#I feel so stupid so fucking stupid. Fucking hurting myself in a blind fit of despair

[staraxiaa]

sunflowers, the afterword:

author's corner/first thoughts.

okay. so. i am insane. i am a god. i just wrote 18k words for a fic that i thought of, planned, and created fully in less than two days, bc someone said i like to make ppl suffer and yes i do. but then i was like, i am GOING to write fluff and i took it personally. to that one reader, thank you!! anyways. i wrote this with the intent of using the prompt "you wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid" and barely even ended up using it. i don't know whether to laugh or cry. i hope it doesn't flop but also it's okay if it does bc i literally spent almost 48 hours brainrotting and word vomiting like it's out of my brain now and this feels glorious. it was random unfiltered thoughts and grinding away at 3am until i am empty. no thoughts left in my head. can you see? i could eat the world raw, the itch has been scratched. the sheer amount of motivation i had w this fic is never happening again. cheers! will update as i think of things! sorry to anyone who ends up reading this fully. i have been unreasonably fixated and have brainrotted over this for two hours, inclusive of sleeptime. while sleeping. i kid you not. i would wake up and something would click and i would hop over to the laptop and fucking grind away i am so sick of myself

unwritten scenes, headcanons

you guys are 20. you haven't started dating yet. you're a doctor. you guys are yelling at each other. you say 'you want to kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid.' katsuki's so angry that he does. ⇁ this was the original ending btw but i thought this one kinda fit better he brings you sunflowers sometime. real ones. he's sneezing all the while. you take one look at him and you die of laughter. he's still sneezing. you tell him: you know i actually didn't even care about them until i found out you were allergic. ⇁ if i could write nsfw i would do it here like dude do u see the vision omfg a whole side plot where he's like what the fuck do you mean you weren't dating deku. you're like. what the fuck. are u stupid. someplace where you actually address how you treat midoriya, his lack of a quirk, and how you stood by and watched it all happen ua sports festival. you kick everyone's ass. #you have been trained by eraserhead and you are super duper cool i also don't remember if i included this, but: your mother asks you after the first evening. "you're not really friends are you." you say: "nope!" and it is the happiest she has ever seen you. the ua boys try to flirt with you and get hurt really stupidly a lot on purpose. you wonder why they've stopped showing up. it's bc katsuki gives them a whole earful. and you're like bitch what the fuck im a doctor and and hes just tsundere about it first kiss scene instead of the ending where he's like you care and you're like of course i do??? what the fuck?? are u stupid?? you guys start yelling at each other and you're both acting like ur 2. he calls you stupid and blind. you call him ugly. he's so mad he literally just lurches forward and kisses you. it's awkward and messy and you guys are so mad at each other. you literally headbutt him in the face. ah young love. ⇁ this was another alternative ending more exploration behind reader's character, her insecurities, and about some of the stuff i info dumped before the start of the katsuki povs? i feel like i didn't handle that as well as i could have, but i also didn't want to go on 10 billion tangents for things that had very little relevance to the story. i also think the transition to the last scene was a little abrupt, but tbh at that point i was just so ready to call it like. i just didn't see the point. i think it would have made for a more natural reading experience, so here's the tea: he's proud of u but u guys are angsty and ignore each other until after training camp. [more brainrot pining moments]. if i had to write the above scene, i think i'd do something along the lines of: you're first aid relief at the sports festival, not actively participating. dunno if you'd be nearly as badass, though. you definitely get pissed when they muzzle katsuki and probably get rly mad but ofc u cant show it. so u just unmuzzle him and walk away and hes staring after u. this is ur ??? elsa arc? i dont remember the disney princess. the training camp is torture. aizawa makes u run with them. you tell him straight up that u hate his guts. he grins like that is the best thing anyone has told him in his life. katsuki definitely blows up some earth monsters for u. but while ur not looking. he's angsty like that. the bath scene? oh lord u just know he blows mineta up. maybe he lowk fucks it up too and you have to heal it! the potential HAHAHA. i dont know how you end up getting kidnapped, but id probably just bullshit a reason like ur the #1 healer in the world hurr durr and afo wants u! idgaf if the plot makes sense or not this is entirely secondary to my scheming. katsuki just about loses it when he hears you're one of the targets -> how you get kidnapped? idk. you're not a remedial student, so you're probably participating in the game (odd number of ppl right). unsure of how i'd handle the news of your kidnapping: just know katsuki loses it again. for like the 5th time. yipppeeeeee

character notes, thoughts

your quirk is literally just you take people's injuries into your own body and heal it yourself. you're superhuman. i put 2 thoughts into this: 1) you're a healer and 2) i like cool characters. congratulations. you have now been born. i don't even remember if i kept the shouto scene. but anyways i think my bias was showing. just had to throw him in there. also the kuroo mention. sorry i'm totally normal and i mean it ⇁ btw i love you all (everyone who likes/interacts with my fics) but i joke to my friends everytime someone interacts w my first bakugo/midoriya ones from lacuna bc guys!!! my shoto fic is RIGHT THERE!!! the baby that launched the entire collection. please show him some love this reader is probably one of the favorite ones i have written, more of an oc at this point i think, and i wasn't expecting her to grow on me so much. but lowk i love her and am so proud of the way i wrote her growth!! i do feel like i wrote her very soft, but i hope her flaws were made very clear⏤ she is meant to be a sort of unreliable narrator, so she also is overly critical of her own, but there were several things that were not addressed as i was writing, particularly concerning midoriya. (quirk, the bullying, bystander's guilt.) however, i think that including them would have made me go off on a tangent, and detract more from the main point of the story i also do think i wrote katsuki a little ooc, if only because i didn't see the point of including what's already there in canon. sorry. my brainrot did not extend that far, and by the end of this, i was literally ready to drop. his perspective isn't meant to be all-encompassing (in the story, it may seem like it purely bc of how i paced it) but those are meant to be like. random thoughts that appear in several scenes. reader does not have bakugo living rent free in her head 24/7, and neither does he. they're just stupid and pining and i just wrote all the moments in my head where they do.

[mccncreatures]

Asher stood in the shadow of the towering mausoleums, the stillness of the cemetery pressing down on him like a heavy blanket. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, a fitting backdrop for the turmoil churning inside him. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he approached the familiar gravestone marked "Jules Lockwood." His mother's grave was simple, understated, just as she had been in life. Asher knelt down, tracing the etched letters with his fingertips, feeling the cold stone beneath his skin.

He closed his eyes, letting the memories of his mother wash over him. Her laughter, her kindness, the way she always knew how to make him feel safe. But beneath that warmth, there was a sadness—a sadness he had never fully understood until he was older. Jules had loved him with everything she had, but she had been powerless to protect him from the harshness of his father's expectations. Asher swallowed hard, trying to push down the knot of grief that threatened to choke him.

After a few moments, he stood, his gaze drifting over to another grave a short distance away. The headstone was larger, more imposing, and bore the name "Tyler Lockwood." Asher's steps were slow, hesitant, as he made his way to his father's final resting place. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing with a mixture of anger, confusion, and a longing for answers that would never come.

He stopped in front of the grave, staring down at the polished granite. For a long time, he said nothing, just stood there with his hands in his pockets, his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. Finally, the words began to spill out, unbidden and raw.

"You know, I used to come here hoping to find some sort of peace, some way to understand why you were the way you were," Asher began, his voice low and rough. "But every time I stand here, all I can think about is how much of my life I wasted trying to be the man I thought you were."

The wind rustled through the trees, carrying with it the faint scent of flowers from a nearby grave. Asher's fists tightened at his sides, his nails digging into his palms.

"I tried, Dad. I tried so damn hard to live up to your expectations, to be that golden boy you wanted…. But no matter what I did, it was never enough for you, was it?" His voice cracked, the words trembling on the edge of a sob. "You pushed me so hard—harder than I ever should have been pushed. And for what? To make me strong? To make me tough? You thought breaking me down would build me up, but all it did was leave me open to hurt, to doubt, to this...this emptiness inside that I can never seem to fill. Great friends, great job. Kaya, Ingrid, all the family I’ve got left and I still feel so fucking empty."

Asher could feel the anger rising within him, a hot, burning rage that had simmered for years. "Do you remember high school? Do you remember how you used to yell at me when I didn’t hit some impossible standard you set? Team didn’t win, all me. My fault. B on a test? I was lazy. Or stupid. You thought that if you just pushed me a little harder, I'd finally be the son you were supposed to be. But all you did was make me hate myself. I’d lie awake at night, replaying every word you said, every time you called me weak or pathetic."

The anger surged, blinding him to everything but the fury boiling over. His chest heaved with the force of his emotions, and before he knew it, he was moving—his fist connecting with the headstone in a single, furious punch. The stone cracked, a jagged line splitting through the name "Tyler Lockwood."

"You think this makes you proud?" he shouted, his voice breaking with the intensity of his emotions. "You think I should be thankful for the way you treated me? All those nights when you’d get so angry, when you’d—” Asher's voice faltered, the memories of those nights flooding back. The times when Tyler's anger had crossed a line, when the arguments had turned physical. Holes in walls, bruises on his skin. Asher had always tried to block it out, to tell himself it was just his father’s way of trying to make him stronger. But now, standing in front of his grave, all those justifications felt hollow.

"You didn’t just push me, Dad—you broke me. And the worst part is, I let you. I let you shape me into someone who’s always doubting, always questioning if I'm good enough. And you know what? I’m tired. I’m tired of carrying this weight, of trying to live up to a memory that doesn’t even deserve it."

The anger drained out of him as quickly as it had come, leaving Asher feeling hollow, like a shell of himself. He stood there, staring at the broken headstone, his chest heaving with the effort of holding back the tears that threatened to spill.

"I don’t even know why I’m telling you this," he muttered, more to himself than to the grave. "You’re not here. You can’t hear me. But I needed to say it...I needed to let it out."

Asher’s shoulders slumped, the fight leaving his body as he dropped to his knees in front of the broken headstone. The anger had burned out, leaving only a deep, aching sadness in its wake. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against the cold stone, the crack running like a scar between them.

"I’m lost, Dad," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I spent so long trying to be what you thought I should be, and now...I don’t even know who I am. I just...I just wanted you to be proud of me. And I’m trying, but it’s so damn hard."

For a moment, the only sound was the wind rustling through the trees, the cemetery eerily silent around him. Asher stayed there, letting the silence wash over him, grounding him in the present.

Finally, he stood, feeling lighter, though no less sorrowful. He looked down at the shattered headstone, a deep breath calming the storm inside him. The break in the stone felt symbolic, a crack in the foundation of the man who had tried to shape him through pain and anger.

[shall-we-go-far-away]

okay, okay ep. 5 & 6: holy shit that was one hell of a ride wasn't it? (maybe whoever is reading this also saw my panicked posts from wednesday, yes I was losing my mind)

I'll try to do this as structured as possible but I can't promise anything so prepare for it to be just as all over the place as wednesday's episodes.. get ready, buckle up I have a lot of things to say:

first and foremost: FUCK YOU TAEHYUNG!! I was trying to be nice last time giving him a second chance and all because yk, I thought maybe just because he was annoying once, doesn't mean he has to be all the time but fuck was I wrong.. is he genuinely so stupid that he doesn't realize how his words affect jaewon or does he just straight up choose to ignore it?? or is it simply the mixture of both because wtf dude?? this guy is so blinded by his jealousy it's crazy like bro, how about you try and make it less obvious?? and considering how angry and uncomfortable he makes me (and jaewon) I was sooo glad jihyun and aeri were there and so happy to see they quickly picked up on how jaewon reacted and then decided to team up against taehyung (rightfully so)

especially jihyun (my cute little bean) was so attentive the entire time he really took one look at jaewon and immediately recognized something was off.. and because he was watching him so closely his reaction to jaewon slamming his hand on the table came almost naturally

moving on to aeri, I still think she's a bit much but that's probably because I'm introverted as fuck and she's clearly not.. I do really like her and jihyun's dynamic and loved their little class-skipping-shopping-sequence like you go besties!!

back to the junior-senior get together: that cut to jaewon being absolutely wasted was kinda scary and really shows how much he's struggling with everything and that he doesn't know how to properly cope with it.. and this little part of dialogue really stuck with me so once again props to jihyun for this simple yet very deep response

"you're not acting like yourself."

"hey, what is 'acting like myself'?"

"that's up to you."

I just feel like jaewon never heard something like this, he always had to fit into this box that the people around him created for him so someone saying who you are is up to you is complete news to him

harsh cut to jaewon waking up and the flashback with his brother: that shit hurt!! for some reason I expected his brother to be closer to him age wise (not that this would make him dying any less horrible) but when I saw jaewon with this little boy that just shattered me and jaewon just sitting there sobbing and desperately trying to put the camera back together was so painful to watch

skip to the beginning of episode 6: the scene of them in the car was also kinda hard to watch seeing jaewon so out of it like he wasn't even fully there (a quick round of applause for lim jisub who portrays this haunted look very well) apart from that I really liked that even though jaewon didn't answer jihyun's question he didn't let go and kept asking until eventually he gets an answer from jaewon

and now we're at a point where things started to get a little confusing for me:

while watching I felt like something was off, I couldn't pinpoint what it was (most of the time my brain has all the pieces of information but I can't put them together) but the episode felt different and then I saw a post on here (I tried not to read too much because I wanted most of this post to be my own impression) that said we might be seeing everything from jaewon's blurry, medication induced view which is why some things don't seem to add up and I think that's true or at least somewhat close to what was happening

I was actually debating which route to go with because so many possibilities about what was actually happening in ep. 6 came to my mind at first I actually thought jaewon might've overdosed in the car and ep. 6 didn't happen at all but were a hallucination or nightmare (what made me think that was the weirdly bright lighting and everything looking kinda blurry which always was an indicator of a dream or something unreal happening in any sort of media I've ever seen) but I don't think so anymore I would actually go with what I mentioned above and this blurry look comes from jaewon's medication

OOOR they chose this lighting to show how this entire trips feels like a dream because it's only jaewon and jihyun, completely separated from other people and far from their actual lives so of course that feels somewhat dream like

what I'm trying to say is: I don't think the entire episode was fake

I think making it all fake would be a waste of an episode and judging from the rest of the show so far it doesn't really seem like something the creators would do.. I think?? (maybe that's why I want some of the theories here to be true so bad because I don't want this episode to be wasted as a dream or whatever)

I would also agree with others that jihyun is probably fine, maybe a little shaken and scared but not physically hurt.. I think we see the accident happen from jaewon's pov and he's imagining it way worse than it is

nonetheless that shit scared me, how the entire mood switched and went so dark all of a sudden and then jaewon screaming jihyun's name.. I think the worst part were the silent credits and damn, that silence was loud.. let's just say, I cried..

alright, I think that's it.. I kind of lost focus in the end so idk if I actually said everything I wanted to but I think I covered most of it

[casspurrjoybell-20]

FOOLS Fall - Chapter 28 - Part 1

BOOK TWO: The 'Fools Fall in Love' Trilogy

*Warning - Adult Content*

Noah Wright

I stayed in my bedroom, hating myself as Sam screamed that he hated me for all good reason and I felt like dying.

That would be easier, wouldn't it?

Not being in this fucked up world just to fuck up other people's lives?

Just one handful of pills and I'd be set.

Sam was right, I couldn't handle any hardship, my emotions get too heightened and out of control, it was overwhelming.

Everything was too much, I felt as though I was suffocating, drowning in the unseen waves of emotions crashing over me again and again.

Every time I go to catch my breath, another wave would hit me.

I was pacing back and forth in my room, taking deep breaths.

I just needed space between us but I didn't mean to break up with him, my mind was too overstimulated to think.

Each time Sam shouted at me, I wanted to open the door and pull him into a hug but when I reached for the door, that was when he yelled that he hated me and I backed away.

I knew he didn't mean it, he was only lashing out but he should hate me.

It would make things easier, I wouldn't feel guilty or selfish about offing myself.

When I heard the door slam shut, I screamed all types of curse words aimed at myself and the universe, swiping shit off my dresser in my fit of frustration.

My mind was black scribbles and all I could hear was white noise as I stormed out of my room, across the hall into the bathroom.

Opening the mirror door that stored all the medicine, I grabbed the Tylenol bottle.

The only thing on my mind as I dumped the bottle into the palm of my hand was, Sam is better off.

He'd be happy.

That's all I wanted and I was too fucked up to give him that.

My shaking hands pissed me off more as I brought my hand up and...

I was yanked back, the pills dropping from my palm.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Ciera yelled, turning me around and taking my wrist in her hands.

Ciera was surprisingly strong for being her petite size, so when I tried to shove her away and break free, she held on.

"What the fuck does it look like I'm doing?"

I tried pushing her, too blinded by my emotions to comprehend my actions but somehow we ended up sitting on the bathroom floor.

"How could you be so stupid?" Ciera hissed but her expression was filled with worry.

"She came back and... and Sam knew this whole time," I sputtered out and that was when I realized I was crying.

Sobbing, actually.

"Who came back?"

"My mom and Sam knew. He... he fucking talked to her and didn't say shit to me. How fucked up is that? I don't want to see her and I don't want to see him."

That was partly a lie, I wished Sam was there with me in that moment and not Ciera.

Though, after the fact, I was very grateful Ciera got there when she did but I didn't feel grateful then because Ciera was preventing me from the repugnant action that I believed, religiously, would be the only way to fix everything.

"It hurts so much. Everything hurts and it won't go away," I yelled and pounded my head with my hands continuously.

"Hey, hey, stop," Ciera rushed out her demands as she grabbed my wrists and this time she didn't let go.

"It hurts so fucking much, I don't want them here."

"Sam and your mom are not here. Just you and me, okay?"

I didn't respond and we sat there for a bit as Ciera tried calming me down.

"Why don't we get out of this bathroom and maybe..."

Ciera looked panicked as she thought but kept calm in her tone.

"Have you eaten?"

She stood up, still holding onto me so I'd stand up as well and guided us into my living room.

"You sit on the couch and I'll make us food, okay?" I sat on the couch feeling numb but also odd.

I tried killing myself and now Ciera's making me lunch?

I took deep but shaky breaths before realization settled in.

The white noise seemed to turn down and the scribbles in my head untangled just enough.

Guilt and embarrassment are the emotions that came to the surface.

My head fell into my hands, my elbows on my knees keeping me steady and I breathed in and out rhythmically until my heart rate eased.

Looking up at Ciera, she had a black, plastic spoon in a pot, stirring.

"That was stupid," I said because what the fuck do you say after a suicide attempt?

"Yeah, that was."

Ciera didn't speak anything more while she cooked us food and I stared at my cell-phone, thinking about calling Sam.

I tossed my phone onto the coffee table and stood up.

In the kitchen, Ciera added butter, milk and a cheese packet into a pot of hot noddles that were strained of water.

Mac and Cheese.

"What were you even doing here?" I asked instead of thanking her for all she had done.

"I was coming to check in on you. You didn't show up yesterday and Jude told me your birthday was a triggering day for you."

She looked away from the pot and at me.

"He didn't explain further than that," she assured me.

"Bowls?"

I reached up into the cabinet behind her and grabbed us two bowls.

I handed them to her and she continued as she gave each of us spoonfuls of the classic cheesy noodles.

"And when I got here, I saw Sam leaving in a sobbing mess, he didn't even notice me. Your door was unlocked, so I just came in and heard you... ya' know, being upset and then... yeah," she explained then held a bowl out to me.

I took it.

"Thank you," I murmured as we took our seats.

"Not just for the food."

"I know and I also know that you are not in the right mindset to be alone, so I will be staying with you, on your couch until I feel you at fit to live alone or when you kick me out," Ciera spoke seriously, like there was no debate as she ate her food without looking at me.

"And if you want to tell me why you had a handful of pills in your hand, I'm all ears or we can sit in silence."

We sat in silence.

Ciera stayed the entire day just sitting on my couch and watching T.V. or mindlessly on her phone or making food.

She even took care of the spilt pills in the bathroom.

It was oddly comforting, her silence and her presence.

While Ciera did whatever, I stayed on the couch all day, besides when I went to the bathroom to which Ciera demanded I leave the door unlocked and threatened to barge in if I took longer than two minutes.

Around eleven pm when I stood up and Ciera broke the silence.

"Where are you going?"

I ignored her, feeling her gaze on my head as I walked down the hall and into my room.

I grabbed my comforter and went back to the couch.

I sat next to Ciera and plopped the blanket over us.

Ciera had put on the movie, Mean Girls.

"Thank you for staying here," I didn't look at her as I talked, feeling too guilty and ashamed for what she walked in on.

"But you don't have to."

"My brother," Ciera started slow and thoughtful.

"He attempted... suicide," that got me to face her.

"I stopped him in time," she took a deep breath.

"Two weeks later he tried again and succeeded," Ciera swallowed and looked at me, her eyes watery but she held herself together like she always did.

"Statistically, if you try once, you'll try again, so I'm going to stay here or I'm going to send your stupid ass to a hospital. You choose."

Ciera stayed the night.

[annwrites]

a house in hawkins. part six.

— pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader

— type: part of a series

— summary: you & billy have breakfast together & talk a bit more before he drops you off near home. scott gets a taste of his own medicine when he loses you forever.

— tags: fuck scott, all my homies hate scott. love billy, all my homies love billy. travis is there too.

— tw: mentions of grooming, eating

— word count: 3,318

— a/n: i know this chapter is shorter, but there's only 3 left after this one & 2/3 will be of a similar length.

— tag list: @stoneyweezin @ganjas-shit

You and Billy eat breakfast together, only the radio playing softly in the background as you take a bite of your French toast.

He glances up to you. “If you’re still hungry after, I can make more. Whatever you want.”

You don’t know how to react to the kindness he shows you. What you’ve done to possibly deserve it. No man had ever treated you in such a way before. You can’t even lump Travis in with him, because if it wasn’t for the sex…

You nod, taking another bite.

You then look back to him from under your lashes, memories of last night returning. Him…shooting down your offer. “Why didn’t you want to have sex with me?” You ask quietly.

His head shoots up, brows furrowing.

It’s not that you would’ve wanted to. If he had… Whatever small shred of you that was still present when he took you into his arms as he held you—as you fell apart in them—would’ve died the moment he shoved himself inside of you, taking another piece of you away for his own carnal pleasure.

The last piece of you.

“That’s just…never happened to me before. Do…do you think I’m ugly?”

He shakes his head, swallowing, reaching a callused hand toward you, resting it atop your own. “You know I don’t. I told you Thursday that I thought—think—you’re beautiful. I knew in that moment that you…were far away from me. I could never do something like that to you and live with myself after. The last thing I ever want is to be yet one more man that’s hurt you. Taken advantage.”

“But…you said when you were my age—about getting laid-”

He shakes his head. “It may not seem it, but that was a long time ago. And I’m not saying it was always right—me just…” He sighs. “I know some of the girls I slept with had been hoping for more from me, while I knew I had just been using them for one thing. If I could take it all back, I would. All I can do now is learn from my past mistakes, and make sure I never make them ever again. Honestly, I haven’t had sex with anyone since I was eighteen.”

He looks to you, grinning. “I went celibate.”

You wonder what that must be like: getting to not have sex. It’s never been a choice for you. Not since shortly after you turned fourteen. Your body then belonged to others to use as they saw fit, when they saw fit.

How could you have ever thought what you and he had was love?

Your skin crawls at every memory of him—seeing him in an entirely different light now. And certainly not a flattering one. God, you fucking hate him. How you had swung from one extreme to the other in not even twenty-four hours…

You’d truly never thought you would ever feel anything else for him other than complete adoration.

You had been so stupid. So blind.

But now you saw crystal-clear.

You take another bite of your food. “I don’t want to go home.”

Tears sting your eyes when you say it. You refuse to look at him after doing so. You know you can’t stay here. You feel pathetic for practically insinuating that you want to. You can’t make yourself his problem. He’s still a stranger to you…isn’t he?

You wonder if he regrets ever meeting you.

Especially after last night.

You would.

If you could leave you, too, you would.

He leans in toward you. “If you want to stay here, you’re more than welcome-”

You can’t let him finish that offer. If he does, you might just take it. But then they would find you. And they would hurt him. And it would be all your fault.

That you couldn’t live with.

Couldn’t.

You shake your head. “I can’t, anyway. Legally, I guess. I’m still seventeen. So, if I was reported missing and found here…” You trail off.

He sits back, thinking for a moment. “When do you turn eighteen?”

You take another small bite. “At the end of this week. The same day I graduate, actually. Last week was my last week in school.”

He nods. “Do you think you can hold on for that long? Maybe, when you can, you either come here or to the other house. Just…stay away from all of them as much as possible. Once that time is up, you’re free to go and do as you please. You won’t ever have to see them again. I…I have an extra bedroom. I’m just using it for storage right now. It’s just…if you need a safe place to go—to live…”

He trails off, now nervous. He hopes to God that you don’t misconstrue his offer.

You grow quiet and he begins to sweat. Perhaps if he’d used different wording…

“What would you expect in repayment?”

“Nothing. Just for you to be happy. That’s it. I wouldn’t touch you.”

You look at him, trying to picture yourself making a home here, alongside him. As friends? Housemates? What if he eventually found a woman he wanted to be with? You being here would only serve to complicate things, if not drive her away entirely. And then he would come to resent you for ruining his life.

Not like you wouldn’t anyway just by being near him. That’s what you did.

You ruined everything.

Unclean…

Maybe he had a hard life growing up. But nothing like yours. He would never understand you.

No one can. Nor will they ever.

You’re broken. Have been since the beginning. It’s why she left. She saw it the moment she gave birth to you. She had to of.

You stand, the food on your plate only half-eaten, your appetite now gone. “I think I should head home.”

He’d desperately hoped for an agreement. For your own sake, if nothing else, but he knows you still have some time to decide. He understands that you’ll need to think about it. He just hopes you do. That you choose what’s right for yourself—even if it’s not him; his home.

You roll your window down just a bit, letting the cool fresh morning air kiss your skin as Billy heads in the direction of your house.

He speaks, breaking the comfortable silence. “You have my numbers right. The ones I wrote down?”

You turn to him, nodding. “In my bag.”

He stares out the windshield. “Just remember what I said—any time, day or night. You keep calling until I answer, and I’ll be there.”

You nod gently, wondering if he truly means it.

You know he does.

“I will.” There’s a beat of silence, then, “Thank you. For everything. If we hadn’t met…” You trail off when you feel a lump forming in your throat. “I’m just glad you were there last night. How…how did you know I was, though?”

He shrugs. “I watched you leave the parking lot with him, and the look on your face… I knew something wasn’t right. I tried to go back home, but I couldn’t fucking sleep. I just…had this feeling in the pit of my stomach. So I went driving around, trying to clear my head, I guess. And then I spotted you, heading down that path. So I followed you. I’m so glad I did. If I hadn’t…”

He shakes his head, hands tightening around the wheel. The things he wanted to do to Scott—to all of them—would put him in prison for well past his lifetime. He’d be buried on the damn grounds, and have no regrets over it. Because you would finally be safe. And they will have finally paid.

He clears his throat. “Are you sure about this? Going back there—if they show up-”

You nod, knowing you have a plan. “I will. I promise. I know what I’m doing. And I have someone to turn to. At the very least, a safe place or two to go now. I…have options.”

You’re not used to that. You’ve never had it before. Not really. None of their homes were truly safe places for you, because being within their walls came with expectations and stipulations.

But not with Billy.

He hates that he’s taking you back. He wants nothing more than to turn the damn Camaro back around, but he can’t make all your choices for you. Unlike them. At least he’d be doing what’s best for you. Whereas they only think of themselves.

He can’t wrap his head around how the fuck they can—could—do it. Get away with it. Fourteen-fucking-years-old. You’d been a kid—a little girl with trust and love in her heart. And they had seen it; twisted it to fit their narrative. Until at least one of the sick bastards had you completely wrapped around his finger—at his beck and call—while you got nothing in return. Nothing but abuse.

You deserved so much fucking better. You deserved the picture of a safe and happy home you had painted for him last night. You deserved that and so, so much more. He wanted…he wanted to give that to you. If he’d felt like that even at nineteen, it would’ve scared the shit out of him.

But now? It…gives him purpose. Looking out for you. After you. He understands the two of you haven’t spent an incredible amount of time together yet, but he can easily admit that you’re the one person in all the world that knows him better than anyone else now.

He wonders if he’s that for you, too. He’d like to think so. No one else knew about the house. Only one other even knew about your abortion, and that was because you’d had no other choice than for him to know, even if you didn’t want him to.

Then again, him finding out about the house hadn’t exactly been due to your invitation to him. He wonders if you somehow feel like he violated you in some way by just waltzing right in. And then what he’d done when you locked yourself in that room…

He glances to you, then back to the road. “I’m sorry.”

You look at him.

He continues. “For following you to the house. You…you’d found a safe place for yourself. Away from men, until another one just walked right in, bothering you—questioning you. And then what I did with the doorknob that second day-”

You shake your head. “I was bothered by it at first. Because…it felt like the only place I had that was mine. Just mine. Where I could be—do—anything I wanted without witnesses or…being touched or leered at or…” You trail off. “I know if I had asked you again after that first day—genuinely—to leave and never come back, you would’ve. I think…I think part of me had hoped for it, actually. You returning. To see that you—anyone—cared enough to bother with actually getting to know me…with my clothes on. And you did—have. I was so lonely. You don’t understand just how much. Meeting you…I think…”

Were you about to say this? After last night—all he’d done for you—yes, you were. “It’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

He nods, a muscle in his jaw feathering. He sniffs. “I feel the same.”

You smile.

And so does he.

You have Billy drop you off a little less than half-a-mile away from the house, and when you come into the front yard and take it in, you see it with different eyes now. You see the imperfections that had been there all this time, but you’d genuinely been unable to see. The shingles that were missing, the cracks in the siding, the wilted flowers and chipped paint, missing shutters. The list went on.

Had it truly been like this all along? So imperfect, so flawed—all while you had made up an entire delusion in your mind that it was anything but.

You walk up the front steps, one bending under the weight of your foot—the wood warped—and head inside, going to your room and silently shutting the door behind you.

The first thing you do is take the note Billy had given you, with his phone numbers, address, and his workplace, and hide it under a floorboard where it will never be found by anyone but you.

The fact you have to take such measures in the first place…you truly despised them all now.

You would rather be anywhere but here. Billy’s, or at the house, paddling around in the pond, admiring your nesting dolls and doing a bit more work on the place.

You hate it here.

You lie on your bed, hoping you don’t see either of them today. And if you do…you wonder if Scott will pretend like everything is the same as it always has been between the two of you. If so—he has a far different reaction from you coming. One that will set his world on fire. At the very least, fill him with rage. And he won’t be able to take it out on you this time. Nor ever again.

You can’t wait.

When you wake, it’s a little over an hour later, and you hear voices outside. When you peek out of your bedroom window, you fill with nausea at the sight of Scott and Joe standing by one another speaking to your dad, but then fill with excitement when you spot Travis pulling up in his cruiser.

Perfect.

You quickly strip out of the clothes Billy had lent you—gently folding them before stuffing them in the back of one of your dresser drawers—and throw on a sundress, tying your hair in a high ponytail and slipping on a pair of sandals before heading out of the house and down the front porch.

You don’t look at Scott once—refuse to even acknowledge his presence, even if you can feel his eyes on you; know he has a smile on his face, thinking you’re coming to him—as you keep your eyes trained directly on Travis.

When he sees you, a wide smile comes across your face as you call his name and break into a sprint. You throw yourself into his arms, jumping up, wrapping your legs around his waist and crushing your lips to his as you run your fingers through his hair.

God, you hope it fucking hurts Scott to watch you replace him so easily.

You pull away, smiling down at him warmly, your fingers softly running along the back of his neck.

He reaches up with the hand that’s not currently supporting your bottom, a look of elated awe across his features as he tucks some hair behind your ear, cupping your cheek. “Hi, baby,” he says, astounded at your sudden display of affection.

“Hi,” you reply softly before peppering him in kisses, making him laugh and hold you tighter.

You don’t see Scott making to step toward the two of you—his hands balled into tight fists—before Joe’s arm shoots out across his chest, stopping him.

Travis stares up at you. “Someone woke up in a good mood today.”

You nod gently. “I missed you.”

He grins. “It’s not even been a day, baby.”

You shrug slightly. “I miss you every time we’re away from each other.”

He smiles, eyes filled with joy.

“Is she home today?”

He shakes his head. “At her friend’s all day, staying overnight for some nesting party or other.”

You give him another peck on the lips. “Can I come over and we spend the day together?”

He quickly nods. “Of course you can, baby.”

Slowly, he lowers you to the ground and you stare up at him with a smile. “Come inside and help me back a bag?”

You take his hand in yours, twining your fingers together, pulling him in that direction.

Travis shuts your bedroom door as you grab a backpack from a hook on the wall. “Not that I didn’t fuckin’ love it, but…what was that?”

You turn back to him for a moment.

“Thought you said that Scott was the only one you-”

You shake your head, allowing pain to fill your features. “I don’t…ever want him to touch me again. I can’t-”

Your chin wobbles and you glance up to him and his brows furrow as he steps toward you. “Did he do something to you? If he hurt you, I’ll fucking-”

You press yourself against his chest. “You were right about him. I should’ve listened sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t.” You sniffle. “You were the only one who deserved me; the only one who seems to even care. What he did-”

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer to him, further away from them.

The rift has begun.

“Baby, please tell me what happened.”

You bury your face in his chest. “Not here. Please.”

He nods, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

When the two of you exit the house, you hold tightly to Travis’ hand as he leads you over to his car, opening the passenger-side door for you as he places your bag in the backseat.

You refuse to look up—out the windshield—knowing the expression of loathing and contempt that waits for you. Even if it has nothing to do with losing you, but, rather, him finally realizing just how easily replaceable he is. How he was never special to begin with. Not really.

Travis comes around, seating himself in the driver’s seat before turning the car around, taking you away…from them.

You sit on the couch in Travis’ living room, a cup of tea in your hands while he sits himself on the coffee table in front of you, patiently waiting for you to explain what’s happened.

You don’t want to tell him. You only want Billy to know, because he’s the only man in your life that you can trust. That you feel something for. Something not founded upon abuse and manipulation and sex.

Something…good.

You pretend to let your hands shake, holding your teacup closer, biting your lip, tears welling in your eyes.

“They…he…”

He leans in toward you. “Take your time, baby. It’s okay.”

You nod, taking a sip of your drink. “After the fight…Scott was angry. At me—us. Me sitting in your lap. He wanted to punish me. I…begged him not to make me. Joe wanted a…a threesome. I begged him not to…”

You choke out a sob.

Travis’ face falls. He reaches forward, resting his hands on your crossed knees. “Baby, I need you to be very explicit in what you’re saying to me right now.”

“They raped me,” you whisper, tears slipping down your cheeks.

You want to throw up.

His own hands begin to shake.

“After I left…I ran into Cyrus. I…I didn’t try to stop him. He did it on the hood of his car.”

Travis stares at you. He…he’d trusted him.

“Seeing you this morning… I felt… All I could think was: safe. You were there, and I was safe. I had thought…maybe Cyrus was you last night. And then he got out.” You shake your head.

Travis fights against the tears threatening to come forth. He needs to be strong for you. You need him to lean on now. He’s the best one for you. He’d known that all along. The only one who deserved you.

They never had. And now you were his. To protect.

You quickly set down your cup, burying your face in your hands. “I’m so scared about what they’re going to do to me. They’ll punish me for this morning. Scott will. Oh God.”

He wraps you in his arms, cupping the back of your head. “He’ll never fucking touch you again. None of them will. You’re with me now.” He pulls away, cupping your cheeks in his hands, his eyes staring into your own with unbridled rage. “They’re going to learn that soon enough.”

[timeoverload]

I had a long day and I didn't enjoy it at all. I had 32 cases but I didn't stay for the last one because it didn't start until 5:30. I already feel dead but it's only Tuesday. The rest of the week is probably going to be miserable too.

It's summer and I don't understand why we are still so busy. I guess they want us to be productive the entire time we are at work. They took away the stools in the hallway so people can't sit down and I think that's fucked up. They were concerned about the doctors and patients thinking we're lazy but that's stupid. We aren't lazy. The doctors don't care as long as shit gets done and the patients are generally out of it because of the drugs they give them so I doubt they remember anything. The people that are making these decisions sit in their offices half of the day and I don't see them doing much work. Whenever I see them in the OR, they are just standing around talking. I am just so frustrated about it. I like to sit down out there sometimes when I am waiting for a case to get done so it is just going to make the day more difficult. They don't care. I feel like a slave.

I didn't sleep very well last night because I had an asthma attack. It's my fault because I had too many liquids right before I went to bed. I also didn't prop myself up. I don't have any other breathing problems and I know it's from my acid reflux because there was fluid in my lungs. I felt better once I got it out. I need to stop eating so late so that doesn't happen. I hate feeling like that. I feel bad for coughing that much in the middle of the night because I'm sure it wakes everyone up. I am not trying to be annoying. I couldn't go back to bed after that so I have been awake since 3:30.

I am glad that I don't feel quite so nauseated today. I know I had food poisoning. I guess I will have to be more careful about what I eat. I was going to get food on my way home but I decided not to. I just couldn't sit in the car anymore. I still have some canned food so it's ok.

I really want to gain weight because I'm so unhappy with my body. I am too thin and it makes me feel unattractive. I have been extremely self-conscious lately. I think I have always been self-conscious about my chest. I used to stuff my bra when I was younger and I wear a padded bra now. I would never get implants because I've seen enough defective ones get taken out of people so I'm not willing to take that risk. I don't want to surgically alter my body but I wish I was more curvy. Sorry if that's too much information but it has been bothering me a lot. I also got told once that my ass looked deflated after I had lost a lot of weight. I don't feel very feminine. I feel like people are silently judging me because of my size sometimes. I also miss my dark hair too but I don't want to start dyeing my hair again because it was falling out after doing that for a while. I almost blinded myself because I was tinting my eyebrows and eyelashes to match my hair and that was a stupid idea. I don't know why I can't just be happy with what I have. I'm not trying to compare myself to other people. I know that a lot of people aren't totally satisfied with their bodies either so I guess I'm not alone. I just wish I could stop feeling so ugly. I will try to work on myself more.

I haven't heard anything from my mom so I don't know what she is doing. I am just afraid I am going to get a bad phone call sometime. I shouldn't expect to get bad news but I have a gut feeling it's going to happen eventually. I am going to continue to hope for the best.

I really wish I had more positive things to say. I don't have much to talk about. I am just so tired. My toes feel broken and my back hurts. I should probably go make myself food soon. I am not planning on staying up late tonight. My goal is to be asleep by 10. I am going to make sure to prop myself up so I don't have another coughing fit. I hope I have the strength to make it through the rest of the week. I will do my best to make tomorrow a good day.

I hope everyone else has a great day tomorrow too. 💖💖💖

[slippingintostones]

-continuation of my post-fight apology text to my boyfriend-

not only do I feel sad and hurt that you won’t clarify if you’re joking when I get confused and ask, but it hurts that you get so defensive over “your sense of humor” instead of apologizing for the consequences of your actions. I don’t want to sound scolding, or condescending, but I feel like if you cared about me (enough, more, really, at all) you would change how you joke with me in order to not make me feel like shit. Not to throw your words back in your face, but hopefully I could be your exception (not that you phrased it like a question.) And I wish that you had said I love you before you hung up the call, because I feel like I always (have to) fold first for there to be peace, say I love you anyways and apologize when you’re still mad. But I don’t want to be the bigger person. No little girl dreams of that, but lots of us expect it anyway. If that’s what our relationship requires to work out then I don’t know if it will. I feel like I need to give you the grace to mature in your time, allow you to unlearn your unhealthy responses, but maturing for me is allowing myself the space to not be so fucking mature all the time. Maybe this is why you think I’m condescending—why it infuriates you when I make a mistake and want to linger in my bad decision for a minute—why you can’t understand why I’m always a little secretly proud and can’t decry and defame the version of me that snapped, that made the immature comment, who went for the low blow. If I’m not already punishing myself when I confess to you, you do punish me for it, as much as I think you don’t even realize when I’m crying the next time and asking you to please not be too upset at me. Because you realize you were being immature, but I actively decide to be. Maybe that’s why I assume malice instead of thoughtlessness- though is that any better? There’s a razor for that but I don’t think you’re stupid. Maybe I assume malevolence because I was waiting for you to say I love you first and you hung up instead. My solace is that there wasn’t a pause before, at least you did this in a hurry too. Because I chose to wait, silently pleading as you said goodnight that you would want to make sure I knew you still loved me, even though you were upset, and isn’t that a lot we need to unpack. Because it’s still hurtful if you were just too mad to think of it (of me!) before you got off the line, and after. (I texted first.) If you were just thoughtless, did you realize right when the line went dead what you didn’t say? What I didn’t say? Did you realize five, ten minutes later but were too stubborn to call me and tell me regardless? What does that say about me? Are you as hurt as I am now or are you already asleep? I don’t mean to rally up our concessions but when have you ever called me back, texted first, fought for us instead of against me? I am patient; I want you to express your feelings and I wait for you to come around. There’s a trend I’ve noticed, where after all our fights resolve I am drained and you are shame faced, apologizing in the dark and asking me to hold you. Do I still love you? And I’ll laugh, saying still? I never stopped. My friend and I discuss you and her boy too, passing a cigarette back and forth on dewy stairs. Why don’t you think of us? Why do we comfort you? Because we love you and we hope that next time you won’t act in a way you cry about when you realize how you’ve hurt us. She said she had to tell him that she can’t be mature all of the time, and I just hope he hears that now. My mother told me she tearfully confessed to her ex (not my dad there’s too much unsaid there) that she needed more from him, that she couldn’t do it anymore, and I asked her if she tried asking it in different ways to make sure he understood. Am I condescending? Am I blind to how men truly are? Do I dare assume malice when stupidity fits the bill? Are we more desperate if we stay with an asshole or date an idiot? Do you hate me or are you just dumb?

I’ll never tell you any of this—at least not in these harsh harsh words. It reeks of bitterness, of condescension, it’s immature and of course, I need to tone it down if I want to get through to you.

[meloweave]

you bring out nothing but negative emotions from me. you continue to be drag the light out of my life i need to b stronger i have to be. i can’t keep letting you get to me for your own satisfaction. making me feel like nothing. i forgot how you were i forgot what pushed me so far. i’m glad you let that side out tonight. after conversations like that all i crave is understanding to be heard and accepted to be seen for who i am not who i was. and it’s crazy to think someone who said they hate me is the person i want that from i must be delusional i must be stupid to think the one making me feel so lost is also the one who’s gonna make me feel found. you weren’t there to be someone i can goto to lean on which is all i wanted you think sex is what i was chasing and it never was. you used to make me feel good about myself like i was someone and because i made you feel bad you made it your mission to tear me down at every chance to in hopes of idk what. i’m a good person and someone will see that. i always wanted that from you and you never understood that never understood me you were only focused on an eye for and eye. and it’s only left us both blind. i pray i wish i’m wrong i wish you really are that person for me i hope so much it hurts that you’ll flip back you’ll be someone i feel acknowledges me respects me knows who tf they’re dealing with like what man what’s to feel inadequate from his own girl like you shouldn’t be my biggest hater but my biggest supporter and maybe it’s just to broken to fix and maybe i’m naive to even try but your the one i want i want to make it work with you but it feels like a puzzle piece that won’t fit anymore i love you so much dude like my heart has scars from the shit i felt going they with you but those feelings of anger tonight were so familiar it made me feel sick like i wasn’t doing the right thing and i just hope some type of sign of what i should do. fix the impossible or move on. and it’s like the answer is obvious … everyone knows it’s broken and i’m just the idiot still trying i mean even you know it’s done … idk what’s the point anymore there’s not one. i hope this changes me for the better i hope so much i just want love i crave it i want what we had and i don’t just want it when we’re fucking i want it all the time i hate this shit so much i feel like i’m not even making sense but there’s no one to talk to no one there or here or anything it’s just me and my thoughts and this is the only outlet i have to say anything i feel stupid and this is my last time being open this is it this feeling rn is it. whatever it was before it isn’t now. when people show you who they are you have to belive them.

[eevyerndracaneon]

.

[bxct-it]

can i request soft dom! dream x afab!reader with prompt 69 or 50

w dream eating the reader out <3

..-> “i want it. i want to taste you.”

[-] prompt list

i’m doing character!dream if that’s okay? i just love the thought of c!dream being soft for only one person and that person is you

warning[!] : MENTIONS OF DEAD BODIES

[-]

c!dream x afab!reader

(also this is gender neutral!)

[-]

“come. on. we have to go!” the sounds of explosions and people screaming for their lives surrounded two masked figures, one in green, who was frantically looking around for something, and the other in pink, who was practically begging the other to go with them. “not until i’ve found them! i’m not leaving without them, techno!” the pigman looked at the blonde in disbelief, shocked that the male even thought about jumping into a warzone just for some human. “they’re probably dead, dream! they’re not like us, they’re human!”

techno tried to yet again coax dream away from the explosions that the two of them set off in a blind fit of rage, the blonde whipping his head around to glare at the pig with such murderous intent, the hybrid was actually feeling fear, the voices cowering away inside of his head. “i don’t care what you say, technoblade. they’re not just some typical human… they’re my human! they’ll get through this, i know they will. i just need to find them.”

and with that, god’s vessel jumped from the obsidian, landing on his feet without a single scratch on him, his green eyes still frantically looking around. “where are you, bunny? come on. come on. come on!” first he was muttering but now he was screaming out in panic, swinging his body around in a search and murdering anyone in his way. “dream! dream, i’m here!”

through the smoke and dead bodies on spikes, his green eyes caught yours, relief filling his body as he sprinted to you, sliding on his knees to hold your head in his lap. “bunny! are you okay? are you hurt? god, i’m so stupid! i should have gotten you out of there first.” smiling up at the green eyed male, your hand patted his scarred cheek gently. “shut the fuck up, i’m fine. now, let’s go home. i want a bath, i have eret’s blood all over me.”

now it was dream’s turn to stare at someone in disbelief. how could you be so nonchalant about all of this? and then he remembered… you’re dating him, so he wouldn’t be surprised if you were used to all of the chaos and strife that came with the relationship. sliding his arms underneath you, the male pulled you up off of the ground and into his chest, only for you to squirm until he let you go, letting you onto your feet, watching you walk away from him in confusion. had you realised what he had done? had you finally seen how crazy he was? his heart filled with worry as he watched you silently turn around to face him, sweat dripping down his neck as he clenched his fists in anticipation.

“well? are you coming? also… i can walk by myself, i don’t need a man to carry me.” your scoff told the blonde all he needed to know and he visibly relaxed, his hands unclenching, his shoulders slouching and a goofy grin taking over his face. “i love you.” rolling your eyes at the sight of your boyfriend skipping after you as you navigate your way around what was once l’manberg, dodging all of the huge spikes of rock and all of the debris from the building. “i love you too, you crazy bastard.”

after stepping through the threshold of your house, you immediately run upstairs, diving into the bathroom to start the process of filling the bathtub. before you could even strip yourself of your clothes, hands snaked around your waist and pulled your back into someone’s chest, which by the feel of it, was unclothed. “dream… i want to get clean..” you whined, pushing yourself back against the plank of muscle behind you, staring at the clean, hot water in hopeful wonder.

“but..” turning your head, you couldn’t believe that the blonde was really resorting to giving you puppy dog eyes, his thumbs stroking circles into your hips, his own hips jutting forward in an attempt to persuade you. and somehow, it worked. the feel of his hard cock pushed up against your ass, the slow and teasing thrusts of his hips made you lean your head back against his shoulder. dream smirked, lowering his own head so leave kisses all along your neck and all the way up to the back of your ear, making you shiver and give in. “okay, fine!”

the male celebrated slightly as he smiled down at you, spinning you around and hooking his hands under your thighs to make you wrap them around his waist after all of your clothes had been stripped off of your body. he quickly threw you onto your shared bed and crawled in between your thighs, leaving a trail of kisses up your legs, stomach and chest. “please, do something… i’ve missed you.” your words made eagerness and pride swell in dream’s chest, his cheeks turning slightly red as he stares down at your naked body, his fingers twitching to touch you.

teasingly sliding his fingers down your stomach, he reached your clit, which was soaking with your slick from your excitement, making dream’s eyes light up in awe. he pulled his fingers away and placed them at his lips, licking the slick covered skin to taste you, a groan leaving his mouth. “more…” whispering to himself, he moved to be laid next to you, hope filling his green eyes. “sit on my face. please.”

looking over at him in amusement, you leaned up onto your elbow, your other hand brushing his hair away from his forehead. “why?” the question sounded innocent in such a lewd situation but neither of you cared to notice, all too focused on each other. “i want it. i want to taste you.” his soft and desperate whispers made you smile, getting up from the mattress and crawling up the end of the bed until you hovered over the male’s head. with eyes sparkling in amazement, he attached his lips to your clit, sending a shock up your back.

hooking his arms over both of your thighs, he pulled you further down onto his face, eagerly and desperately tasting all of you, lapping at your entrance with his long, pierced tongue while his nose nudged your clit with every movement. “oh, fuck.” moans left your mouth as your hands gripped his hair, pushing yourself further onto his face, grinding your hips lightly, only for the male to slap your ass and hold your legs tighter, his eyes glowing up at you sternly. you knew that was a sign to not move.

moans and groans left dream’s mouth as he continued to devour your sex entirely, intoxicated on your taste, the vibrations of his voice rang through your body, pulling you closer and closer to your release. feeling your stomach get tighter and tighter, you gripped his hair hard and cried out. “please, i’m cumming. can i cum? please, sir. i’ve been so good.” it seemed like the blonde didn’t even hear you but he went faster, ravaging every part of you as his hands kneed at your thighs. no answer from the male made you whine, you were gonna cum, and he would be angry if you did without his permission. “please! sir! i need to cum, please.” crying and sobbing for his attention, he finally looked up at you, feeling his lips smirk as he licks up the entire of your sex, wrapping his lips around your clit. “then cum.”

as soon as you heard his voice, you came, thighs shaking and head thrown back, your hands clenched which in turn gripped the male’s head, which only made him moan into your sex more, groans of pleasure leaving his mouth as he licked up all of your mess while sobs and cries of overstimulation and gratefulness left yours. “thank you. thank you so much.”

“oh, i wouldn’t thank me just yet… i’ve only just started.”

[lucyintheskywithxanax]

Different Kinds of Falls

Request : autumn themed + underwear store with Wilhemina

A/N: @blacksmokieee25 since you’re probably not going to bed until the sun rises, I’m posting this now. Happy birthday lovely ^^ I tried lacing together your two requests and came up with this weird, vignette fic that I hope you’ll like. I hope your 23rd year will bring you love and happiness. I’m very glad I know you xx

Warnings: a tiny little bit of smut and a lot of bad English

Word count:  ≃ 4 600

She was like a princess in a fairytale, trapped in a tower and waiting for someone to save her from isolation. Except no one had come. She would have to do the saving herself.

But she was too tired, she protested. She couldn’t do the saving. She said, Because to save someone, you have to think they are worthy, you have to love them at least a little. And the dragon keeping me prisoner – that dragon is me. I cannot save myself for I do not think I’m worthy.

All this of course she didn’t say. You thought it yourself, as you lay in bed watching her, the sheet pulled up high so she could hide herself – she wouldn’t say she’s hiding, she would say she’s cold. You had been reading The Island of Doctor Moreau next to her, a little appalled, a little sleepy, until you had come upon one sentence and stopped. Now you stood watching her as the sentence played in your head like a record spinning again and again.

The Thing that bled and ran screaming and sobbing – that is dead, too.

Wilhemina felt your gaze on her and glanced at you, looking as if she couldn’t quite believe she had allowed you to lie half naked in her bed like that. She looked a little fierce, you thought, a little too mean for a lover. She looked like she didn’t quite know how to let herself be loved.

You gave her a smile and ran one finger down her cheek, along her jaw to her chin, down her neck. Wilhemina’s brow furrowed, shoulders tensing as your finger reached the collar of her nightdress.

Will you let me see you naked? you wanted to ask, just a whisper so as not to scare her.

Of course you didn’t.

You wouldn’t make a good hero, you thought. You would make a terrible knight. The one who always runs away first, who says bad jokes to make up for her cowardice and her overwhelming fear of love.

You would take one look at the dragon and leave the princess in her tower.

The Thing that bled and ran screaming and sobbing – that is thriving, too.

But consider, you thought, as Wilhemina, still frowning, leaned in to plant a kiss on your lips: what if you saw the princess before you saw the dragon. What if the princess saw you. Doesn’t love make the lovers brave?

Wilhemina’s kisses were often clumsy. They were always terrified, that this kiss would be the last, that after it would only come the bite of her own teeth and the burn of her tears. Her fingers slid behind your neck and clutched your hair. She pressed herself against you.

As you guided her head to your neck and closed your eyes, you slipped your hand under her nightdress to feel the skin of her shoulder. Brave? Or stupid? Wilhemina’s breath hitched.

She pressed herself deeper into you.

The Thing that bled and ran screaming and sobbing – that is dying, too.

**

“It’s alright,” you tried, both hands held up, wide eyes quickly shifting from Wilhemina’s face to the fragments of glass on the floor and her bare feet. “Be careful, I can take care of it.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” she snapped. Her hand was pressed against her chest, fingers clutching the towel wrapped around her body as if it were the last remaining piece of her broken armor.

You winced.

“It’s alright,” you tried again. “I –”

“Get out!”  

You met her eyes again, wide with fear and fury because you had walked into the bedroom as she was getting dressed, and you had almost seen her, and in her hurry to hide from you she had knocked over the vase with the flowers that she had bought for you three days ago.

“Mina – ”

“Y/N if you do not get out of my sight in the next two seconds I will hurt you.” Voice breaking, hands shaking.

Still you hesitated.

Wilhemina grabbed a pillow – the beside lamp was nearer – and threw it at you.

“GET OUT!”

She never screamed. It was that scream that made you obey.

You stood behind the closed door and listened as she cried.

**

She didn’t believe that you could love her. And yet she felt it, in the way you kissed her, and she saw it shining in your eyes, and in your smile, and she heard it in your voice too. So she tried to find an explanation. You were lonely, in need of company, and a good actress. You were smitten and infatuation blinded you but it wouldn’t last. You were an angel. You had taken pity on her.

She couldn’t find a reason. Some nights it made her so angry she felt like smashing all your things or – even better – destroying herself. She wanted to hurt you and to pull the truth out of your throat so she would understand why and how you were smiling at her like that.

She didn’t believe that you would stay and she didn’t understand why you were here in the first place, but she found that she rather liked your presence. Loved. So she fought against her impulse to be mean and agreed to sometimes share a few things with you; things that lived at the surface, not the big, the dark, the important things that lived deep within her – there was no point sharing those. She hid those and she hid her shame so maybe you would stay a little longer than you had planned.  

It was selfish, she knew it. But she was way past selfishness.

**

You met her on a Saturday afternoon. It was the fall and outside the leaves were falling.

You were scrolling on your phone as you sat, bored, on a chair by the fitting rooms, waiting for your roommate who was trying on the new sexy underwear she’d need in case she successfully seduced the boy who had just moved in next door.

You were distracted by an unfamiliar sound, and looked up just as a woman walked in, supporting herself on a cane and looking as if she owned the whole world. It seemed to you even her nostrils flared a little, in outrage that some servant hadn’t sprayed myrrh or sandal wood in the air to celebrate her arrival.

You eyed her as she passed you, and quickly lowered your gaze as hers met yours. Her eyes were dark. Cold. Glazed.

This woman is scared, you thought, without knowing where the thought came from. She’s terrified.

Just as you were glancing up at her again, your roommate burst out from her fitting room with her arms thrown up in triumph and crashed right into the woman.

The shock sent her stumbling backwards, until her legs bumped into your knees and she fell onto your lap.

Instinctively your hands fell on either side of her waist to steady her, and you felt her flinch and tense up.

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped.

And already she was pushing herself up onto her feet, and you sat as if petrified on your chair, your cheeks flushed, your hands still held up, the reminder of how she had felt burning low right under your skin.

Your roommate immediately walked up to the woman with an apologetic expression on her face and one hand raised as if to touch her shoulder, but she was stopped by the loud, threatening noise of her cane hitting the ground.

The sudden noise broke the trance you had fallen into. You jumped, remembered where you were, became aware that your roommate was wearing a low-cut black lace nightdress that barely hid her body. And the woman was staring at her with anger burning like a low fire in her eyes, but the rest of her face was completely blank, unreadable, terrible.

Your roommate cleared her throat, and decided her safest option was to ignore her. She turned to you, opened her arms and asked in a voice which, to her credit, barely shook at all: “How do I look?”

“Horrendous,” the woman said, her voice quiet and low but laced with contempt and mockery.

What happened next you saw as a movie on a big screen. It felt unreal, somehow, but most of all it felt scripted; part of you already knew exactly what your role would be. It didn’t ask for your approval. It just happened.

Your roommate turned back towards the woman, fists clenching and eyes shining. “Excuse me?” she said, not quiet as the woman had, but loud, and angry.

The woman smirked. “I said,” she answered, still as slowly, “you look horrendous.”

“Then why don’t you try it on and we’ll see if you look any better!” your roommate nearly screamed.

Your gaze was riveted on the woman’s face, and you saw something uneasy flicker in her eyes.

Your roommate saw it, too. Her confidence flared up.

“Come on,” she laughed, taking one step forward. “Go get one your size and put it on I dare you.”

At that exact moment a vendor walked in, alerted by the noise, to peer curiously at the scene. The woman quickly scanned his face, assessing danger.

“Do you ladies need anything?” the vendor asked.

“Yes,” your roommate roared, “another nightdress and then stay with us, you can be our judge, you can decide if she looks any better than me wearing it.”

“I think you look very good,” the vendor said to your roommate politely.

“Ah!” your roommate exulted, turning to the woman again, her eyes burning their way down to rest on her cane, and then up again to sneer, her face shining with the certainty of her triumph.  

That was when, as was scripted, you stood up. You didn’t become aware of your action until your roommate glanced curiously at you. And then you heard yourself speak, something about decency, about kindness, about you leaving if your roommate was going to be such an ass.

You didn’t know what you were saying. Your roommate’s expressions were your only guide. You saw surprise, and then anger. Her eyes narrowed a little. They told you it would take time for her to forgive such a betrayal.

Later, you would say that surely it had been fate pulling the strings. But back then, all that you knew was your body’s vibrating, burning, coming to life with the reminder of how the woman had felt.

**

“I didn’t need your help,” Wilhemina – Ms Venable? Wilhemina – snapped a few minutes later, as you walked out of the store together. The air was cold and already smelt of winter.

“Would you like to get a drink?” you heard yourself say.

She let out an incredulous laugh. “Certainly not.” Another laugh, eyes falling on your face, briefly, as if to make sure you were real.

“Does that mean I’ll never see you again?” was what you said next, and you would have blushed at the plea in your voice if you hadn’t been so intent on making her stay.

“We’ve barely talked,” Wilhemina said, face hardening, “why are you so interested in me?”

She was suspicious, wary, ready to jump at your throat. You didn’t know how to explain what was happening to you – the vibrating, the coming to life – without sounding like a complete fool.

“Let me walk you to your car,” you offered.  

Wilhemina hesitated. Nodded.

When you reached her car, she stood with her back to the door and you laughed nervously and started rambling about the weather because you didn’t want to see her go just yet. You said how autumn was your favorite season because of all the colors and of all the smells. You said you wanted a life full of falls. You said, Falls as in the season, but also as in falling in love. Here you averted your eyes and felt yourself blush.

It wasn’t you talking. It couldn’t be. It was too bold.

You looked up again and said, Why don’t we go on a walk? and don’t stop, until we’ve found a leaf the exact same color as your hair.

At this very moment the breeze blew into Wilhemina’s eyes a strand of hair that had escaped her impeccable ponytail, and she raised her hand to brush it away, fingers gracefully grazing her skin with just a touch of annoyance, and you thought  - Dear Lord, you thought, as one thinks who has just fallen in love.

But you didn’t believe in love at first sight, you reminded yourself. What was it, then? You had seen the dragon and you had seen the princess and they were the same.

But you were no hero. Curiosity? Or your soul whispering to her soul?

But wasn’t that love?

You took a peek. There was inside you the irresistible desire to know everything about her.

You insisted you gave her your number and she accepted it “to get rid of you.”

On the third day after that, she called you.

**

The full moon had risen a few minutes ago and the night shadows had retreated into the corners, where they lurked. You shifted closer to Wilhemina and nuzzled her neck with your nose.

“I’m sorry about the vase,” she whispered. You hummed. Her hand fell on your head. I’m sorry I snapped at you.

You pulled away to meet her eyes, and traced her brow with your thumb. The moonlight painted her in black and silver.

You trailed your finger over her shoulder and stopped at the collar of her nightdress.

“Will you let me see you?” you asked.

You were not sure you were brave enough to watch. But you asked anyway.

Her eyes met yours again. “Don’t forget the story of Lot’s wife,” she answered. “Orpheus and Eurydice. Medusa.”

You planted a kiss on her cheek.

“What these stories teach me is that everyone looks.”

“And they all die.”

“No. They all turn into something else.”

“Eurydice dies,” Wilhemina insisted.

“Are you afraid I’ll die if I see you?”

She shook her head. She let go of you. “It’s not the one who sees that dies. It’s the one who is seen.”

“Are you afraid I’ll hurt you?”

You propped yourself up on one elbow to watch her as she got up and crossed the room to the window. She closed it against the cold.

“Are you afraid I’ll leave you?” you insisted.

“I like you blind,” she said.

“But I’d love to see you.”

She turned, gave you a smile that shone a little defiantly. “When Oedipus finally saw, he stabbed himself in the eyes.”

You fell back on the bed with a groan. “Enough with mythology. We aren’t gods. We aren’t heroes.” You opened your arms to hold her close as she slowly made her way back to bed.

**

“Do we even know what we’re looking for?” you asked, bending to avoid a branch full of golden and red leaves.

“I do,” Wilhemina answered. “I spent yesterday evening reading about mushrooms.”

You grinned at her.

“One of us had to make sure we won’t die intoxicated,” she said, a little coldly.

“That’s very noble of you,” you teased.

This was about a month after you two had first met. You now spent most of your spare time together. Wilhemina had even stopped doing extra hours at work to spend them with you instead. Your roommate barely saw you anymore. She had complained about your absence and asked whether she should look for someone else.

You had always craved a strong connection with someone, and it seemed you had finally found it. You didn’t need words to communicate with Wilhemina, as if your soul and her soul were made of the same stuff. You could point at a star in the night sky and knew she felt the same about it. Knew you were understood.  

You wanted to spend every second of every day with her.

Two nights ago, you had kissed her. You hadn’t expected it of yourself. It was too brave, too bold. That’s how you knew that you loved her.

She had frozen with her hand on your thigh, eyes wide open, breath caught in her throat, until suddenly something had changed and she had turned ravenous. She had kissed you back as if you were the ghost of a long-lost lover she was about to lose again, and the desperation she had poured into your mouth had made you fear that this was too much for one person to bear; too much need, too much anger, too much love required to fill the gaping, sucking black hole inside her. You had broken the kiss, panting, and almost run away. But the way she had held on to your wrist, the way she had looked at you, the feel of her on your lips – you had stayed.

None of you had mentioned the kiss since then. She seemed to be waiting for you to make the next move, and you weren’t sure you wanted to. Weren’t sure you were brave enough.

“Look here,” Wilhemina said, pointing at a small cluster of brown mushrooms half hidden under dead leaves.

You crouched down to examine them. “Yes,” you smiled, “these look like penny buns.”

You picked one for Wilhemina to look at.

“Butter, garlic and parsley,” you grinned, watching her as she inspected the mushroom, held delicately between two fingers. “One or two potatoes.”

Wilhemina hummed and cautiously put the mushroom in the basket she was holding.

You took the basket from her so you could hold her hand as you walked slowly down the path. Wilhemina glanced sideways at you, as if to make sure ill intent wasn’t shining in your eyes, before she pushed her palm against yours and laced her fingers with yours.

After a few minutes you stopped looking for mushrooms and gazed up at the beautiful leaves instead. The air was cold and crisp, and smelt of damp earth and decaying leaves. Every so often the sound of something falling – a dead branch, an acorn – reached your ears.

Wilhemina’s heart was drumming against your palm. Was it your touch, you wondered, that made it beat so fast?

She wasn’t looking at the ground either. She kept glancing at you. You knew this, because you kept glancing at her, too, and more than once you found her gaze already on your face. The first time your eyes met, you both blushed, and if Wilhemina quickly looked away, you found it impossible not to gaze at the dusting of pink on her cheeks.

“Look,” you breathed.

On your left between two oak trees was a small, round, dark pond. Its surface was half covered with leaves and you wouldn’t have noticed it at all if the wind hadn’t blown the branches above and sunlight hadn’t caught it. Wilhemina and you paused at the edge of it, hand in hand, to look at your reflections in the dark water.

“It looks like a fairy pond,” you whispered.

Wilhemina hummed her assent. You stroked your thumb over hers as you stared at her reflection, fully clothed, tall but with the edges trembling.  

“If we stay here long enough maybe we’ll see a doe.”

“You’d never have the patience,” Wilhemina teased.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, “I would if we had something to do to keep each other busy.”

Something, very close, fell from a tree.

It felt like dissolving into the golden light – like becoming part of something beautiful – when Wilhemina gently pressed her lips to yours. The basket stood between you two, so she hastily set it down on the ground before she captured your lips again, shyly, so very delicately it made you tremble. As if you were something precious. Something to be treasured.

It was this gentleness that made you kiss her back.

When you broke the kiss, Wilhemina squinted in the sunlight that fell through the branches and directly into her eyes. Dear you, she looked so scared. You wanted to push her, to make her fall so she would know you would always catch her. You wanted her to do the same to you.

You started walking again. You were both so focused on the other that you forgot the basket. You remembered it five minutes later. You found it funny; Wilhemina’s jaw tightened with anger. It had never happened to her before, she assured you. She didn’t forget things. The implication made her shiver.  

You walked back to the pond and found the basket on the moss where you had left it.

**

From where you were lying between her legs, you slipped your hand under her shirt to feel the warm softness of her tummy.

“Don’t you sometimes wish you didn’t have a body?” she asked.

You glanced up at her sleepily. She was reading your book, the one you had finished just a few days ago – you wondered if it was the same sentence that had caused her to stop.

You dropped a kiss on her hip. “I rather like having a body,” you answered. “And I love that you have one yourself. How would I kiss you otherwise?”

“Without a body, you wouldn’t need or want to kiss me.”

You considered, hand absentmindedly stroking her tummy.

“I don’t know,” Wilhemina went on. She was thumbing the book nervously, her eyes a little glazed. “It seems to me the body only brings its owner pain.”

“But I love your body,” you retorted.

“I am sick of it,” she said. “I am sick of the competition that comes with it. The pain, the probing, the examination.”

You watched her in silence. How could you tell her that some days when you woke up before dawn you would spend long minutes delighting in the sight of her body? And that you would press your lips on her skin to kiss, not who she was, but the body that you loved.

You took the book from her (you were starting to think that giving it to her in the first place hadn’t been the brightest of ideas. She had never told you the kind of surgeries she had undergone, the kind of names she had been called. You didn’t like the look on her face now) and put your arms around her waist. You pressed your cheek against her thigh and closed your eyes.

“I don’t like my body (she knew this already. You’d told her before). I think it’s too flat. And yet you find it beautiful. Maybe that’s mankind’s curse. Maybe that’s beauty’s curse. The beautiful doesn’t know it’s beautiful until someone comes along and tells it so.”

She started running her fingers through your hair, and you opened your eyes to find her gazing at you with a fond and thoughtful smile. She checked herself when your eyes met. Her face hardened a little.

“No need,” you smiled.

And then you were crawling up the bed, planting kisses on the strip of skin between her panties and her shirt, and then up her cleavage, smiling when she pushed her head back to give you better access to her neck. You twisted a strand of her hair around your finger – hair let down, only for you – and slid your other hand down to cup her center, determined to take her mind off the horrors she had read, or been reminded of.

You had made love before, but never entirely exposed, never entirely seen. Part of you loved it. Another part of you hated that you loved it. That part wanted you to stop being cowardly and to take the jump. To fall. Tear off the sheet, tear down the tower’s walls.

What terrified you the most was, there would be no going back, the day she would show you her back.

Your fingers started massaging her clit over her panties.

“How would you be able to feel me if you didn’t have a body?” you breathed, lips planting open-mouthed kisses up her neck.  

Wilhemina’s only answer was a small, breathy whimper. She lifted her hips to push against your hand.  

**

You followed the sound of her voice to her bedroom. She sounded afraid. You hurried.

“Y/N?”

“I’m right here,” you called, as your hand closed around the door handle. “Is today the day I’m going to,learn you’re terribly scared of spiders?” you joked, to try and curb the worry in you.

You pushed the door open, walked in and stopped as if suddenly turned into stone.

Wilhemina was standing with her back to you, facing the mirror on the wall. She was wearing the low-cut nightdress your roommate had dared her to try on all those months ago at the store. She was trembling.

You held her gaze in the mirror, unable to breathe, heart speeding up until all you could hear was its mad, terrified, elated gallop.

For a moment you stood completely still, not daring to look at her back, until the fear in Wilhemina’s eyes threatened to spill over, and you took a step forward.

Gently you gathered her hair in one hand and pushed it over her shoulder. Wilhemina’s gaze in the mirror glazed over, looked through you and at a place where she was safe and numb.

You took a deep breath. You watched.

A shiver ran through you as your gaze followed the diverted course of her spine, skin pulled taut over the bones. For a moment you watched with the awe-stricken eyes of one who is shown a terrible thing, terrible yet fascinating, for the watcher is safe from it. Then you swallowed, and forced your attention back on the importance of the moment.

You were still not breathing as you trailed your fingertips down her back to the black lace hugging her waist, and then back up again, lingering this time, stroking every scar.

Wilhemina’s breath hitched when you pressed your lips on her spine. Grazing her skin, planting a kiss. You rested your chin on her shoulder and waited for her to come back to you, pressing your front against her back to show her you were not disgusted, not disappointed, not running away.  

When her gaze turned clear enough for her to see you again, you offered her a tender smile, and stroked up and down her arms.

Wilhemina drew in air through her teeth. “This kind of nightdress wasn’t made for people like me,” she breathed out.

“Nonsense,” you cut her off. “You look beautiful.”

And dear you, she did, with her eyes barely guarded now and the lace barely hiding the swell of her breasts, nipples peaking under the delicate fabric. Your arms wrapped around her waist to pull her closer against you.

“Thank you,” you breathed into her hair.

She nodded, but didn’t speak. She was still trembling against you.

“How are you feeling?”

She let out a self-deprecatory laugh. “Like I don’t want to be here.” She took hold of one of your hands. Her eyes glossed over.

“Does it terrify you,” you breathed, trailing your lips down her neck, “to know that I have seen you and found you beautiful?” A pause. Your heart was beating too fast. “That I have seen you and decided to stay?”

In the silence that followed you heard your words echo all around you. You had expected each one of them to sow a grain of fear inside you. That wasn’t what happened. Instead each one of them pulled up a fear sprout that had already been sown inside you.

Wilhemina’s eyes met yours in the mirror to share her surprise. For she was – okay? There had been no harsh landing? She let her body relax and she realized that, even though her mind was still very anxiously expecting danger, she wasn’t hurting. She was okay.

Tag list: @mssallymckenna @supremeinlilac @pluied-ete @rainbow-hedgehog @pearplate @angelxsarahp @paulawand @asktammyr @peggycarter-steverogers   @coconutlipss  @saucy-sapphic @thesupremewife @paulsonpills @billiedeansbottom @lilypadscoven @winslctrg @simpforpaulson @venablesgirl @mckennamayfairgoode  @ka-s @lntlmate @talulahmae @mrsdeanhoward

[notstilinski]

Reading Iconic Court Scripts Starters !

Taken from Tiktok user Rebmasel’s series, Reading Iconic Court Scripts! Some of these have already been edited. You can change them however you see fit! 

“(Name), ask for house arrest!”

“Honestly, I love jury duty. I love watching other people's drama go down.”

“Okay, this sucks. I want it out of my brain.”

“He really needs to get kicked in the fucking shun.”

“We’re flailing, but we’re not failing.”

“Well, my name wasn’t in the obits this morning, so that means I have to carry on.”

“This wouldn’t be so bad if we were allowed to drink in here. Could you imagine watching this drunk? It’d be kinda funny.”

“I’m a masochist, and of course (Name) is a sadist, but at least it’s not sexual.”

“What I’m pissed off about is I didn’t even take drugs that night. Yeah, they were in my system but not from that night.”

“I escaped Utah.”

“I need a phone, clothes, a metro card, and ten dollars for some ketamine.”

“If this was Battleship, (Name) just had their case torpedoed.”

“You can come down here and hold me in your arms.”

“Yeah, I got charged with a felony something. I plead out to a whatever.”

“Wait. Wait a minute. The getaway vehicle was a lawnmower with a trailer behind it?”

“I’d like to skip you permanently, but I don’t have that option.”

“Do I want to look at it? No. Am I willing to look at it as a citizen? Yes.”

“Yes. Well, even a blind squirrel can find a nut every now and again.”

“When you use your friend's urine to pass a drug screen, drug test your friend first.”

“So, you’re saying I should let you off the hook because you had a bad headache and were driving into the sun?”

“Just to clarify, is my client banned from every Walmart or just this particular Walmart?”

“I didn’t want him to die in my house and have his spirit trapped inside to haunt me forever.”

“I’m not sure you’ll ever get your shit together, but here’s where we’re at…”

“It’s not that I want to be selfish. It’s that I need to be selfish.”

“Nothing good comes out of a Waffle House at three AM.”

“We need to consult with a cartel member. They’re global experts.”

“You can’t expect me to remember how many times I’ve been arrested. People do things.”

“I make a decent living selling drugs. I don’t need to steal a Mountain Dew.”

“Please tell me that you didn’t make Christmas cookies with your seven-year-old to give to your ex that said ‘slut’ in frosting.”

“Thirty-nine years. But when she shot me in the head, it was kinda the end of it.”

“That judge wasn’t vibing with me, so he gave me three years probation.”

“We can’t fix stupid, but we can give it a court date.”

“I have absolutely no case law to back up my position. I find myself in the predicament of the blind mind in the nudist colony — I’ll just have to feel my way along.”

“My temper is fine. In fact, I am just starting to warm up.”

“They’re so ugly it looks like they’re hurting all the time.”

“Well I remember, but I don’t recollect.”

“What is the sex room? (Name) wanted to know about the sex room.”

“No. Somebody put a gun to my neck once, but I don’t think he threatened to use it.”

“You don’t know what it was, and you don’t know what it looked like, but can you describe it?”

“He can’t be the worst and balding. Like, pick a struggle.”

“I have a feeling that I’m going to be locked up, but I don’t care, I need the break.”

“I mean what is sober, really?”

“I’ve never done a violent thing in my life other than that arson and murder.”

[keravnous]

- agent 14/agent steven haines; my drug is my baby (nsft, smut)

It's hot out and Steve's wide awake. His bedroom windows are opened and there's a soft breeze rolling in, toying with the curtains and leaving a soft trace on his warm skin. He sighs and rolls on his stomach, blindly reaching out with one hand, until he touches his phone. His hand clutches around it and pulls. The display blinds him for a split second and he curses under his breath. No new messages.

He's not really surprised. The only person messaging him these days is 14 but they aren't really talking right now, with both of them still being so goddamn angry, so that's that.

He mindlessly checks his social, a former frat getting married, another couple buying another dog and someone's new car. He doesn't care, he can't even bring himself to act, to convince at least himself, that he does. He's missing something. Someone.

His thumb hovers over the display.

No. Yes. No.

He can hear the city breathe. Cars honking, the tram and a slight wind rustling the few leaves this grey concrete hell hole still has to offer. He misses the sound Warren makes, when he's asleep, how soft his breath is.

Steve shakes his head, as if that would have him get rid of the thought more easily. He misses his warmth, how he sometimes hooks one leg around his, arms stretched out. When he's asleep they don't fight.

Steve knows that he can't blame it on 14, they both are to blame, they both are equally responsible. If one of their superiors ever were to find out what they had been doing these past months they'd both vanish from this earth, erradicated like they'd never exist, justified by their act of treason.

And yet there they are: fighting. Rather with their fists and teeth, than with words. His colleagues start to notice the bruises (and even though they don't say a word he is still paranoid about it). Not all of them are born out of aggression, most are a result of the lust that captures their fucked up minds once the violence starts to blossom between them. It turns them on, it turns Steve on, when Warren's hands connect with him in the worst ways possible. It makes his blood sing and his dick hard and he just wants. Wants to press the other man down and take take take until the taking becomes an act of giving, which always errupts the most beautiful sounds from Warren.

He hates himself for the thought, but everything could be just perfect, they could be perfect, like handmade pieces carved to only fit each other. But it's not like that, it's way more hurtful. Their opinions on work, on the government and secret agencies drift apart like Pangaea. It's hell really, one of them starts screaming at one point and then there's no going back. They are both too ambitious, willing to sacrifice everything for their jobs and sometimes Steve wonders not if there will be, but how huge of a blood bath they will go down in. The thought scares him and he knows it scares Warren too, but they don't talk about it, keep their fears far away from each other, locked behind thick vault doors.

They often try their hardest not to talk about work. But eventually, like most people who only really live for their jobs, they drift back to it. It's Steve, who hates that Warren himself is somewhat a criminal and it's Warren who hates, that Steve won't admit that he isn't far form it himself.

They blame and attack each other for failures or provocations of their respective employers and it either ends in slammed doors or sweaty bodies sticking together.

Steve misses it, the adrenaline that shoots through his veins in these moments, the way Warren's body responds to his, how the other feels under his fingers. He misses misses misses and it keeps him awake.

He thinks about the last time he's seen Warren, squirming beneath him, throwing his head back, arching into his touch while throwing slurs his way. Steve thinks about him, about his touch. It's torture and he rolls back onto his stomach, while his mind conjures up a truly beautiful, delicious image.

Steve's sitting down, legs spread wide, back straightend but relaxed nonetheless. Warren kneels in front of him, cheeks slightly reddend, his hands carefully resting on Steve's firm thighs. His eyes are trained on Steve's hard dick, obscenely standing against his abdomen. Warren's bleeding. His nose looks broken and blood slowly tickles over his plump lips, down his chin. His tongue darts out, licks it away, cleans his lips.

Steve groans quietly and rocks his hips into the mattress once, twice, his hands gripping into the sheets as he rocks against the surface, growing hotter and harder.

He had betrayed him, sold his secrets, endangered Steve's life and thus, he has to show him his place again. Warren's eyes are trained on his cock and Steve hums, gently places his hand on the back of 14's head, runs it down to his neck, around to the front and presses down. The noise that erupts from Warren's throat makes the hairs on Steve's body stand up, as he slowly tilts his head back, giving Steve better access to his throat. Blood runs down the delicate, pale skin, pools between Steve's fingers. He runs his hand up again, brushes across Warren's lower lip with his thumb, then forces three fingers in. He gags, his eyelids flutter, before he starts sucking.

Steve moans. The sound is deep in his throat and his boxers are groing tight fast. He impatiently pulls the front down and himself out, raises his hip and closes his hand around his dick.

"You want the real thing, don't you, pretty boy?" Warren's bloody chin now dripples with saliva and he nods, hums around Steve's fingers. He pulls them out and looks at Warren, hits him another time across the face for good measure.

"Come on then, right your wrongs", Steve leans back and Warren lashes forward, tongue darting out and licking a wet stripe from the base to the top.

Steve tucks at himself and moans. It doesn't replace Warren, his scent, his touch, how he feels around and underneath him, his voice but it'll do, if he keeps himself focussed enough. He hates him so much, it makes his stomach twist, he hates his arrogant smile, the edge to his voice when he feels superior and his strut, how he tilts his shoulders back. Steve wants to take one of his cigarettes and burn his delicate skin right there between his shoulder blades, so he won't act all high and mighty anymore. Steve also wants so put his hands on his skin, his body and worship it, every little mole, kiss it until the world ends, burning and crumbling by the wars they wage.

He spits into his hand, rubbing his own saliva around his dick.

Warren leans in, all wet lips, blood and saliva and throaty groans and closes his lips around the tip of Steve's cock. His tongue swirls around it in the warmth in his mouth, hot liquid dripping down the hard shaft.

Steve rolls around, thrusting into his fist, his head buried deep in his cushion, moaning from the back of his throat. His body feels lonely, oddly cold, even though it's warm out and in his bedroom as well, and he raises his free hand, runs it across his flushed chest in a manner Warren would. It makes his heart flutter and his dick twitch.

"You like that, huh?" Warren lets his dick go with an obscene sound and hums deep in his throat.

"Yeah, fuck, I do."

It's what sends Steve to do an insanely stupid thing. He reaches out and grabs his phone, unlocks it while cupping his balls with one hand, squeezing and tugging, while scrolling through his contacts.

The voice on the other end sounds tired, not angry at all. Steve would like to be it the other way around, he wants to be yelled at, hit and torn.

"Why the fuck are you calling, it's literally three in the morning", there's a little yawn and Steve wishes he'd be here, "You better be bleeding out somewhere to bother me now, Haines."

He wants to hit him back with something witty, smart, rude but there's nothing more leaving his mouth but a moan, as his hand wanders up his dick again. There's silence on the other end. It makes his blood race, boil.

"Haines?"

"Yeah fuck, who do you think it is?", his voice is deep and buried in his throat. He groans.

There's a low chuckle on the other end. He wishes he could see that smile, he wishes he could tear it off of Warrens face.

"You ain't really getting yourself off right now, are you?", and when there's no answer just a deep and low sigh, 14 tsks, "That's actually pathetic, Haines."

He sounds wide awake now. Good.

"Tell me", there's shuffling on the other end, "Tell me what you're doing, you moron."

Steve smiles and tugs at his dick, with Warren purring deep into his ear. "Fuck, I'm", he sighs, feels the tension running deep through his stomach, "Touching myself."

"And you're thinking of me? How cute. Ain't you ashamed of yourself, Haines?"

Usually it's Steve who has the upper hand in the little dangerous game they're playing, it comes naturally with him being the higher ranking one, but he will make an exception tonight. Warren's tone is spurring him on, how he talks down on him. He would love for Warren to be here, for Warren to look and talk down on him, to spit in his face and sneer at him.

The words leave his mouth quicker than he can act against them.

"Wish you were here, fuck, touching me."

_

The next morning Steve's late to work. He doesn't even remember the last time he hasn't been on time. Must've been years ago. His chest burns as his shirt rubs over the sore skin. Warren had told him to run his hands over his chest harder harder harder until his nails had scraped the skin. The stinging sensation feels good, it's a nice reminder of last night.

As he rushes towards the FIB building across the empty plaza, he sees a figure leaning against one of the chairs.

"Late, Haines?", it's Warren. He's smoking a cigarette.

Steve raises his hand and shows him his finger.

He knows he's fucked, they both are.

_

It's Wednesday when he gets the mail and Friday when he enters the meeting room. His boss is there and so is Mrs. Rackham, he's seen her once or twice, but this time she's not alone. There are other agents with her and, of course because his life's just gotta be like that, 14 is there too.

His gaze drops to Steve's take-away cup and his lips curl into a smug grin. "If I knew we were having a potluck, I would've brought something as well", his voice is deep and calm, collected, like velvet and Steve'-s pulse sings with it.

"14", Mrs. Rackham's voice cuts through the air, admonishing, like a mother scolding her child.

Now it's Steve's time to grin and he drops his free hand to his belt, hooks one thumb underneath it and cocks his hips forward, looks at Warren. It's the same look he shoots him when Warren sinks to his knees to obediently suck his dick and he eyes him up and down. 14 blushes, his gaze drops.

Steve bathes in his display of power, the feeling that erupts from it takes him flying high. To them, it looks like 14 is listening to his superior but only the two of them know that he isn't. Only the two of them know that he's bowing to Steve's will. They had a change in their power dynamic last night and Steve is not willing to accept that, maybe he's even afraid to do so.

As they take their seats they look at each other once more and Steve feels his stomach flutter.

_

They were at each others throats the second they found themselves to be alone on the floor. Now, only a few minutes later, Steve has Warren bend over the sink of the bathroom. The door is locked but the idea of them being caught, someone seeing how he toys with one of the leading IAA Field Agents, still excites him. He has one hand around Warrens throat, his thumb pressing his chin upward, their eyes meeting in the mirror.

14 is crying. Small, thick tears run down his cheeks, silent evidence of his denied orgasm. He's very pretty that way, Steve thinks, when his cheeks redden and his eyes turn dark, like the stormy sea and his hair's in a mess. He loves it when Warren cries, the sounds he makes and-

"Please."

Steve stops his slow and deep thrusts and blinks dumbfounded. One, two, three seconds pass until he moves again. Laughter spills out of his mouth, deep and satsified.

"What a pretty sound for a pretty boy, huh?", his hand strokes over Warren's ass cheek, gently kneading the flesh below the palm. It's soft and warm and it grounds him.

His voice drops in both, octave and volume, as he leans forward, shoving himself even deeper into 14, lips against his ear. "Say that again", he whispers, tongue darting out and toying with his earlobe.

"Please, Steve. For fucks sake, please fuck me", Warren moans and throws his head back, pressing his throat into Steve's palm more firmly. He presses down and Warren yelps, squirms and their gazes meet in the mirror once more.

Warren holds his own mouth shut with one hand, drowning his moans and screams, as Steve ruts into him like an animal gone wild, fucking them both senseless.

_

Steve's phone rings and he picks up, opening another bottle of wine.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"So, you're still alive then?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I am." Why wouldn't I be?

"Good. Just wanted to check."

"Warren?"

"Yeah?"

"Should I be worried?"

"No", and he trust him, because the word carries all the fear, all the thoughts that Steve grew so painfully familiar with.

_

The next time they see each other is a rather spontaneous thing. Well, at least Steve hasn't invited Warren over but there he is, standing in his doorway, hair a mess, his leather jacket on. He eyes Steve up and down, his gaze stops at the obvious bandage around his upper arm. Warren slowly raises his hand and gently touches it. Steve doesn't flinch.

"I saw the news", Warren says, his voice low and nearly inaudible.

"I'm fine."

"You got shot", he looks seriously upset now.

"I'm still alive, ain't I?"

And then he's on him, arms around his neck, lips pressed onto his own, hungrily devouring him. Steve feels Warren's warmth radiating against him and he slips his hands under his jacket, pulls his firm, muscular frame closer, flush against him. "I-, I was-", he doesn't have to say it, Steve knows anyway. Afraid, Worried, Scared, Frightened.

"I'm still here, pretty boy", he runs his good hand through Warren's dark hair and they look at each other and Steve knows, it hits him like a train, that they are both gone. Warren's gaze is soft and it's so beautiful, but somehow Steve wishes he'd yell at him again, lash out and throw hands at him. That was easier to handle than whatever they just turned into.

They are gentle with each other, for the first time. It's all slow kisses, soft touches and intertwined bodies, heat and whispered words. Steve holds Warren by his hips as he grinds down on his dick and gently brushes over his abdomen, his hip bones and chest with his hands, wants to feel and discover every inch of his body. Warren leans down and kisses him, soft and warm, plush lips that gently move against his own, a tongue darting out, making its way into his mouth. It makes his stomach flutter and fingertips tingle, so he hooks his good arm around his waist and helps 14 to rock onto him, the other hand gently resting on his leg.

They cum with their foreheads pressed together firmly, so close together that their eyelashes are nearly touching, gazes locked on each other. Steve pulls Warren close after that, hooks his good arm around him and it doesn't take long until they are at each other again, kissing gently, hands wandering, tongues touching.

_

Steve wakes up in the early hours of the next morning, Warren's back pressed against him. His breath is easy, he seems to be sleeping still. Steve buries his nose in his neck and breathes in. Out. In. Out. In - until he falls asleep again.

_

Ignoring each other at work and during the breaks becomes increasingly harder. Steve is getting itchy with the stress it puts onto him.

_

"The fuck did you do?", Warren slams his glas down. It doesn't break but Steve hears it shatter anyways. Of course they'd fight once again, once more. Maybe they never really stopped, maybe they were just on a break, an armistice.

He's talking about Michael and his associates kidnapping Mr. K.

"This is business, Warren. This has nothing to do with you."

"Are you completely nuts, Haines? She'll have your head for this, Daniels will kill you."

Steve looks at him and his gaze quickly turns into a stare. This is not about him, it never has been and it now dawns on him. He's not even yelling, his voice is firm and nearly a whisper.

"Me? Don't you dare act like you care about me when it comes to this. You're afraid what this will mean for you, aren't you? If they ever unveil that you fuck me, the one responsible for subject K gone missing? What will they think of you then, huh?"

Warren blinks. Once, twice. "Are you fucking deluded, Haines?"

Steve has missed how Warren beats and tears at his clothes and hurts so so so good. He relishes in the pain that 14 is exposing him to, until he can't hold back the gnarling animal in his chest anymore and lashes out as well, hits back and hits hits hits until they are covered in blood.

_

It hurts so good, his cuts and bruises hurt so good. Steve had missed this, missed the pain so much. Warren lies next to him, chest heaving, blood on his hands and his face, it's in his hair and on his legs as well. Steve wants to fuck him raw, until he screams and cries.

Steve wants to make Warren his, and only his. And he's ready to give himself up for it, too.

[anxietysslave]

Having Each others Back’s (Ethan Winters X Reader)

This was requested by @jenneric03 Thank you again for the request! <3

Summary: Ethan’s already taken a lot of hits, so you try to minimize that.

Y/N means Your Name,

L/N means your last name

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Y/N’s point of view:

I glanced over at the young man next to me, who was clutching his injured hand. I sighed. “Ethan, you really should be more careful. You and I both know that these Lords want nothing more than to have us both dead. If she really wanted to, she could’ve killed you in an instant.” I lectured. “I know, I know. I’m sorry.” He apologized. 

“Just next time, be more careful. I really don’t feel like coming back to seeing you lying dead on the floor.” I whispered. “I promise that won’t happen. I have to get you to safety and have to get Rose back. I will be damned if those things don’t happen.” He growled.

Slowly, the platform came to a stop, which allowed us to see the winter storm descending onto the ground. “I wonder if Lady Dimitrescu can come out here... I mean, her daughters cannot come out.” I muttered. “I don’t know, but I don’t want to find out. Come on, I think we can find something around here.” Ethan suggested as he walked off of the platform. I slowly followed behind him. 

“How did you even end up in this mess? I know you’re here for you daughter, but how did Mother Miranda even get your daughter?” I asked. He looked down. “Someone I thought was a friend caused this. I don’t know where he was bringing me and my daughter, but we crashed on the outskirts of the village. I wish I could answer that question better, but even I don’t know what’s going on.” He answered. 

“That makes two of us. I thought Mother Miranda was supposed to guide us, and keep us safe. But then those... Those damned lycans came into the village, and it hasn’t been the same since... Almost everyone’s dead in the village, other than me and that old lady.” I muttered. “Why did everyone look up to Mother Miranda?” Ethan asked.

“I’m not entirely sure, other than I think it might’ve been her power. If I’m not mistaken, she was the one that created this village. And since we haven’t had contact with any outsiders, none of us know anything about what’s really going on.” I explained. “I don’t think the Lords even know what’s going on.” I added. 

“Hence why I’m coming with you. I want revenge against Mother Miranda for what she did to us. i don’t care if she wants some child back, it doesn’t make it right to take all these people’s lives away from them and kidnap another child.” I grumbled. He chuckled. “Then I’m glad to have you on my side, and not against me... A lot of the remaining villagers were against me.” He spoke. 

“Not going to lie. I was kinda skeptical of you at first. I mean, it’s not every day that a mysterious man comes into the village to look for his daughter.” I pointed out. “Eh, you have a point there.” Ethan agreed. “Oh! Here it is. I found the key to get back into the main floor of the castle.” I called out as I moved the bush and picked the key up. 

“Are you sure we should go back in?” He questioned. “It’s the only way. Lady Dimitrescu seems to be one of Miranda’s favorites, so she’d be the one to have Rose or know where Rose is.” I explained as I stood up. “So come on. It seems like we have little time to waste.” I added as I made it to the door. 

I stuck the key into the door and turned it around until I heard a click. I opened the door and cautiously poked my head in. “No sign of Dimitrescu or any of her daughters.” I announced as I walked in. “That’s some good news. Where should we go?” Ethan asked. “Let’s go over to the angel statues. I think we need to do something with them to move forward.” I explained as I approached them. 

I glanced over at the plaque. “Mask the angels blinded gaze, and only then will you be saved.” I read aloud. “Some kind of puzzle?” Ethan asked, “Yes. It seems we have to find 4 masks, to fit all 4 of these angels.” I concluded. He groaned. “We’re going to be here a while, aren’t we?” He asked. “Of course we are. But all that means, is we should get moving.” I decided, as I turned back around and marched to the staircase. 

“We haven’t finished looking upstairs, so that’s where we need to go.” I decided. “Wait! Slow down.” Ethan ordered. I stopped and glanced at him. “We have to be more careful. We don’t know where Lady Dimitrescu is.” Ethan whispered. “Don’t worry, I’m already here.” A feminine voice rang. My head shot in the direction to see her standing on the other side of Ethan. 

“I will make you pay for what you did to my daughters!” She exclaimed as she lifted her hand up. Claws grew from her fingertips as she got ready to swing. “Ethan, watch out!” I called out. Ethan turned to look at her, but couldn’t react in time. So I moved quickly and pushed him out of the way. I was too slow to move out of the way myself, which resulted in her claws hitting my cheek. 

I cried out in pain as I stumbled backwards. “Y/N!!!” Ethan cried out. “That was pathetic. You shouldn’t be covering for him!” Dimitrescu angrily called out as she wrapped her fingers around my neck and lifted me off the ground. I struggled to escape her grasp, as I couldn’t breathe. “You humans are all so pathetic and disgusting! He killed my own children, but you still stand up for him!? You’re just as bad as he is!” She yelled as she threw me back into the wall. 

A chocked sob left my lips, as the pain spread through my back. “Dammit! Leave them alone!” Ethan exclaimed as he ran past her. He ran to me and kneeled down next to me. “Come on, we need to get you out of here or else she’s going to kill us both.” Ethan ordered, as he grabbed my arm and tried to pull me up. But it just resulted in a cry leaving my lips. 

“Fuck.” He cursed. “When I get up there, I am going to rip you both limb from limb.” She threatened, as she got closer. “D-Don’t fucking risk your life for me. You should know by now that I-I’ll get out of here without her killing me. Your primary goal should be t-to find where Rose is while she’s distracted.” I whispered. 

“No. I said earlier that I’m going to make sure you’re safe, and to get Rose back. So you’re coming with me.” He ordered stubbornly as he pulled me up. We both limped away from the Lord and make it down the stairs. “If we hide, we can take care of your wounds.” Ethan silently spoke. I nodded slowly. “Get back here! I will not let you get away!” Her voice rang. 

But we quickly rushed into the Duke’s room, where Ethan closed the door and sat me down against the wall. “That looks like a nasty wound.” Duke observed. “No shit. Do we have anything for medication?” Ethan asked as he walked over to him. “There are some Herbs and Chem fluid over there. Bandages are over there as well.” Duke explained. 

“Why would you do something so reckless??” Ethan questioned as he grabbed the items. “It wasn’t a-as reckless as when you had your hand chopped o-off.” I joked. “You’re literally bleeding everywhere. I don’t think right now is a time to joke.” Ethan muttered as he rushed back to me. “T-There’s no need to be grumpy. I’m alive, aren’t I?” I pointed out. 

“But you could’ve not been alive. Y/N, she can cut through your bones. If she wanted to, she could’ve done just that and killed you.” Ethan lectured. “You don’t deserve to be hurt...” I whispered. “What?” He questioned. “I said, you don’t d-deserve to be hurt. You’ve taken a lot of hits for me, and have t-taken a lot of hits in general. I don’t want you to get hurt anymore.” I explained. 

His eyes widened slightly. “I-I think your daughter would also like to have you in one piece.” I added. “What about your family? Wouldn’t they want you to be one piece as well?” Ethan asked. I glanced down. “T-They’re dead. Those stupid fucking lycans killed them. So right now, I-I don’t have anyone to be concerned for me.” I explained softly. 

“I-I’m sorry... I didn’t know...” He apologized. “But either way, you have someone. You have me. And I swear to god, if you die on me, then I will not be happy.” He warned. I chuckled. “I should’ve expected you to say that.” I muttered. “Yes, because I care for you. So, once we make it out of here together, I was wondering if you’d maybe like to get some coffee sometime.” He offered. 

I glanced at him in shock. “B-But don’t you have someone else already?” I questioned. “I did, but we divorced a bit after we had Rose.” Ethan explained as he bandaged up my left eye. I smiled softly. “Sure. I’d love that.” I agreed. 

(I hope this was good... This is one of my first RE 8 oneshots of Ethan Winters, so I hope it’s not too bad... Let me know if you guys have any other suggestions of Ethan Winters, or Headcannons of the RE characters. Thank you for reading this!)

[sapphic-yearning-lesbian]

A Modern AU

or

Namaari is randomly assigned a night shift in the ER where she meets a patient named Raya, who appears to be suffering from broken ribs. However, the shift takes a turn when Raya flatlines, and Namaari pushes herself to save the girl whose smile is engraved in her head.

Word Count: 2199

Warning’s: Major character injury, and a temporary death

--

Raya and Sisu are being walked into a patient room by an ER nurse called Atitaya. 

Sisu loudly states, “Stupid! All these injuries were caused by stupidness!” 

Raya glared at her as she held her sternum; she felt a lot of tenderness and trouble breathing. She couldn’t see, but she was sure that her rib cage would be bruised if she lifted her shirt. It’s just a few broken ribs, she thought before answering, “Tong was looking at me funny!”  

“He smiled at you…because you tripped,” Sisu replied, rubbing her face with her hands as they entered the patient room.

Once entering the room, Raya quickly jumps onto the patient’s bed, resulting in her groaning in pain. “The details on how the fight broke out don’t matter. I WON: I broke one of his front teeth, his nose, and made it nearly impossible for him to have children again”. She answered as she licked the inside of her left cheek, tasting iron. She must have bitten the inside of her lip when she received a punch to her face.

Both Raya and Sisu noticed the nurse was now nervous. Then again: Who could blame her after what she just heard. But no matter how scared Atitaya was internally, she still placed a pulse oximeter on Raya’s left index finger and a blood pressure cuff on her right arm. Before taking an oral temperature.

“Remember, I work here, Raya! Please don’t scare my coworkers,” Sisu pledges as she looks at Atitaya smiling before sitting down. “Tong should also be a patient of yours tonight. I know this sounds crazy, but we’re all great friends.” 

Suddenly Tong’s voice is echoing through the ER hallways. “ARE YOU OKAY, RAYA” Atitaya jumps as she finishes taking Raya’s temperature.

“I’M ALRIGHT! SORRY TONG, I HOPE YOUR MANLY HOOD WASN’T LOST,” Raya screams back, smiling, as his laughter is filling the hallway once again. She turns to look at Sisu, who is practically crying in the chair from embarrassment. 

“Ms. Hart. I’m going to have to ask you to not scream,” The nurse says in a calm voice, trying not to smile. 

Raya begins to nod in agreement before she starts clenching at her chest before gasping for air. The pain is excruciating. Yet, she is still hopeful it’s just broken ribs, and they haven’t punctured her lung; because that would hurt way more...right?

Atitaya was about to excuse herself from the room to locate Namaari, the nurse practitioner who can order an X-ray and medicine. Yet as she unbadged herself from the computer, she hears three knocks on the door. A tale sign that Namaari was about to enter the room. The three knocks are a secret signal she uses with all her nurses to know of her presence.

“Hello. My name is Namaari; I’m the nurse practitioner this night shift. I heard the screaming and your very muffled voice. Could I take a look at your injury?” 

Raya’s head jerks in the direction of the knocks spotting the new nurse, Namaari. She smiles widely. The new nurse is wearing a white coat over grey scrubs. Her scrubs were tightly fitted, showing that under, she had a muscular figure. Her skin was golden brown, with piercing brown eyes. She also had a very attractive undercut screaming, ‘Sapphic.’ 

Raya also notices a tattoo cuff on her left ear, probably because it’s a safety hazard to wear jewelry in hospitals: They can easily be pulled by angry or upset patients--She lightly bites on her bottom lip before answering, “Are you sure my voice was muffled? Maybe you were just attracted to my voice and needed a reason to come in here,” She felt pretty winded after that finishing her sentence, but she was still able to lift her left eyebrow. 

And yes, Raya was dam aware she shouldn’t be hitting on the hospital staff, but come one. She’s hot.

“RAYA” Sisu screamed from the corner of the room.

Namaari stood at the door frame with a gentle smile on her lips.

Raya assumed the flirting attempt went over Namaari’s head. She couldn’t bear to think the gorgeous nurse was choosing to ignore her. “I would have gotten myself injured sooner if I knew this godly woman would show up to rescue me,” Raya struggles to say as she winks. 

Seconds later, Raya’s body was overwashed with a painful sting “ah fuck” she states as she curls into herself, gripping at her right ribcage.

Namaari was used to patients flirting with her; It comes with the job. However, It’s usually easy for her to ignore flirtations. Yet Namaari wasn’t blind; this patient was gorgeous even in her physical state.

Raya was beaten, a purple bruise appearing on her left cheek, her clothes dirty from the struggle of her disagreement. 

Namaari cannot deny how Raya’s smile made her feel some weird sensation in the pit of her stomach: People call that feeling butterflies. 

This patient was trouble, but that somehow excited Namaari.

Suddenly Namaari remembered the other voice in the room and turned to see Sisu, jumping from her seat running over to Raya. She didn’t necessarily consider Sisu, a friend. Still, she often saw her in the ER because she is part of the psychiatry department. Sisu would often come and evaluate patients for hospitalization. “Quite ironic, how a trauma nurse is in the ER for a trauma injury,” Sisu hummed as she ran her hands through Raya’s hair. 

Namaari forced herself out of her thoughts and walked over to Raya. Looking up at the vital machine monitor. Her pulse was high, resting in the 110s, and her blood pressure was also abnormal. “Call for an X-ray and tell them I okayed it.” She finally says, looking straight at Antitya, who nods and exits the room.

Namaari walks over to the computer in the room, quickly badging in and ordering her some narcotics to give Raya once the broken or fractured ribs are conformed by the X-ray. 

Sisu is just smiling at Namaari from afar as she consoles Raya, who is cussing in pain with each of her breathe’s. 

“Can you please lay back on the bed so I can look at your injury” Raya hears the attractive nurse say. She hums as Sisu lets go of her stepping back, her place now replaced by Namaari smiling gently at her. Raya tried to shift her position to lay herself on the bed, but it hurt so much to do it. 

Raya felt as she was being punched in the lungs if she moved even an ounce. To distract herself from her pain, she watched as Namaari, who looked over at the vital machine, and for a moment, panic showed on her face. Nevertheless, Namaari’s eyes meet hers again as she smiled, trying to comfort her, which she did. 

However, seconds later, Raya felt her brain becoming fuzzy with the pain radiating all over her body, her breathing very labored as she gasped for air. Raya knew she was about to pass out, but she never felt safer. She knew she was in Namaari’s hands, and something deep down within her knew she would be okay.

Namaari watched as Raya’s pulse shot up to 140, while her Oxygen dropped to 87. This wasn’t just a case of broken ribs anymore. 

Namaari quickly walked towards the wall and pulled on a red switch, the rapid code. Its unique alarm went off, and she knew that the call light was flashing red outside. Both these tools allow for the other medical staff to be informed the patient in that room is deteriorating, and further assistance is needed.

Raya’s vision was becoming blurred with speckles of black as she was consumed by her agony. All she wanted to do was scream or even cry, but the pain was so immense that her body forced her to stay silent. Raya felt like a prisoner in her body, unable to communicate what she was experiencing. 

Soon enough, Raya was overwashed with a need to close her eyes; it’s like her body was promising her that if she went to sleep, the pain would stop. She wanted to give in to this promise, but she fought it for now.

Raya couldn’t move, but she felt as the nurse slowly guided her down onto the bed as Sisu cried in the background. The rapid alarm echoed throughout the room, and she couldn’t help but laugh in her mind as this time it was pulled for her. Most times, Raya was running the rapid codes saving people’s lives, yet right now, her life rested in that beautiful nurse’s hands. 

Those were Raya’s last thoughts as her mind went blank, properly passing out.

Once Namaari guided Raya to lay on her back, she quickly placed an oxygen mask on her as the room was suddenly swimming with more staff members. Everyone trying to help in some way, taking blood pressures, starting an IV, calling for a portable X-ray machine, and calling for an OR in case of emergency surgery: as it seemed, Raya did have a punctured lung caused by her broken ribs.

Suddenly Atitaya was next to Namaari. “I told Sisu to wait in the waiting room; she didn’t want to go, but I showed her out” OHH, yea Raya’s girlfriend, Maari thought. 

Apparently, Sisu was screaming in the background, which she completely blocked from her head. Namaari’s excuse being that she was trying to save Raya’s life. “I should have known she was high on adrenaline, and It was muting her pain symptoms--” Atitaya whispered to Namaari.

 Namaari knew her nurse was blaming herself for something she didn’t think about either. She let the girl’s beautiful coffee eyes distract her. And now she’s watching her vitals plummet.

Suddenly a women’s voice screamed, “She decompensating. She’s about to flatline someone start compressions NOW.” Namaari didn’t look up to check who ordered that; she assumed the order was from a resident. Namaari quickly crouched and pressed on the CPR lever under the bed that laid the bed completely flat. She quickly placed her left hand over her right interlocking her fingers after standing up before placing her hands on Raya’s sternum. She began compressions, two inches deep each time. Simultaneously, Atitaya was bagging Raya so she could breathe for her. 

After the first round of 30 compressions; The resident speaks again, “Turn her onto her side Namaari” Namaari did as she was told, recognizing the voice to belong to Amba. Anyways, another staff member slipped a flat board under Raya’s back. Once it was in place, Namaari quickly laid her back down and continued compressions. Soon a tiny monitor was placed below Namaari’s hands, which actually told her if her compressions were deep enough.

After about 3 minutes of constant compressions, Namaari’s compressions weren’t deep enough. “Switch,” She states as Atitaya takes over compressions and Namaari begins to bag Raya. 

Only once Namaari stopped compressions did she notice the room was full of various staff members; the rapid code was now a code blue, a whole different sound echoing through the room. 

It’s crazy, but you don’t hear these changes during an emergency. You only listen to what’s essential to saving the patient’s life.

As Atitaya performed more compressions, the sound of one of Raya’s ribs breaking under her force was heard. Atitaya flinched, realizing she caused her recovery to be longer if she survives. But that sometimes happens; you hurt the person you’re trying to save. Most people don’t mind a broken rib if it means you saved their life.

Namaari was snapped back into the present when she heard “charge to 100” before “CLEAR.” That’s all it took. Raya’s pulse came back. Namaari felt so relieved: She’s always happy to save someone’s life, but today, right now, she’s overjoyed. 

Nevertheless, Namaari doesn’t understand how two sentences from this patient had her heart throbbing within her chest. 

She doesn’t know how or why the relief she’s currently experiencing is so overpowering.

With all these inner thoughts, Namaari still smiles as now she has the chance to get to know Raya. UGHHH, no, you cannot get to know her! She’s dating Sisu...

Stop overthinking Namaari. SNAP OUT OF IT!

“Thank’s, Namaari. We’ll take it from here,” Amba, the surgical resident, says; As a portable x-ray machine is brought into the room to scan Raya. 

Once a resident or doctor from a different unit takes over, Raya is no longer her patient, and she needs to let her go and help another patient. Even so, she left the room and waited outside it to listen in. “She’s punctured her left lung; we need to rush her into emergency surgery, page Pengu. He’s the best cardiothoracic surgeon!” 

Namaari exhaled as she watched nurses and doctors from the surgical unit transport, Raya, off the emergency unit to the operating room. 

Namaari had gotten Raya’s heart to pump again, but the surgery will decide whether she lives or dies. Knowing this, she rested her head on the wall regaining her posture, putting a smile on her face as she heard her name being called from another patient’s room. 

--

Let me know if you want me to continue it! :) 

[prolestariwrites]

Tension

Fandom: Devil May Cry Rating: Explicit Characters: Dante, Vergil, Reader (no Spardacest) Tags: MMF, Threesome, Explicit Sexual Content, Oneshot Words: 5539

Collab with @solynaceawrites​

Summary: Dante and Vergil fight about everything, even you. Tired of the arguing, you decide to make them use all that energy in a much more productive way. Contains MMF threesome but not Spardacest.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━ You’re not quite sure when the tension got so unbearable. 

Maybe it's on you. After all, you had been the one to kick Dante to the van while letting Vergil stay in the shop, and you know that the two of them have a rivalry a mile wide and a thousand feet deep when it comes to anything and everything. So, you suppose that it's possible that Vergil had, in some way, seen that as you choosing him over Dante, though really all it had been was you needing time to deal with Dante being back. 

You and Dante had had a complicated relationship even before he went off to “fuck around Hell”, as you liked to call it. Friends? Friends with benefits? Love? You never had the chance to really define it before he left you for six months without a word of goodbye and the deed to the Devil May Cry, making you the owner. For six months, you thought he was dead, mourning the loss of the man you thought you’d be with forever, until he waltzed back into the shop like nothing was wrong and got a well-deserved fist to the face courtesy of you.

When they returned, you refused to give up ownership, too pissed at Dante for leaving so recklessly and breaking your heart to give him the satisfaction of getting it back. So you remained on as the boss, a role Dante didn’t seem to mind at all, even though your two new employees were very talented at driving you crazy. You had given jobs to both of them as equally as you could. You gave Vergil the same cold shoulder you gave to Dante. In all ways but where they were sleeping, you treated the twins exactly the same, but somehow it's all led to this. Even though you’re not quite sure what this is. 

After a month of living in the van, you had let Dante move back in, albeit begrudgingly. He'd wanted a second chance to apologize and make things right between you, and you missed him enough to let him do it. Slowly, painfully, he'd opened up to you, all of those secrets he'd held onto for so long spilling out in fits and bursts over weeks until you knew everything he'd been through and the hurt that'd been festering in him since his mother was killed. You hadn't quite forgiven him completely, but he'd been back in the bedroom by then and you made the choice to try and put the past behind you so you could grow together. 

You hadn't noticed Vergil's behavior until you walked into an argument between him and Dante that had wrecked half the shop. Sure, he'd been a bit nicer to you, or his version of it anyway, helping with the files and the bills, making sure that you got first call on the shower. Small things that you’d expect from someone walking on thin ice as far as you were concerned. Dante had told you later on that Vergil was doing his best to court you in his awkward way. It'd been a shock, but knowing what to look for had made it painfully obvious how blind you had been to what he was doing.

Which has led to your current predicament, standing between the twins and trying to keep them from tearing into each other. "Would both of you knock it off?"

"Tell Vergil to knock it off," Dante growls. 

"Stay out of my way," Vergil warns him. "If I catch you in my things one more time—" 

"The things I pay for?" 

"I work too." 

You clear your throat. "Stop it. I mean it." You side-eye Dante with hands on your hips. "What were you doing?" 

"Just lookin' for something. Such a damn baby—" 

"Say it again, baby brother." 

"Okay!" You cry. "Dante, leave Vergil's shit alone. Vergil, stop being so damn possessive. There." 

You hope it is over as you move to go back to your desk, but you hear Dante make a snort. "Right. He's possessive over shit that's not his." 

You freeze at the desk, the hair on the back of your head rising as you can tell they are gearing up for another argument. "What was that?" you bite over your shoulder. 

Your eyes land on him sharply and Dante gives a shrug that annoys you to no end. "I'm saying he thinks everything is his. The jobs, the weapons, even you." 

"What?" You frown in surprise, but they are arguing again, and you put up a hand to get their attention. "I'm sorry, who belongs to who?"

"Ol' Verge here thinks he owns you." Dante grins, but it lacks its usual humor. "So, I told him to keep his fuckin' hands off shit that doesn't belong to him, he said that I was the one who needed to keep my grimy paws to myself. What do you think, darlin’? You belong to him?" 

"I belong to myself," you say sharply. 

His brows flick up in surprise even as Vergil utters a wry laugh. "You say she isn't mine, she says she isn't yours. I suppose that means she could belong to me, does it not?" 

"Hell no! She’s my woman, not yours." 

"Like Yamato?" 

"I haven't touched that thing since you came back, jackass."

"How about this?" you snap at both of them. "I don't belong to either of you. You—" here you point at Vergil with a warning look, "—work for me, and that's it. And you—" Your gaze at Dante is even sharper, "—I'm still pissed at. So both of you can forget whatever this whole argument is." You fold your arms, silently fuming. 

The brothers glance at each other, both wearing expressions that are a weird, smug sort of anger. But then Dante walks towards you, and you slide back to sit on the desk and cross your legs, wanting to keep him at a distance. "Don't come over here like we're friends," you say. 

But your tone isn't harsh, and they both know it. You both know the smile he gives you is going to needle its way under your skin, and he knows just how to stand, one palm on the desk next to your thigh and the other on his cocked hip, looking up at you with a sexy smirk that is accentuated by the day's worth of stubble on his face. Fuck him and his stupid handsome face. "Come on, babe," he murmurs, giving you a wink. "We both know we're getting back together. You don't have to play it like that when you already have my attention." 

Ordinarily you would dig your heels in more, and the first words that rise to your tongue are you wish . . . and then he licks his lips, and you seem to feel the weeks and months without him all at once. 

"You don't have to answer that." 

Your attention is pulled towards Vergil, who is standing with arms folded. His gaze on you is so intense you actually gasp, and he starts to move closer, almost prowling. "Leave her alone, Dante," Vergil says darkly.

"Get yer own woman," Dante replies, his eyes still on your face. You had almost forgotten how mesmerizing he can be, those icy blues like a physical weight that pins you in place and demands your attention so that you don't notice a hand closing around your wrist until you are pulled to the side. 

Vergil's lips caress the back of your hand as he scowls at his brother. "I'm quite fond of this one." 

"Is that right?" Dante catches your knee and leans over you, crowding you half against the desk and half against Vergil, and you glance between the two of them in utter confusion. "Tough shit. You can't have her." 

It nearly makes you laugh, the age old tug-of-war you had gone through with Nero manifesting now with these two, but the air around them feels thick and heavy, and a thick coat of sweat dampens the back of your neck. Vergil pulls you farther backwards, ignoring your "hey!" as he tries to get you out of Dante's reach. "She'd be better off with me, and you know it."

"Stop that," you say. 

You step back again, the backs of your thighs hitting the desk. The air is crackling now, and your heart responds with an uptick in speed, your mouth going dry as you try to swallow. It's as if the room is filling with tension, and you laugh nervously. "You two fight over everything. What did you do when you were kids?" 

"What?" Dante looks away from his brother to frown at you. "What do you mean?" 

"When you had a toy or something you fought over," you explain. "What did you do to resolve it?" 

They exchange a glance, and you can see something pass between them. "We had to share," Dante replies. 

You laugh again. "Too bad you can't share me then." 

You grin at Dante, but they are staring at you with a look you’ve never seen. Your eyes go wide and you glance at Vergil, whose usual stoic expression seems to have intensified. "Guys, I was kidding . . ." Weren't you? 

"So you get to decide," Vergil proposes. "But we both have to prove why we deserve you." 

You blink in confusion, but as you stare at Vergil, you feel a hand slide along your arm and Dante's lips press to your temple, making your breath catch. "What do you say, babe?"

"Uh . . ." Fuck yes. "Isn't this set up to fail? I mean, toys, sure, but whoever I don't pick is gonna . . . You know?" 

Vergil steps forward, one of his hands pressing firmly against the small of your back while the other smooths over your cheek. "As children, whoever was proven to use what we both wanted most was given possession of it by our mother. We've learned not to hold a grudge." 

Right, like the grudge that brought all of this about, Vergil's desire to best Dante causing not one but two tragedies. You look away, but that puts your face right in front of Dante's, and he wastes no time in kissing you, ignoring Vergil's disapproving tsk as he sucks on your lips before prying them open with his tongue. "Really, Dante," Vergil sighs, "didn't you ever learn to treat a woman with respect?"

You laugh against his mouth, part in nervousness and part at Vergil's statement. Dante has always been like this, aggressive and sexy, even silly and sloppy in the way he kisses you, but it is always so sincere that you never minded. As if to drive the point home, Dante pulls your tongue into his mouth and sucks on it slowly, your faces tilted as he takes his time. The shameless display must look ridiculous, but you have to admit the way his teeth scrape and the slight pain from the tug has your pulse racing. He lets you go with a smack of his lips and grins, and you smile back instinctively. 

Then a hand is in your hair and your head is turned before Vergil's lips press against yours. Vergil's kiss could not be more different: hard, demanding, precise. The way he tugs your lips and slides his tongue in long strokes in and out of your mouth seem almost practiced, but it works. You are groaning in no time and leaning into him, trying to take more. It's as if he read a manual on how to turn you on and can hit everything you like in a kiss. By the time he releases you, your body feels weak and there is definitely a dampness between your legs that has you flushed.

You barely have time to gather thoughts before Dante scoops you up and strides towards the stairs, smothering your protest with another kiss. It seems like it's going to be a theme for the night; the two of them, fighting over which one of them deserves you more, and you caught in the middle. Not that you really mind. 

Halfway up, he pauses to call over his shoulder, "Hurry up, Vergil, or I'm lockin' you out of the bedroom!" 

There's a rush of air as Vergil appears on the landing, his eyes narrowed as his lips curl into a smile that sets your heart racing. "Always the fool," he proclaims. 

You huff and wriggle until Dante sets you down. If they keep carrying on like this, nothing is going to happen, and you make sure your hips sway and your body brushes Vergil's as you finish the climb on your own. "You've both got sixty seconds before I decide to go to bed," you say breezily.

One of them grabs your backside, and when you see Vergil stride ahead and push the bedroom door open, you smack Dante on the arm. He grins at you playfully but you grab his shirt and tug him close so you can whisper. "You sure about this?" 

"Oh fuck yes." His hands go to your hips and tug you against him, and as Dante grinds you can feel his erection already straining under his jeans. He presses a kiss to your jawline and then his lips go to your ear and whispers, "I want to watch you get fucking filled." 

You swallow and let him pull you to the bedroom. Vergil has already removed his shoes and his shirt, and you gape for a second as he opens his belt. He is just as gorgeous as Dante, his body carved, but leaner: where Dante is all strength and muscle, Vergil is a fighter, his body meant for movement. He catches you watching and gives a crooked grin before pushing off his pants; now just in his boxers, Vergil crosses the room towards you. He is as tall as Dante, forcing you to look up at him, and Vergil brushes your hair back over your shoulder. "Let's get you comfortable, hm?" he says quietly, and his fingertips slowly glide down your front and graze your breasts over your shirt.

You hold your breath as he works through the buttons of your blouse, slowly unhooking each one and parting the fabric before moving on to the next, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. It's a different sort of anticipation than what you tend to feel; with Dante, it's hot and quick, leaving you impatient and eager. But with Vergil, it builds slowly, crawling up your spine and squeezing your ribs around your lungs. Each slight touch feels like a promise and a threat all in one, leaving you trembling as you wait to see what he'll do next. When he reaches the last button, you slide the shirt from your shoulders without asking, and his lips tilt at the sight of your bare chest. "No bra?" he murmurs.

You blink, and it's Dante who replies, "She doesn't wear 'em at home," as he comes up behind you, his bare chest scorching against your back. You gasp when he cups your breasts, his lips grazing your neck, and Vergil's hands land on your hips as he kisses you again while Dante teases and plucks your nipples into stiff buds. "Feels like we might need some ground rules?" Vergil hums inquisitively, though he doesn't draw away from your lips, and Dante chuckles lowly. "This one won't say no to anything. We gotta do it for her."

You sink against his touch as Vergil kisses you deeper, his tongue rolling around yours and leaving you breathless when he pulls away. "Well?" he asks with an arch of his brow. 

"What?" Your heart is hammering in your chest as Vergil slides his hands into the waistband of your leggings. Dante's mouth nips the side of your neck, making you yelp, and your lips open as you watch Vergil sink to his knees and drag the fabric down your legs. Vergil's mouth presses to your navel as he pulls your clothes away, leaving you bare, his hands sliding back up the sides of your legs as he leaves a trail of kisses down your stomach. 

"Babe," Dante says against your shoulder, his thumbs rubbing slow circles on your nipples. "What do you want?" 

"I . . ." You are squirming now, arousal dripping onto your thighs, and as Vergil's mouth works over the top of your mound your body gets even wetter. "Anything. Everything," you whisper. 

Vergil looks up from your sex and your eyes connect. "Just say when to stop," he says. 

You nod. Vergil opens one of your thighs, pressing his face to your center, and when you feel his tongue press against your hood you groan and lean your head back. Dante's mouth is on your cheek and you turn to meet his lips, and he kisses you slowly as Vergil's tongue finds your clit. They both hold you upright, your senses going a bit overloaded at the sensations. Dante releases your nipples to run his palms up and down your front, massaging your chest as he kisses you. Vergil presses against a particularly good spot and a moan catches in your throat, but Dante smiles against your lips and murmurs, "It's okay, let him hear how much you like this."

You reach down to tangle your fingers in Vergil's hair, surprised to find the strands silky and soft instead of tacky with gel or spray, and he lifts you easily, letting Dante support the weight of your torso as he drapes your legs over his broad shoulders. Like this, he can reach more of your sex, and you cry out when he kisses your body deeply, thrusting his tongue within your opening before swirling it over your clit. Dante holds you easily, fluid smearing along your back as he grinds against you leisurely; between the two of them, you are spinning, and it isn't long before you’re rocking into Vergil's mouth, chasing the pleasure tightening within your core.

"She's gonna come fast, Verge," Dante pants against your neck, and like magic, you arch against him as your orgasm breaks. Your hand yanks his eager mouth against your clit as the other reaches up to grip Dante, and you feel almost weightless as he licks you through the contractions, his tongue rough and electric on your body. A cry erupts as it crests, and Vergil gives your clit a final, gentle suckle before lapping you gently as it finally begins to finish. 

You are deposited on the bed, and one of them—Vergil, you realize after a moment—climbs over you to kiss your lips. You can taste your own arousal on him and you eagerly respond, sucking on his tongue and lips, the taste of him and sex driving you wild. How was he so good at that? The thought flickers briefly before he pulls away, and you pant as you look at the ceiling, the weight of what you had just done settling on you as the mattress dips.

You’re not worried about Dante being pissed. He'd been just as eager for this as Vergil, by his own admission, and if he tries to say something about it later, you’ll be more than happy to remind him of his comment about seeing you fucking filled. It's not even guilt, really. But there is something a bit strange about having your maybe-if-he-wasn’t-such-a-jerk lover's brother give you the best oral of your life while said lover watches, and you’re trying to process that when another mouth covers your sex, the heated insistence of it letting you know right away that it's Dante. 

Your back bends as you reach down to grab his hair. But hands catch your wrists, and you look up with surprise as Vergil carefully winds a strip of black fabric around them. He catches you watching and gives you a little grin. "You should pay attention," he murmurs, and you open your mouth to ask him what he means just as Dante parts your thighs and sheathes his cock within you with one fluid thrust.

You groan, long and loud. Dante's hands are heavy and familiar on your thighs as he massages your flesh, and then he starts to move slow and deep, your sensitive body sparking to life with his movements. Meanwhile Vergil leans over you and kisses your breasts, using that mouth that just gave you such an amazing orgasm on your nipples, teasing and driving you crazy. You are helpless with your arms tied, but that seems to suit you just fine. Being between them is overwhelming, and you want to give yourself over to it and see where they can take you. 

But his mouth is heaven while Dante's thrusts are sin, and the combination leaves you gasping for more. You turn your face and kiss Vergil's thigh, needing to do something, hearing one or the other or both laugh. Something like embarrassment flushes through you, but it's sweeter, twisting your lungs and making you stretch your body. Your only thought now is them, their eyes and hands and bodies on you, and you want to ruin them just as much as they will do to you. 

"You just had to ask, princess," Vergil murmurs. His hand cards through your hair and then his cock presses to your lips. Eagerly you open, moaning as it fills your mouth, and Dante stops his movements to watch. "Oh fuck," he groans, his hands digging into your open thighs. "Fuck, swallow him, babe."

You do your best, pleasantly surprised by how similar his cock is to Dante's. Along with the angle, it makes taking him into your throat easier, and you suck as he pumps in and out of your mouth, holding your head steady with one hand as he fondles your breast with the other. But he tastes different; the only way you can think to describe it is cooler, less earthy than Dante, and you moan around his flesh. Dante finds your clit with his fingers as he begins to move again. Quite literally pinned by their bodies, you willingly surrender yourself to them, uncaring which of them does what as long as they don't stop.

"So good . . ." Vergil groans. Something in his voice makes you shiver, like he is losing that tight grip of control, and you lift your head slightly to take him deeper, sucking hard on his length as you hold it in your throat. 

Dante curses again, his hips moving faster, and you can feel your body tightening. You gasp around the cock in your mouth but Vergil is thrusting just as hard, and before you realize it the thick fluid is filling your mouth and throat. You nearly choke on it before he quickly eases back, and with the taste of Vergil spilling over your tongue you start to orgasm again, a cry erupting as Dante's touch on your clit works you into another that is intense but all too brief. 

You come down moments later to the sound of your bodies slapping together. Dante leans over you and covers your mouth with his, and you groan into his kiss as he grinds deep inside you. "So damn hot," he whispers, his hands sliding along your arms. He pushes your wrists into the bed and jerks his hips sharply before he lets out a groan and his seed starts to shoot inside your body, hot and slippery and filling you up.

It's barely over before you become aware of Vergil moving to stand impatiently next to the bed, and Dante huffs a laugh as he draws his body out of yours, leaving you gasping at the drag over your sensitive flesh. "Can't even give me a damn minute, huh?" 

"You've had your turn," Vergil argues. 

Dante snorts. Each of them grab you, moving you as they move until you’re on your knees with your ass in the air and your face pressed to Dante's thigh. Vergil tsks as he settles between your trembling legs, and Dante cards a hand through your hair as he says, "What? I like it better this way."

Your wrists are still tied, and you run your fingers over his leg, looking up. "Untie me." 

Dante's lip rolls up as he grins, pulling the tie off and tossing it. You press on your palms to go upright, your lips grazing Dante's chest. "You want to stop?" he murmurs. 

Your eyes flicker up to his. "No," you say. Then you turn to look over at Vergil, who is watching intently, his palm rubbing his growing erection. "Touch me first." 

The corner of his mouth quirks and Vergil reaches between your legs with his free hand. His fingertips stroke your opening softly and you sigh, tilting your head back. Dante strokes your cheek sweetly, and when he runs his thumb along your lip you catch it playfully between your teeth. "I can't wait to feel your mouth," he says. 

"Stroke your cock and get it hard," you order, your words breathless as Vergil slides a finger along your clit.

He keeps his eyes on yours as he obeys. His knuckles bump your stomach with every pump of his fist, and his tongue slides out to wet his bottom lip. You watch his pupils dilate and his nostrils flare, and then he cups the back of your head and guides you down so your lips rub over the tip of his cock; eagerly, you part your lips, and as you sink down on him, Vergil sinks into you, and the sound of both of their groans mingling in the air is one of the most erotic you’ve ever heard. Instead of thrusting to meet you, Dante simply moves your head, and the slow, steady movements of Vergil's hips help you set a rhythm as you swallow his flesh.

You grip his thighs tightly as you bob your head up and down, swallowing the thick length as best as you can. He tastes like sex, pure and simple, and the sensation of being filled is different this time now that you control the movements. You start to rock your hips to meet Vergil's thrusts, and he presses one hand to your stomach and the other to your thigh, stretching you open to accommodate him. Vergil is long and thick and the precision he used to kiss you is still there as he fucks you slowly and methodically. Your orgasm builds just as slowly, tingling along your spine, and when his hand slides around your hip to your backside you shudder at his intimate touch. Meanwhile Dante strokes your hair, the movements intoxicating, pulling you under his spell as you suck him greedily. Usually he is playful, vocal and thrusting into your mouth, but now he lets you enjoy, his sexiness just as intense but different.

Your release this time crests in waves that rock you instead of pull you under, and you moan around Dante's cock as Vergil continues to fuck you with those steady, practiced movements. On and on it drags, fueled by the fullness of Dante in your mouth and the fullness of Vergil in your sex. "What do you think, hon?" Dante murmurs, sweeping your hair from your face. "Which of us fucks you better?"

You curse as you pull your mouth from his cock, sinking down to catch your breath and mouth at the base. "Fuck, fuck," you whisper as Vergil snaps his hips sharply against you. 

You dig your nails into Dante's thighs, drawing a hiss, and he tugs your hair, pulling your face up to his. "Yes . . .” he groans. 

Vergil's hands roam your backside, rubbing and massaging your flesh. "She's still coming," he pants.

"You serious?" You can't see whatever expression Vergil is making, but it draws a low whistle from Dante. "Damn. You been holdin' out on me, sweetheart?" 

You do your best to give him an unimpressed look. It's ruined when a hand curls under your throat, and you yelp as Vergil pulls you up until his chest is flush to your back. "Hey!" Dante complains.

You shudder as Dante’s eyes drag down your body, stopping between your legs where Vergil's cock fills your sex. His eyes go lidded as he licks his lips, and you wonder what he is thinking. But then Vergil pulls out of you, and the slow drag of his cock leaves you breathless, gasping when you are suddenly empty. "Time to choose," he murmurs against your cheek, his hand caressing your throat lightly. "Whose cock do you want?" 

"Both," you pant. You lock gazes with Dante for a moment before closing your eyes. "Please, both of you fuck me. Same time." 

You don't even have to look to feel something pass between the two brothers. Fingers press against your clit—Dante's, you are pretty sure—and stroke you softly. "Will you come again if we do?"

"Yes," you plead. Vergil releases you so that Dante can grab you and draw you forward into his lap. His lips cover yours as he pulls you down onto his cock, his fingers stroking over your clit with the patterns you love, and you fall into the familiar, comforting weight of his touch. Hands press to your back, pushing you forward into an arch, and then Vergil is behind you, his cock pressing against the seam of your body.

Dante's mouth covers yours, and he swallows your groan as Vergil's thick cock enters your opening. Three orgasms have you weightless, almost boneless as you drape your arms around Dante's shoulders, clutching him at being so filled. Dante stays still, his cock inside you halfway, and Vergil pumps his hips gently to bury himself deeper. "She's so tight," he gasps, the cool veneer finally cracking in the way his voice shakes, and you consciously relax your muscles, trying to open yourself to them. 

They find a rhythm where one withdraws as the other enters, a lovely back and forth that sends your body and mind into a tailspin. And they are everywhere, hands and mouths greedy on your body, not an inch of you untouched as they grab at your breasts and hips and shoulders and calves, tracing your spine and skimming along your neck and scraping your thighs. You’ll have marks everywhere tomorrow, you are sure, but it's like riding an ocean of bliss, and you start to drown in it, suffocating as the twins take over everything and begin to drive you towards another orgasm.

Dante finishes first this time, yanking your hips down to fill you completely as he comes. The seed pumps into you in gushes that make your body slick, and you can feel his cock pulsing as it continues. While Dante kisses you, Vergil continues pumping, his length stretching you and making you cry out when his hips go flush to your backside. With Dante still sheathed fully every time Vergil thrusts your body reacts with a shudder.

There is something inside you that starts to spark, and without warning your body snaps as you start to come again. This time it truly is devastating, your cries sounding foreign to your ears. Dante’s murmured praise and two sets of hands firmly holding you are not enough to steady the swell of emotion that sparks, and you let go a sob when Dante withdraws his cock. It drags over your clit and sets off another wave of pulsing bliss, and you are only dimly aware of Vergil’s mouth on your neck and the creamy heat that shoots inside you. Vergil leans forward as he grinds deeper as Dante grinds upwards against your sex, and you are trapped between their solid bodies, barely able to breathe.

Everything goes quiet except for the sound of heavy breathing. Vergil gently withdraws and you sag against Dante, whose hands hold you firmly against him. “Hey,” he says, and you press your face to his shoulder, aftershocks from your orgasm igniting and leaving you shivering. You can feel how flushed your body is, and when he tilts you back and you feel a cool cloth between your thighs, you sigh gratefully as you roll against the mattress, craving the softness after the two hard bodies that nearly tore you apart with pleasure.

You end up between them, their hands stroking you with gentle caresses that pull you towards sleep. Faintly you think about how sore you will be, but it will be worth it. A pair of lips meets yours each time you turn your head, and when their touches start to grow a bit more aggressive and sweep over your folds and your sore nipples, you groan internally. Dante was always an insatiable lover, and now it seems like you’ve woken a second beast.

“Sleep first,” you murmur as you push a hand away from your slit—Vergil’s, you’re pretty sure. 

“Told ya,” Dante chuckles, and he gives your shoulder a kiss. 

“You did not,” Vergil mutters.

You sigh as they argue quietly, and when the topic turns to who gets to give you your first orgasm tomorrow, you smile at what is to come as you drift off to sleep. It seems as if this argument isn’t resolved at all.