crack your neck. “Not planning on that, either.”

Like big cats, the two of you circle each other, toes so light the mat makes no noise. Bucky’s eyes are focused, narrowed, and beautiful like this, you think. He’s calculating every single movement you’re making and it sends a heat down to your core. This is all just foreplay to you.

Until he charges, and then it’s on. You’re a flurry of limbs, defensive stances and blocks. Bucky is unrelenting and the fucker is fast for his size. He never uses his metal arm to attack, but the manic whirr and click of it as he moves is alarming. There’s a window of opportunity when Bucky overshoots a right hook and you duck underneath his arm, and you’re able to get behind him and kick him the back of his knee. He falters for not even a second and then it’s back on.

It’s a dance, weaving between limbs and twirling kicks aimed at his head. You struggle to figure out how to take him down—he’s so big, like a fucking brick wall. There’s very little chance you can flip him. You’re going to have to try and get him in a hold, but there’s no way he’s going to allow you to do that.

But maybe you can bait him. You go on the attack now, whiffing a couple of good punches and sending a straight kick right at his jaw that he barely dodges. While you’re recovering, before your foot is even planted back on the mat, Bucky does exactly what you want him to do. He slides up with a fist and you feign a misstep, ducking right. His follow-through is too heavy and you grab his wrist, locking it in your grasp, and then your heel goes straight into his abdomen, right under his center of gravity.

He goes down and you relish in the moment his eyes blow wide with the shock of being caught off guard. You scramble on top of him but he rocks his hips up and starts to roll you both until you’re underneath him. In retaliation, you lock one foot around his calf and use your other knee to jab his stomach, and then you roll him underneath you instead. Your forearm presses against his neck, legs squeezing his middle.

God, he’s fucking pretty, his blue eyes all big and pants falling out of his pink lips. Sweat is dripping from his hairline and rolling off the bridge of his nose and it pleases you, the fact that you made Bucky Barnes bust his ass in a fight. You know you have to look like a drowned dog by now, so how the fuck is he still so pretty? For that, you press down on his throat harder until he taps the mat—a yield.

Immediately you’re off him, panting as you lean against the ropes, but a shit-eating grin is plastered on your face. Bucky looks anywhere but you, wiping his damp face on his shirt, which gives you the most perfect flash of his carved abs.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence, “we can agree to disagree, right?”

He stares at you for a hard moment, a longer moment than he has before, and you swallow as desire crawls up your spine. Then, Bucky ducks under the ropes, grabs his towel, and gets the hell out of dodge.

“Fuck you too, Barnes!” you shout, and you know he must’ve heard you.

He helps you walk off the quinjet and you hate literally every second of every moment that you have to have his arm wrapped around your waist. Mostly because you’re pissed at him and you hate being babied, but also because god, you can imagine Bucky holding you like this in a different context way better than you should be able to.

Those thoughts are the demons in your brain and you need someone to exorcise you. Probably Natasha. No, Natasha will make fun of you. Wanda, then.

As soon as you’re out of the hangar, Bucky asks FRIDAY if there’s anyone in the medbay, and your neck about snaps in half from how fast you turn.

“No,” you say. “Absolutely not. I’m not going to medical.”

He cuts you a glare. “As if you have a say in it.”

“I do have a say! It’s my body! This is the twenty-first century, Barnes. My body, my choice!”

“You’re injured,” he grits through his teeth. “We’re going to medbay.”

“I don’t need to go!” You start dragging your heels, trying to make yourself heavier, but Bucky is a super soldier and probably throws mack trucks for a living or something. “You stitched me up! The burns aren’t that bad, either. I’m fine, I’m not going to medical.”

“God, can you ever give me a break?” he groans. “Why are you always so fucking difficult?”

“I’m not being difficult!” you snarl, trying to push away from him, but his grip tightens. “Why the fuck do you care so much?”

“You’re so fucking stupid.”

“Yeah, maybe I am, since I don’t know why the fuck you give two shits about saving my quote-unquote dumbass who almost got us both killed, and I don’t know why the fuck you care about getting me to medical when you’re gonna bench me anyway! Right, thanks a lot Barnes, I’m so stupid for not fucking figuring it out!”

“You are!” he roars, and then your back is against the wall, his hand cushioning your head from hitting it. He corners you there, covering your body with his, ducking down so your mouths are so close you would only need to reach up a little to kiss him, and god, that’s tempting.

Not tempting enough when you’re this pissed off, though.

“So that’s what it is, huh? You just think I’m some stupid, incapable little girl who is so impractical because all she wants to do is save lives? You think I’m so stupid that I don’t know that people are going to die? And they’re going to die because I can’t save them? Maybe you should think about how I could never live with myself if I didn’t do everything possible to save them, so I risk my life to get them to safety. I would never ever risk yours, you stupid, arrogant, ignorant—”

Oh, Jesus.

His lips are hot when they crash against yours, pinning you between him and the wall. It’s desperate, the kind of kiss you’ve never had before. It’s so desperate and you want to pull away and ask him, Bucky, what are you so desperate for? He kisses you like he wants to keep you, his mouth swallowing yours like he can’t get enough of you. It’s hungry and begging and you don’t ever want it to stop, your teeth nipping blood from his bottom lip as if it’ll stop him from leaving, but he pulls away, leaving you breathless anyway.

“You’re stupid,” he repeats again and you watch his tongue dart out to taste the blood you’ve ripped from his skin. It sends a thrill of pleasure through you. “You’re so stupid.”

And he kisses you again and you decide that sure, maybe you’re stupid, you’ll be stupid all day long because he’s going to kiss you stupid.

It’s your hands that move first, you realize in some random corner of your mind. Your fingers twine in his brown locks, tugging the hair tie away and flinging it somewhere. Vaguely, you realize you’re still in the middle of the hallway, on the way to the elevator, but you don’t give a shit. The hand that isn’t twisting Bucky’s scalp finds the material of his tac-suit and starts pulling at all the straps and buckles, searching for a sliver of his hot skin in any capacity.

His own hand, the one not holding the back of your head, skims over your waist and flutters down your uninjured hip, grasping at the flesh underneath your suit. Suddenly, you’re overcome with the need to get these fucking clothes off, and immediately, and you break the kiss so you can suck down air and ask the man you’ve been hating, been pining after, to take you to bed.

As you do, Bucky trails a hot path of sloppy kisses down your chin, over your jaw, against your neck, until he finds the juncture of your shoulder and attaches his teeth there, nibbling on a patch of skin that is so distracting you forget about your question for a minute. And then your fingers run over a rough spot on his suit and you remember.

“Bucky,” you gasp out, and it sounds so heady that you nearly throw your head back. “Bucky,” you repeat, more urgently, when he doesn’t let up, your hand is tightening on his sleeve and tugging on it.

His head snaps up now, eyes piercing yours, concerned.

“Are you okay?” he asks, moving your hair away from your face to look closer at you.

“Bed,” you rasp out, but barely. “Now, please.”

He doesn’t move for a second, just staring at you like he’s scared, like he’s surprised you would ask. You see his eyes sort of glaze over, a reminder of the nightmares he’s seen, the nightmares he replays over and over in his head, but you’re selfish and your core is pulsing with a heat you’ve never felt this hot before and you need him here, not wherever his mind is taking him.

“Please, Bucky,” you say, and he blinks, and then he’s present again.

“Anything for you, doll,” he whispers, and your legs nearly collapse beneath you at the thought. Bucky scoops you into his arms carefully, trying not to jostle your wound too much, and then he sweeps you into the elevator and you’re speeding toward his room and hoping to god that Steve isn’t prowling around.

In a haze of kissing and excitement, you barely recognize that Bucky’s opening his door until it’s closed behind you and he’s walking you through his room and to his bed.

God, you’ve wanted to be in his bed for so fucking long.

He drops you among the sheets gently, so starkly different from the harsh tone of his voice only a few minutes earlier when he was yelling at you, and you’re not sure what you like better. You want Bucky to fuck you, to rip you in half and put you back together like he always does. But you want him, so badly, to make love to you just as much, but you’d never admit that to him.

Bucky’s kissing you so sweetly now, and then his kisses get more forceful, more needy, and you suck on his tongue until he’s panting above you. His hands are everywhere, sliding over your suit, unstrapping and unzipping and unbuckling all your gear, and your hands fumble in tune with his, trying to help him get you out of your clothes.

Just before he takes off your vest, he kisses you and asks, “Is this okay?”

You rip the vest off yourself, sitting up on your elbows to rip your undershirt off with it, leaving you in a black sports bra.

And you revel in the way Bucky stares at this new flesh. His lips find your sweaty skin, covering every inch that’s been revealed now as your fingers start taking his tac-suit apart the way he did yours. Soon, you’re frustrated, and you whine and pull at it until he huffs a laugh and takes it off himself. His vest gets thrown to the side and his tank top follows, leaving him bare-chested.

Your fingers are shaky as they touch his tanned skin and you almost laugh at how nervous you are. You’ve spent so long looking at him, hating him, wanting him, and now you have this stretch of his wide chest in front of you and all you can do is let your fingertips glide over him, mouth parted, eyes hazy.

His pupils are blown wide, too, and Bucky takes your hand in his and presses it against him harder, and suddenly you’re feral.

Your hands slide over every part of him, taking in the expanse of him. His biceps, his strong shoulders, the hard planes of his body. As gentle as possible, you trail your fingers closer and closer to the scar where metal meets flesh, and you glance up at him, a silent question, and when he gives you the smallest nod, you smooth over the gnarled rift of skin. You don’t ask if it hurts. He gives no indication that it does. And when you reach up to press a soft kiss to it, he shudders above you.

“Please,” he whispers, so quietly. “Let me touch you, doll.”

You lay back and start to unstrap your holsters, gesturing for Bucky to help you with your pants. He unlaces your boots for you as you throw your weapons to the ground, the clink of belts and buckles mingling in the silence, a song that ignites the excitement inside of you.

Your core is molten lava, the apex of your thighs dripping and Bucky hasn’t even touched the most intimate parts of you yet. Every single fiber of your being is trembling in anticipation, and in your hurry to strip your pants off, a twinge of pain shoots through you as you bend the wrong way, stitches pulling.

Bucky curses—like he’s the one who’s hurt you and you aren’t the idiot trying to rip her pants off—and just like he can flip the switch on his attitude, he flips the switch on this, too. He’s off of you before you realize, sitting back on his haunches, staring down at you in panic.

“I’m—Baby,” he breathes, voice shaking. “I'm sorry.”

His hands are outstretched, reaching for you, trembling as he swallows hard. You watch as his eyes shift in the space between your face and the white gauze wrapped around the bullet wound in your side.

“Bucky,” you hiss and grab him by the back of his neck, pulling him down. He doesn’t budge, not much at least, but you meet him the rest of the way and your lips collide with his in a thunderous crash, and like instinct, he kisses you until you can’t breathe.

“Doll,” he mumbles against your mouth and you drink the word from his tongue, distracting him. “We can’t.”

“We can,” you growl back, teeth reminding him of the pulsing ache between your thighs. In search of more, your hips roll up and meet his own, causing a groan to tumble out of his mouth into your own.

Fuck the pain—you’ll grit your teeth and bear it. This is the only moment you’ll ever have him, and by god, you need him.

Your hands return to your pants. “Help me,” you plead, breathless, unable to shimmy out of them. Bucky’s already pulled your boots off, socks coming with them, and his fingers find the heated flesh right beneath your waistband.

“Are you sure?”

All you can do is whine his name until he understands, and then Bucky is peeling your black pants from your legs, the rush of cool air rolling over your hot skin feeling almost as good as his hands are going to feel if he’ll just put them on you.

When his palms finally fall upon your thighs, rough and calloused and big and warm, you need much more, so much more. The way he trails his fingers down your knees, caressing your calves, brushing atop your ankle, and then coming back up to have his thumbs follow the ridge of muscles in your thighs, it all makes you shiver in pleasure. You’re so hot, sweat pooling in the small of your back against the bed, the dampness of your core becoming harder to ignore.

You squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to relieve the ache and Bucky notices—of course he notices—and his mouth finds your neck again, sucking until dark bruises begin to mar your skin, until you’re bowing off the bed, arching toward him, trying to get something, anything. Anything from him.

At some point, you realize he’s just torturing you on purpose, letting his hands roam the stretch of your stomach, smooth over the hills of your hips, and then draw down your legs until you’re shaking as he kisses you so softly, and then so roughly, like he can’t decide if he wants to grow old with you or if he wants to ruin you for whoever comes after him.

You sit up and reach around, fingers intent on unclasping your bra, but Bucky stops you with a nip at your bottom lip.

“Will you let me?” he asks, so sweetly. Bucky’s hand finds yours and bats them away, his fingers on the hooks as he waits for your answer.

“Yes,” you moan as his other hand tickles down the curve of your side. “God, please, yes.”

“Bucky,” he says, smirking against the side of your neck.

“Shut up and undress me, for fuck’s sake.”

“Well, when you ask so sweet like that, baby.”

With a quiet click, your bra comes undone and Bucky pulls it away from your body, and then your breasts are bare before his eyes. Now, it’s your turn to be doused in ice, to freeze, for the switch to flip.

You feel shy beneath his gaze, the way he looks at your nearly naked body with such reverence, as though this is the moment he’s been waiting for. Your knees close and your elbows draw in over your chest without your permission. It’s not like you want to hide from him, but he looks so perfect atop you, so beautiful in every single facet, better than any dream you’ve ever had of him, and you can’t stop yourself.

What have the other girls looked like underneath him? Better than you, surely. Prettier, skinnier, smaller, sexier. For fuck’s sake, you’ve got a nasty burn on the side of your leg and were shot through your left side only a few hours ago, your middle wrapped in medical tape. You can’t be that pretty a picture.

You’ve had your shot at him and you’re gonna lose it.

But when you look up, Bucky’s looking at you like you’re everything. His face is flushed, red creeping down his neck, and his eyes are soft, hazy, glassy. Gently, his fingers find your jaw and cup your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.

“Let me look at you, baby.” His voice is almost as rough as the worn skin of his hand, dry and gravelly and thick with lust. When Bucky moves to grasp your wrists, you let your eyes flutter closed and nod, allowing him to peel your arms away from where they hide you, and you hear the sharp intake of breath he takes.

“God,” his voice shudders. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, doll. I couldn’t have dreamed you up if I tried, and I promise you, I tried.”

Your eyes fly open at this. “What?”

If it bothers him, he doesn’t act like it. Bucky leans down to nuzzle his nose against your collarbone, kissing and licking your skin like he’s making constellations out of your body—bruises connected only by his tongue.

“I’ve thought about this since the day you kicked my ass in the ring.” He sounds like he’s reciting a prayer, all whispered desires. “Your perfect lips, what they’d feel like, how soft they are. If you’d touch my scars, and how your fingers would feel on them all if you did.”

His mouth closes over the mound of your breast, the clash of tongue and teeth upon your nipple forcing you to arch into him in pleasure. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream and you aren’t quite aware that you’re even whining until his free hand crawls up from your hip and cups your other breast, thumb strumming over your peaked nipple. The breathy moans that pour from your mouth fill the room and only seem to make Bucky work faster, work harder, as he drags every drop of pleasure out of you with every instrument he has. Your hips buck up and into his, your thinly-clothed core catching the tent in his pants—his tac-suit, you realize, is still on—and it makes you both groan in a symphony of need.

“Need you,” you somehow manage to get out between your heavy panting, hips still searching for something to relieve the ache in your center. “Bucky, please.”

He releases your nipple from his lips, the chill assaulting the wet bud making you bow from the bed once again. Bucky places a kiss on the other, letting his tongue lave over it until it's just as wet and hard.

“I imagined what you’d sound like,” he says against your stomach, punctuating his words with a smattering of kisses across your skin. “Thought about what you’d—fuck, baby—I thought so much about how you’d look beneath me all spread out, just for me.”

The sound you make in reply is almost embarrassing as how soaked your panties are.

“Wondered how you’d taste.” He lets his tongue drag across the hem of your underwear and you press up, trying to get his mouth closer, but his hands settle on your hips and gently hold you to the bed.

“Bucky!” you try and growl, but it comes out an octave too high. “Please!”

“What is it, babydoll?” His fingers curl underneath, thumbs riding the line of skin just beneath your panties.

“I need you!” You throw your head back against the pillow. “I’ve thought about it too,” you admit, breathing hard. “How you’d touch me like this, how you’d feel inside me, please, so please just—I need you, Bucky.”

“You got me, baby,” he says and it sounds so fucking beautiful. “I’m right here. I got you, doll. Gonna take care of you, okay? Will you let me give you what you need?”

You answer by trying to press your hips up again, and Bucky shifts until his hands are cupping your ass and he drags you down the bed, closer to him, closer to his own hips where you can feel the bulge of his cock begging to be released.

“Your pants,” you remind him, wrapping your uninjured leg around the back of his thigh. “I want to feel you, please, Bucky.”

“Okay, doll,” he says, laying a kiss just above your panty line again, and then he’s pulling away and you whine despite it.

You listen as Bucky fiddles with his gear, going through the same motions as you had to go through earlier. The clink of his knives, the buckles of his holsters, the heavy soles of his boots as he throws them off. When you sit up, Bucky is standing in his black boxers, the faint light streaming into his room highlighting the shine of the scars that cover his body.

He looks as breathless, as flustered, as aroused as you feel. His hair is mussed from your hands, falling over his shoulder in the thick waves that feel so soft between your fingers. The lust is evident in the way his eyes roam over your body, his pupils blown wide, and then he’s moving toward you and fitting himself between your legs on the bed.

Bucky slides his hands over your heated skin yet again, a reminder of how much he wants you, how much he loves the feel of you, before his fingers hook inside your panties and begin to pull them down. Before he gets too far, he stops again, gaze flicking up to meet yours.

“Is this alright?” he asks.

You nod, lifting your hips as carefully as possible in order to keep from jostling your wound, and Bucky slips the last piece of clothing from your body. You hope, fucking christ you hope, he doesn’t realize how soaked they are when he peels them off, but maybe that’s a lost cause.

Because as soon as you’re naked, your glistening core bare to his eyes alone, all bets are off. There are no more barriers, nothing for you to hide behind, no sharp words to keep your feelings at bay.

His fingers skim over your lips, collecting all the honey you’ve made for him as his knees widen to spread your thighs. The simple movement has your hips rolling already in search of more, whimpers falling from your mouth as Bucky stares at your naked form beneath him. Eyes lidded, you watch as he brings his fingers, wet with your juices, up to his mouth.

“Shit, doll,” he curses. Bucky’s tongue envelops his digits and he groans at the taste, sending shocks like a fucking earthquake through your body, through your bones, straight to your core.

He moves closer to you, sliding your thighs onto his shoulder and locking his metal arm around the top of your hips, far enough away from your wound that it doesn’t hurt. Bucky peppers kisses along your inner thighs, biting and sucking in intervals that has you pressing your mound to him, begging for more.

“You taste so good,” he mumbles, breath ghosting over your quivering pussy, pulling a wanton whine from your throat. “Will you let me taste you, baby?”

“God, yes, please Bucky,  please, I need it so bad.” The words are frantic, strangled, a mess of moans of breathless gasping.

“I know, sweetheart,” he says. “I got you, baby. I got you.”

And then his mouth is on you, hot and slick upon hot and slick, his tongue parting the valley of your lips and delving into your dripping center like he’s a man starved and you’re the first meal he’s tasted in years. You keen in pleasure, thrashing your head against the pillows until your hair is a tangled mess as Bucky’s tongue flattens on your clit, licking a wide path until it’s well-traveled and your hips stutter, held back only by the cooled metal on your heated skin. Your hands find purchase in his hair, fingers tugging at his scalp, and the motion makes him groan into you.

You call his name like it’s the only word you know, chanting it over and over like it’s a spell similar to the one he’s weaving with his tongue upon your aching clit. He doesn’t let up, tracing words you can’t make out and drinking in all the wetness flooding his mouth. The gentle scratch of his wiry beard burns just right, contrasting with the curls of pleasure coming from your sensitive clit. Without realizing, you grind your core against Bucky’s mouth, the friction only serving to make you into a trembling mess, your insides throbbing with a need to be filled, pussy clenching around nothing.

As if he feels you, Bucky slides his free hand over your leg and to the apex of your thighs, the first thick finger entering you slowly, like he’s testing the waters. You cry out, begging for more, and Bucky relents. His second finger follows as his tongue continues to lap at your pussy, letting you gyrate against his face as you try to fuck yourself on his hand.

“Bucky,” you pant, each letter of his name a stutter with moans, “please!”

“Please what, babydoll?” His voice sends another wave of arousal through you, juices slicking his fingers up more than before. Your stomach is tightening, pleasure in tight curls between your legs, center so close to snapping that tears are beginning to leak from your eyes because Bucky won’t fucking let you move your hips in the way that you want. He chuckles against your pussy, breath teasing over you, vibrations making you quiver.

“I’m gonna—”

Bucky curls his fingers inside of you, stroking your spot, just as his mouth envelops your clit in its heat and he sucks, hard, and the thin thread coiling in your core snaps and you come apart, harder, and a scream tears itself from your throat as warm tears fall into your hairline.

He never stops. As his suckling turns into kitten licks upon your clit, his third finger breaches your opening and slips inside, pumping into you as you ride your orgasm out on his hand. Your hand is tight in his hair until it all becomes too much and it falls to cover your mouth, your teeth finding your knuckle to bite back the sound of your moans.

“Oh no, baby, no,” Bucky says, and when you look down, he’s between your legs, watching you in the aftershocks of your pleasure. His fingers leave your pussy and you clench around nothing, a whine leaving your lips at the emptiness, until Bucky’s metal fingers are pulling your hand away from your face.

“I gotta hear you,” he whispers, the hand covered in your nectar finding your mouth. “Need to hear all those pretty little noises you’re making, baby. I’ve dreamed about ‘em. Would get my cock all hard thinking about ‘em. You gotta keep making ‘em ‘cause now that I’ve heard ‘em, I can’t get enough, babydoll.”

When he moves to trace your bottom lip, red and swollen from his own, your tongue darts out to taste the salt and sin on the pad of his thumb. Bucky places his fingers at your parted lips and you suck them into your mouth, licking all the juice from his skin, tongue swirling around his digits. You wonder if his lips taste like this, too.

He groans as he watches you, his eyes lidded and hazy and lovely, and then his metal hand finds the waistband of his boxers and yanks them off his hips. In one perfect movement, his cock slaps against his stomach, hot and red and already leaking, which makes you flush at the fact that Bucky liked making you come.

Subconsciously, your tongue snakes out to lick your lips as you take in the length, the thickness of his cock, and Bucky gets that familiar look on his face—cocky, smirking, knowing that he’s pushing your limits. He presses you back down upon the bed, his arms bracketing your head as his nose brushes against yours, his heat pressing into the subtle dip where your hip and thigh meet.

The feeling of his cock, hard and heavy against your naked skin, sends you into a frenzy of arousal, of want, of need. You reach out and take him into your hand, your thumb brushing over the velvet head and smearing his precum along his length. Bucky’s jaw tightens, muscle twitching, as you pump your fist around him and drag your fingers along the blue vein riding up the underside. The groan that falls from his lips, the stutter and jerk of his hips, the way he shakes above you is addicting, and Bucky has to pull your wrist away from his cock in order to stop you from getting him off just like that.

“Baby,” he breathes, resting his sweaty forehead against yours.

“Bucky, please,” you beg again. “Please, I need you inside me.”

“You want me?” he asks, and even though his voice is scratchy and thick with desire, he says it like he’s surprised. As if you could never want him.

You’ve always wanted him.

“Yes, god, Bucky. I want you,” you moan, threading your fingers into his hair to smash your lips together in a sharp, bruising kiss. “I need you,” you say against his mouth. “I need you so, so bad.”

“I need you too, babydoll. Need to feel you,” he says, the sound strained, almost like he can’t stay away from you any longer. You feel it too, the ache without him, the way your pussy clenches in anticipation for him.

The head of Bucky’s cock nudges at your entrance and your slick coats him. The soft skin of him brushes your over-sensitive clit and you keen, and he does it again, and again, until you’re shaking, until you wrap your ankles around Bucky’s back and pull him into you, raising your hips to meet his.

“You want this?” His voice is heavy when he asks.

“Yes,” you moan out, rocking against him.

He says your name and it sounds pained on his tongue. “Are you sure?”

“James.” Your teeth snap and gnash on his name, and it awakens something within him that sets every place he touches you ablaze with a new sensation, and Bucky enters you with a slow thrust of his hips. 

And it feels so fucking good.

Like straining a muscle you haven’t used in a while, it aches as he enters while you stretch to accommodate his size. The way his cock feels inside of you—touching you in places you never thought you’d be touched, filling you in a way you never thought you’d be filled.

He’s finally, finally yours. If just for this moment, Bucky Barnes is yours.

Your nails incise his back, making new marks among the sea of scarring he’s suffered, as you cling to his body in any way to feel him closer to you. Bucky leaves kisses on every surface of your face, your jawline, your neck. He kisses you everywhere and you wish you could tattoo the feeling into your skin.

“Are you alright?” he mumbles faintly into your neck and you can feel how hard he’s trying not to move, not to hurt you, to give you time to adjust to him. Your fingers trail up and down his spine, drifting into his hair, scratching against his scalp.

“Yes,” you hiss, undulating your hips and making a similar sound fall from his lips. “Bucky, please.”

You don’t know how many iterations of that same phrase you’ve said all night, but you’ll keep saying it, over and over, if he’ll take you like this. Just like this, with his arms trapping your body to the bed, his hips flush against yours, panting above you as he stares into your eyes all lustful and dark and wanting. He smells like the Bucky you’re so familiar with, your partner, Barnes, gunpowder and explosions and blood, with the clean scent of whatever deodorant he uses. If he’ll keep you like this, where you can pretend your his for this moment, you’ll say it over and over

Bucky, please—Bucky, please—Bucky, please—please—please—

When he finally moves, thrusting into your heat with a growl, it feels like time stops.

Bucky fucks you like he loves you, slow and steady, pumping into you fully and deeply until you lose your mind. He fucks you like he wants to ravage you, fast and quick and hard as he holds your hips to keep you steady, and you ignore the dull pain that flares up in your side because he’s fucking you like he needs you, like he can’t exist without you. He fucks you like he’ll never get another chance to touch you. When he fucks you like this, his thrusts falling out of rhythm, out of time, he rests his forehead against yours and you lean up to capture his mouth with yours, tongues sliding over one another sloppily.

The heat is building up inside of you again, and when Bucky lifts your hips and drapes you over his knees, pressing you up with his metal arm, his cock hits the spot inside you that makes you scream over and over. The waves are cresting. The crescendo is approaching. Every grunt and groan he makes mingles with your moans and shrieking pleasure, and it’s all going to culminate into one big moment, you can feel it.

Bucky pulls back to slip his hand between your bodies, sweaty and hot, and his thumb presses gently into your clit. With one sharp thrust, your body arches off the bed as you snap, screaming his name, and Bucky holds you through it.

Your vision goes black—you aren’t sure if it's because your eyes are screwed shut in pleasurable pain or if it's because you’ve passed out. Bucky’s hips jerk wildly into yours and you tighten the grip you have around his waist with your legs, digging your heels into the small of his strong back.

“So tight,” he hisses into your ear. “So fucking wet, baby. Feel so fucking right, made for me, aren’t you doll?”

“Yes, James,” you moan out as you ride the waves of your orgasm. “Made for you!”

Bucky works at your clit again as his rhythm starts to fail, and even with how sensitive you are, you feel the pleasure curling inside you again, hot inside your stomach. You clench and jolt whenever his cock hits the right angle, and all of a sudden, you’re on the edge yet again.

“I can’t,” you cry out, nearly a sob lost to the sound of his hips snapping against yours.

“You can,” he says, so gently. “You can, baby, just for me. You said so, right?”

How is he still talking? For fuck’s sake, your tongue feels like its detached from your mouth and all you can muster are the moans and whines that come from the back of your throat Bucky is forcing out of you.

“Come with me,” you beg, you plead. “Please James, please, come with me.”

“Baby—”

You break apart silently, clinging to his body, holding him to you as every fiber of your being is torn into pieces, shattered. As your pussy clenches and spasms around him, Bucky stutters in his thrusts and you pull him into you, willing him to fall over the edge with you, and he follows dutifully.

He groans out your name as he comes inside of you, liquid heat searing the deepest part of you. Falling back against the pillows, you whisper his name and drag him with you, mouth meeting his for one last clumsy, haphazard kiss. Bucky stills inside of you, still throbbing, and then he whispers something against your lips.

“I love you.”

You freeze, eyes wide, and Bucky pulls away from your embrace to look at you.

“What?” you ask, swallowing thickly. “What did you say?”

“I—” He looks nervous now, but his blue eyes are so fucking sincere. “I’m—I’m so sorry, fuck.”

Bucky moves to pull out of you, to leave, but you tighten your legs around his hips and trap him against you. The cocky smirk he wears, the confident smile, even the look of desire he wore while fucking you—it’s all gone. Left in its wake is the ashamed look Bucky wears that makes him seem small, and you want to smooth it away until he looks at you like he wants you again. Like he wants you to be his. 

Like he loves you.

“Why are you sorry?” you ask him, stroking a hand through his hair.

“Because—fuck—this wasn’t supposed to happen.” He glances away from you and glares at the floor and a heartbreaking pain shoots through you. Now, he pulls out of you, shifting to get off the bed and clean up, but you can’t stop the words before they tumble out.

“You didn’t want me?”

“What?” Bucky turns and cups your face in his hand, searching your eyes for something, and his thumb wipes away a stray tear you didn’t realize had fallen. 

Oh fuck, here it comes. He told you he loved you in a fit of passion and now you’re the stupid, clingy girl that he needs to leave behind. You’re partners, first and foremost, and you shouldn’t have forgotten that.

But god, he made you feel like you were his, and you wanted that so bad. You want it so fucking bad.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, voice shaking and you wonder if you mean it. “I know I’m stupid, and I know you hate me, and I know it was just sex—”

“Baby, no, please.” Bucky brings your face to his and kisses you softly, sweetly, like he adores you. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry because someone like me shouldn’t love someone like you. God, I shouldn’t love someone as perfect as you. I can’t have you, doll. And I’m sorry.”

Oh. Bucky does love you.

Oh. Oh. Oh.

You surge up and slant your mouth over his, hand gripping the back of his neck to pull him down, fingers twining in the fine hairs where his scalp meets his skin. In this one kiss, you pour everything you think you can into it, everything you feel now, everything you’ve felt since you met him, everything you’ve ever felt at every moment you’ve shared with him.

“I love you,” you say when you pull away. “I love you so much, Bucky. I’ve loved you since the day I met you.”

His eyes are so wide, so afraid, so confused.

“You do?”

“I do,” you tell him. “God, I’ve wanted you for so long, Bucky Barnes, you stupid man.”

You expect him to kiss you now, but he doesn’t. Instead, Bucky cradles your head in his hand and pulls you to his chest, embracing you in his warm arms. He rolls onto the bed, carefully lifting you until you’re situated on top of him, where you wrap your limbs around him and lay upon his warm body. Bucky lays kisses on the crown of your hair, holding you so tightly against him you think you might suffocate.

“I’ve loved you since the day you kicked my ass, doll,” he admits. You laugh.

“Are you kidding me? I thought you hated me.”

“I could never hate you,” he says. “I hated that you would sacrifice yourself for others. I still hate it. It’s why you got hurt today and god, the threat of losing you, it scares me doll. I didn’t know what I would do if you died right there in my arms and I never got the chance to tell you all this.”

You glance up at him, at his beautiful face and his beautiful eyes, the man who you hated and who you wanted and who you love. God, you really do love him.

“I’m not going to leave you,” you whisper, pressing an awkward kiss to his bare chest. “Now that I have you, I could never leave you.”

He laughs at that. “Babydoll, you’ve always had me. I can’t believe you never knew.”

You think back to all the times he’s looked at you, dopey grins and cocky smiles and coy glances. You think about how long you’ve leaned on each other in the two years you’ve been partners, how he’s the only person you’ve ever trusted with your life, how you always work to come back to him. You think about the butterflies that stirred in your stomach the first time you met him, when he shook your hand and gave you the prettiest smile you’d ever seen, the same smile he has plastered on his face right now as looks down at you.

Sitting up, you look at Bucky Barnes, chin resting in your palm lazily.

“Maybe I’ve always known,” you say.

“Yeah,” he says. “Maybe I did, too.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #one shot #drabble #fic requests #inbox me to request a fic! #thanks for supporting me! #bucky barnes smut #smut fic #divine masterlist

[chiwhorei]

| 𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 |

pairing: sukuna x fem!reader

genre: smut, dark content, 18+ mdni

word count: 1.1k [cross-posted to Ao3]

tags: noncon, implied kidnapping, torture, bondage, sadism, rough sex— no like really rough, double penetration, two dicks in one hole, size difference, monster-fucking, degradation, mentions of blood, explicit painful sex, mindbreak

a.notes: this is dark, very dark, don’t read this with a heavy heart okay i warned you.

hymn: personal jesus - johnny cash cover

The sun will be turned into darkness, and the moon into blood. Before the great and awesome day of the Lord comes. - Joel 2:31

* * *

A cold, stone altar is the first thing your rousing body notices. The length of your spine presses against the surface, each vertebrae screaming for escape from the sharpest chill it’s ever felt. Wrists and ankles tied together, legs spread wide to accommodate the figure above you.

What had you done to land yourself in hell?

This record is on repeat, waking up with only a moment of blissful confusion, you’re sure the pain isn’t something you’ll ever get used to.

Breaking you— Sukuna has done it limb from limb.

“It just doesn’t seem to me like you’re trying hard enough, little lamb.�� The lilt in his voice doesn’t match the mouth it came out of. He curls words into song and threat.

Your cunt tightens, the ghosts of familiar, ripping pain. Sukuna presses twin heads against you, pulling away and slapping one tip against your clit. He matches your screams with a laugh.

The gentle trace of a fingertip runs the apple of your cheek, it feels almost doting; you would lean in if you didn’t know better. You do.

Sukuna retracts two fingers, now wet with tears. When had you starting crying? You watch as he brings the pointer and middle against the flat plane of his tongue.

“Why,” you ask, a single word sitting heavy in your cheeks, a word that tastes like mulch and vinegar, “why?”

“It’s the taste of you,” he speaks again, echoing in the large space around you, “the taste of your fear.”

Your tears, your skin, your blood— it tastes like sweet ambrosia to a devil.

“I can’t, I can’t do it,” you know. Emphatically, you know, that there’s no prayer in any dialect that will stop Sukuna from taking what he wants.

“My precious little pet, I don’t care.” He answers you simply, the smile curled around his face makes your teeth rot.

Sukuna never preps you, and unfortunately it never seems like he has to. Beyond any voice in your head to the contrary, your pussy is already wet and ready.

“Poor little thing, you can’t help how your body reacts to me,” he leans in to capture your wobbly bottom lip in between his teeth, “it’s visceral.”

His fingers find one of your exposed nipples to tug, knowing exactly the way you’ll keen in response.

And, you do.

Back arching off of the stone below you, your body moves into a touch it should be curling away from. Evil fingers map the skin he’s stolen. The first time, the thousandth— it's cold and hollow against your flesh.

There’s no prep, there never is. All you can do is thank your body’s betrayal, slick and dripping as he presses in the first inch of his cock.

He gives you a few pumps, pulling all the way out before snapping back inside. One is fine, it’s a tight fit but it’s nothing you can’t accommodate. Your pussy is welcoming at first.

At first. In the very beginning, you think back, so were you.

Sweet, naïve thing.

The way Sukuna’s shaft rubs inside of you is enough to forget your surroundings, the context graying at the edges. His second cock bounces against your stomach with every thrust, slapping heavy on your clit for only a second at a time. Your body chases after the friction, bucking upwards in desperation.

“Don’t squirm so much, darling, I’ll start thinking you’re enjoying yourself.”

He angles his hips to reach your spongy anterior wall. You scream. The sound curdles, echoing around you, reminding you of your own voice.

Pathetic. You sound pathetic.

“You always put up such a fight but then this cunny pulls me in like a vice. I think you can take both.”

The ‘no’ sitting behind your teeth is useless, he’s never listened. He’ll take from you— body and soul— until you’re no longer fun to play with.

To be useful, is to be alive.

Your will snaps apart and melts into the stone, relaxing your muscles as much as possible while Sukuna pulls out all the way once again.

Both large, inky hands come down to his base, lining both heads up with your messy hole. There’s no way. There’s—

“Fuck.”

The pain is splintering, ripping through your cunt to spread all over your body. The feeling of being stuffed past the absolute brim, the feeling of being ripped apart from the inside out.

There’s a warm trickle down your lips, slick or blood or maybe both, as Sukuna begins to move. He’s slow at first, memorizing every inch of your twitching pussy. You thrash against your restraints, the hot, twisting knives of pain relentless against you.

“If you struggle too much,” he coos you, thumbing away a few stray hairs, “I’ll rip your heart out and eat it.”

You clamp down on your tongue, severing the muscle off between your canines is more preferable. You know Sukuna.

And he would savor every bite.

His pace is fast and deep, stretching you around his cocks, making sure no one will ever fit as snugly as he does.

As if he isn’t the last thing that would ever touch you.

The drag of both tips inside of you is aching, pressing against your cervix with every thrust. Even through the pain, the heat in your stomach is building, the tension deep in your core wound taught.

“I— please I— I’m going to—”

Your voice comes out broken and whiney. Begging him for reprieve has turned into a plea for more.

“You really are my favorite little pet.” Sukuna’s words do weird things to your head, the almost-compliment is soft against your heart even though the haze of anguished pleasure.

You hate him. You love him. You hate Sukuna.

But you always want to be his favorite.

His thumb and pointer finger pinch your clit, rolling it back and forth. Everything feels like it’s too much, but even so, you want more. You want it all.

“I’m going to fuck so much cum into you, you’ll be dripping for days.” His words mix with the pressure on your clit.

Sukuna is the high and the overdose.

You cum with one last violent ripple of pain. Propelling and crashing back to earth just as hard. The blood in every vein turns to honey and then acid.

You twitch against the ropes that keep you in place, your abused cunt milking Sukuna for everything he’s worth. You pull out his own orgasms, his head falling back and his thrusts growing sloppy.

“God, you sure know how to take a beating. My precious little lamb.” He pulls out and slaps his cocks against your stomach, splattering a mess of the two of you all over your abdomen.

You smile, wide and stupid and against any better judgment.

Sukuna will tear you apart, break you mind and body, and expect you to thank him.

And you do.

✞ all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

#jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #sukuna x reader smut #sukuna smut #tw: noncon #tw: monster fucking #tw: blood #tw: kidnapping #tw: torture #tw: mindbreak #sin.noncon #sin.monster fucking #sin.blood #sin.cumflation #sin.marking #sin.kidnapping #sin.torture #sin.mindbreak

[darkdevasofdestruction]

An Angel and A Demon ~ Pyramid Head x Reader

Update 2: My laptop restarted when I was in the middle of writing this, and trust me when I say it, I am positively pissed off, and I want to end my days, that's how bad of a day this was.

And I didn't leave the house.

That says a lot about today...

Update 1: But, without further ado, I was half-way writing this story, and I received this ask, and let me tell you...

helloooo, i absolutely adored the fanfics you wrote about kazan and danny🥺 could i request one where pyramid head is just really whipped for and in love with the survivor! reader but he doesnt know how to announce it to them so he brings her random ,,gifts" in and outside the trials and protecting her bc well, im pretty sure he cant speak so he doesnt really have any other options on how to express his feelings??

I live for it.

Bless you for sending me this, it's the reason I'm still sane right now.

I love you, baby-cakes.

Update 3: I want to kill myself so bad. Just smash my head on a wall until it explodes or sth. I was so happy with how this imagine turned out, only fuck fucking tumblr to just fucking delete EVERYTHING just as I was about to put the last gif and hit POST NOW.

--------

For the 5th time writing this :

FUCKMEDADDY - but this time - FUCKMYBRAINSOUTPLEASEIWANNADIE

Thanks.

-------

Hell - What was that place, anyway?

Some would describe it as an infinite ocean of flames and lava, where it's eternally melting-hot, and a bunch of hooved, horned, tailed red demons torture you with acid, with their red pitch forks, or boil you alive in their cauldron for soup. Or maybe you just get tortured by Stalin, who knows?

But never would have anyone thought that 'Hell' could look so...Normal. Well, normal in a very demolished, desolate, ravished way, but still...Normal, by human standards. Albeit, the never-ending loop of madness, anguish, agony and desperation of getting killed in different gruesome ways or fleeing for their lives and feeling a myriad of emotions pumping adrenaline through their veins so badly that their anxiety-meter skyrocketed to abnormal levels.

All this darkness, this hatred, this...Everything...It changed all the survivors. They became selfish, stubborn, rude, some even went as far as to sacrifice their fellow survivors in trials, just so they could survive. It was a complete mayhem that defied all kinds of reason, normality, morality or even ethics. Everyone became devoid of any laws that used to bind them to their humane sides, and now, you weren't sure if the killers were saner than the survivors or not.

But even in this abyss where you couldn't even see your hand in front of your very eyes, there was a little star - A beautiful angel radiating brightness and warmth, someone who was somehow able to guide everyone's straying souls with her benevolence.

In reality, she was merely a survivor, not the little lantern from an angler fish's head, but she treated everyone with such an untainted kindness...It was beautiful, and yet, unrequited for most parts. Everyone was still putting their own lives above all - And who could condemn them? - Perhaps their cowardice, for the girl preferred to save her fellow survivors as much as possible, even if that oftentimes assured her place on the hook, to be a sacrificial lamb for the Entity.

On the other hand, she rarely ended up on the hook - Most killers prefer to kill her themselves, instead of letting her become pray for the horrible Entity who tortured so many of them for refusing to cooperate - The Trapper, Evan MacMillan - He knew the best, with those hooks digging into his flesh, impossible to extract. He was the first to protect this girl. It wasn't much, but if he had to, he'd rather give her a swift, painless death, than seeing her without that serene, angelic smile on her face, as the Entity feeds on the last bits of her soul's beauty, the last parts of her humanity.

The other Killers were confused at the Trapper's actions, but little by little, they began to understand why this girl was so precious and special - And this domino effect hit Rin Yamaoka next, with Y/N stopping in the middle of a chase and taking off her jacket, just as Rin was about to butcher her with her katana, and she smiled, extending it to her. 'You must be cold' she said, realising that the Spirit was merely wearing a few bandages, not even her school uniform, or her kimono.

The ghost girl was shaken up by this, and told the others at the killer camp, but they just shrugged it off - Rin was a little girl who faced close to no kindness, they weren't surprised she was so taken aback by such a feat. That is, until Adiris, in a particularly terrible day, when everyone at the camp was staying away from her, as her profane censer wasn't able to cover the stench of rotting flesh - Y/N came over, taking out a small yet elegant glass bottle with pink liquid on it, spraying some on her - And now, The Plague smelled of roses and vanilla - 'You can come to me for perfume whenever you want, I always carry some with me!' she grinned at the Babylonian High Priestess, before leaving back to the survivor's camp site, leaving the ancient God symbol to stare with her mouth agape at the girl.

These words began to spread, and it was no surprise when the killers saw Susie clinging and begging her Legion friends to spare Y/N, for she was there to hug away her worries more than once, to tell her sweet words, to play with her hair and play the guitar whatever songs she wanted to hear, to get reminded of her home - She was so home sick that she freaked out, but now she was better, thanks to Y/N - 'I know you miss home, but sometimes, home is where your best friends are, and all three of them are here!' she tried to encourage the cute pink-haired girl who could only squeal and hug her new friend.

Even Ghostface wasn't exempt from falling to her charms, and they would often take silly selfies and mess around, making fun of the old horror movie tropes and doing lots of puns and pranks - So much that she even got his trust to be told about the Danny/Jed thing, and how he began his killer profession - 'You're a very talented photographer, Danny! You deserved all that recognition you got, both as a journalist, and as a killer!'

And very soon, Y/N found herself in the crushing arms of an overprotective Anna, humming her mother's lullaby together with walking through the forest, Y/N making flower crows for all the female killers at the camp site, and little by little, she somehow managed to worm her way under everyone's skins.

Y/N was the survivor with the highest survivability percentage, and maybe the Entity sometimes got pissed off, but at least she still got killed sometimes, so who cares? Well, that was soon to change as soon as a new Killer was added to this sick game - Pyramid Head, the terror of Silent Hill, as Cheryl, the new Survivor, called him - or The Executioner, as he was known now. He was ruthless, merciless, grotesque - He had his own criteria of killing, his own moral compass, ethics, conscience and understanding of the concept of life and death. Nothing that could compare to the visions of humans, clearly - Everything was gravitating around Divine Retribution and Justice, but the from the outside, he was nothing but a killing machine.

He would kill everyone and anyone that crosses his path, without fail.

Y/N felt like her fortune ended completely the second she found herself in the new, overly cramped map, with Pyramid Head as the killer - She couldn't help but run around like a spazzic meerkat, trying to find and fix as many generators as possible, without having to get face to face with the walking hazard...

Only to run past a stuck Pyramid Head.

Slowly backtracing her steps, she saw the mountain of a man with his metal pyramid stuck in the frames a low window which he tried to walk over. He was trashing like a raged bull trying to attack a matador, but it was clear he was getting nowhere with this.

"H-Hey, u-uhm...Need some help?" she asked in a soft, careful voice, almost like a meek cat trying to test the waters, but in return, he started groaning even louder from the wrath he wanted to unleash upon the whole world. "Okay, uhm...I think I saw a can of vaseline in one of the chests around. I'll go fetch it and I'll come back for you. Don't move." she said, only to then realise how horrible that sounded, considering the situation, and it only seemed to anger the killer. "...I'm sorry, ignore me, I'm an idiot." she slapped herself pretty harshly before bolting out of there trying to find the chest.

However, Y/N cursed herself for not having perfectly memorised the whole map by heart already, since she found the vaseline can after the 3rd chest, and then, it took quite a while to find the bloody window that got the killer stuck - And by the time she got there, she was dead tired. "Okay, I'm here, I found the vaseline! Let's try to get you out of here." Y/N muttered as she put her feet on the low window pane to get to his level. "If it's not too much trouble, could you please hold onto me? I can't balance myself with both hands occupied, and I'd rather not fall." she explained as she opened the vaseline can, only to shiver as she felt two big, strong hands getting a firm grip on her hips. It was almost...Endearing, were she not too busy trying to get the killer unstuck. She kept massaging the metal edge, trying to push and pull, also praying to whatever deity that existed in her human world that she had her tetanus shot done on time - Until finally, she was able to get hear a loud screech, like a pop, and the killer got unstuck, and in the process, he stumbled backwards, while Y/N fell down on her butt.

"Ouchie..." she muttered, rubbing her back and sides to take away the pain surging through her body. "Are you okay?" she asked, almost intuitively, without realising it at first, until she heart a low grunt that brought her back to reality. "O-Oh...! You have glass shards stuck in your side! And you're bleeding too! Hold up, let me help." she hurried to his side, while the killer merely stiffened, feeling her delicate, slender fingers tracing his body, while he heaved and slouched his shoulders from the repressed wrath. "It may sting a bit, and I'm really sorry, but I promise it will be better soon." her voice was so motherly and warm, which also resonated in her actions, as she gingerly took a water bottle and imbued some tissues with it, to wipe away the blood smearing down his skin as she extracted the glass shards, and then..."This is grandma's marigold ointment. It's really good, and it smells nice." she explained as she carefully smeared a thick layer of the yellow ointment on the biggest wounds, while the little ones were covered by smiley-flower patterned plasters. They were cute, and colourful, and they never failed to make her smile. "Okay, there we go, all better! I hope you'll feel better very soon!" her voice got a tiny bit more cheerful and upbeat.

It made the Killer think about a trillion things, as he stepped in front of her, towering over her like the Empire states building next to a smiling pomeranian. What was with this girl? Why did she help a killer? And why did he feel so...Warm inside? He could sense a foreign kind of luminosity, a naivite and innocence that he only witnessed in children and animals. This woman in front of him was untainted by the darkness and evil of the world.

It didn't matter how many hardships she's been through, or how much sadness she had to endure - Her soul remained as pure as any snowdrop, as the first snow of winter, as the fleece of a baby lamb who let out its first 'meeeeh' to its mamma sheep.

He couldn't allow this human to be maimed in any way - Not by the world, not by the Entity, and certainly not by him. - Screw the Entity, Pyramind Head kills by his own rules, and now, he was blessed to be faced with a human who bore no real hatred for her peers, or for the world, despite the horrible situation she was thrown into.

He didn't understand, obviously, especially as he remembered the myriad of abominations that lurked through Silent Hill, all of them created by the torment of humans - The very torment that distorted their own reality, which resulted in him needing to solve the purpose as The Executioner - Eradicating the world of all evil.

"Th-This sword is so heavy...H-How can you carry this around like that...?! Your muscles must be so strained and sore...Y-You really need a massage, I'm sure." she stuttered as she tried to lift the much taller and heavier sword from the ground, only for the brute to simply bend and pick it up with extreme ease, putting the girl to shame with her complete lack of strength. "Hehe...You're really strong. I'm embarrassed now." she chuckled softly, scratching the back of her neck.

Before she could leave or do anything else, Pyramid Head picked her up by the throat, careful not to hurt her or restrict her air intake - I mean, how else was he supposed to carry her so he wouldn't hurt her with his metal head or sword? - and it was pretty clear she didn't feel any malevolence from him, as she clinged on his forearm, trying to keep herself up, only to be dumped on top of the hatch, as the killer pointed towards it, so she would leave.

"O-Oh...! Thank you so much! You're really kind! I really appreciate this...I-I know it probably doesn't matter much to you, since you'll be doing this over and over again with all the survivors...But I really appreciate you for your kind gesture, and I appreciate you for being so nice with me. Thank you. Take care!" her dazzling smile lit the whole place up, but he couldn't talk, nor could he tell her how he should be the one thanking her for showing him that, despite the hundreds and thousands of years he had to roam the 'Earth' and execute the injust, miracles still existed.

As soon as she reached the survivor's camp, everyone cheered for her, asking how in the world could she have escaped the wrath of the butcher. "Oh, but he wasn't that bad. In fact, he's much more humane than I anticipated! I think he has a beautiful, blooming heart!" okay, she's lost it - the other survivors thought - but even so, she's always been a bit...Out of it, so who cares?

It took quite a while for the other three survivors to reach the camp, all bloody, in fact, like the new killer, who dragged himself with the same menace to the Killers' camp. "How the hell did you manage to survive?!" they yelled at her in utter shock, seeing that she got out of there unscratched. "Oh, you see...I found the hatch." she shrugged simply, not wanting to give away that the person who massacred those three was a soft one and he basically threw her down the hatch to her safety.

As she took a twig to roast a marshmallows, she noticed how Pyramid Head was standing much farther away from the rest of the killers - She knew that silent killers were bound to stay away from the more obnoxious one, remembering how Michael Myers almost killed Ghostface and The Legion at least a dozen times - But this time...He seemed kinda...Lonely? So Y/N took the matters into her own hands, roasted another marshmallow in another twig, and when it was done, she went to the killer's camp, calling out the lonely one's name - She has no idea why, but he actually followed her, pushing her further deep into the forest, until he was sure nobody was going to hear, see or interrupt them...

"Hey. You seemed pretty lonely out there...I thought you could use a friend. Thank you again for what you did at the trial...Here, this is a marshmallow. I don't think you've had many before...Cheryl told me of that horrible place you had to live in...So I hope this will make your day a bit better!" Y/N extended one of her hands towards him, so he could take the marshmallow - And a long, black tongue erupted from underneath the pyramid, snatching away the fluffy marshmallow and gulping it in one go.

What the hell was he turning into?

A towering man built of pure muscle, wrath and divine justice, with a pyramid representing the evil of humanity burdening his body, and a sword taller and heavier than the average human being constantly dragged in one of his hand...He now was a slave to a cute, innocent girl who was putting flower plasters on his minuscule wounds that would heal in a heartbeat regardless - He saved this girl who was now offering his these soft, squishy things that tasted overly sugarly, just like her upbeat and cheerful personality - If he could eat her, he was sure she would taste even sweeter than this - A sickish kind of sweet, that is.

She was indeed a beautiful angel in this tragic hell. But he didn't wait to snatch the second marshmallow either.

"Ah...! You liked it, didn't you? Well...Next time, I promise I'll give you more!" she grinned at him the same way a princess would to her chivalrous knight who saved her. The since he couldn't talk, silence took over them - It wasn't an uncomfortable one, per se, but it made it feel as if the conversation was over. "W-Well...I'll guess I'll see you around! Take care and I hope to see you again soon!" she waved cutely, trying to turn around back to her camp, only to feel a rough hand on her shoulder, turning her around and urging her to stop and wait for him and he went deep into the forest, leaving her alone and undefended by the potential malevolent forces of the forest.

When he returned, however, he stepped right in front of her, creating the perfect shade as he towered over her - Then he kneeled in front of her, so he would reach her eye sight, then he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and put a beautiful pink flower - As pink as the blush that started creeping on her face - He wanted to see her luminous face better, to highlight her dazzling smile and her glimmering eyes as the warm, silver light of the mother moon caressed her face.

Y/N felt her heart picking up the pace - It was beating so much faster than ever before - But this time, it wasn't out of fear or anything negative...It was something good. Something she never felt in her life, especially with her human acquaintances from back home. None was as chivalrous and gentle with her as this butcher of tormented souls - The bringer of justice, the merciless Executioner who was supposed to end the life of every living being that would cross his path.

It was insane how every Yin finds its Yang, even if that comes in the form of a little lamb of a small, frail girl, and a huge abomination of a brute man who knows nothing but death, bloodshed and carnage. It was truly crazy how opposites attract, and here she was, holding the killers large hands and gingerly putting them on her face, leaning into his touch - She felt safer now than ever in her life - Now, in the arms of an ancient killer.

An Angel and A Demon brought together in a perfect union.

As she leaned down, she touched the metal of the pyramid where she anticipated his forehead would be with her own forehead, and closing her eyes, she finally felt herself calming down. There was no need for words, actions spoke louder than anything, and she appreciated it...She appreciated him.

"Thank you." she whispered to him, knowing that yes, even though nobody else would hear it anyway, it was much more intimate than anything she ever experienced.

She was hooked.

Hope you liked my completely shameless pun, I couldn't stop it, especially after the pain I went through trying to write this...3 freaking times.

Yay.

#dead by daylight #dead by daylight x reader #dead by daylight imagine #dbd #dbd x reader #dbd imagine #silent hill #silent hill x reader #silent hill imagine #pyramid head #pyramid head x reader #pyramid head imagine #red pyramid #red pyramid x reader #red pyramid imagine

[yourfavouriterival]

HONEYSUCKLE AND RED TULIPS:

HONEYSUCKLE : devoted affection & RED TULIPS : i declare my love

note : this is officially the third part of a series based on this website for the meaning of flowers: https://www.almanac.com/flower-meanings-language-flowers# . each fic is going to be based on flowers and i might write part 2’s for some. on another note, i love feedback! any constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated.

note ii : no we’re not going to talk about my search history about things in ww1 ok

warnings : where do i fucking start, talks of war, talks of violence, blood, a wound or two, tooth-rotting fluff, tommy kinda maybe breaks into her house but it’s not weird i swear he’s just dumb, a teeny-weeny bit of angst, cheesy flowers and letters, SLIGHTLY ooc of thomas, but i’m pretending that he’s just lovesick, it gets a bit smutty at the end (he sucks her nipple, ok it works bitch) and yeah love ya

word count : 2871

summary : war was an ugly thing. but tommy and y/n aren’t. in the war, y/n found her first love, yet she did not know it. in the war, tommy found his greatest love, and he knew it. so the natural thing is to break into her home, right?

pairing : thomas shelby x female reader

masterlist

1917, Close to Christmas

War was an ugly thing. People died and women cried and barely anyone made it out alive. Y/N hoped she’d never need to meet someone who didn’t make it out alive, but as a nurse, that was a hard thing to do.

At first, she had to accept that people died, and she could stay objective to the cause, but after a boy who’d barely turned eighteen fell into the cot, bleeding profusely from the different spots, the tears clouded her vision whilst he took his final breaths, clutching her hand and softly calling for his mother under his breath. It was all she could do to not break down by his bedside and assure him that everything would work out. Because she knew. And so did he.

She’d started taking up the task of cleaning the small facility they had and she did it at night, when everything was a bit calmer. They’d recently started moving some of the injured soldiers into a new room, one without the stench of hospital and death. So, now, the facility was mostly empty, save for a few nurses who worked with flying speed at cleaning up some wounds or other less stressful things.

Y/N always thought she was lucky, since she usually worked in the corner of the room as opposed to where all the action was, and she now carried three metal trays in her hands to that very same area.

But there was someone there.

Black hair and a hunched frame with one large hand pressing into a bloodied cloth.

“Hello,” she said softly, careful not to scare him.

And then he glanced up.

His eyes, quite literally, took her breath away. She had to turn and place down the two trays she held to hide her flushing face, breathing in heavily before turning and tentatively walking towards him, shyly meeting those breathtaking eyes that set her entire body ablaze, the kindly eager yet somehow sad in a way that simultaneously broke her heart and mended it in the same moment.

“Hello,” he replied, voice quiet enough that it wouldn’t echo throughout the room, even if no one was in the vicinity.

“What can I do for you, sir? Oh, dear,” she said, walking forwards and reaching for the cloth—the one that looked to be soaked in blood. “May I see?”

He silently let his hand fall to the cot, and she gently pulled up his shirt to see his side.

“Hmm,” she hummed, turning to get something to clean the wound which was, thankfully, not too deep and easily cleaned and fixed. “A flesh wound, I'm afraid. You’ll be alright.” She glanced up quickly and made eye contact with him. “What’s your name, sir?”

“Thomas,” he said.

“Thomas,” she repeated, tasting the words on her tongue and smiling, readying her saline solution to clean the wound and looking up, meeting his eyes. “I’m Y/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

-

That was the first time Y/N ever saw Thomas. She didn’t yet know his last name, and he left soon after he got treated with a kind smile to her—one she reckoned he didn’t use enough, as it lit up his face in a strangely beautiful way—and she left him with a soft pat on his shoulder.

She wouldn’t lie and say she thought of him every second of the day—there was far too much to do—but she could say that, when she had the time, her eyes were peeled for his hair or his build or his face.

Tonight, she was working at midnight once again, and mostly everything was quiet. Most people had been moved to a newer facility, closer to the action where they could treat them immediately.

“Y/N—”

“Fuck!” She spun around, clutching the scalpel tightly to her and holding the sharp end towards the intruder, wide-eyed and shaky.

She’d never fought anyone, so she supposed this might be her first and last time. Pretty ironic if she died here, far from the action and the death and the—

“Oh,” she breathed, dropping her hand that was holding the scalpel, smiling softly at the man in front of her. “Thomas! Sorry. Shit. Sorry—I—yeah, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he prompted, reaching down and grasping her hand, taking the scalpel and placing it on the tray next to them. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It—really—it shouldn’t have frightened me at all,” she laughed nervously, squeezing the fingers of the hand that was still holding hers. “Just didn’t expect to hear anyone—or—or see anyone,” she giggled now, seeing the slightly tense expression he wore, and she stroked his hands. “Come, have a seat and I’ll be right with you.”

He watched as she flitted around the small, silent area, and the smell of hospital filled his senses, but he found that it was better than the awful smell of death and war.

“You alright, Thomas?” She was behind him now, before she circled his body and let her eyes wander over him. “You hurt anywhere?”

“I’m alright,” he said, watching the smile grow on her face. “I’m just here.”

He would never tell her that this was the day he’d lost a friend, and was only here because they needed to carry another wounded soldier back to camp. He would never tell her that this was his only free time in ages, and that he had thought of her much too often whilst he slaved away for a war that was starting to feel more and more helpless.

“I like your accent,” she mentioned. “Sounds peaceful, soothing to my ears.” She wrinkled her nose, letting out an apologetic laugh at how odd it sounded. “Where are you from, Thomas?”

“Birmingham,” he replied, meeting her eyes and becoming completely entranced with the way she looked at him—as though he hung the bloody moon in the sky above. Her expression was kind, but her eyes had a slightly bemused look as she gazed at him, though not in a nasty way.

“Birmingham,” she repeated. “Never been. I’ll have to visit you after the war.”

Neither of them mentioned their growing worry for the length of this unending war, or the fact that they might not even have the chance to visit each other after this.

Y/N was, quite frankly, confused as to how her luck was this good. This gorgeous man—polite and everything—was here, sitting in front of her in a vulnerable position, and all she could think of was that he was gorgeous. “You?”

“Hmm?”

“Where are you from, love?”

“I’m… well, alright,” she sighed. “Scoot,” she said softly, before sitting down next to him on the cot. “I’m not really sure. I don’t… I don’t have any family, so I wouldn’t know.”

“Alright,” he said, picking up on the twinge of sadness in her voice. He was shit, quite frankly, at comforting people, so instead he picked up her hand and interlaced their hands. “You can take mine,” he said in a jest, grinning at the way her body jolted with a snort.

“Ooh, gladly. Maybe I’ll come and steal your family and leave you with a gift,” she grinned.

“What kind of gift would that be, eh? Steal my family and leave me with what?”

“Flowers,” she laughed. “Some real pretty ones for your pretty eyes, yeah?” As she laughed, he just watched her—nose scrunching up as she smiled, and Thomas found himself watching her in her happiness—something he created.

Perhaps the only thing he could be proud of.

-

1919, December

She kept trying to breathe evenly as she sat in her home office. Sure, they’d spoken during the war—bonded, even. He’d told her so much in that short time they spent together. His childhood; her childhood; his home; her home; love; family; anything.

But did that mean she could randomly send him a gift? More than a year since they last saw each other.

Doubtful.

Too late. Well, not too late. She was writing the letter now and she technically could stop writing if she wished. She didn’t. She had the chance to stop when she was buying the flowers—honeysuckle—and she had the chance to stop when she brought them home to get them ready to send.

But she didn’t want to stop.

-

My Dearest Thomas Shelby,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. I pray you have not forgotten me in the time we’ve been separated, yet I would not fault you. There is so much I wish to say, but I find that words fail me at this time. I hope you’ve found happiness in any way you can, and I hope your family—as crazy as you made it out to be—is there for you.

There is not much to write here. Perhaps I could write for pages about how I missed you or how I yearn for your voice or anything else similar to that. I could do that—as it would be completely true—but I needn’t waste any more of your precious time.

As I am writing this letter, I am finding myself unsure if you are alive. Many of my friends have passed, either willingly or not, and I have the unknowing fear that it might be what happened to you.

I pray for otherwise.

Nonetheless, I am sending you flowers. I once promised you this, and I swore it would be one promise I upheld. If you have left this world, then I hope that these go to some use.

Honeysuckle has the meaning of devoted affection.

I missed you, Thomas.

All my love,

Y/N Y/L/N

P . S : If you wish to visit, my address is on the back of this letter. Do not feel an obligation to visit, but I would be very happy if you did.

-

She waited with baited breath for weeks. She didn’t know why, but she was holding on to the hope that he would reply.

But she realised she shouldn’t. She had no reason to believe that it had been appreciated, and she definitely didn’t have a reason to believe that it was sent in the first place.

It was early morning in her home now, and she was woken by the sound of the doorbell. Pulling on something that looked a bit more professional than her night dress, she flew to the front door. However, the person who had been at the door was obviously gone. She quickly glanced around, but there was no one in sight, and she wasn’t dumb enough to call out to whoever was there. She quite liked keeping herself living.

It was a box. About the size of a shoebox, but it was more intricately made. Her name and address was printed on the front and a band was wrapped around it, keeping it together.

She didn’t want to wait, so she gently undid the band, and opened the box.

Inside, she found a singular honeysuckle flower, and a letter. Her heart fell to the bottom of her stomach, and a million things flew through her mind.

He doesn’t wish to remember you. He wants you to know he hates you. He’s ill. He’s… he’s dead.

She shook herself out of those thoughts with a shaky breath, and picked up the flower alongside the letter. She dropped the letter haphazardly on the kitchen counter, and she went towards the sink. Getting a small glass of water, she cut the stem diagonally and placed it in.

No, she was most definitely not procrastinating.

Well—

With nothing to lose, she sighed deeply and walked back to the package which she had left on her brown kitchen counter, picking up the letter and finally opening it.

-

Y/N Y/L/N,

I was never a master at kind words, but I wish you all the best in the world. Wherever you are in life, and however you are moving forth, I wish you all the happiness.

Not a day goes by where I do not wish that I had come with you—wished that I had asked for your home address and written to you, much like you did me. The return of the flower is not so as to say that I am ungrateful, only so you know I received it and that it is me.

You once told me that you’d send me something to match my eyes. It amazes me that you remembered, after all these years.

I know not how your life looks or is at this present moment. But I hope, with all my heart, that you’re doing alright.

I missed you as well.

Wait for me, Y/N.

Thomas Shelby.

-

That was it. No: “I’ll be there on this date”. No, that would be too damn obvious for Thomas fucking—gorgeous Shelby.

Cryptic motherfucker.

But a pretty cryptic motherfucker.

-

A week passed until Thomas showed up at her house. Of course, she didn’t know that, as she’d decided that this was the day she would go out and stock up on some things, leaving her house all silent and alone and cold. The walls were dark, but the lights were open enough that ample light came in, even with all the dark colours.

So, maybe he shouldn't have broken in.

Maybe.

But when she didn’t answer the door, he feared the worst. And now, he was standing in the middle of her hallway from the front door, quite easily realising she was out—with her coat gone and a pair of shoes obviously missing… and, perhaps, the fact that the door had been locked, leading to him breaking in—and a key was jangling in the door, unlocking it with a click.

“Shit,” he mouthed to himself, but he chose to simply turn around towards the door and try to look suave.

-

Y/N sighed when she walked into her home, turning and locking the door behind her, and dropping the keys in the bowl by the door. She draped her coat over the chair next, and toed off her shoes quickly, turning around and—

“What the fuck?!” She pushed herself against her front door, closing her eyes and breathing deeply, mind racing as she tried to think of how she would get out without being killed or—

“Y/N.”

She knew that voice.

She loved that voice.

“Thomas,” she breathed, opening her eyes.

There he was. All of him. Standing there, in her home with a bouquet of red tulips in one hand, the other hanging at his side. If Thomas Shelby had the ability to look shy, she was sure it would be painted on his face. But, she supposed, this was the closest that she’d get to it.

She dropped her bag as she advanced quickly towards him, and she wasted no time in bringing her hands to the back of his head, tilting her face and connecting their lips. She barely noticed when he dropped the flowers and wrapped one arm around her waist and the other hand tangled in her hair.

“Thomas,” she panted against him, running her hands down whilst not disconnecting from him, eyes closed. She tried to touch every part of him, bring his neck to his back to his hair, pulling him ever so much closer to her. “Thomas,” she repeated, pulling away and leaning her head against his forehead when he leaned down to mimic the action.

“Y/N,” he said softly, gently, as though in fear of breaking her out of a trance. She grinned and pressed her lips to his once again. “Your flowers died,” he murmured against her lips, bringing both hands down to her thighs and lifting her up, letting her wrap her legs around him. He moved further into the home with her perched on top of him.

“You’re supposed to—oh, God—” she cut herself off in a moan when he licked up the side of her neck, slowly lowering her onto the couch, and she dragged him atop him. “Supposed to cut the bottom diagonally,” she panted, dragging her hands down and beginning to try and pull off his shirt. “Surface area and that shit,” she mewled, finally getting his vest off.

“I’ll keep that in mind with the flowers I’ve got you,” he promised, moving down her body and pressing his lips to her chest, and even above her shirt, she could feel the heat of his breath. “Do you know what red tulips mean, my love?”

Moving down further, he pressed slow kisses to her lower stomach before bending her legs at the knee and kneeling above her. “N—no,” she moaned at the mere sight of him. “Missed you.”

“Means: “I declare my love”,” he hummed, leaning over her and pressing a kiss to her jaw before trailing kisses back to her lips, tangling their tongues together.

“I—oh, Thomas,” she hummed when he yanked down her top and encircling her nipple. “You know, right?”

“I do,” he murmured against her. “You know, too, right?”

“I could only hope so,” she whispered.

“My love,” he began. “I am never leaving you,” he pledged.

“I’ll be alright with that. Wait—Tom—wait—the—the,” she giggled. “Tom—the flowers. Wait! The bedroom’s that way!”

#thomas #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby angst #thomas shelby fluff #thomas shelby one shot #thomas shelby smut #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #peaky fookin blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #the language of flowers and fiction

[planetdemon]

I just wanted to be a swan

pairing: bang chan x reader

genre: angst, fluff, but mostly angst

warnings: low self-esteem, body hate/dislike, eating disorders, swearing, food, insecurities, arguing DONT READ IF YOU DON'T FEEL COMFORTABLE WITH IT!

wc: 2.003

note: so this scenario has been going through my head for quite a while now, and I tried writing it by myself lol. Hope it's good ;) I've also sent a request to @channienet about the same topic, so make sure to check her interpretation out as well! enjoy!

summary: Due to Chan's heavy working schedule, spending time alone was a thing you couldn't quite befriend with, especially after you've noticed some changes you have gone through. There is a to change it, but it isn't quite... let's say healthy. How will Chan react, after he finds out? Will he even care? (dude I'm shit at writing summary lol)

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Taking a bath was normally something that should be considered relaxing or calming. You've always enjoyed letting the hot water surround your body whilst taking all the dirt and negativity off that you have collected during stressful days at work.

But lately, taking a bath wasn't as enjoyable anymore as it once was. Chris has been working a lot lately, due to the kingdom stage and their nearing comeback. He has been spending more and more time at the company, working on producing new tracks for him and the kids, often staying at the dorms because they were closer to the studio than the apartment you shared. So you were left alone, by yourself.

Even though you wished he would be by your side while you were falling asleep, you couldn't be mad at him. You knew what his work meant to that boy and you would never tell him to stop doing what he loves just so you could spend some time together.

But being alone also meant that you had to kill the boredom somehow and, thanks to Felix's Brownie and Cookie recipes, you had the perfect thing to do in the meantime. Baking and eating delicious desserts.

You were just stepping out of the bathtub, grabbing the towel you had prepared, and drying yourself with it. Once your body was half-dried, you turned around to hang the towel back at the hanger, so it could dry properly.

And at that moment, you knew, you've fucked up. You couldn't avoid looking at your wet, naked body in the hot, steamy mirror near the hangers.

You always hated looking at it, but thanks to the sweets you had been eating lately, looking at yourself only made you feel sicker than it ever did.

You couldn't tear your gaze off the excess of flesh around your tummy and thighs and the stretch marks, that decored your boobs only seemed to scream "Look at me!". You slowly turned around and saw the tiger stripes creeping up your bum and the undersides of your arms.

'Fucking disgusting', that little voice in your head sneered.

'How could I let this come this far?', you thought. At this point, you were somehow happy Chris wasn't here, knowing he would be disgusted with how you've changed.

You've always felt a bit insecure by his side, knowing you could catch up with neither his attractiveness nor his muscular godlike body. But seeing yourself like this destroyed every little self-esteem you had left in your cells.

-

It has been nearly two months since 'the incident' in the bathroom and you couldn't shake that feeling of disgusts off. Not even for one second.

You only wanted to try a one-week detox diet that was blowing up all over social media, hoping you could lose a little bit of weight, so you would be back to normal. But seeing the numbers on the scale dropping so unbelievably quickly only made you realize that you could look even better than you thought you could.

You kept on following the diet and restricting everything that wasn't included, not noticing that restricting also damaged your mind.

One time, Han and Felix asked you if you wanted to have lunch with them and the others, but fear crept up you back as soon as you thought about the food they would have ordered, knowing that you would only gain weight again if you didn't follow the rules.

So you stayed home, keeping yourself isolated from your friends and most importantly, Chan.

You were lying on my bed, scrolling through Tumblr when Chris' Caller ID showed up and your phone started to ring. You sighed lowly, not wanting to talk to him.

Over the past few months, you stopped showing up at the studio, being afraid the boys would notice the changes your body went through, thanks to the diet. You were happy about it, knowing that you were losing weight, but you haven't reached my goal. You were afraid, they would judge you the way you did when you looked at yourself.

"Chris?"

"y/n? Han just told me that you weren't coming over. Are you okay? Y-" Chris's muffled voice appeared and you felt instant regret deep in your guts, knowing how much fun you guys had when you spent time together back in the days.

"Yeah, I'm okay Channie, don't worry. I just feel a little sleepy. I'll come next time. Promise" You tried your best to sound optimistic or at least not too sad, hoping Chris would believe your lie. "Okay," he mumbled, "I love you, baby girl".

-

You knew you were in big troubled the second Chris opened the fridge, seeing no food in there.

He randomly decided to stay over the weekend, saying that he missed you. You weren't ready for this, knowing that you couldn't hide the signs of the 'passion' you had developed in time.

"Why is there no food?" You fumbled with the arms of Chris sweater you were wearing while looking at the ground. "I've forgotten to go grocery shopping" You answered.

"But there is nothing in there, y/n. Nothing" He walked over and took hold of your cold hands while looking you straight in the eyes.

"Why is there no food?" Chris asked again.

"I just told you I forgot to go grocery shopping, Chan. Relax" You snapped back, getting anxious about the fact that he could notice something.

You were nearing your goal, even though you knew that you could never be satisfied with how you looked. He couldn't just come over and ruin all the progress you've made after being not here for so long. He doesn't have the right to do this.

"Don't fuck around, y/n. You always have at least some butter in your house. Where is the butter? Where is Ramen? You must have some food here!"

Your body started to shake as you heard his voice rise, keeping your gaze low, not daring to look him in the eyes right now. He was right.

You always had something at home, so you could quickly cook something when you were hungry. But you didn't saw a point in keeping food at home if you wouldn't eat it anyway. It would just rot.

"Y/n look at me" he whispered, after realizing that you were trembling. Chris gently grabbed your chin to make you look up at him. You were expecting to see anger, but the only thing you saw in his brown orbs was sadness.

You started to tear up after you noticed it, knowing that he put one and one together. You missing out on lunch with the boys, you not showing up at the studio to bring him food and spend with him there, listening to his tracks, you not having any food at home. It was obvious, but you still hoped he wouldn't notice.

Chris slowly took you in his arms, noticing how your figure felt smaller and bonier than before. It made him sick, knowing what you did to yourself. 'Why would my girl do something like this?' he thought 'how could my little princess torture herself this much?' But he couldn't find a 'because'.

In his eyes, you were the best thing that happened to him. You were the prettiest girl on earth. Warm tears were running down his pale cheeks, dropping to the floor.

He couldn't stop blaming himself for what you did. Maybe if he would have been there, he could have stopped you. Maybe if-

"Channie?" You quietly asked, looking up at his tear-stained cheeks. "Channie why are you crying? We can go to the store and grab something if you want. You don't-"

"Why have you been doing this to yourself, y/n?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why haven't you been eating"

Well, shit.

"What are you talking about, Channie?"

"Don't fucking lie to me, it's too obvious for you to do so. Why haven't you been eating?"

"I... I, I'm pressured Chan" You answered, knowing that he wouldn't believe you if you would tell him otherwise. Telling him the truth was the only option at this point, even though you didn't want to.

"Pressured?"

"Yes"

"Princess, I don't understand what you mean by that"

You shook your head and let go of him, before walking over to the couch and sitting down with a low sigh. "Maybe you shouldn't understand," I said.

"Jesus, y/n" I heard him mutter under his breath. He walked over and sat on the floor, in front of you, looking at you with a scared expression.

"Please tell me what's in that pretty little head of yours. I can see that you have lost weight, but I don't understand why. I mean, you are the prettiest human I have ever seen in my whole life, why would you do something like that?"

"Why do you even care? It's not like you here anyway" you simply said, grabbing your phone, trying to ignore him.

After he noticed your intentions, he quickly took your phone out of your hands, placing it on the coffee table behind him.

"Hey! Give me my phone back, you dump a-"

"Fucking stop it, y/n. Stop ignoring me. I care for you because I love you! You are my everything and I know I haven't been home lately, but at least I tried making time for you and inviting you to the studio", he said, "but you never came! Don't act like it's only my fault we haven't seen each other."

You looked at him with wide eyes, shaking your head. He was right, it was also your fault. And you hated the fact that he was right. "I-"

"Please y/n, please stop turning away from me and closing up. I-I know it's not easy to open up, but I'm here for you. I'll always be."

"Well, I... I couldn't, no, I can't feel happy when I look like this, Channie. I mean, look at you, look at your perfect body and your perfect personality and your perfect everything! I don't fit in. I don't fit in, because I am the ugly duck surrounded by beautiful swans. I just... wanted to be a beautiful swan, Channie."

That's it. You've made it. You've told him what was going through your mind all the time.

He slowly pulled you off the couch, into his lap. He could feel your seat humps against his thighs, how bony and strong they were. Chris shook his head in disbelieve, another wave of sadness crushing over him.

"You are perfect, baby girl. You are perfect in every single way. You always were the most beautiful swan I have ever seen in my entire life. I love everything about you, y/n. I love how your thighs wiggle whenever you run towards me when we meet, I love how curves look in that dress I brought you a year ago, I love how your stretch marks are decorating your body like silverish paint. I don't want you to change for me, because you are perfect the way you are. Jesus, even Hyunjin said you are even prettier than himself, and that means a lot. Please don't hurt yourself like this, princess. You are destroying yourself"

He took hold of your hands and kissed your palm.

"I promise I'll stop working so much, so I can spend more time with my beautiful girlfriend, but please... stop hurting yourself" he whispered, searching for any signs of discomfort in your eyes. But you just set in his lap and listened to him.

"Hyunjin thinks I'm prettier than him?" you asked awkwardly.

Chris chuckled and nodded "Is this the only thing that got stuck in your pretty little head?" He asked.

You smiled a bit, leaning your forehead against his while closing your eyes. "I'll try to get better, Chris" you whispered.

It wouldn't be an easy journey going back to 'normal. Once the hole is there, digging is difficult. But it is possible, especially if someones helping you.

#bang chan imagines #bang chan angst #bang chan fluff #bang chan images #skz imagines #skz chan #skz angst #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #bang chan x you #stray kids angst #stray kids imagines #stray kids fanfic #bangchan fanfic #fanfic #x you #x reader

[bakingandbooks3]

A Court of Song and Serpents

A bit short but the begging of a project I'm SO excited for- hope you love this as much as I do.

Summary: What a time to be alive as Nesta Archeron, going backward to move forward and finding that the places she once called home are now empty tombs.

Nesta

Nesta held her breath for a moment, a pause, and stilled entirely. The Court of Nightmares. She knew the verdict would be severe, but never would she have expected exile to a world of terror. The horrors of that place, of how it was once the main residence of the High Lord- till Rhysand.

Rhysand, the man who boasted of lands bountiful with choice and reason, now sat across from her donning unmasked hatred. A look he kept shielded from his mate, reserved just for Nesta. The kind that rips one apart from the inside out, would carve out the belly of a beast, burn a witch on a wooden pyre.

Nesta felt nothing, she always did. It wasn’t hard to see what he was thinking of her, how his beautiful wife’s wretched sister was little more than a gambling thief who slept her way through his glorious city. Now, fingers smeared that blank canvas so pure of her darkest shades.

Eyes flicking back, she studied that same sister. The Cursebreaker, the Savior.

How small and insignificant she became next to the glimmering shining thing Feyre was. The lands spoke of her beauty and kind touch, and how she sacrificed everything to save a world of people, and Fae that she was raised to despise.

Nesta wished it’d be known that her touch wasn’t always kind.

She built her bricks firm enough that her house of grace never shattered; Held firm, it was all she had left in her. Too many eyes on her filled with grief, excitement, retribution-Nesta was keenly aware of how this Court of Dreams felt of her.

“This is an exile.”

Rhysand's smirk peaked so slightly, his mate tensing.

“No, no. This is an intervention, a chance for you to find yourself away from bad influences and habits. You can’t keep living like this, and I refuse to let it continue happening and I take the fall for it. Your decisions are impractical and immoral. You are sober much less than you are drunk and-”

“If you’re going to condemn me, do it. But don’t sit here and act as if this is out of kindness.” Nesta snarled. She hated the barbed words, but it’s what she felt. “Who are you to question my morality?”

“I think I can speak for my wife when I say that your presence here is….” Rhysand growled but pulled back, like he forgot Feyre was right there, too.

Nesta wished he would’ve let go, so maybe that facade Rhys reserved for Feyre was broken. No, that’s cruel. As much as she hated this and him, he was making her sister happy.

Something Nesta could never do.

“I do not give a shit what my presence is doing. The decision has already been made, so stop scolding me like a child and make good on your word, Rhysand.” Bile rose in her throat, the words feeling nothing but slimy and disgusting. Foreign, yet habitual all the same. Sometimes, she forgets there once was a woman called Nesta who was so much more than the viper living in her now.

Sometimes she remembers that she can’t ever be her again.

Home was nowhere for her, not in a person, not in a place, certainly not in this bombastic group of “heroes”. Nesta didn’t need a hero, she just needed someone to care. But Nesta knew better, no one would. She was taught to be unlovable, just a woman to be sold off and married- to climb her mothers' ever-growing social ladder.

But Nesta on her own was never enough, even with her mother six feet under and rotted away there were unsung expectations unmet. She was a catastrophic failure and a dark smear on a family name that never truly held weight to her.

Nesta looked up, felt everything all at once again, could only see one man pacing a worn-through tether between them. He wasn’t going to stop this, but she could see it, how it looked like he wanted to jump out of his own flesh, the veins of his arm prominent and knuckles normally so brown a new fresh fallen snow.

There was no prince to save Nesta, much less any will to save herself. So when Mor took the pleasure of bringing her to a living Hell, Nesta did not fight.

She was tired of fighting, after all, she fought an inescapable fate for the first twenty years of her life…

Flowers always made Nesta sneeze, but Elain lit like lights during winter whenever she could thread them through her hair. They all symbolized something, Laine would say. There are ones for good days, and hard storms, for sunshine and stars.

Nesta was always adorned in flowers that paralleled the estate. Astute, cold, tired, where she was warm, comforting, and smelled like cookies- ones that Celia normally baked for the sisters. She never asked Laine why she picked the ones for her that she did, her reasons would stay silent for now.

Spring was a high time of activity in the Archeron estate. There was always a flurry of activity, from preparing their mothers' obscene balls, to guests at every corner in every room. The halls were sprinkled in candles and on walls hung frames nearly kissing it was packed so tight.

They were in the gardens. It was an Elain day, as the girls would call it, and no matter how boring or mundane her wishes were they’d be fulfilled. Nesta was propped on the floor in front of Laine, who was bunching handfuls to weave in tangled auburn coils that gathered on Nesta’s head- as a bird's nest would.

Eventually, Nesta would have to learn braids or risk knotting the curls entirely.

The eldest basked in the silence she created from mentally muting her middle sister, and spared a glance at Feyre. What she saw was not surprising, but required far more willpower than she expected to not burst into laughter and risk the flowery rat's nest on her scalp.

Feyre appeared to be so bored out of her mind she was eating discarded flowers of Elains. Actually, ingesting them, as if she was a critique. When Elain wasn’t looking at Feyre, she’d grab another couple and study them- analyzing her next experiment. Glaring at the blues and yellows as if she was speaking to them, “Which one of you will make me puke the fastest so I can run away?”

In time, Feyre looked up from her taste tests to see Nesta grinning at her so violently you’d think Feyre hung the moon.

And Feyre beamed back, crossing a pinkie across her chest and pointing it back to Nesta. Then she viciously spit out the grass she’d just finished chewing, crying directly at Laine, “This MUST stop at once, my stomach hurts far too much to continue on here.”

Elain, in a garden so quiet, simply ignored her sister's poor attempts at escape. Making Nesta work even harder to stifle the shaking of her shoulders, covering her mouth and nose before she started wheezing. Elain would hardly hurt a fly but sent Nesta a glare that could’ve easily killed a man.

Nesta cleared her throat, “I do believe there are more of the blue flowers down that hill near the pond. Would you mind getting some more for Laine?”

Feyre was already on her feet, mouthing her thanks as Elain turned her back to get the next bunch of flowers, “Why of course I will!” And with a very bad curtsey, Feyre threw off her shoes and was rolling down the hill, spinning wildly, her laughter sure to be heard in meadows far beyond theirs.

You would find the Archeron sisters all together, or never in the same place.

Laine was the easiest to find, by the waters or pond on the east side, in gardens surrounded with bugs and willows calling to the young girl. She could hardly read but if the text included any mention of colors and blooms, suddenly she was a scholar. Elain was not simple or dull, but rather a passive spirit, like a summer wind- brief, fleeting, but teeming with love and hope.

Feyre, as their mother said, was a reckless wild child. Far too young to care, far too small to be whipped into shape. If you were sent to find her and your life depended on it, may the Mother bless you. Feyre liked the kitchen, because of the immaculate food and maids who would shove any sweet down the littlest Archerons throat. But, also for the immeasurable amount of sharp items to be found in there. If it was pointy and could stab a wall or scare their ice-cold mother, Feyre would be running the halls with it in hand or making targets of her fathers old trade route maps.

Then there was Nesta, the firstborn. Molded to be another woman that she somehow couldn’t fit, as if her feet were too big or hair too long, Nesta was outgrowing the standards forged into her being. You would see her as a ghost, floating in and out of rooms, comfortable in silence and slumber, but never escaping people. She loved the maids and could recite all of their names like clockwork, and the workers loved her in turn. Always stuck in new worlds between pages or willingly dragged by the two youngers, Nesta teemed with liberation. She was often alone, but never lonely, and found new loves in the library or in the fields beyond marble confines.

Adela was constantly dissatisfied with her eldest's progress inside these walls, as if at eight she should’ve already been engaged to a prince. Granted, Adela knew better. Nesta would never truly find another kingdom to buy into when she already had a crown waiting for her elsewhere. She was known as fair and beautiful beyond her years, would age like fine wine, and become so much greater than Adela ever was. What Nesta saw as fit would normally come to be, an instinct Adela was unprepared she would inherit. Nothing left her more confused than this daughter only by blood, who was hated by both her parents for reasons far from the same, and how at less than ten years had an entire mansion wrapped around her fingers.

But Adela would wait, and simply leave them be for now. When viper's strike, they kill. And even though the Matron of the house wanted her little queen gone, she had other ways to see this through.

Anyways, children's blood on her hands would stain her diamonds.

---

Cassian

Cassian was violently fucking ill. Watching whatever the fuck that was did not help in the slightest. The second she was gone, so was he.

The General and High Lord were not on speaking terms, his presence was an obligation and not a request. When Rhys first displayed his plans, Cassian just about murdered him. Had his brother on the table in a chokehold that the Shadowsinger had to come and release Rhys from. The way his so-called family planned her exile was… horrific.

Cassian was full of light and humor, but not dull the way his family made him out to be. He could see this for what it was, punishing an already broken female for not meeting every damn need of a fully grown woman that was no longer her responsibility. Cass knew better than to downplay the sacrifices Feyre made, but he was also well aware that Nesta's habits were hardly a financial problem and more of a reputation scandal.

That’s what the High Lord did best, when his Court was breaking at the bonds, the mess would “disappear”. Just like the Illyrians hidden in the mountains, the displaced families of Spring, the homeless warriors of Night.

Cassian loved his brother, but more often than not he wondered when Fate would come to bite them in the asses for Rhys’ neglect.

Now, here he was, in his mothers' cabin, wings dragging behind him wiping tears long since shed over a woman who was thrown to the wolves and torn into so many scraps he wasn’t sure how he could put her together again.

He missed his Nesta, the one who threw glares and begged for her people, not this one who hardly spoke and caved into herself enough that she couldn’t see where she was heading.

Cassian fingered for his mug in the wooden cabinets and hit his mark, soon placing water to heat over a small fire over the counter.

He was not okay, not okay at all.

When you look for something in the dark for too long, you eventually find what you need but not always in the way you expect. Cassian coped the same as Nesta Archeron in his first years post-war. It was suffocating trying to be the happy one while dying inside. He watched men he looked up to fall and a lover he admired take her last breath- too much in far too little time. Cassian was not an idiot, he was simply perplexed. Why was he allowed to grieve in unacceptable manners, but Nesta was a sinner in holy clothing?

Bright walls and unlit rooms in the house were silent, only the winds of the mountains singing outside. The newly dusted snow wrapped the dirt in a delicate kiss- a forbidden touch. It was the peak of winter, just after Feyre’s birthday and another insufferable party.

One that Nesta wasn’t invited to.

Cassian wished he wasn’t invited either.

The cup in his hands was dwarfed in comparison to the bulky Illyrian holding it, but at least it was warm. At least it wasn’t empty.

Because if there was one thing he knew, it could always be worse.

Cassian knew that if things were a little different, he’d be the one sitting in a prison of darkness and Hell because of mistakes made as a child. He’d be exiled by family, cast away by the only living remains of a life once lived.

Nesta didn’t know but long before this he had called it even, their sins atoned for in hurting each other equally.

She was the only one in the world who could tell which smiles he was faking.

To anyone on the outside, one kiss was merely that. How curious it was, the iceberg went far deeper.

So when the mug crashed against the wall, and in its wake resembled his inner turmoil, Cassian took to the skies and found himself at the door of a place far too familiar.

.

.

.

AHHHHHHHH OMG OKAY hope you guys enjoyed this:) if you want to be added to the tag list let me know!

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#acotar #cassian #nessian #acomaf #acowar #acosf #a court of silver flames #nesta archeron #nesta x cassian #nesta #acosf rewrite #bab writes #azriel #elain #feyre acotar #feyre archeron #rhysand #anti rhysand #okay it’s not really anti guys it just starts that way #so like bear with me #to have development you gotta bash them first #you know? #anyways love y’all

[zintranslations]

Kaleidoscope of Death, Ch. 123

Kaleidoscope of Death by Xi Zixu Link to Chinese / Novel Updates

Chapter 123: The Second Sacrifice

What happened the night before, nobody knew—except for Jian Qianyuan and that unfortunate dead partner of hers.

Lin Qiushi remembered that yesterday, Jian Qianyuan had also been one of the people eschewing the unpleasant taste of lunch. But sat before the same nauseating and flavored dead-fish lunch today, her odd behavior gave Lin Qiushi an unfortunate supposition. Could Jian Qianyuan have been affected by that monster as well…

Jian Qianyuan didn't care at all what the others thought. Once she finished eating, she left the dining room with a satisfied pat of her slightly distended belly. On her way out she seemed to have noticed the shocked looks everyone was sending her, and answered with a cold smile.

"The taste is actually pretty good. If you like, you should all go give it a try," she mumbled to herself.

Nobody answered her, and she shrugged in disinterest before leaving.

Lin Qiushi watched her enter a room. And when the rooms changed, Jian Qianyuan disappeared before the crowd.

The locations of the rooms kept changing; every few minutes, a new room appeared in front of the deck.

Some were lucky—people found their stuff inside the rooms and brought them out. Others not so much, never managing to find their original rooms.

Lin Qiushi, on the other hand, made a new discovery. While they were perusing the hallways, they were fortunate enough to see once more that locked room they'd discovered the day before. Only, something had changed about it. The door to that room now stood wide open, and the chain that had locked it from the inside was scattered in broken pieces all over the ground. It seemed to have been violently broken off.

"I remember this room," Lin Qiushi said. "Room 201." He looked at the door plate, thinking of the room number they'd seen yesterday. "Is there anything inside it now?"

Ruan Nanzhu stood in the doorway staring into the dark interior.

"You don't hear anything inside?" he asked.

"No," Lin Qiushi shook his head after listening for a while. He was sure he could hear nothing moving about.

"Then that thing probably left." Ruan Nanzhu approached and took a step inside, casually turning on a kerosene lamp on the table beside him.

The dim light illuminated what wasn't a terribly large room, and they got a good look at what was inside.

The room was both normal and abnormal. Normal was its furnishings, which were identical to where Lin Qiushi's group slept. Abnormal was the additional things inside the room: a bunch of fish scales.

These scales were scattered throughout the entire room, filling the space with a disgusting fishy stench. Lin Qiushi also noticed that on the floors, there was a sort of liquid—like water, but a bit more viscous—smeared all over. It was discomforting to look at.

And on the walls and furniture all around them, there were marks made by sharp claws, telling them that this indeed was the room that once held that monster prisoner.

Lin Qiushi inspected these claw marks and found them extremely deep; if those claws could do this much to hardwood flooring, then it was easy to surmise that a fragile human body for them wouldn't stand a single blow.

Gu Longming was gagging out of disgust, but Ruan Nanzhu took a napkin from his shirt and collected a few of the scales.

Though at present, they didn't know what the fish scales were for, it was better to be prepared just in case.

Lin Qiushi searched the rest of the room for other clues. Quickly, he found a man's shoe in the corner. It made Lin Qiushi think of the man who'd been eaten yesterday. Did the monster drag its prey back to its room?

As Lin Qiushi was contemplating this, Gu Longming said: "Time's almost up." The moment they came in, he'd started counting down, and there were still around ten seconds before five minutes were up.

"Let's get out of here," Ruan Nanzhu said. "This place doesn't seem to be of any more use."

Lin Qiushi agreed.

Not long after the three left that room, its location changed into another room. Lin Qiushi's expression was a bit downcast.

Ruan Nanzhu asked what was on his mind.

Lin Qiushi: "I think things might be worse than we thought."

"What do you mean?" Gu Longming asked in doubt.

"Is the monster's position truly fixed?" Lin Qiushi asked. "Or can it move around?"

Before he'd seen that room, he thought the monster's position was fixed. But upon seeing that ruined chain, he'd formulated an unfortunate hypothesis: the monster could move, and it could move throughout the entire labyrinth. Though, like the humans, it could not find the exit, all the people lost in the maze were just like food to it.

"Your guess is likely correct." Ruan Nanzhu glanced at his watch. "There are still thirteen people. That's enough to feed him for ten days."

Gu Longming forced out a laugh: "You guys are joking, right?"

Ruan Nanzhu shrugged.

"Only if you like this sort of humor."

At dinner, Lin Qiushi had thought he'd be able to see that bug-covered NPC. But the NPC didn't show. It seemed he only appeared in the dining room at lunch, and had its role refreshed consistently…

Everybody except Jian Qianyuan still ate their dinners listlessly.

When Jian Qianyuan appeared in the dining hall once more, she continued scarfing down the fish placed before her. Her unrestrained way of eating left the crowd with even less of an appetite, and they all dispersed after swallowing down some noodles.

Lin Qiushi's group was the same. Only, before leaving, Lin Qiushi took a closer look at Jian Qianyuan, wanting to see if there were any changes on her body.

To his puzzlement, Jian Qianyuan was still currently a simple human. Beyond suddenly loving fish, there was nothing odd about her.

"I'm really scared to see her become one of those things tomorrow." Gu Longming's current feelings about Jian Qianyuan were complex; he and Lin Qiushi were thinking of the same thing.

Neither Lin Qiushi nor Ruan Nanzhu spoke.

That night, Lin Qiushi wasn't getting much sleep. His mind was filled with thoughts of Jian Qianyuan, the way she was changing, and connections between all the clues.

As for Ruan Nanzhu, he'd taken out the fish scales from his pocket, set them on the table, and was currently scrutinizing them closely.

It wasn't raining tonight, and a clean bright moon hung in the sky, casting a silver glow down onto the ship deck and ocean surface. The sea wind brought with it salt and heat through the window, and the beds beneath them were lightly swaying. Had they not been in a door, the atmosphere here actually seemed a tad like a leisurely vacation.

Lin Qiushi looked out to his side. The scenery outside the window changed every five minutes.

Sometimes he could see the deck, and sometimes the stern. Sometimes it was just a black wall. The two people lying behind him seemed to be asleep already, their breathing going even. But just before Lin Qiushi fell asleep as well, he heard a peculiar sound—something was moving across the floorboards. The thing was heavy, enough to press soft creaks from the wooden planks, and it didn't seem to be wearing shoes. Lin Qiushi could even hear the quiet stick of flesh to wood.

This sound was getting closer, finally coming to a stop near their window.

Lin Qiushi held his breath. Through half-closed eyes he saw a gigantic shadow blocking the light from his window. …And Lin Qiushi smelled a wave of familiar fish rot—he knew exactly what the thing standing backlit before him was.

That giant fish-headed monster they saw last night.

It stood right outside Lin Qiushi's window, its nose twitching like it was in search of a specific scent. Lin Qiushi held his breath and didn't dare move an inch.

By moonlight, Lin Qiushi saw that thing slowly place its hands on their window, and then begin to shake the frame with those web-linked fingers.

The window wasn't strong, crunching loudly with the push. Ruan Nanzhu and Gu Longming too woke instantly from their sleep, and the first thing they saw was the giant silhouette standing outside. They could also hear that low, animalistic roaring.

Lin Qiushi thought at first that Gu Longming, fresh from a dream, would scream at the sight of this, but instead he only shuddered before pressing his voice low: "Fuck me, am I having a nightmare right now? Why is this thing at our door—"

Ruan Nanzhu was also calm, pulling out a dinner knife from his pocket that he'd stolen from the dining room.

"Maybe it discovered how tasty we looked?" he said.

Gu Longming patted at his own face and said in a tone of disbelief: "…do I look tasty?"

Ruan Nanzhu looked at him with sympathy: "I guess some monsters like extreme flavors."

Meanwhile, Lin Qiushi thoroughly applauded the enormous nerves on these two people.

The monster broke a hole in the window with a single shove, all the glass on it shattering and raining onto the floor. Then it started trying to climb in. Upon discovering the window was too small, those lumpy white eyes gave a twist, gaze falling sideways onto the wooden door.

"Fuck," Gu Longming swore. "It's not really trying to get in, is it?!"

"Looks that way." Ruan Nanzhu frowned. "Is death random then? No…No way! There’s something we’ve missed!"

As they spoke, the fishman began slamming into the door, and the already-flimsy wood quickly began to topple under its barrage. Lin Qiushi could even hear the wood beginning to splinter.

"When it rushes in, I'll hold it back while you guys escape through the window." Ruan Nanzhu's voice rang clear and calm still. "Got it, Linlin?"

"No," Lin Qiushi said. "I'm not leaving you here alone. Do not make the same mistake."

He frowned, looking very unhappy.

Ruan Nanzhu fell silent, and then sighed like he was giving up something.

"Alright, as you wish."

He handed Lin Qiushi a dinner knife.

"I'm not leaving either," Gu Longming added beside them, jittery.

Though he looked exasperated, Ruan Nanzhu didn't try to talk them out of it. He looked at his watch and said, "thirty seconds. Just hold out for thirty seconds and keep it outside—"

Lin Qiushi and Gu Longming instantly understood—after thirty seconds, the rooms would change, and once the rooms changed they would be able to leave the room, losing the monster behind them.

But these thirty seconds weren't so easy to obtain, because the fishman had already used those sharp claws of his to tear away half of the planks on the door. It seemed moments away from squeezing that scale-covered body through the crack.

Gu Longming turned around and fetched a table to blockade the door with. Ruan Nanzhu dragged the bed over as well to add to the barricade.

Watching Ruan Nanzhu, however, suddenly reminded Lin Qiushi of something. He remembered that the first thing the fishman did when it got to their window was twitch its nose, sniffing—

"Give me the scales you collected today!" Lin Qiushi yelled.

"What?" Ruan Nanzhu startled.

"The scales that you found inside the monster's room—" Lin Qiushi began to repeat loudly once more.

But luckily, Ruan Nanzhu reacted swiftly. The moment he understood Lin Qiushi's meaning he pulled a small paper pouch from his pockets and tossed it outside through a break in the window.

The scales wrapped up in the paper pouch scattered all over the hallway outside. The fishman, once intent on breaking the door down, paused with it, before going over to where the pouch was and bending down as if to pick up the scales.

Seeing this, Lin Qiushi felt some tension release. But the very next moment, once it discovered that there were only scales in the paper, the fishman let out an infuriated roar. It turned around and lunged again for where they were.

All this moving around, however, was enough to last those long thirty seconds. The fishman lunged for them, and just before it would shatter the door, their room switched position, and the fishman disappeared from in front of them.

Lin Qiushi opened the broken door in a hurry and, after making sure the fishman wasn't outside, switched into another room with Ruan Nanzhu and Gu Longming.

His worry soon became reality, because about two minutes later, that fishman once again found their room. It completely obliterated the door before throwing itself inside.

At that moment, Lin Qiushi's group was hidden in a room not far from that one, watching everything go down from the window.

The endless sounds of destruction floated over. After it was sure that its prey had gotten away, the fishman left, heavily panting. It looked as if it had a new target though—that huge mouth of its was slightly open, revealing the sharp thin teeth all crammed inside and the saliva dripping out of a corner.

The three humans hiding in the room didn't dare to make a sound, not until the fishman had gone. Then, Gu Longming let out a long exhale of relief.

"Fuck me, it was following the smell of the fish?! I really thought we were dead there!"

None of them had thought that the fish would come into such effect here. Had Lin Qiushi not reacted so quickly, the three of them might have suffered a casualty among them.

Though the fishman was gone, Ruan Nanzhu's expression had not relaxed. His solemn eyes seemed to make Gu Longming uneasy, and Gu Longming asked, "what is it? Zhu Meng?"

"I think Jian Qianyuan is about to die," Ruan Nanzhu said.

Just as Gu Longming was about to ask why, he remembered the odd developments around Jian Qianyuan during the day. She seemed to have eaten a lot of fish, enough that when she left the dining room, they could all smell that hefty rotten scent on her. If even they could smell the scent, then undoubtedly that monster could easily sniff her out too.

Sure enough, not long after the fishman left, Lin Qiushi's sharp hearing caught a woman's scream. The scream sounded quite far from then, and Lin Qiushi could only vaguely hear it. As for Gu Longming and Ruan Nanzhu, they couldn't hear it at all.

The screaming continued, accompanied by sobbing and wailing, and in the end, it petered off, leaving only hair-raising bellows and sounds of chewing.

Those sounds came from the deck. Lin Qiushi didn't want to know at all what they would find up there the next day.

Of course it would be yet another scooped-clean body, with all its innards gone, leaving only an empty skeletal frame.

It seemed that Ruan Nanzhu could tell Lin Qiushi was having a hard time sleeping. He sat down at the side of Lin Qiushi's bed and lied down with Lin Qiushi, tucking his chin against the top of Lin Qiushi's head. He kissed the strands of hair gently.

The warmth of a body against his back gave Lin Qiushi's frozen voice box a little bit of comfort, but that terrifying sound still seemed to be echoing in between Lin Qiushi's ears. He felt like he could still hear Jian Qianyuan's wailing…

"She's dead," Lin Qiushi said.

"Mh," Ruan Nanzhu said. "Go to sleep. This is normal."

"Maybe I could've figured out a way to save her," Lin Qiushi sighed.

"But you had to save yourself first." Ruan Nanzhu's fingers traversed paths through Lin Qiushi's hair. "We're still short a long sword to kill it with."

In the myth, the weapon that Theseus used to kill the Minotaur was a long sword. But they hadn't seen any weapon on the ship  that could damage the fishman—dinner knives were surely a no-go.

"We found the string," Lin Qiushi said, "and we also found the aperitif." When Jian Qianyuan died, he understood what aperitif actually meant.

Ruan Nanzhu kissed the tip of Lin Qiushi's ear.

"Sleep already. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

Lin Qiushi made a noise of agreement and closed his eyes.

He tried, but he didn't actually manage to sleep so well, only waited blearily until morning.

The weather wasn't good today. That thick cloud layer once again enveloped the entire sky, dim enough to scare people with.

Lin Qiushi got up early and went out onto the deck with Ruan Nanzhu and Gu Longming. None of them were surprised by the additional corpse there. Though its face was no longer discernible, the clothes told them that it was indeed Jian Qianyuan.

Her stomach had been torn open, and all the fish she'd eaten the day before was nowhere to be seen. Also gone were all her innards.

Shen Juexin, who'd already been seasick, vomited once more. Vomiting with him were a few of the weaker girls with a lower threshold of tolerance.

Lin Qiushi also spotted the girl who'd given him a heads up the other day, Xiao Mo. The erratic vibe of a newcomer had faded for her, and her expression was a lot number now, like she was already able to accept the horrifying scene before her.

Two days had passed. Jian Qianyuan was the second sacrifice to be eaten.

The group quickly took care of Jian Qianyuan's body, if "taking care" meant tossing it into the ocean and watching the fish take apart what was left of her.

"I saw that monster yesterday too." The number of people who'd seen the monster had increased, and someone was tremulously describing what happened the night before. "It passed by my door and walked to Jian Qianyuan's room. It split the door open and dragged Jian Qianyuan out…"

"It was too scary," that person said. "I couldn't help her. I'm no match for that monster."

Nobody could defeat a two-meter-tall monster. If they had some firearms, maybe they'd be able to put up a fight, but under these circumstances with only dinner knives at their disposal, nobody wanted to put their lives on the line.

Lin Qiushi was a bit tired. He found a place to sit down in the dining room and pushed the peas in his plate around.

The NPC who gave them food had also appeared, and he looked exactly the same as he did the first day Lin Qiushi saw him. Even his expression was unchanged.

Lin Qiushi and Ruan Nanzhu exchanged a look. Then Ruan Nanzhu got up first, walking toward that NPC.

"Hello sir," Ruan Nanzhu greeted him.

The NPC didn't speak, just stared coldly at Ruan Nanzhu. It was like he was a robot, and what to do when greeted by someone wasn't programmed into his system at all.

"Hello sir," Ruan Nanzhu said to him a second time.

The man still didn't respond.

With a tilt of his head, Ruan Nanzhu pushed the plate of food in front of them right to the ground. The fish inside the plates scattered all over, breaking into pieces.

"What are you doing?" the man finally spoke, sounding quite unhappy.

"I just wanted to ask," Ruan Nanzhu said, "when you're making the food, do you always bring so many insects along with you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

A casual swipe got Ruan Nanzhu one of the human-faced insects buzzing in circles around the man.

"You don't?"

Seeing this, the man set down the ladle for food preparation in his hand and made to leave. But Ruan Nanzhu caught him by a shoulder.

"And where are you going?"

The man began to shake violently.

Watching from afar, Lin Qiushi first thought the man was afraid of maybe angry, but very quickly he discovered that it was neither—the man was melting.

His body was rapidly shrinking, turning from head to toe into a mass of black. This lump dispersed in the dining room with a buzz—it was a hoard of flying insects.

Everybody in the dining room was stunned by this scene, before smacking at them like crazy.

But the insects came and went quickly, disappearing from the dining room just like that. And the NPC who had been right in front of them was now only a set of empty clothing.

"Motherfucker." Gu Longming hadn't seen this coming at all, and said blankly: "This brother was a mosquito demon?"

Lin Qiushi: "…" He didn't know what to say either.

Ruan Nanzhu scratched his head and peeked at Lin Qiushi. "Does this mean there's nobody to feed us fish from now on?"

Lin Qiushi: "…seems that way."

Ruan Nanzhu lifted his palms with an innocent expression. Everybody else in the dining room however—their expressions grew complicated. Who knew what came to mind.

Ruan Nanzhu: "That's a bit of a shame, isn't it."

The group: "…" Not a shame at all, thank you.

Translator’s Note

RNZ speaks to the NPC in the polite register of “you,” lmfao

[Ch. 122] | [Ch. 124]

#kaleidoscope of death #xi zixu #cnovel #chinese translation #死亡萬花筒

[torikengel]

Thomas Hewitt x Reader (Part 1)

a/n: thank you so much for your support <3 you make me motivated to continue, parts 2/3 and 4 are already on my profile <3

You were traveling with a group of friends across Texas. You were all from a big city, so they decided to go on a road trip. There were five of you in total, two girls, two guys, and you. At first, you refused to go and wondered why they even bothered taking you because they were two couples and you were just the fifth wheel. Well, you weren’t very familiar with one of the couples, but you knew the other one. At least you knew the girl, cause she was the one to invite you to this trip. It was known that you were well off and they desperately needed more money for gas and food on this trip. You weren’t dumb and it was very clear soon enough that the sum of money you were required to bring was much higher than the one of your so-called friends. So why you decided to go? You thought some adventure in your life wouldn’t hurt and you were yearning for some fresh air outside of the city. And it wouldn’t be bad to make some friends along the way, you thought. But soon you realized that wasn’t going to happen. The boys were eyeing you up and down and the girls weren’t happy about you. You would like to think that you were fairly pretty with an attractive face and a nice body. And since Texas is hot you were simply wearing a tank top and shorts. You were sitting in the back seat, buckled up, and looking out of the window as your companions didn’t seem keen on talking with you. “Hey, Emma, can we stop for a while, I need to go… you know,” said Chloe who was sitting next to you in the back seat with her boyfriend Matt to the driver, Emma. “Sure,” Emma responded slightly annoyed. You stopped in a remote town in the middle of nowhere. It didn’t seem that many people were still living there. Emma drove to the nearest shop and parked. The place was swarming with bikers and as soon as Chloe stepped out of the vehicle they whistled at her. “Wait babe, I am coming too,” Matt said as he spotted their sly smirks and how they hungrily looked at his girlfriend. “Y/n? Are you coming too?” Emma scoffed, “I am definitely not stopping again just because of you.” And she vanished in the shop as her boyfriend Chris followed right after her.

Someone should stay in the car and guard our stuff, you thought for yourself. But you really needed to drink something, so in the end, you grabbed your purse and walked in the store as the bikers kept catcalling you on your way. On your way there you saw Chloe and Matt whispering to each other, well if it could be considered whispering, cause you heard them. “Look at that old hag! Bet she never stepped out of this hell hole. Jeez, this town smells bad.” Chloe laughed and Matt added “Yeah, disgusting, now imagine living here babe, I bet they are all diseased.” You turned to the elderly woman behind the counter, you intuitively knew she could hear everything. You grabbed a soda and went to the counter, “I am very sorry.” You said with your head down as you didn’t dare to look her in the eyes. “Don’t worry ‘bout that darlin’, my family is used to this.” When you finally dared to look at her, you could see that her eyes were traveling up and down, scanning your body. Oh well, your clothes weren’t the most appropriate for this traditional part of Texas. “My name is y/n…” you said giving her the money for your soda. “Please keep the change.” You added as you wanted to vanish into thin air from embarrassment. The change you were talking about was like triple the price of soda. “Oh no, m’dear, I can’t accept that.” She finally smiled at your generosity and politeness. “Please, I insist… Mrs.?” You stuttered. “Luda Mae,” she helped you out. “Mrs. Luda Mae”, you repeated, smiling back at her. “Come already, we don’t have the whole day to wait… or we will leave you here!” Chloe shouted from the car and Emma honked. You jumped up and rushed to them while waving at Luda Mae, cause who knows, they might actually leave you there.

Emma was driving and chatting with her friends, not paying attention to you, even though it was she who invited you on this trip. And not only she wasn’t paying attention to you, but to the road as well, because she didn’t notice the spike strips across the road. Everyone yelped and held their breath when the van slid across the road and fell to the pit on its side… on your side. In the brief moment of despair, you regretted not being buckled up for the first few minutes of the trip. Your cheek smashed on the window that broke into shards, cutting up your skin. The worst part was that both Chloe and Matt fell on top of you as well. You squirmed under their weight but to no avail. “Shit, shit, shit, shit,” Emma screamed as she lost control of the vehicle and saw her boyfriend falling head forward on a sharp shard of glass, piercing his flesh. After a few minutes of shock, Emma got out of the car, seemingly okay, and helped Chloe and Matt. After that, they all hurried to help Chris. Nobody cared about you. You could feel the blood gushing out of your wounds on your arm and cheek. In the end, you managed to scramble the last bits of your strength and got out of the car without any help… Emma was in utter shock as she felt that her boyfriend didn’t show any signs of life. You didn’t know how to react, because you didn’t feel any pity. They didn’t help you and wouldn’t mind letting you die there on that backseat. You just shook your head and turned away, confused at what’s about to happen. “What’s wrong with you y/n! You look completely unphase by all this, explain yourself!” Emma screamed at you suddenly, letting out all of her anger on you. Before she could insult you any further you heard police sirens. “Thank god,” she calmed down a bit. Chloe was just shaking in Matt’s arms. The hope you all felt as the police car made its way towards you was slowly exchanged with fear. An older man with a sheriff’s uniform stepped out of the car with a shotgun. “So what do we have here… a bunch of lowly cowards it seems.” He spat on the ground and aimed the gun at you. “Get into the car, now!” he pointed at the police car, “The big guy in the back with two girls and this sexy babe in the passenger seat.” He aimed the shotgun at your head. “Wait, mister Hoyt, there’s my boyfriend still in the van!” Emma walked up to him trembling, apparently not grasping that this man isn’t here to help you. “My, my, do you think I care about your fucking boyfriend, bitch?” he turned down her request and took her by the wrist, “Maybe I will just take you next to me since you are so dumb, you need a lesson.” He tightened his grip on her wrist. “W-wait m-mister.” She stuttered, fear enveloping her. “T-take her instead… I swear we won’t tell anyone; you can do anything you want with her, even kill her, we will make something up, please just don’t hurt us.” She pointed her dirty finger at you and looked at Chloe and Matt, still in a tight embrace. “R-right guys? We won’t tell…” she desperately looked for a sign of approval from them. “Y-yes! We definitely won’t tell! I mean look, she’s way prettier for you sir!” Chloe added, throwing her pride behind her, Matt followed with a quick nod. “My, my what a friend you have,” Hoyt nearly died from laughter. He threw her aside on the hot ground. She slowly exhaled as she thought this was his way of saying yes. “I don’t like these types of bitches.” Without any hesitation, he shot Emma in the leg. She squealed and held her leg close to her, “You old bastard! We had a deal!” He only laughed a bit more before turning to the rest of you. “Now get in the car if you want to live. NOW!” he shouted and aimed the gun at Chloe and Matt who protectively stood in front of Chloe. “We have another hero here it seems.” Another shot followed, straight into Matt’s shoulder. He dropped to his knees in pain. “Who else?” he looked at you. After thinking for a few seconds, you dropped your eyes to the ground and went to the passenger’s seat of Hoyt’s police car. You decided to be smart about it. You didn’t dare to look back at him, all you heard were screams until everything was quiet again. Hoyt dragged your so-called friends’ bodies to the backseat. They were all breathing, just unconscious, their heads bloody. He probably hit them to make them easier to transport. He dragged Chris’s dead body out of the van as well, putting him into the trunk. After that, he sat in the driver’s seat next to you. “Come on, look at me. I don’ bite.” He licked his lips as you turned to face him. “Good girlie.” He said as he pressed some cloth over your nose and lips. You struggled for air, but then finally gave up and passed out as well.

You open your eyes to an unbearable headache which made you wish to never wake up at all. Where am I… shot through your mind as you tried to recall what led to your current situation. Right, your so-called friends tried to use you as their ticket out of this, as a bribe, as if you were a piece of meat. Your eyes were swollen and weak, so it was awfully hard to keep them open. You tried your best to inspect your situation a bit more. You couldn’t move your limbs, that’s for sure. So, you looked around again, adjusting your eyes to the dark atmosphere. It must’ve been a basement of some kind as there were no windows. You could see other metal tables except for the one you were tied to. There were various shiny metal tools around you consisting of cleavers, knives, and other stuff. Then you glanced above you to the ceiling. What you saw made you gag in disgust. Meat hooks, and on them two bodies hanging… Matt and Chloe. Then it hit you… out of confusion and tiredness, you didn’t pay attention to it before, but the whole basement smelled like death, rotting flesh, vomit, blood… everything mixed. Matt was missing half of his body and under him was a pool of blood, he was already dead. Chloe was missing one leg and one arm, seemingly still breathing, but not for long you thought for yourself. Sure, you were scared, because the same thing was going to happen to you, but you felt slight happiness in the back of your mind, no pity to be found. They abandoned you, they emotionally abused you, they used you for money, they would let you be raped and killed in exchange for their pathetic lives. They didn’t care about you. And now, despite their best efforts, you were here, alive, with all of your limbs, breathing while they were all almost dead. You couldn’t help to wonder why you were the last one to be butchered. You smiled for yourself “That’s what you get… even though I am going to be next, I still outlived you for long enough to laugh last.” And also, you didn’t know them before this trip except for Emma who wasn’t there right now. After these thoughts dispersed in your mind, you realized you could hear voices from above you. When you woke up, you were a bit groggy and didn’t pay attention to all of your senses right away. You recognized the female voice; without a doubt, it was Emma squealing in pain and disgust. “Let me go, let me go you ugly old bastard!” she screamed so loud it was piercing your ears. Instead of pitying her, it was more annoying to you, because you wanted the last minutes of your life to be as peaceful as possible. “Shut up, stupid bitch, or I will make you!” a familiar voice shouted back. Hoyt. Yeah, it must’ve been that guy, Sheriff Hoyt. Even though you assumed he wasn’t the real sheriff. You figured out what was happening upstairs. From the moment you met this Hoyt guy, you knew he was a pervert and a violent one. Even though he spared you in a way when he didn’t shoot you, well, you complied so he had no reason to. Then you realized that you checked your surroundings to the best of your ability while you didn’t even look at the state you were in. Your wrists and ankles hurt real bad. The leather cuffs were rubbing tightly against your sensitive red skin. Your cheek hurt as well as your arm. You weren’t sure if the glass shards were still in your arm or if someone took them out. You tried to position yourself in a way you could see the cut. It was deep and your skin was all bruised. Your whole body felt squished and sore, because of how Matt and Chloe fell on you during the accident. You were so tired… the screams above you got quieter and quieter each second as you fell into sleep again.

Loud footsteps in the basement woke you up and when you managed to lift your eyelids a huge man was towering over your lying body. He was wearing a bloody apron, shirt, and tie… very neat you thought for yourself. He smelled bad and there was a human-like mask on his face. He had greasy black hair that reached to his shoulders and partially hid his face. What captured your attention were his piercing blue eyes. He was scanning you, but you did the same as you stared deep into his eyes. He expected you to try to jump up, squirm, or make disgusted faces. He was used to it. All his life people called him names and bullied him, from his childhood to his teen years, and while he worked in the factory as an adult. He was always a monster, animal, disgusting freak in their eyes. Women made gagging noises when they saw him and then laughed in his face. Men picked on him, tried to fight him to get him in trouble. He suffered through it all until he finally unleashed all the pain and anger. Since then he saw people as either family or food, there was nothing in-between. You could see it in his eyes, the awaiting of your scream. But it never came, even after you noticed the cleaver in his hand. You had a neutral expression on your face while watching him. The pain was undeniable in his eyes. He wanted you to scream as it made it easier, so much easier… if you just called him a freak, if you tried to spit in his face… too easy. Finally, your lips parted, air leaving your mouth as you exhaled. He hated it, everything you did, he hated it because you made it hard. You had a beautiful face, perfect skin, attractive body, silky h/c hair, and shiny e/c eyes. You looked like one of the girls that would make fun of him and kick him again when he was already down. All the memories kept flooding into his mind as he raised the cleaver and prepared to swing. Now he expected you to squirm, shout and plead for your life, to at least cry or call him something nasty. But you peacefully smiled at him. “This is my end isn’t it?” you accepted your fate from the moment you woke up for the first time in this basement. You closed your eyes and prepared for the pain that would inevitably come with the blow. The man was confused like never in his life. Your sweet smile towards him melted his resolve. Here he was standing, all bloody with a cleaver ready to end your life and your perfect form was just lying under him in a dignified position without regrets. His eyes were full of sorrow. Nobody smiled at him before, laughed yes, mocked him too, but he never got that smile, smile without any prejudice in your then open eyes. There was no pain, just a wet feeling on your hurt cheek. For the first time, you yelped at the sudden touch and shot your eyes open again. There he was, standing over you, wiping the dry blood off your face with a wet rug. He stepped back, startled by your reaction. You could see how hurt he was… you couldn’t believe yourself. In this situation, with a murderer in a room with you, your instinct was telling you to pity him more than the couple hanging from the meat hooks. ”Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that; I just didn’t expect it… thank you.” You murmured under your breath. His eyes widened, first that innocent smile, now the honest tone in your voice as you apologized for being held captive. “My name is y/n. But I guess you don’t need to know that as you know…” your eyes pointed to the cleaver that was on the other table now. He didn’t say anything, but he shook his head. You didn’t know if that meant you would be spared or that he was content with knowing your name, you figured it was the latter though. After he calmed down, he stepped up again to clean your face and arm. You hissed a bit, but he knew it wasn’t at him, but at the pain. You didn’t know why he did all that when you are certainly going to be killed, if not by this man then by that Hoyt.

“What’s your name, if you don’t mind?” you broke the awkward silence. He shrugged, not replying. “You can’t speak?” you figure it wouldn’t hurt to ask and you wanted to know if he couldn’t or simply didn’t want to talk. You got a slight nod from him. “I see… But I can try and guess if you help me.” You came up with a solution. “I will say the alphabet and when I will get to the first letter of your name, you should touch the palm of my hand.” He seemed unsure but nodded again in the end. “A, B, C…” you continued until you got to T. He softly put a finger on your palm. “T…” you repeated, “That could be Tim, Tony, Thomas.” You wanted to continue, but he grabbed your finger when you said Thomas. “Thomas… Tommy.” You smiled at him. You didn’t know what got into you, but you were enjoying this sweet, tender moment. He was very gentle with you and didn’t kill you yet. Maybe it was because of how different your behavior was from everyone else.

He didn’t believe it. What was he doing, what were you doing, what were you doing to him? You were supposed to be another meal, just food, a piece of meat. But he couldn’t treat you like that when you were the first person outside of his family who treated him like a human being, without disgust and hate. Even Charlie and Monty sometimes treat him like a dog. He could sense that you were sincere. Some girls tried to seduce him before to save their lives and then stab him in the back. Once he fell for it, only for the first time though, he learned his lesson. But you didn’t try, you accepted that you were going to die here, and he couldn’t bring himself to end your life on his own.

“Damn what’s taking you so long down there, boy?” Hoyt opened the door to the basement and threw something on the stairs. “Don’ tell me you were able to finally man up?” Thomas seemed to be a bit lost, but you knew what he meant by that. “Anyhow, I am finished with it, it’s all yours now.” Hoyt pointed on the floor. You weren’t sure what he threw in the basement until now. It was Emma and she was still alive. Her mouth taped shut and hands tied behind her back. Hoyt descended into the basement and got rid of the tape on her lips. “You liked it bitch, didn’t ya?” he squeezed her cheeks and put a finger into her open mouth. She bit him as soon as she got the chance. A loud slap followed and he walked back up cussing her out. Hoyt was so focused on his finger, that he didn’t seem to care about why you were still alive. “Oh y/n! Help me, help me, please!” she trembled and smiled at you in disbelief. She obviously thought you were dead. Then she looked around to see her dead friends and screamed. Thomas grabbed her with his huge hands ready to hang her on the meat hook next to her friends. “You ugly fat bastard, let me go, stop it, you animal!” she kicked him wherever she could with both of her legs as they were tied together. You couldn’t hold back your laughter. However, your laughter stabbed Thomas in the back. So, you were the same after all. He thought about it and then realized it was for the better. But then you spoke “She looks like a fish out of the water, doesn’t she?” you giggled a bit more and then finally stopped. Thomas smiled under his mask before he realized what were the consequences. You indirectly stood up to him and it was funny and clever as well. “What… why would you laugh y/n? We are both going to die you dumb slut!” as the last word left her lips a shriek of pain echoed as Thomas stabbed the hook into her back. With the last strength, she spat in his face. “F-filthy animal, m-murderer, you and your damn fucking family can all burn in hell…” she mumbled. “I bet he would be a better friend than you.” Before she could come up with a comeback of any kind, he slit her skull with a cleaver. He grabbed a chainsaw and started dismembering her. You actively watched, fascinated by the situation. You weren’t a sadist, not at all, but it just all seemed like a weird nightmare to you. Maybe you passed out during the car crash and you are still dreaming. However, the smell of blood brought you back into reality. After Thomas was done, he turned back to you, freshly bloodied. He expected to see a disgusted face, tears, fear. He did it on purpose… to make you scream, to make you hate him like everyone else. “To be honest… she deserved it. Imagine, she tried to give me to Hoyt to save herself. She wouldn’t mind killing me.” You shrugged as you were very stiff from holding your head on the side. 

No, no, no, no, no… it was all wrong. Thomas’ heart raced as he looked at you in disbelief, your e/c eyes piercing his soul. You saw him kill your friend, well at the very least your companion and then you also witnessed al the gory stuff that came with it, but you looked unphased, maybe a bit satisfied with his work... you didn’t scream, didn’t curse, didn’t hate him. He grabbed the cleaver and held it above you, then swung and…

#thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x oc #thomas hewitt/you #texas chainsaw massacre #slasher x reader #the texas chainsaw massacre #smut #fluff #slashers #slashers x you #leatherface #thomas brown hewitt #x reader #fanfic #i made an attempt #story #roadtrip

[internalsealpanic]

The Mechanics of Living part 2

Summary:  You trick Tim into going to a closed-off sector. Things go well. a/n: I will be doing a director’s cut for this is anyone is interested (by anyone I mean @glorified-red) Warnings: very slight body horror and gore 

Main Masterlist

Tim Drake Masterlist

It was easiest to just tell Tim all the facts rather than rely on the goodwill you've built in 3 years to persuade him.

There's a reason sector 4-D was cordoned off last year. For some unknown reason, a section that had been little more than a concrete wasteland started teeming with infected life.

People say it was an abomination (An unidentifiable, Tim corrected but you still think abomination captured the appropriate dramatic for that.)  that wandered in from farther in the waste. Some people say it was one of Bludhaven's beasts they let loose. You highly doubt Bludhaven was in any shape to contain whatever it is ravaging sector 4-D. After all, it wasn't in any better shape than Gotham was at the moment. You doubt it's ever been in better shape. They're like two cities constantly caught in this vortex of awfulness, looking at each other from two different sides thinking 'poor bastards'.

Sector 4-D was an easy hunting ground where young scavengers got their feet wet before they could move on. Now it was a dead zone, a dead zone with too much potential to pass up.

Like every sector, sector 4 was vast and unexplored and supposedly, there had been a library there. A building full of books and most importantly, medical textbooks.

You feel a little bad plucking at Tim's heartstrings when all you cared about was the payout. Appealing to the guy's sense of responsibility was kind of cheating but-- BUT! The specified textbooks do have stuff about bacteria and illnesses so you aren't really overstating their importance.

You try to push down the number of zeroes the man had shown you as you zip past a rusted sign.

You don't really trust anyone other than Tim to help you with this. Besides, all the other people who won't stab you after cashing in the reward probably don't know half as many words as Tim so you'll definitely need him to get the right books.

You stare at the rows of cars before you. They're overrun with weeds and vines and rust. A stark reminder that your Gotham is just a fraction of what it had been. You stop your bike in front of a taxi with a faded yellow body.

"This is it. This is where your life as an adventurer begins."

You swallow back the wave of nostalgia, letting the bike roll past it into the mess of cars to keep it a little more hidden. It isn't illegal to go to this sector yet. At least not when you checked but you really don't wanna gamble your Scavenger's license on clerical errors by either of your guilds.

Tim steps out of the sidecar, careful not to jostle Basil in his bag. You want to point out that you should probably wake the cat up otherwise you were wasting food on him but you knew better than to expect cooperation from Tim's fur ball from hell.

“So which theory about the illness do you think is the most plausible?” He asks, tucking the walkman away. You both thought it was stupid name but you didn’t really wanna question the teller. “The one that involves the least aliens.” You pause, narrowing your eyes at Tim whose hand is currently being eaten by his cat. “Or alien adjacent things.”

“So, you're one of those people who thinks the government did it.” Tim is *such* a little shit. Maybe that’s why his guild master gave him the most useless cat on the planet. Grade A my ass, you think staring at the furball nipping at his knuckles.

“Not on purpose, no.”

Tim raises a brow. “I didn't know you had that much faith in humanity.”

“Pffff, I think they just fucked up.”  

“Here, I was accusing you of being optimistic.”

“A mistake really.”

You two come to a crossroads.  A giant large yellow lantern hangs in the middle of the street, swaying listlessly in the air. It’s strange.

“Do you think the people in the old world used those to scare away the sick?”

“If they did,” he looks around, “it didn't work.”

Your eyes flit over the area.  Stone walls crumble, vegetation willing in the cracks. Still, even with the overgrowth of life, the city feels hollowed out. Nearly a decade ago, you’d first laid a hand on one of the stone arches of the city hall just down by main street. Nearly a decade ago, you felt the stone crumble beneath the pads of your fingers. Nearly a decade ago, you had come the closest to knowing what it was like having the sickness. Even one of the great cities had been reduced to a fraction of its size.

“Do you think the color of the light matters?” Tim asks, pointing again to the lamp.

You squint. You hadn’t noticed it at first but yeah, the color of the lights was different.

“Maybe,” you tilt your head, “or maybe the people from before were just idiots.”

“You just have a bad opinion of them, don’t you?”

“Like you don’t.” You shoot back, tapping your bat against your boot.

Tim rolls his eyes and shrugs.

You try to smile at that but something’s wrong. Your skin bristling, the air is stale despite the wind. You watch the lantern sway back and forth, the thin wires holding it up, fragile and precarious. A bad feeling crawls up your spine.

There’s a pressure in the air, the atmosphere turning into a vacuum.

Basil hisses, looking as vicious as he can.

The wind stops.

The skittering voices rise like the fluttering of locust wings.

A writhing mass, pulsing and menacing, blots out the horizon. It opens its maw to wheeze and the stench of rot floods the air. Your insides curdle and wilt from the intensity of the putrid odor. Once the *thing* draws another breath, the skittering begins again and this time you know where it’s from.

You can see it in the way its neck twists and undulates, its rotting flesh rippling as the fragmented voices rasp out of its throat. Its limbs, deformed, move unnaturally as it ambles towards you.

You stare at it. Your limbs unmoving. That thing *is* an unidentifiable. In all technicality, it fits the neat taxonomy laid out by experts. It is neither man nor beast. Its form corrupted beyond recognition. It’s rotting and shambling. But the thing you are looking at cannot simply be sorted neatly because it is what it is.  

A creature that god himself did not touch.

An abomination.

You splay a hand on Tim’s chest, pushing him back lightly.  Glancing at each other, you nod as you slowly step back into an alley. You quietly curse Gotham’s gloomy weather for the thing’s appearance. You thought you would have at least ‘til sundown to look for loot before having to flee to a safer sector. But when in Gotham, nothing is ever certain even the rising of the sun.

All you have to do is be quiet. Easy enough. Being silent is the first thing you learn to be in this world.

It blinks at you.

It. Blinks. At. *You.*

Your heart stops, the blood running in your veins turning into lead.

Dozens of eyes blink at you. They’re not all human from the looks of them. It opens its maw again, your muscles bunch up in anticipation of its miasmal breath. The discordant voices coming from its mouth coalesce into a horrible sob.

Tim grabs your wrist and pivots towards an alley. The sudden change in movement shocks your body awake. You scoop Basil up and bolt down the alley, letting Tim lead the way.

Desperately, You try to concentrate on the scuff of your shoes against pavement instead of the creak of limbs and the plop of flesh as it drips off the creature. The pinching of Tim’s features tells you he’s doing the same.

You round the corner, shoulder hitting brick, narrowly avoiding dozens of hands reaching for you. Basil yowls and hisses and you would apologize but your shoulder is screaming at you and goddammit Basil, we have bigger issues.  

You and Tim squeeze into a space between the buildings seemingly too small for that thing’s gelatinous form. You make the mistake of looking back only to see its limbs skitter up the building and down the other end of the alley. It smiles at you, rows of teeth glittering in the sparse light.

This was it.

This is where your life ends.

Where else is there to go?

You expect the acceptance to come in like a flood or relief. Life was hard with very little room for breath. Scraping by, tooth and nail, knuckles bleeding for every scrap of stability. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You suddenly feel so tired like the adrenaline had been keeping you together for the past few years. Acceptance should have come easy.

But it doesn’t.

You open your eyes to glance at Tim, finally resignation sets. His features are still pinched and his hand is trembling beside yours. You really did screw this one up big time, huh?

You bite your cheek.

Watching Tim’s mind work, you know you have to keep him alive. You squeeze Tim's hand. He narrows his eyes at you. You give him a crooked smile and let his hand fall.

You pivot, foot pushing against the pavement as you launch yourself to the other end of the alley.

If your estimates are correct, you can buy him 15 minutes. 15 minutes would be more than enough for him to make it back to the bike--

Tim yanks on your hood, throwing open a door. The creature howls as Tim hurls both of you into the building.

"What the heck was that?!" Tim screams.

"A Dick." You answer, rubbing your head. fuck. Tim could throw.

"No! You were being fucking stupid."

You scowl at him in the dark. "Thanks Tim. I get it."

"No, you don't!"

"Can we argue--"

The door rattles and shakes. A fist-shaped dent embeds itself on the metal door. You glance at each other before scrambling towards the very safe-looking stairs.

You fly up the steps like hell was on your heels and as far as you're concerned, it was. You wrench Tim's bag from him and you're half tempted to throw him over your shoulder as well but you're not sure the stare case can hold that much weight.

If you climb to the roof--  If you... climb... It can climb. Fuck.

You and Tim seem to come to the same conclusion as you throw yourselves into another door.

You shove a sofa in front of the door and sit on it.

"Please tell me you've miraculously come up with a plan." You hiss glancing over to Tim who's staring at the window.

He glances over his shoulder to look at you. "If I could pull off miracles, you wouldn't be so dumb."

You sigh. Ok, yeah. He has every right to be mad. It was an incredibly stupid move but it's a numbers game and yeah.

Tim runs his hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. He needs to come up with something. He glances out the window. He walks over and leans out the window.

"We should jump."

"Would you like to elaborate?" You wheeze, still not really letting go of a

"Follow me."

"Tim, I have never trusted you less in my life." You snort, quietly. But you make your way to the window.  You set Basil down and look at what Tim is pointing to. There's a dumpster filled to the brim with trash. There doesn't seem to be any infected mice in there and the road to the right is a straight shot back to the bike.

You lick your lips.

"So we're on the same page."

"Uh, if that means what I think it means then yes."

Tim lets out a breath as he opens the window as quietly as possible. You listen to the steady beat of limbs thumping against the wood. You hold a collective breath. The window clicks into place with a loud snikt.

The thumping stops.

You practically shove Tim out the window while you stare at the door. It rattles and shakes.  A screech erupts the stairwell as you jump out the window. You land with a thump, sinking beneath the mounds of plastic.

Your heart is hammering and pressing into your throat. Its beat is in sync with the steady thump of the limbs. The wet squelching of rotting flesh scraping against the rusted metal of the dumpster. You want to heave but Tim shoves a hand in your face. You gag silently. Tim's hand smells putrid from the trash.

You hold your breaths until the thumping goes away. You don't dare breathe until Basil settles down.

You fall limp against the trash. Your limbs feel like jelly. You gag. Thinking about jelly right now is probably the worst thing for your health.

Tim nudges you with his foot. You turn your body over as quietly as you can.

You watch him make shapes with his hands. You frown.   You cycle through your memory trying to remember what the gestures mean then let go of Basil when you do.

Basil rises from the trash, padding against the plastic.

When you hear Basil jump down to the pavement, you dig your way out of the trash.

"For the record, I hate your plans." You say, gagging.

"What was yours?" Tim fires back, dusting his hair.

"..."

"Just what I thought."

You're the first to climb out, holding your arms out to him mockingly. He silently threatens to curb stomp your face. You snort and tuck your hands to your side.

Thankfully, you make it to the bike without incident.

Tim tucks his body into the sidecar, occupying himself by comforting Basil. You hand him a bat as you start the bike.

"Just in case."

You kick the bike into gear as you two ride into the sunset.

You breathe a quiet breath, letting your eyes slip shut for a moment. The road is clear for about 14 breaths.  That’s all you want to think about.

At the fourteenth breath, you open your eyes to an open expanse of road, endless and breathtaking. You turn to Tim and laugh. He gives you a sour look. You’ll just buy both of you some canned pineapples later and he’ll maybe forgive you. Basil certainly does as he doesn’t participate in Tim’s sour protest, opting instead to crawl into Tim’s bag.

Then you hear it above the roar of the engine.

The skittering.

Voices like the fluttering of wings.

It screeches, the raspy cry making your skin crawl. You don’t wanna look back. You don’t want to see the unnatural movement of its body as it bounds towards you.

You kick the bike to a higher gear. The engine will hate you but you can’t repair it if you’re dead.

The bike slows down. Tim stands up raising your bat over his head, bringing it down. It does not clang. The sound is squishier and moist. Your stomach rebels. Hazarding a glance behind you, you see the writhing mass holding onto your bike.

“TIM,” you shout.

“I--” Swing “-- AM--” Swing “--A LITTLE--” Swing “--BUSY!” “THERE’S A CAN OF HAIRSPRAY IN MY DUFFLE.”  

Tim ducks down, throwing you the bat. You swing wildly at the creature, summoning up a truly impressive bout of swearing.

Tim sprang up, nearly falling off the sidecar if not for you grabbing his shirt. Tim flicked the lighter, pressing down on the nozzle of the spray, and unleashing fire on the beast. The thing cries, voice shattering as it burns. You watch its flesh burn. Oh, what a pleasure it was to see it burn.

"We are never doing this again!" Tim wheezes.

"Of definitely fucking not." You bark, kicking the bike to a higher gear. The purring of the engine sounds like music to your ears.

"We are definitely doing easy sectors by a bit." You laugh.

When you don’t hear a snarky remark, you glance to your sidecar. Tim is slumped into his seat, breathing hard. You raise your brow but turn your attention to the road.  You shake him. You shake him again and again.

Tim doesn't respond.

You pull your hand away and it’s slick with blood.

______________________________________________________________

Thanks for reading!!!!

Tag list:  @batarella​, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @bungunz​ , @birdy-bat-writes​,  @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-inkage, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell   @hyp-oh-critical @glorified-red @ marshmallow12435 @vvipgot7be​ @jadedhillon​ @notsostraightweeb​

#tim drake x reader #tim drake imagines #Tim Drake #post apocalypse

[brivetaroundtown]

To say that I am nervous about posting my writing onto the internet is an understatement.

But the lovely and extremely talented @lumos-flies has inspired me to do so after working with me on making my Villain Denki brain rot a reality. So this is a part 2 to that.

Link to "About Last Night" also a Link to KoFi because their work is impeccable

Denki Kaminari x F! Reader

+18 Minors DNI

TW: Overstim, electricity play, use of Puppy as a pet name, slight possessive yan vibes if you squint. That’s really all I could think of, if someone catches more PLEASE let me know!

___________________________________________________________

It has been 2 weeks, 5 hours, and a quick glance at the clock shows 30 minutes since that text from Denki. Not that you were keeping track or anything. No, you were perfectly capable of living your life as normal all while knowing that the best sex of your life was had with the infamous Chargebolt.

“Miss me?”

That the same electric quirk that lit your body up like the grand finale New Year firework display was also capable of leveling a city block. Those hands that stoked such euphoria from your body that you could still feel him on a cellular level, were also the hands responsible for the death of hundreds. And you, a grown capable woman was going to work and living your life as normally as possible in this crazy city. You weren’t still obsessing over the idea of texting Denki back, or having flashbacks to that night while alone with yourself at night… or in the shower… or hell even currently riding this elevator at work down to the first floor so you can start your walk back home. The memory of Denki’s head between your thighs as electric sparks swirled across his tongue wasn’t plaguing your every waking moment.

Too bad you were a terrible liar, even, maybe especially to yourself.

How demented was it that him becoming a villain turned you on more? Was it the risk? As if living in this city without quirk wasn’t risky enough in and of itself, you were now fantasizing about a villain?! Granted, the fantasies were based on a very real encounter but still. You should probably speak to a therapist, but were also concerned that they would be legally obligated to tell the authorities. You would be the worst bait, after all you couldn’t even lie to yourself.

You don’t even remember making it back to your apartment. So caught up in your own thoughts you must have walked the whole way on autopilot. Which is a shame, because thoughts like those required wine and you cant remember if your roommate remembered to add it to the lis… thoughts halted abruptly by the current obsession leaning against your door.

Are hallucinations a common symptom of sexual frustration? Why would he be here? As you stare at the blonde casually leaning against the frame, slight smirk gracing his face as Denki takes in your presence.

“Hey Puppy, long time no see” his voice ran through you, sparking along your spine, further fanning the dark need inside of you. Yet you couldn’t say a word, too shocked that he was here, in the flesh.

“You know, you should probably let me in. Wouldn’t want your neighbors to call the cops. Bakugo is real big on property damage. I think he gets off on it.” Denki’s smirk deepens into a grin at your blanched expression. Its not fair that someone so evil can make a grin look that sexy. Spurred on by the fear of others seeing him does rush you into action, urging him inside your apartment.

Before you can even ask what he was doing there or how he found out where you lived, Denki had your back against a wall with his face shoved between your neck and shoulder.

“J..just give me a minute”

The vulnerability of the moment had you forgetting all the news segments and every other thought in your head. Your arms reacted on their own accord, wrapping tightly around him, stroking his back to offer comfort. As if this was a completely normal situation, and not the fucked up one that was your reality. This softness did not last long. It started with soft kisses, that turned to a quick nibble, and paused with a whispered “You should say no now, this is your only out”. Your voice responded without any input from your conscience or logic with a desperately whispered “please.”

Denki let out a growl, pulling your body roughly against his, already feeling sparks of heat through your work shirt while his teeth bit into the softness of your neck. You knew that you said yes to something more than just another night, but as Denki lifted you your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to your room, you were not really sure that you cared. As the buttons from your blouse snapped and landed on the floor, with every rip and tear of thread as Denki rushed to see your skin, you let the world know with every moan and gasp that fell from your lips, how willing you were to fall into this sin.

“Watch me” You had not even realized your eyes had closed, Denki was still dressed, though he had lost his jacket to the floor. Your clothes were in tatters around you, naked and vulnerable sitting on top of your comforter at the edge of your bed. Now that he had your full attention, Denki traced his fingers from your neck to each of your pert nipples, the electricity from his fingertips shocking you as he traced your body. Claiming every cell as his lighting danced along your skin leaving no inch of it untouched. You would never be the same, but you should have known that from the last time. Possessiveness filled his yellow eyes, trapping you in their depths. You couldn’t look away, even if you wanted too.

“Do you know how many times I have thought about this body of yours puppy?” With each words his fingers traced lower down your stomach, the other hand tightening its grip on your thigh. “Almost constantly. You not messaging me back stung a little bit though” the electricity went a little sharp on the word stung, ripping out a whimper from your lips, before it returned to the pleasing level of heat that you went wet for, the reality being so much better than the memory. You did dare to speak back though, voice thick with lust “you didn’t text back for the longest time either.” The words may have been whispered but they did not go unnoticed by Denki. With a crooked grin, he pulled you closer to the edge of the bed, forcing your thighs apart so that his body could stand between them.

“So my puppy did miss me” his teeth nibbled along your jaw, drawing out a moan as he made his way to your sensitive ears “don’t worry Y/N, you won’t have to miss me anymore.” With those words sealing your fate, Denki drops to his knees pressing his lips against your wet cunt. “Keep those eyes on me puppy, and those hands to the bed. Want to be a good girl for me dontcha?”

All it took was a nod from you before his tongue was licking along the seam, teasingly dipping into your folds, only using the tip of his tongue to flick over your sensitive clit. “Already so wet for me puppy” the words vibrated through your core, as his tongue kept tracing a path from your folds to your clit and back. You were so close to the edge of bliss already, just a bit more pressure and you would… the scream that came out of your throat your orgasm ripping through you at Denki’s sudden use of this quirk on your clit caught all of your senses by surprise.

Denki chuckled against your core, the flat of his tongue against your clit riding you through the pleasure. Kissing your clit, shocks electricity still coming from his mouth, he gave no warning when he plunged two of his fingers into your clenching depths, instantly finding that special spot within you. As if he had a map. Which really wasn’t fair, especially as he released more shocks against your clit and spot in tandem, ripping another orgasm from your body in quick succession. Your conscience never stood a chance when Denki had claimed every nerve, every thought, every breathe.

Licking his lips, Denki rose to his feet so that he stood between your thighs. Grabbing your chin with one hand while releasing his dick from his pants with the other, never breaking eye contact. “Y/N” your name like a prayer on his tongue as he nudged your clit with the head of his dick, his hand stroking himself as he used your slick. “I am taking you with me puppy, wont need anyone but me” and with those words he pushed inside of you, moving his hands to your waist to pull you even closer.

Shocks from his quirk along with the way he slammed himself into your cervix, eyes still locked together had you coming undone around his cock. Fucked dumb, you don’t even remember gripping onto his shoulders, “you know puppy” Denki groans into your ears “your hands were supposed to stay on the bed. But don’t worry baby, we got time to train you on how to be a good girl for me later.” His voice in your ear combined with the relentless pounding into you, electricity dancing in and around your body, wrapping around you like hands had you coming again. Your eyes rolling back, whimpering at the blend of pain and pleasure, not sure how long you were going to be able to grasp consciousness.

You weren’t even completely done with the orgasm rolling through you before you felt the next one building. Denki was like the fucking energizer puppy, as you fluttered and gripped around his cock he started to pound faster, something you weren’t even sure was possible.

“Go on puppy, give me one more”

The fabric of his shirt against your nipples, his teeth and lips marking your neck and shoulders, your body electric with the waves of yellow lighting shocking against your skin at his every touch had your final orgasm exploding within you. Body alive with the white shock of blinding pleasure you barely registered Denki whispering your name or the feeling of his warm cum painting your inner walls. All you could register was the softness of your comforter against your back as you fell against it, darkness blurring your vision as you succumbed to sleep, and the whispered promise.

“I am taking you with me.”

#villain denki #overstimulation #BrivetWritings #mha x reader smut #denki x reader #Brivet Writings #Brivet Filth

[harryswatermelonsegment]

Pool Party

Pairing: Reader/Harry Styles

Rating: R, text book smut

Word Count: 5k 😳

Warnings: Slight sub/dom tones I guess? & alcohol consumption

A/N: Sorry this is late, life somewhat resuming here in the UK so it means I’m back at my job. I managed to fall asleep mid edit folks 😳, this is my entry for the @helladirections Summer Feeling Fic Challenge, with the prompt “pool party” click the link for the masterlist. I’m still writing two more, one for @berrynarrybanana ‘s Sex Bucketlist Challenge but it’s turning out to be a 20k slow burn I wasn’t expecting 😬.Oops. But enjoy this one, I’m proud of her. My one other blatant thirst fic can be found here. Reblogs get free gratitude for the next 5 years 🍉💕

You'd been friends with Jeff since your teens, when his parents (despite their wealth), wanted him to get a job at the restaurant you worked at. In their rightful thinking, they wanted him to learn you had to work from the ground up.

Despite your clearly different class background you found a ton of common interests making the whole thing immaterial. He was a caring, down to earth guy and you were both people who really enjoyed sarcastically taunting each other every shift. You'd got used to visiting his house in the hills even though you'd been scared to get lost at first around his parents large house. Becoming solid friends quickly, you'd managed to keep in touch, as much as adult life would now allow anyway.

You knew his main role was managing a pop star but you'd not caught up in a minute and when you did, you kept your job chat out of the conversation where you could. This is why, as you barge through the kitchen, to the pool outside, you're shocked to nearly knock a stunned Harry Styles onto his behind.

"Fuck, shit I'm so sorry" you clutch your chest looking at the red wine on his tank top and his now empty glass. The soiled garment was tucked into some dressy shorts and partly covered by a loud hawaiian patterned shirt. Oh god what had you done?

You were quite honestly mortified. You'd never actually met the man himself, usually meeting Jeff at his for a few drinks or at a restaurant. You'd heard him mentioned in stories about travelling or how his campaigns were running Jeff into the ground with meetings. So, although you weren't a massive fan of his per se, in the way you didn't ask Jeff for updates or info, the way you'd hope you'd meet the attractive pop star was definitely not this.

He looked down at the offending stain then back up into your eyes, keeping his head angled down and blinking through his lashes. You couldn't read his blank expression and it put you on edge.

Maybe it was the heat trapped in the doorway, but as your eyes stayed locked you suddenly felt a fire spread from your navel up to your cheeks, and then from your center down to your toes. Your lower stomach clenched as you stared back at the guy covered in a good 2007 French rouge.

Fuck me he's pretty, you thought.

A rapid film reel of moments; sweaty bodies, those large biceps holding you against the nearest wall, smacking of lips against skin and moans of release flashed in your brain.

It had definitely been a while since you had got laid in your defense, your mood and pent up sexual frustration getting worse by the day as you tried and failed at the L. A. dating scene. Maybe you were picky, but horny and picky was an awful place to be.

However, the reality of the embarrassing scene you were currently a star of, flipped you back into the present.

Seemingly over the initial incident and hopefully not a mind reader to your thirsty brain, he takes you in and smirks.

Harry knew from the way your breathing hitched looking at his torso that you were at least a bit interested. He had clocked you the second you walked in through the big glass doors. A shirt of a band he liked and a natural beauty he wanted to spend some times with you he pondered. Ideally naked.

Zig zagging across the world promoting the album and had left little time to enjoy another person. Status and obligation to his job making it hard to just go out and meet someone. But here you were, dressed unlike anyone else, looking absolutely adorable in your embarrassment. You must be trustworthy if you're in Jeff's home,he wasn't a "bring your friends too" kind of host with his clients usually around.

This could be a fun evening for you both, he thought. Something unspoken, almost magnetic, drawing you both to one another. Surely that wasn't all his side right?

"I was told it was a good year, but I wasn't planning on consuming it quite this way?" inwardly he rolled his eyes at the barely there quip. But you laughed anyway.

"I am so, so awfully sorry, look, let's see if there's some dish liquid or something, possibly some of my next months rent in there too if I have to replace it" you let out a nervous laugh as you walked towards the kitchen. But in all honesty you weren't kidding.

Harry laughed at your sarcastic remark, impressed by your confidence in owning the situation and getting on with things. He casually watched your hips sway past a few people in to the open plan kitchen with as much subtlety as he could, you were confidentially locating all the parts needed to try and remove the offending stain.

"You seem to know your way around 'ere. I'm er…I'm Harry by the way" awkwardly waving as you mixed some solution in the sink drenching a sponge in it.

"Yeah" you smiled turning from the sink with the damp rag "known Jeff a good while, have definitely spilt red wine here before. I'm Y/N" you giggle. The beam from his own mouth matching.

"Ah! Y/N, of course, I've heard him mention you, didn't you once hide rotting mackerel in a unpleasant guys blazer?" he chuckled

"Heyyyy. Only after he spanked my ass getting him the check. Deserved a hot plate to the crotch too" you shot back.

You weren't sure where to go from here the thought of wetting down the white tank yourself definitely appealed but also seemed far too forward.

"Um…" you began gesturing with the sponge in your hand. You expected him to take it from you to sort himself out but..

"Oh yeah sorry" he replied shimmying his shirt off, dumping it on the back of a bar stool, then, crossing his arms across his stomach and lifting the tank top over his head you were slack jawed and frozen taking in the lean muscles and tattoos littered intermittently across his abdomen. He spread the top across the islands worktop flat, then grabbing the sponge with a simple "thanks" and knitting his eyebrows together in concentration as he tried to rid the dull red mark from it's center.

You still hadn't moved. A pink twinge to your cheeks as you watched his shoulder blades and back muscles scrubbing. Dirty thoughts circling your brain still.

"I would have helped you but I didn't want to start a wet tshirt contest in such a high end establishment yknow?" you thought out loud.

"Oh yeah, good call. I'm fiercely competitive Y/N so would probably be under that fancy waterfall thing by now showing off m'moves in my pants" he wiggles his hips trying to suggestively show you his "moves" but you can't help but smirk at just how endearing this man is. Dammit.

When he's finished with his shirt he drapes it over another barstool before handing you the sponge back.

If anyone asks him if he blatantly and deliberately got naked to gauge if you were into him he'd definitely deny it. But the truth is, he definitely did. Luckily for him, with the way you bite your lip and drag your eyes down his flesh as he brushes past your side to get back to the sink, he's right.

"Speaking of getting in the water in your" you use air quotes "'pants' I'm off to get out of mine" you declare, pushing yourself from the counter and keeping eye contact a second as you stroll back to the sliding doors leading to the pool.

"I… What??"

" The pool Harry?.... What did you think I meant?" you narrow your eyes and press your lips together before shutting the glass door again and turning once more to smirk at the opened mouthed man still by the sink.

--------------------------------

You'd been schmoozing in the water for a few hours now. There were probably only 20 or so people still here and the 3rd frozen marg had got you buzzed. You were in the small hot tub type pool, attached at the top of the main one on a slightly higher level. You hadn't seen Harry for a while but the last few times you caught his eye he'd been surrounded by at least 3 other people fighting for his attention, so you banked your flirtations to soothe your own ego, grabbed another marg and tried to forget about how he had started a tornado inside you, yearning for his hands on your thighs and head peering up at you from where they met in the middle. The strong pull of lust was clearly in your head then. What a shame.

You put it to the back of your mind as you finished catching up with Glenne. Both flushed and giggly as usual, she was the perfect match for Jeff and their chemistry unmatchable. You always enjoyed hanging out with the both of them, if anything, they gave you hope your own match may be out there. She left you in the tub alone, as she went to grab herself another drink and check on her host duties boyfriend.

"Don't you find drinking whilst already in water the weirdest thing?" you look up to find Harry standing over your right shoulder as you sit with your back against the pool wall and your elbows propping you up behind you, drink in one hand. His eyes unsubtley slip down to where your breasts lay pushed together in your halter neck bikini. You definitely weren't imagining it then. Fucking fantastic, you think.

"I mean drowning yourself on the inside from the alcohol and being in more than 4 inches of water really adds a danger element to my life if I'm honest" you reply sipping your drink.

And there goes those dimples again.

He's just in a pair of yellow swimming shorts now which doesn't help the alcohol flush at all. Sitting by your right side, putting his short glass full of amber liquid and ice, on the side of the pool and sliding in to join you. He leaves a small gap, as to not appear a total letch but your smart mouth has him hooked.

Taking a sip of his drink with the water up to his collar bones he hums.

"I do feel incredibly dangerous now, you've got a point"

"I mean if you think that's danger" you edge closer, not drunk but buzzed enough to take your chances you whisper into the shell of his ear. "You should see what thrills are in the guest bathroom. 1st floor on the right? " he chokes on his drink as your suggestive whispers make his dick twitch. He definitely couldn't get out of the pool for a while.

You're gone before you get a verbal reaction. If this all goes badly then you can just hide in there and slip out to an Uber and never see Jeff again right? Right. Cool.

With a soft white towel around you and your heart rate high as you reach the main guest bedroom you enter the room, you notice a large weekend bag in there and freeze. Shit. Someone's staying over, you hadn't factored that in, but a glance to the tag and the embossed H. E. S tells you you're good. Well, if not you'll just be a creep hiding in someone's bathroom but let's not think about it too much. Your faux confidence was working well so far and what other chance was going to arise like this one? Hot celebrities need fun with strangers too right?

Entering the bathroom you rub the towel over you, leaving mostly dry skin. You'd peel away your bikini if you were definite you wouldn't need to peel it back up your limbs should this plan backfire. You move to the mirror to adjust the black flecks from your minimal makeup dispersing under your eye and just as you're about to smooth down the stray baby hairs that humidity has got to around your face, you see Harry appear in the mirror behind you. Your belly flipping over and over with the thrill he'd took the bait.

Wasting no time he smirks and holds your gaze, wrapping his hands around your waist whilst his lips attach to the junction of your neck and collarbone. His tongue drags over your soft skin and he licks and softly sucks swirls onto it with his plush lips.

"Hm. You're right. This is a more fun type of danger" he says between kisses but before he's even finished his sentence you've spun around in his arms.

The bottom of your spine cold against the marble countertop, arms around his neck as you smash your lips into one another's with urgency. Tongues and wet noises as you get to know one another through your bodies alone.

He runs his hands down your back and presses his hard length against your thigh. He's definitely packing you think as you lift up a little rub your pubic bone against his front, panting out a little moan as the sweet friction of your bodies colliding sends you into overdrive. Catching the noise through your parted lips he gently tugs on the bottom one, teeth grazing the supple flesh. This combined with his large palms kneading your ass and pulling you further, tighter, into the roll of his hips. Only two layers of damp clothing separate you,forcing your lips to break from his mouth and fully moan, not caring who may be around. You could not remember the last time a perfect stranger knew your body quite this well.

His own grunts were speeding up when he suddenly grabs the back of your thighs and hoists you up beside the sink, you gasp in shock but it was more the way the lean man thrusted you up there like it was nothing. What else could he do? You expect him to go back to kissing you but instead he pulls back with his rock hard erection outlined in the wet shorts he still has on. Looking at you dead in the eyes both raging with lust and concern. Whilst you try not to worry how you were going to accommodate him inside your tight walls.

"Is this…? I mean, you want this too right?" his hands are resting at either side of your parted thighs. You nod. "Need you to say it Y/N" he steps forward, lips wet and brushes the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip that was now puffy and pink from the earlier biting. He knew you were down to fuck, but now he wanted to test your preferences. What kind of fun you were about to have shall we say. So when you lick his thumb tip, holding his fist still and grazing your wet tongue up and down from knuckle to tip before closing your eyes and humming around the entire digit, he knew you were both in for a good time.

Removing the thumb he whispers a barely audible "fuck me" before smashing your lips back together, tongues massaging together as he peels your underwear to the side with his hand swiftly and presses digit you'd lubricated with your mouth against your clit, moving it fast from side to side with just the right amount of pressure to make your head spin. Gasping, you throw your head back, hands clasped around his neck as you lean back and feel yourself start to leak a little with arousal. The few spots dripping down on to the counter.

You could say it had been a while but really this guy was moving his way round your body in the same way you tune a guitar in key. Calloused fingers applying the right amount of pressure as you felt yourself start to get to the edge already. He was kissing down the front if your chest, between your breasts, not missing a beat when he pushed both triangles of your bikini aside and you moaned loudly as he kissed and sucked hard around your nipple, tentatively pulling it between his teeth firmly, the sound you let out made him clamp a little harder before sucking in the whole nipple again, soothing the skin his tongue. Most likely leaving a mark behind, but you kind of liked the idea of proof he'd been devouring you in all honesty.

You were becoming blissed out from all the stimulation. Clenching and moving your hips around nothing but this magical thumb working your clit up and down hard. You were overcome with this whole situation playing out the way it had. You broke away from his mouth again.

"Oh fuck.. Harry, I'm… FuckFuck I'm going to come, I'm gonna fucking… Ahhh" he pulled back one arm steadying you as your head hit the mirror behind you in your release. He just watched you and slowed his thumb down watching as the liquid cascaded onto the counter.

After you'd come down you open your eyes and shyly smiled before kissing him passionately, his hands moving around your waist tightly. You moved your hand to his shorts, teasingly grazing the outline of his cock between your fingers in hopes of repaying the favour. He does a single throaty laugh and removes your hand, holding himself against his thigh. You look at him in confusion when he splutters,

"Sorry, sorry its just I'm going t'blow my load if you touch me." then he's back on your lips "Too. Fucking. Sexy" he says between wet kisses to your jaw, neck and clavicle. "Wanted to do this since I first set eyes on you" one hand is on the back of his neck twisting nape curls between your fist whilst the other rests behind you, stopping you from hitting your head on the mirror again.

"Oh yeah? Before or after I ruined your clothes?" you laugh teasingly as he slides his hands around your back to finally remove the bikini top properly, lifting it up over your head and tossing it aside somewhere on the floor. He let's a laugh out himself completely entranced still by how natural you are around him, it was often hard to connect with strangers in his position.

"I'd spotted you walking in, was trying to open the door for you m'love" he says before sucking a red mark into your breast and massaging and pulling the other nipple slightly with his hand.

You struggle through sharp intakes of breath for a reply.

"Well….ah...that's what chivalry.. Oh.. Get's you these days I guess" and you're both laughing a little.

"Hmm. Have to try harder with my manners then won't I? I mean, I've got to clear up the mess I've made here" he cups his hand against your pussy rubbing it up and down a little with his palm. You let out a guttural noise at the friction. "Ladies first and all'tha too right?" he giggles again at himself.

You're practically cumming right then, you couldn't remember the last time someone actually went down on you. Your previous boyfriend not particularly into offering you foreplay. A main point of why he didn't stick around too long.

Harry kisses down your abdomen now, soft sloppy, sensual pecks, humming into your skin every so often in appreciation as he works at removing your soaked bikini bottoms with his hands, pushing them down to your knees before you help, letting them fall from the remaining ankle to the ground.

Harry is moving far too slow for you, kissing across each hip down to the top of your slit, breathing over where you desperately need him before paying the other side the same attention. Then he's licking up each crease where your thigh meets your pelvis.

"Y/N, just.. Just turn, that's it and lean back as far as you can there, shuffle forward until can't balance anymore" you shift your ass as forward as possible on the lip of the sink and prop yourself up on your elbows trying to be as flat as possible on the cold counter as you could, your toes behind the sink with one foot the other dangling over the edge. You keep you thighs open as Harry hunches over the counter where you now lay diagonal. He places his arms under your thighs and bends your legs flat out as he can stretch you, you're expecting some more teasing but he just looks down at your pussy licking over his lips and almost whining before burying his tongue inside you immediately. The force of his tongue lapping up your previous climax causes you once again to knock the side of your head against the mirrored wall. You turn and watch the scene almost as a spectator, witnessing yourself bare to this beautiful man, curly brown hair between your fists and making sounds like he's savouring every taste. He catches you watching before taking his mouth off you, immediately, you're whining in protest.

"Watch my eyes not my reflection baby, I'm right here"

His authoritative tone eclipsing every thought you had about the casual nickname, you stared down at the wonderful site of him lapping and suckling on your clit. Pointed tongue and firm laps against the swollen button. He then starts lapping up at your glistening hole,unhooking an arm to spread your lips open between his fingers and licking right from the bottom to the top with all the sloppy wet noises involved. He was feeling you contract as he locked faster and faster over you. His tongue deserved an award never mind his music. You couldn't believe you were on the brink of a second orgasm so quickly but when he sunk his middle finger into you at the same pace his tongue was working at, you were screaming his name into the extractor fan above before you knew it. You felt waves of liquid cascade from your pussy as he gently lapped up the produce of his work from you. You flinched in overstimulation but he cleaned up every last drop tenderly before carefully closing your legs and pivoting you round to your previous sitting up position on the counter. Neither of you had spoken a word since you came but as he leads your arms to drape over your shoulders, holding your fucked out body against his chest whilst peppering your temple with soft pecks . Then he kisses you intensely, letting you taste the sweet juices of yourself on his lips. You hummed in approval of the sweet taste as you came round.

A few minutes of carnal making out and things were heating up again. Your hands cupping his jaw then sliding to graze fingernails up and down his back, digging them in a little harder now and again and causing goosebumps to pierce through the skin rapidly under your touch.

You could feel him swallowing down grunts from the friction he was getting from his shorts covered cock brushing up and down between your slick folds.

He'd made you cum twice. Hard. He always got off of making his partners cum of course, so he was feeling beyond turned on and the slight heat of your glistening folds against his length was almostvsending him over the edge.

"I want you inside me" you whispered against his lips desperately.

No sooner had you said the words, his left hand was frantically searching through the vanities top drawer in hope. Finding a packet, checking the date quickly then tearing it between his teeth, spitting the seal onto the floor and pushing his shorts to his ankles, stepping out of them at speed before kicking them away.

He smirked when he caught your eyes bulge at his cock. He knew it was above average but the reaction was always a further compliment he thought.

Stepping forward he put on a show of putting the condom on, first rubbing the drops of sticky pre cum at the head and down his length keeping his eyes locked to yours as you wriggled on the counter with anticipation. He whined a little as it squeezed him rolling it on, so red and over sensitive from turning you on. So that's why, when you grabbed for it, he stilled your hand. Dimples appearing back in his cheeks as you looked again in confusion. He kisses you, languishing the moment before grabbing you forward from the countertop to the floor again, still keeping your lips attached. He lightly grips at your hips and turns you round to face the mirror once more.

Harry lightly grabs your throat, and the way you whimper and push your ass back against him, makes him mentally bank that idea for later perhaps. He runs his left hand up the column of your neck lightly holding your jaw between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look at him with his hand on your face and the other already working up and down your folds.

"I want you to watch us. Want you to watch yourself come apart. Want to watch you cum around my cock yeah? " he whispers in your ear. You noticeably shiver with excitement of what's to come.

"Please Harry, please, need it, need you."

You watch yourself babble and beg for his cock. The pathetic whimper from yourself as you try and circle your ass into his crotch again to encourage it happening. You were never patient and he's driving you insane here.

Bringing two fingers infront of your lips as you watch yourself in the mirror he looks you dead in the eye through the reflection.

"Spit" so you do, "good girl" he says kissing your cheek. His saliva lubed fingers are back rubbing your clit quickly whilst his knee nudges the back of yours to spread your feet wider as he kisses the back of your neck and shoulders. When he pauses next you're not expecting the hard thrust of him entering you entirely, sure you were dripping wet with the result of two orgasms but you cry out in a mix of stretch and pleasure as he pounds into you at a furious pace. His spare hand not on your clit is holding the bottom of your spine down as he keeps up his rhythm. His pace was that of a man desperate for release after watching you fall apart on his fingers and tongue. The build up meant he was already close as you tight walls fluttered around him. He pleads with you to stop tightening your walls around him or he's not going to last he whimpers.

You were already close again, you'd never cum this many times or this quickly in your life but you were ready for another round and by the sounds of him and the stutter his pace kept slipping you knew he was close too.

You quickly removed his hand, sucking your own fingers into your mouth to replace his own at your clit.

"M'gonna cum, but… OhOh fuck.. But need you harder. Deeper" you manage to get out.

He grunts a curse before squeezing your hips at a pressure that will leave marks tomorrow but the delight in the speed he was now able to snap his hips against the swells of your ass, was well worth it. It only took a few more seconds with the fingers that knew you best, for you to gush against his cock. Feeling absolutely exhausted you slump your sweaty chest onto the cold counter.

His orgasm taking him by surprise when you clenched up to milk him dry. He all but shouts your name as his hips stutter and you feel the warmth of his cum fill the one barrier between you.

His lips were back on your sweaty neck for a second whilst he disposed of the used condom. He ran the walk in shower and wordlessly you took his offered hand to join him under the hot spray. You'd never had an encounter end like this before not that you were a seasoned professional but after 3 orgasms the way his hands moved round your body under the water, washing away your antics with sweet strawberry-banana smelling suds on the flannel, left you with a warm floaty feeling the worn off alcohol never had.

He gently wipes your makeup from under your eyes then, smiling at the cute way your nose wrinkles slightly as he rubs at each eyebrow.

"I don't even have words" you finally laugh out blushing, not able to stand his gauge as you say it.

"Oh. So that's how to make that smart mouth o'yours stop is it? " he grins, you gasp in mock offense and go to say something but going under your chin with his thumb with his forefinger to connect your lips under the warm water spray he kisses you when you pull away you can't help but ask.

"So does this make us even on one ruined fancy vest then?"

"Hmmmm" he ponders with both hands on your face looking at the ceiling out if the falling water. " I'm not sure, I mean it was a custom, pretty high going rate those yeah"

"Yeahhhh you're right, you're right. Better factor in the cost of the custom job then hadn't I huh?"

You hurriedly sink to your knees on the tiled floor.

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