#how he was SHAKING. how he was breathing. how he clenched his hands

[chaldeanu]

healing touch ノ wriothesley

ꕤ ₊ ˙ ⊹ . requested by @euthymiya ノ thank you kindly for this prompt and i hope it will be to your liking ♡ though i could probably write more and more about this specific scenario :3

ৎ୭ ₊ ˙ ⊹ . 0.6k ノ gn reader — detailed descriptions of blood and wounded hands ノ taking care of his injuries . kissing his knuckles after a fight

it’s not the first time you see wriothesley losing his temper against an extremely violent prisoner who got out of control and injured two other guards before cursing at the duke himself, unknowingly bringing him over the boiling point.

to say that you weren’t afraid would be a lie. after all, witnessing a fistfight between two large men always stirs the primal instinct to flee and to hide. it’s hard to imagine that a person so gentle, so lighthearted, enjoying tea on every occasion, can also be such a brute — or, at least, he used to be. his sad expression only tells how angry he is that the situation escalated to violence and couldn’t be resolved in any other way.

his breath comes out shallow, and you catch yourself worrying if he might dislocate his knuckles; he struggles to uncurl his fingers. every little bone feels like experiencing an earthquake, but he is thankful that the worst has passed, and before him is the most pleasant part — being taken care of by you.

a thick glob of dark crimson liquid dribbles down the shaking fist, threatening to fall but so sticky it clings to maltreated skin, keeping the wounds from opening further.

you swallow hard at the sight, trying not to panic, but the metallic scent has already clasped its claws around your head.

wriothesley exhales heavily when your hands touch his, already with a gauze dampened with a salve to reduce swelling and irritation. how amazing it is that even though the roles were reversed so many times, from the one who needs aid to the one who provides it, there was always the same calmness between the two of you.

“did i scare you?”

“a little.” you reply fast, focused on cleaning the blood. it’s serious this time, and you doubt your help will have any effects without sigewinne’s support.

despite his belief that he doesn’t deserve such kindness, that he can do it all by himself, and that he shouldn’t let you treat his wounds or kiss them better, he is far too tired and far too pleased to have your fingers rubbing his knuckles gently and placing soft pecks around the damaged skin.

his cheeks glow in a lovely red hue when your lips quickly find the back of his hand, right after clearing the spot with clean water. the feeling of his heart skipping a beat will always be so alien to him — someone who went through so much and saw things no one should witness, now struggling to contain butterflies in his stomach.

“i’m sorry you had to see this. i’m not proud of it.” wriothesley stares down at his trembling fists and how they reappear from under the dark coat of slick when you carefully remove the dirty layer and wrap them in a temporary bandage.

“it would only get worse if you hadn’t stopped him.”

you pull his sleeves back down and finally feel the stress leaving your tense muscles, nerves throbbing at the drying blood splattered across the cold floor. your thumbs slide over his reddened skin to smooth the bandages. it would hurt like hell to clench a fist for a while, but it’s all better now. especially after seeing you place an affectionate kiss on the wounds, careful not to cause a sting of touch to penetrate the soft gauze.

“there, all good now.”

and it’s true. as long as he is with you, nothing bad can happen.

[hitomisuzuya]

Aventurine x fem!reader. Fluff. Smut. Kissing. Fingering. Thigh riding.

When Aventurine woke up from an intense nightmare, sweaty and shaking with a trembling heart, you gave him something special that you had prepared ahead of time.

A coupon of sorts. One for unlimited kisses that he could cash in whenever he wanted. Now, kisses were always unlimited, but you figured this added that extra flair Aventurine is so fond of.

Most times after a nightmare, Aventurine insisted on not going back to sleep. But this made him fall back to sleep with a smile on his face, thinking about all the ways he was going to use this.

And oh boy, did this man use it.

Good morning and good night kisses were now doubled. If Aventurine was walking by you in either direction, he would lean down and steal a kiss both ways.

If you asked him to hand you something, he kissed you before he handed it to you. If you were walking by him in either direction, Aventurine was wag his finger at you, and get a kiss from you both ways.

He also liked to tease you with them. Sometimes, he would lean in and pull away with a chuckle, knowing you were anticipating his kiss. You jokingly said, "Keep that up, and I'll start charging you a kiss toll," with a shy blush on your cheeks, your lips somehow feeling empty without his on them. He loves how easily flustered you get when he teased you with kisses. Or in general really.

Aventurine looked at you, laughed and said he would pay up ten years worth of the kiss toll in one payment. And to name your price. What a way for him to state commitment to you.

There were times when it was hard for Aventurine to control himself kissing you. There are those long, slow kisses as he pins you against the wall. Deep, passionate, and open mouthed. He will only pull away for a few moments to breath before his lips were back on yours, his hands roaming and groping under your clothes.

He can feel you melting, the sensation of his tongue curling and gliding around yours stealing the breath from your lungs. When you start losing yourself in him, your arms wrapped around him, grinding against him while he fumbled shakily with your clothes, Aventurine clings to it.

The intimacy of kissing is a deep thing for him.

It makes him all the more weaker when he can swallow soft moans, one hand holding your jaw while the other was busy playing with your nipples or stroking you teasingly outside your panties.

Aventurine absolutely enjoys enjoys stealing a kiss from you after watching you squirm, grinding on his thigh as you worked yourself into a wet mess. He'll press his lips against yours, pushing his tongue into your mouth as you whimper and moan. "Look at the mess you are making on my expensive pants, sweetheart," He rubbed his thigh against your pussy, making your back arch, "Good thing you sound so pretty."

Your walls clenched around nothing, your panties clinging and rubbing on your throbbing clit added extra friction. He put a hand on hip, guiding you to better grind on his thigh, sending your legs shaking and your body trembling with pleasure. An ever present smile on his face while he edged you into cumming on his thigh.

Your head dropped down into his neck, panting and twitching as he rubbed your clit through your orgasm. He'll gently lift your head from his neck, and give you tenderest kiss.

Aventurine's lips would hover teasingly over yours while he fingered you. Your hips bucked and jerked to grind into his fingers as he hooked them expertly into your spongy spot. His tongue swept across your lower lip, groaning as he felt your juices ooze out around his fingers. "Look at you," He laughed teasingly, giving you a quick kiss on your lips as you start to babble about how good his fingers were making you feel, and if you could suck them clean when he was finished, "So fucked out, and I haven't made you cum yet."

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Can I ask for prompt 13, Nightmares?

Yes of course you can! Here you go!

Summary: Astarion wakes from a particularly bad nightmare, thankful that you're right there when he needs you

Astarion hates nightmares. He hates the way he’s all alone in them, running from something he can never escape. He’s always trapped, back against the wall, nowhere to go as his worst fears swallow him whole and then he wakes up with a start, gasping for air he no longer needs, eyes wild with panic.

He hates how pitiful he feels each time he wakes from a nightmare, wanting nothing but to curl up into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest and cry. It makes him feel vulnerable, raw, naked, and nothing good has ever come from that.

He hates the way his skin crawls moments after he wakes, lingering ghostly imprints of the night causing bile to form in his throat and he shivers, wanting nothing more than to leave the tent but the fear that the creature of his nightmares may be waiting for him outside keeps him curled in his bedroll.

His clawed fingertips dig into the flesh of his arm, a quiet sob slipping past his lips. He feels weak, pathetic, and shrinks further into himself. He hates the trembling that follows suit, he can’t stop himself from shaking no matter how deep his claws sink in and tears continue flowing down his cheeks.

He hates how no matter how far he runs, Cazador is always there, taunting him, laughing at him, shattering his dreams. The vampire lord’s claws are always around his throat, squeezing all the air out of his undead lungs, the despicable choking feeling tearing his mind apart even though he doesn’t need to breathe anymore, the pain that explodes from where Cazador’s hands clench around his throat.

He hates hates hates hates —

“Star?” Your whisper slices through the haze, a light reaching out to him in the darkness. He whimpers in response, instinctively shifting in the direction of your voice and you wrap your arms around him, pulling him close.

“I’m right here, my star,” you murmur, running your fingers through his hair. He grips your clothes tightly, curling tighter into you as he buries his face into your chest, shoulders shaking with each sob. It breaks your heart to see him like this, curled into a fetal position, in pain and yet you can’t do anything to help.

You would do anything if it meant he would be free of all that haunts him.

Your free arm slips around his waist and you shift until your back faces the tent flap, blocking the sight of anyone who may happen past. He burrows deeper, pressing as much of himself against you as he can. You smell of warmth, safety, everything he needs right now.

“I’m right here.” You say again. You’ll say it over and over again until he fully understands and accepts what it means, no matter how long it takes. You continue threading your fingers through his hair, the rhythm soothing the vampire and his sobs begin to die down, his grip on you loosening slightly but he remains glued to you.

“Don’t leave.” His words are so soft that you barely catch them.

“Never,” you reply firmly. “Not for anything in the world, I promise.”

He keens, resting his head on your chest so that he can hear the steady pounding of your heart and suddenly he feels a little less alone in the chill of the night. It’s still cold, but at least he has your warmth to curl into when it gets too much. He can lean against you, knowing that you’ll be there to catch him should he fall.

You’ve given him so much in the short time you’ve been travelling together, more than he knows what to do with and he doesn’t know how to pay you back, or if he can even pay you back. Yet you never demand compensation for your efforts, never seeming to want anything from him, leaving him confused and lost.

Each time he wakes from his trance, he expects his side to be empty just like it usually is. He’s used to waking up all alone, picking himself from the messy sheets to clean up, feeling the coldness of the bed on the side he didn’t lie on, but ever since that night in the forest, the other side of the bed has never been cold. You’re always there when he closes his eyes and when he opens them back up again, sometimes curled into his side, sometimes wrapping him in your arms, but you’re always there, lying next to him.

It’s the only reason you know about his nightmares.

There are times when he tries to push you away, telling you to leave once you’ve done whatever it is you’ve come to his tent to do and you do leave, only to pop your head back in moments later with a lame and clearly made up on the spot excuse just so you can stay in his tent for the night. He tried forcing you to leave before but you stubbornly refused, so each time you throw him a new excuse, he simply sighs in resignation and lets you stay.

Tonight he’s glad he let you stay.

You gently rub his back, an area nobody had ever touched without causing him to feel sick until you, and he leans into the touch, yearning for something gentle. You can’t help but smile softly when he does so, noticing that he has finally calmed down and has stopped trembling.

He still buries himself in your arms, quietly pressing his forehead against your shoulder with his eyes closed as he takes a deep breath, letting it out with a shudder. His gaze flicks up, meeting yours for the first time since he woke up but quickly flicks back down again.

You don’t ask. You know he will tell you when he is ready and you’re more than happy to simply accompany him for what remains of the night. Still, you worry for him, this nightmare must have rattled him quite hard and you yearn to know the reason for his pain tonight but you hold yourself back. He comes first.

Astarion wordlessly tugs at your hand and you blink, confused but let him do what he wants. He slips his freezing hand into yours and you jump slightly, but quickly give him a reassuring smile when he looks at you with concern.

“Your hand is just a little cold.” You give him a gentle smile. He stares at you for a little while, as if discerning whether you are speaking the truth, before looking back down at your intertwined fingers, holding your clasped hands to his chest.

“Stay,” he pleads softly. You’re the only thing shielding him from the chill his nightmares leave behind, and he’s not sure he’ll survive the night if you leave.

“As you wish, my star.” His eyes light up at your words, a hint of gratitude in them as he curls up against you once more, still holding your intertwined hands to his chest.

“Thank you.” Those words barely scratch the surface of what he wants to tell you, but it’s all he can manage tonight, and that’s more than enough to you.

“Anytime.” With that, he drifts back into a trance to the steady rhythm of your beating heart, your warmth enveloping him. The nightmares still terrify him, but he takes comfort in knowing that should he wake up, screaming and sweating, you will be right there to pull him back to reality — the reality that he has you, always.

[lustylita]

Scorching.

Heat, all you could feel was heat.

Everywhere in your body - hot, it was all around you in the forms of sweat and heavy breaths mingling together, you honestly couldn't see straight anymore as Alastor continued to thrust aggressively into you, the pleasure now that painful and intense that your lust hazed mind mistook it for fire, Alastor was burning you from the inside out. 

Just like he wanted. 

"Such a good slut, I do enjoy being able to fuck. You. Stupid." His hips snapped into you with each word, the slight knot at the base of his shaft threatening to breach your tight hole, a reminder of what's to come. 

"A-Al I- Ah!" He hits your g-spot, and the words go flying out of your head as intense pleasure shoots up your spine, causing your back to arch and your toes to curl. Needing something to ground yourself, you reach behind him, digging your nails into his back and gripping hard, not caring if you broke his skin in the process. 

"Good girl- Fuck!" Biting down on his lip, the pain only motivates Alastor to go faster, rougher and deeper than he already was. Alastor loved bringing this side out of you, shaking legs pressed to your chest, your neck bent back proudly showing off his claiming marks and bites... but - the best thing was your lovely face. 

He knew every time he hit your cervix because of the way your jaw would go slack in a wordless cry and the fresh tears that would collect at your waterline, threatening to spill, he wanted no - needed to see that. So, with a new goal in mind, Alastor slides his hands down your legs to your hips and picks you up, leaning back on his haunches he grips your hips tightly and starts thrusting up deeper into you, bouncing you down onto his throbbing cock stroke for stroke. 

"Look at you pet, looking so pretty bouncing on my cock" He coos with a smug- albeit strained smirk as you were finally taking his slightly swollen knot now. Your back began to hurt with how much you were arching it, you quickly dragged your nails down Alastor’s back as a pleasure filled scream left your drooling lips, his own moans now joining yours, you finally opened your eyes from his sounds, not knowing when you closed them. 

Looking down at Alastor you couldn't help your orgasm crashing into you at the sight of him- eyes half shut with a pleasured frown, blood dripping down his chin with how hard he was biting on his lip. He moans out at the near painful way you fluttered and clenched around him, your cunt trying to pull him in and milk him for all that he was worth, his claws on your hips now drawing blood.

Alastor pins you back onto the bed and begins to thrust into you desperately. Now wanting to chase his own orgasm Alastor momentarily forgets about his strength, beginning to abuse your cervix as you begin to scream out in pleasure filled pain from the stretch of his swelling knot. 

"Come on, my love, you can take it." He pants out and with a few more uncoordinated thrusts, Alastor slams into you- forcing his thick knot into your throbbing cunt and stills, not realizing that he's knocked the wind out of you from the intensity of his strong thrusts. The feeling of him pulsating and twitching inside you sends you into another orgasm - you grip the sheets, entire body locking up with how intensely painful the pleasure was, Alastor's abdomen pressing and rubbing on your sensitive clit not helping. 

"See? I knew you could take all of me, little pet~" 

You look up at him with a glare, trembling lips starting to pout as he laughs at your reaction. 

Hehe, enjoy this (I wrote it half asleep during a work morning, so please don’t judge me).

[gumified]

satoru being a desperate mess for you

content: dom!reader, sub!satoru, modern au, orgasm denial, praise, satoru being a cutie <3

note: tumblr still not letting me post images TT hopefully they reply to my email, pray for me !!!

//

if any one of satoru's friends could see him right now they definitely wouldn’t recognise the whining boy that’s begging to cum. according to the things that satoru gojo tells his popular jock friends, he's the dominant one in bed and you're always a moaning mess under him. emphasis on the under him. 

only a few know that satoru gojo is a submissive whimpering bundle of nerves when he's met with you. sure, he's the popular guy at university and everyone knows what's up with him but put his girlfriend in front of him and he instantly melts. you are the only thing that makes satoru turn into a stuttering boy begging for his release. and that is exactly what he is right now.

"y/n…" he whines, hands struggling against the handcuffs that bind him. you're smirking as you sit in his cock, slowly dragging your hips up and down. you've been edging him on and denying him of his orgasm for so long that he thinks he's about to go crazy. "y-y/n! fuck!"

the rhythmic slapping of skin on skin has your skin crawling with lust as you listen to the lewd sounds. satoru continues to beg and struggle. he's panting, and you drag your fingers up his chest, drawing small circles that make him shiver. his thighs quiver as you ride him, cock throbbing inside of you. he moans, throwing his head back and bucking his hips to create more friction. the handcuffs restrict him from touching your body and he just wants to feel you, wants to touch your soft skin.

"aren't you just adorable?" you coo, noticing the way his cheeks flush pink and his mouth hangs open slightly. "my pretty boy."

there's something that sparks inside you whenever you hear your boyfriend lose control and plead for you. it makes you see nothing but him. you continue to slide down on his cock, occasionally grinding your hips on his which makes satoru groan. it hurts so bad and he wants to cum. he wants to cum so bad. 

"heard your friends talking about how good you fuck me." he tenses beneath you. "baby, you didn't tell them that i'm the one doing the fucking? that you're the one that turns into a sobbing mess?" satoru gulps and shakes his head nervously. he doesn't know how you'll react and he hopes you don't do what he thinks you're going to do. a wicked grin twitches at your lips and you stop your movements which causes him to let out a desperate whimper. you give him a pout. "that's bad toru. you're not a bad boy are you?"

"n-no…"

you smirk, walls clenching around his cock as you reach over to unlock him from his handcuffs. "why don't you show me how good you are?" 

satoru's eyes widen with shock but you see the underlying desire. he looks at you, bringing his bottom lip in between his teeth. you’re so pretty and he can’t help but stare at your body, taking in every curve in front of him. his hands grip your waist, rocking you back and forth, slowly at first, before speeding up a tiny bit. you moan his name, showering him with praises. it feels so good, the warmth in his hands spreading across your body and the way his cock slides in and out of you makes you keen with pleasure. 

"shit!" he groans. "i-i…i’m so close, so so close, hnghh, y/n i’m gonna - a-ah!" 

he's at a loss for words as he babbles desperately, hands still on your waist as he guides you up and down. you grin cockily and lean in to give him a kiss, one that starts soft but quickly deepens, throwing him into an intense frenzy. your lips move against his with a passionate rhythm, tongues tangling, and the heat between you escalating. the sight of him losing control, eyes closed, breath hitching, and hands gripping you tighter, sends a thrill through your body.

"baby you're doing so well." you moan, pulling him closer to your body. another whimper escapes satoru's throat and this time it's strangled and he's desperate to cum. you feel his huge cock throb and twitch inside of you and you know he's close. you speed up your movements and allow him to moan and unwind in front of you. 

"y-y/n please let me cum, p-please!" he begs, a sob wracking his throat. his hands clutch at you with a frantic urgency, his entire body shaking with the intensity of his need.

you trace kisses up the column of his neck, whispering the words you knew he would hate to hear. "no."

[willyoubemycherryy]

“You tuff, huh?” (M.Sturniolo)

𝑶𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓➬ 𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒚 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝒘/ 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒔𝒎𝒐𝒑𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒏❦

“𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝒂𝒔𝒔, 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒔𝒐 𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒃𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖.”

𝑰𝒏𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔: 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒍 𝒃𝒄 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝑷𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑫 𝑻𝑶𝑾𝑵😭😭😂, 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈, ‘𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒘𝒆 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏’ 𝒊𝒇𝒚𝒌𝒚𝒌, 𝒃𝒆𝒈𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒆𝒙𝒑1𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒕 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆, 𝒎𝒖𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒑𝒍𝒆 ✪𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒔𝒎𝒔, 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑, 𝒖𝒏𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 )𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒖𝒓 𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒐𝒓 𝒊𝒏 𝑹𝑳 𝒌𝒊𝒅𝒔), 𝒑𝒆𝒕𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔

.༒.

For the record, your relationship isn’t toxic.

“And who do you think you are bitch???The equalizer?!!”

Hook.

You just liked to start stuff sometimes when you’re bored.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

Like the current argument, for example.

“I MEAN YOU ALWAYS TRY TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO LIKE YOU RUN SHIT AND YOU DON’T because your a fucking PUSSY!”

Matt raises his eyebrows and shouts even louder, yelling straight in your face as a thrill rushes through you.

“Look now you’re just saying anything so if you’re gonna talk outta your ass, at least turn around so I can hear ya better!”

“BYE!! And if you’re gonna talk out of YOUR ass, shake that shit too money so I don’t get bored listening to you!!”

Line.

Matt goes completely silent at that and that was when it dawned on you why you shouldn’t intentionally piss him off.

….but you couldn’t help it. It was always so hard to get a rise out of him and sometimes you just wanted to see him let it out. Everything he gets frustrated or annoyed at, attitude always looked so hot on him so if you squint, you were honestly doing him a well intentioned(not) favor.

The air sparks with tension as Matt steps to you. Looking up, his nose touches yours as you stand chest to chest, his heaving in irritation and yours in anticipation.

It’s dead silent.

Chris and Nick left as soon as you got Matt to yell back, claiming that if you wanted to act like the highest in the room then they’re making it out of there first. You couldn’t blame them.

The sound of Matt taking a deep breath makes you jump as he stares you down and you throb at how done he looks.

“What did you just say to me?”

Sinker.

:

:

:

:

Matt manhandles you onto your back, tearing your clothes off and tossing them away as you gasp in delight.

You whine as Matt’s teeth graze over your chest, that firm tongue licking down between them before lavishing attention over your nipples; they grow and harden beneath his tongue, becoming flushed and puffy. You grind your hips up, panting, pushing his face hard against your tits.

“Suck harder, god –,” you cry out as Matt bites down hard on one of your nipples, grinding the flesh between his teeth and tugging. The pain of it shoots through your body, right to your pussy, each new bite making your condition even worse. If you don’t get fucked soon you might just scream.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me –,”

“Tell me who the fuck you was talking to earlier then,” Matt snarls in response, spitting the words against your cheek before kissing you hotly, shoving two fingers deep inside your dripping pussy; it clenches around his fingers, sucking him in, desperate for something, anything.

You lift yourself onto hands and knees; dropping your chest to the ground so your ass is high in the air, back arched beautifully.

“Baby, please…”

The sight of your pretty cunt so needy and flushed and slick is enough to have Matt’s cock raging hard. He gets to his knees, trying to steady his shaking hands as he positions the head of his cock at your hole. The folds kiss the head of his cock, seeming to suck him in before he even penetrates. “Say you’re sorry, sweetheart,” he breathes. You try to push your hips back but he holds you firmly by the hips.

“Please! M’sorry…wasn’t talking to y-,” you repeat your apology but this time your voice is torn by a sob.

Matt snaps.

He slams his hips forwards, his cock pushing into you in one slick thrust. Holy fuck, the stretch hurts so good your back is arching even deeper as your hips quiver. The head of Matt’s cock has bullied past the tight ring of your entrance and is pressed flush against your cervix, huge thick and hot.

Matt doesn’t take the time to pace himself. He can’t. He needs to fuck your smart ass up. There’s a fire burning at the base of his spine that he can’t put out; it spurs him on like a wild animal as he pulls out slowly, watching as the sticky strings of precum draw out between them; his cock is already dripping with your juices, the lips of your tight cunt dragging him along, desperate to keep him inside. Then he’s slamming inside again, hard enough to send you jerking a little over the bed, the breath kicked clean out of your lungs.

His pace is brutal. Matt’s hips pound harshly, his thrusts deep and long and fast. The room is hot and smells like sex already, full of your wan moaning and the sound of wet skin. Matt is so consumed by pleasure he can barely see, his cock enveloped by the tightest heat he’s ever experienced in his life; he’s quite convinced he could fuck you forever.

Of course he’s fucked you long before this. Whenever he’d seen you with your quick wit and soft skin, the man’s immediate reaction had been lust. And now here he is, buried balls-deep inside the same beautiful girl that drives him crazy daily. But you set him off with your attitude.

Like hell he’s going to go easy.

“I’m going crazy,” you moan, voice high and breathless. Matt’s hands slam down to the bed on either side of your head, then, lithe body bending further over yours and hammering deeper, deeper, deeper while you scream–

“Cum,” Matt snarls and bites down hard on your flushed ear. His thrusts only become stronger at the angle; he uses his weight to drive himself down, and soon Matt’s body is smothering yours into the mattress, hips moving in deep, fast thrusts.

“Squirt all over my dick. Show me you’re sorry.”

The words do it.

You let out a muffled scream, humping your hips up desperately as much as you can as you cum – finally – a pressure being released from the deepest parts of you. Your body shakes, convulses, moves in ways it’s never moved before until you collapse boneless against the sheets. Your consciousness is in pieces and all you can do is breathe.

Matt, however, isn’t finished. The sight of you collapsed half-unconscious beneath him – because of him – drives him on, and he uses his hands to pull your limp hips into the air again.

He uses you like a doll, with you only managing a few weak whines; your cunt is a wet, sopping mess between his legs and Matt’s passage is easy and slick. He pounds at your cunt, his skin searing as his abdomen coils tight and hot. “You won’t ever talk to me like that again, got it?,” Matt breathes harshly. “Y-yes! I–,” He grits his teeth, cutting you off with a groan as he stills, pressing himself deep inside you as he cums, load pouring into your body beneath him. Your hips buck weakly against his grip, molten walls throbbing around Matt’s cock, tightening as you feel him release inside you.

Matt sits back on his haunches, breathing hard. His cock slips from your cunt and you collapse once more against the covers, globs of cum dribbling from your raw, gaping hole. His chest heaves as he gathers his breath, a strange sort of serenity taking over him as he turns you over.

He kisses you like he loves you, because he does, and checks in on you.

“We good?” He asks and your delirious sigh makes him giggle.

“Never better…”

[invisible-lint]

We Lay Here

Cassian x Reader

Summary: Cassian goes down in battle. Yo try to save him, but end up falling with him

Warnings: angst. cannon typical violence

Word Count: 1,067

You race across the battlefield ignoring the smell of blood and clash of steel. Your legs ache, heart pounding in your throat, breath panting through your lips. You're ready to collapse, your soft body not used to this kind of exertion, but you need to find him. You give the bond a tug, relief flooding your veins when you feel him tug back. 

You had felt it through the bond, felt it in your soul when he had gone down. You knew he needed a healer and fast. You stop running, scanning the field for the male you love, screaming his name. You let loose a shriek and start running again when an arrow goes whizzing past your face, the fletching grazing the soft skin of your cheek. 

You didn't care how stupid and reckless it was to run onto the field unharmed, untrained, you would not, could not, lose him. 

You search for the shape of his wings, a glimpse of the familiar shade red of his siphons, but there's so much red, so much blood. You scream for him again, and this time you hear him call back for you in response. You change direction, dashing towards the sound.

You see an enemy stalking towards him, ready to make a killing blow and you act without thinking, grabbing a sword from a dead male. As he  prepares to strike your mate, you stab him from behind, both your hands shaking where they grip the sword. You pull it out and slash across his throat before tossing it away as if it had suddenly grown heated, scalding you. 

You finish your mad dash to your mate, dropping to your knees at his side, brushing hair away from his face, stomach churning at how pale he looks. “Cassian…” He looks at you, hazel eyes filled with shock. 

“Hey there, Sweetheart. Battle over already?” 

“Not exactly…”

“Please tell me you didn't run across a battlefield because I got hurt.”

“...I didn't run across a battlefield because you got hurt.” He lets out a sigh, trying to hide how painful the action is. 

“It's bad, isn't it?” You chew your lip, your usual bedside manner gone when your mate is the one laying on the ground injured in front of you.

“I've gotta move you Cass. I can't stay here to heal you.” He nods, preparing himself for the pain that's about to follow. You stand, hooking your arms under his shoulders, pulling him backwards towards safety. He clenches his jaw, breathing out a hiss of pain. 

“I know, Baby. I know it hurts. I've got you.” You can only move a few feet with the heavy male before you have to stop, tears streaming down your face, feeling his pain through the mating bond. You pull him a few more feet before you stop, laying him back on the ground. At this rate, he’ll bleed out before you make it. You cup his cheek, his eyelids fluttering shut as he leans into your touch. “Cass, I need you to keep your eyes open for me so I know you're still conscious, okay? I'm not going to be able to move you fast enough. So I'm going to heal you enough to buy myself some time, okay?” He shakes his head, eyes flying open, looking at you with panic. 

“No, leave me. You have to leave me and get somewhere safe.” You ignore him, pulling tools out from the pouch at your hip and cutting the leather away from the gaping wound on his stomach. You wince. It's even worse than you originally thought. 

He knows he's going to die. Knew he was the moment he fell. He's just glad that if this is how it's going to end he got to see your face one last time. He grabs your wrist, stopping you. “I don't think there's anything you can do, Sweetheart.” You sob, tears streaking the grime on your face. You lean down to kiss him, hating the taste of blood on his lips. He kisses back, tangling his fingers in your hair, ignoring the pain it sends through the wound. You pull back, looking over him, desperate to do something, anything. 

The two of you are so wrapped up in each other that you don't notice the male coming up behind you. You cry out when he stabs you, screaming when he pulls his sword out with a twist, collapsing onto Cassian's chest. He's just conscious enough for his heart to seize in horror at the weight of your body on his, the warmth of your blood soaking him. With his last conscious thought, he wraps his arms around you, holding you to him as he draws his final breath.

You try to tug on the bond, sobbing when there's no response. The anguish you feel at the crumbling bond dwarfs the pain of your wound. It's a relief that you're fading fast, following him out of this world, your blood mingling with his. It's almost morbidly romantic, dying together, and you can understand why Rhys and Feyre made their pact.

If Azriel was worried when he couldn't find Cassian after the battle, he was nearly panicked when he couldn't find you either. You took your duties as a healer more seriously than anything, often having stayed in the healing tents until you nearly passed out. No, something had to be wrong. He asks another healer about you and they say they saw you head towards the battlefield. He curses. He finds Rhys and the two of them search together, dread snaking into their guts at what they’ll find. 

It's Azriel who finds the two of you, calling out to Rhys. The two of you look peaceful, despite the chaos of the battlefield that surrounds you. Azriel kneels down next to the two of you, uncertain if it's your blood or the blood of his brother soaking his knees, brushing hair back from your face. You had always hated the way hair would fall loose from your braid and get in your eyes. 

It's Rhys who speaks first, looking at the way Cassian is holding you to him, even in death. “We should put them on a pyre together. It almost seems cruel to separate them now.” 

And so they do,you still wrapped in Cassian's arms, your family, now two members smaller, huddled together, sobbing, as they light your shared pyre. 

A/N: The idea came to me and I wrote like a possessed gremlin, literally cranking this out in like an hour and felt the need to post it before bed. I am a little sorry for this one, I got myself in the feels a bit, listening to In a Week as I wrote it.

I should have a masterlist up soon!

Divider is by @tsunami-of-tears

[freelancearsonist]

in our ivory tower

➔ Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x f!Reader

➔ 1.1k words

➔ You enjoy the view from the top with your boss.

➔ Rated MA // unprotected p in v sex, creampie/cum play, gratuitous groping, semi-public sex, a little dash of exhibition kink, power dynamics kind of // reader has female anatomy and uses feminine pronouns, reader is generally able-bodied

The view from the top floor of the Statesman skyscraper is breathtaking. You’ve been here for months at this point and you still don’t think you’ll ever truly get used to it. You swear you can see all the way to the other end of Manhattan from here–miles and miles of glistening steel and glass that make you feel so inconsequential, so anonymous. It’s a good feeling. 

The Statesman tower is a far cry from the little apartment in Hell’s Kitchen that you share with three roommates–this is luxurious, decadent. Everything is modern and brand new, everyone is dressed to perfection in clothes that probably cost more than you make over the course of a month. You’ve always felt like you don’t quite belong here–you might’ve even quit by now if it weren’t for your gorgeous view and the gorgeous boss.

The panorama of the city skyline is only elevated by the gut-clenching thrill you get when you’re pressed up against the sturdy, full-length window like this, with your boss pounding into your pussy from behind like there’s no tomorrow.

There’s always a little paranoid thought in the back of your mind, as you look down at the street a hundred stories below you, that you’d be fucked if the glass gave way. Not that Jack would ever let anything happen to you–he’s proven time and time again just how capable he is.

“That’s it, hmm?” He grunts with a particularly delicious thrust that slams his cockhead right into your g-spot. “Righ’ there, sugar?”

He’s always been able to find it with seemingly no effort. He folds you over like it’s nothing, hands sliding up from their tight grip over the bunched-up skirt on your hips so he can grab greedily at your breasts through the soft fabric of your shirt. His skilled fingers can find your nipples with ease even through the layers–it never fails to impress, much less to draw a loud moan from your lips.

“Atta girl.” He growls–a sound so low and animalistic that it makes your walls clamp down around him–so close to your ear that you can feel the bristly scratch of his mustache and the warm, panting breaths that are punched from his lungs with each thrust against your neck.

Your thighs are trembling with every vicious stroke of his cock, desperate for the release he’s been steadily working your towards. He’s always liked to play with his meal–to draw it out until you’re begging and crying for it.

You can feel the delicious friction of his denim-clad thighs against the back of yours, hear the clink of his belt buckle as his hips work. It’s easy to forget that anyone could walk into this conference room right now, anyone could look up out a window and see you being pulled apart.

Your fingers clutch uselessly at the smooth glass in a feeble attempt to steady yourself, but there’s no saving you. Not when you’re this close, not when you can feel his plush lips ghosting against your pulse point and his fingers are shoving under the neckline of your shirt to get a better feel of what he’s been pawing at.

“God damn, this cunt,” he grunts lowly–his thrusts are losing their rhythm, you know he’s getting close. “Sweeter ’n stolen honey.”

One of his broad palms gives up the delightful attack on your chest to skate down the length of your stomach and find your clit. He’s familiar enough with your body now, after months of sneaking around together like this–he knows exactly the right pace and pressure to use in order to have you crumbling in his arms.

And crumble you do–with a moan that you try to muffle behind your bitten lip, you shatter. Your entire body shakes with the force of your orgasm, barely held up if not for your palms against the glass and Jack’s hands moving swiftly to your hips to steady you.

He’s not far behind–a couple more deliciously firm thrusts have him pressed balls-deep into your messy cunt, filling you to the very brim with his cum until it’s leaking out around his softening length.

There’s a blissfully long moment where he stays crowding you against the window, hot breath flickering up the length of your neck from where he’s pressing open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder. 

“A’right, darlin’?” There’s something so tender behind that whispered question in combination with the way his lips can’t seem to leave your skin. Almost loving.

You choke down whatever feelings you’re perceiving–imagined or real–and give a little nod. “Mhm.”

He pulls out with a quiet groan that makes it sound as if he’s in pain over being parted from you. One of those warm hands of his comes up and curves around your jaw, pulling your lips to his in a sweet kiss that’s a far cry from the way he was fucking you just a moment ago. He pushes his tongue against your bottom lip as his other hand sneaks down between your legs, fingertips ghosting against your over-sensitive cunt before he pulls your ruined panties back into their proper place.

“Clean these up for me?” 

You’re accepting his cum-smeared fingers into your mouth before you can think of a response. His jaw drops open at the way you swirl your tongue around them, always so dedicated to doing exactly what he asks of you. Always striving to go above and beyond.

“Should give you a raise,” he murmurs, his voice a little high-pitched in a way that makes you smirk proudly.

You let his fingers go with an audible pop. “I wouldn’t turn it down, Mr. Daniels.”

You try to ignore the steady leak of his spend dripping into your underwear as you tug your skirt back into place. It’s only just past noon–you have plenty of work to get done, starting with clearing the conference table of all the rubble left behind from the meeting that concluded shortly before Jack got his hands on you.

You see it as he’s tucking himself back into those sinfully tight jeans–two smudgy handprints on the otherwise impeccable glass. You feel vaguely guilty on behalf of the cleaning crew who’ll have to deal with that tonight.

Jack doesn’t seem to have the same inclination. He shoots a wink your way as he picks his black Stetson up off the conference table and sets it on his head. “Have those meetin’ notes ready by the end a’day, ‘kay?”

“Yes sir,” you answer dutifully. It’s only one of the many reasons you’re his favorite employee.

➔ beta: @schnarfer ; dividers: @saradika-graphics

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[wreckedandpolemic]

58 & 61 for white and gold matty when u get a chance, my beautiful friend !!!

- molly 🤍🤍🤍

(ilysm)

felt like a kiss - matty healy

(mdni) in which matty finds a new punishment for you. part of the white and gold universe. 2291 words.

warnings: daddy kink (duh), heavy degradation, mean mean dom!matty, impact play (belt), overstimulation, mild cumplay

Logically, you know that the situation you’re in right now is entirely your own fault. Nothing good ever comes out of teasing Matty, especially not when he’s already tightly-wound and ready to snap at any second. But he makes it so fun. It’s like a game to you, seeing how much you can make his jaw clench and his nostrils flare, his every movement a threat. That, and you fucking begged him to be meaner to you, stomach twisting in anticipation as anger radiates off him.

Matty doesn’t even kiss you when you get home, just grabs your jaw punishingly and forces your eyes to meet his. “Filthy slut,” he spits. “Should fuckin’ slap you for the way you behaved today.” Excitement tangles with fear under your skin. “Take your fucking clothes off, get on the bed and wait. Got it? Or are you too dumb for a simple fucking instruction?”

You pout. “No, Daddy. M’not dumb,” you say sulkily, folding your arms and scowling.

His dark laugh makes you shiver, catching some misstep you don’t even know you’ve made. “Not dumb, huh? So you chose not to fuckin’ listen to me today?” He clicks his tongue. “Oh, baby. You really wanna let yourself in for it, huh?” Your breath hitches. “Go on, on the bed and wait. Daddy’s gotta decide what to do with his dirty little slut, yeah?”

It’s phrased like a question, but the way he’s breathing hard against your mouth and glowering down at you has your knees melting into jelly. “Yes, Daddy,” you murmur, stumbling slightly when Matty shoves you away from him. A flare of sick arousal sparks to life in your gut.

The waiting is part of the torture, and you know it, wet and restless as you toss and turn on your sheets. But you have no idea how long Matty’s gonna leave you unsupervised, and you can’t help yourself as you slide a hand between your legs, arousal dripping over your fingers. You bite hard on your lower lip to swallow your moans, circling your clit and picturing Matty’s hands in place of yours. Grasping at your tit, you rock your hips up against your hand, illicit pleasure creeping in your veins.

Two fingers dip into your cunt, your legs widening and back arching as a silent gasp escapes your lips. You slide the fingers of your free hand into your mouth, keeping yourself silent as you fuck yourself, cunt pulsing with need. Quickly, you realise your fingers aren’t enough, reaching into one of your drawers for a vibrator. A burst of pleasure scatters under your skin as you press it to your clit, your eyes fluttering closed and your thighs tensing.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Matty’s voice cuts through the haze of pleasure clouding your mind, and your eyes snap open. You must look as panicked as you feel, heart hammering, because he smirks down at you. “Did I give you permission to do that?” You shake your head. “Didn’t think so. My little whore’s just begging to get punished, huh?”

“Mhmm,” you moan, desire pulsing hard in your chest with every thud of your heart. “Been a bad girl, Daddy.” You press the vibrator insistently against your swollen nerves, moaning quietly. “Gotta punish me ‘til I’m good again.”

Matty groans, unbuckling his belt and loosening his tie, but he doesn’t undress further. He covers your hand with his and pulls the vibrator away, letting drop onto the mattress as you whine at the loss. “Don’t be fuckin’ pathetic, princess.” The nickname drips with condescension as he speaks. “Naughty girls don’t get to feel good. Now get up and bend over, okay?”

With your heart racing, you obey, slick coating your thighs as you widen your legs and brace your elbows on the bed. Nerves twist in your gut. “Daddy, I—”

“Shh, darling, it’s okay. Daddy knows what brats like you need, yeah? Can you take it if I hit you with my belt, princess?”

Fuck. You feel a gush of arousal drip from your cunt, moaning into the sheets. “Yes, Daddy. Promise I can.”

Matty pinches the flesh of your ass, the brief stab of pain spiralling sweetly through you. “God, you are such a fucking whore,” he groans like it’s a complaint, but you can hear the appreciation in his tone. “It’s not a punishment if you like it, princess.” He picks up your vibrator and retrieves a length of ribbon you usually use to tie up your hair. “Gonna keep this on you, and if you cum, s’gonna be worse for you. That okay?”

“Mhmm. Yeah. Won’t cum, promise,” you say dizzily, sinking into submission like a stone dropped in honey.

“Good little slut,” Matty coos, your entire body shuddering when he ties the vibrator against your leg, sparks shooting through you as it meets your clit. “You ready?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you moan, your muscles tight with anticipation as you hear Matty slide his belt into his palm. Without your permission, your hips shift down against the vibrator, chasing the steady pulse of ecstasy curling in your belly. Leather cracks against the flesh of your ass, a sound that’s half scream, half moan ripping from your chest as pain unlike anything you’ve ever felt bunches tight in your muscles.

Your skin feels like it’s on fire, breath stolen from your lungs to feed the flames. The vibrator is sickly insistent against your clit, legs trembling as you struggle to hold yourself up. “God, look at you,” Matty says scornfully. “Fuckin’ dripping all over yourself from getting spanked with my belt. Shit, can’t believe I found such a perfect girl to ruin. M’so lucky, baby,” he croons, the praise perfectly soothing over the sting of cruelty.

Whimpering, you arch your back in a silent plea. Matty swipes you with the belt again, the snap of leather against skin obscenely loud in the still quiet of your room. Stinging pain blooms under your skin, an agonising throb that falls straight to your swollen, dripping cunt. You can feel the telltale tugging low in your belly, delirious with pleasure as your orgasm starts to build in every corner of your body. The third strike has tears pooling in your eyes as you fight not to cum, squirming in an attempt to knock the toy loose and away from you.

By the fourth, tears are flowing freely and the flesh of your ass is flaming, and you know you’ll be coated in pretty, purpling bruises by the morning. “You okay, princess? What’s your colour?”

“M’green, Daddy. Soo green. Feel like m’floating,” you say dreamily, hiccuping through your tears as Matty presses a flat palm against your screaming skin.

You scream when he hits you again, openly sobbing into the sheets and writhing desperately. Your nerves are alive with sensation, his hands a match and your pleasure an accelerant, setting a wildfire raging in your chest. “Cry all you want… I’m starting to think you’re enjoying this,” Matty says, cruel as the flames leap higher.

You’re dizzy, vision blurred and limbs shaking, ecstasy so hot in your belly that you’re sure you must be glowing with it. “Fuck, m’gonna cum, Daddy, oh my God!” you gasp, trembling as your arms give out and your wet face presses into the sheets.

“Hold it,” Matty orders. The pit in your stomach only grows as you buck against the confines of his impossible request. “If you cum, you’re not getting my cock, okay? I don’t fuck greedy little whores who can’t do as they’re told.”

Truly, that sounds like a worse punishment than the spanking, a helpless moan of protest escaping you as you writhe against the heat rolling through your blood. “Daddy, I can’t— I’m gonna— oh, fuck,” you cry, your orgasm ripping savagely through your body. Pleasure burns near-painfully through you, a whining scream clawing its way out of your throat. Your body crumbles, burns to ash, reforges in pure ecstasy; your mind is wiped clean as tears and drool pool below you on the mattress.

Disoriented as you come to, you moan incoherently and try to squirm away from the vibrator. “You with me, princess?”

“Daddy, it hurts,” you whine.

“Darling, do you need to safeword? It’s okay if you do, m’not gonna be mad, promise,” Matty says carefully.

You shake your head. “M’okay. Like when it hurts,” you confess, muttered through Egyptian cotton, but Matty hears you just fine, smacking your thigh with an open palm.

“Christ, but you’re a filthy fucking whore. Good girls don’t cum without permission, yeah?” You hear his zipper lowering and squirm, crying out when he slaps your thigh again. “Don’t be greedy. Told you I wasn’t gonna fuck you already.” His calloused fingers swipe through your soaked cunt, coating them in your slick, and you hear the familiar groan as he wraps his hand around his cock.

You’re practically numb, barely feeling the vibrator still on your clit as the last dregs of your awareness drift towards Matty. “Wanna watch,” you pout, frankly unsure how your legs are still supporting your weight at this point.

“I don’t give a fuck what you want,” Matty says, almost conversational. “You didn’t care what I wanted when I asked you to stop being a fuckin’ slut in public, did you? I wanna see your pretty ass all bruised and covered in my cum, so be a good girl and hold still, okay?”

Shuddering, you murmur an affirmative. “Can I— Can I just get on the bed properly, Daddy? Promise I’ll stay on my knees for you, s’just that my legs are hurting.”

“Yeah, go on, baby. M’not gonna hit you anymore, get comfy, okay?”

Relief floods your body and you struggle into the bed, soft cotton glorious under your knees as your aching muscles sag and relax. The movement shifts the vibrator away from your clit, and you bite your tongue to stop yourself from crying out gratefully. “Thank you, Daddy,” you mumble, syrup in your veins as Matty moans above you. You close your eyes, soaking in the lewd sound of him pleasuring himself.

“So fuckin’ pretty, baby. My pretty girl. Look so gorgeous like this, all bruised up for me. God, I love your sweet little ass,” Matty praises, still pumping his cock as you imagine him vividly. It doesn’t take long before he’s cumming with a groan, painting white over your red, tender skin. “Shit, looks so gorgeous, my darling. Made you all mine.”

“Was already all yours,” you say instinctively, twisting your neck to look up at him. “Can I see?”

Matty smirks. “Yeah, darling, hold on.” You hear the shutter sound of his camera as you slowly slump until you’re lying prone, bone-deep exhausted.

The picture is obscene, ropes of cum dripping over angry, crimson skin, your cunt sopping. “I look pretty,” you murmur. “Are you gonna get off looking at that, Daddy?”

“God, every fuckin’ chance I get, princess.” Even though you know he gets himself off thinking about you, the reminder that you’re the star of his fantasies always turns you on beyond belief. “My perfect girl. Did so well, darling, took it so fucking well. Couldn’t ask for a better, sweeter, more gorgeous girl to ruin like this.” You glow at the praise, finding yourself unable to move even an inch without your muscles screaming in protest.

Somehow, Matty senses that without having to be told, carefully lifting you onto the pillows, avoiding your sore skin. “Love you,” you mumble.

“I fucking adore you, my girl. I love you so fucking much. Are you feeling alright? That was a rough one.”

You giggle. “That’s one word for it,” you say, making grabby hands at Matty until he lays next to you, the comforting heat of him soaking into your skin. “M’okay. Hurts, though. Want the princess treatment ‘til I’m healed.”

Huffing a laugh, Matty combs his fingers gently through your tangled hair. “Of course, princess. Nothing less. Do you need anything?”

“Some water would be nice. Then cuddles. M’sleepy.” You whine when Matty gets up, the loss of him like a physical sting. Your lower lip trembles in the brief minutes you’re alone, slowly sinking into the familiar guilt that comes after nights like these.

“Oh, darling,” Matty murmurs, finding you sniffling quietly into your pillow. “It’s okay, m’here. Not goin’ anywhere, promise.” He sets a glass of water thankfully within reach on your nightstand, crooning soothingly down at you. “Just gotta get you cleaned up, okay?” Nodding warily, you close your eyes as he runs a cool cloth over your ass. “I know, princess, I know it hurts,” he coos when you whimper softly, stinging pain shooting up your spine. “I’m sorry, darling. Just a little more, being such a good girl. My sweet girl. There, all done.” He runs his hand over the loose, liquidy muscles of your back. “You comfy, princess?”

“Mhmm,” you hum, voice thick with sleep.

Matty slides a pillow under your hips, and the shift in angle lets you rest more comfortably against the pillows, eyelids drooping as you gaze adoringly at him. “Can’t fall asleep on me yet, angel. Gotta make sure you’re feeling good first.”

He doesn’t let you go to sleep until you’ve talked through the whole night, kissing you reverently and murmuring reassurances exactly when you need them. You sleep through the whole morning, awoken by the smell of coffee and a soft kiss to your forehead. “Hi,” you grin, staring up into the face of the love of your life, and despite the ache in your muscles and the bruising on your ass screaming out in protest, you can’t think of a time you’ve been happier.

[panboiiibish]

Thinking about monsters right now. More specifically shark mer and his little scuba diver human. Again as they are just too cute not to write about.

It's been hours into your slow ride back to the land and hes shifted you two back into a comfortable position. At least for him. As your sat knelt down with your thighs pinned by his heavy head using you as a pillow while his barrel like arms wrap around your lower half.

The crew not wanting to jostle the hanging cage too much desided that maybe being dipped back into the water would hopefully shoo off the shark mer. So they lowered the two of you back into the cool sea just enough so your lap and half of his face was submerged. It seemed to make him pleased as a content sigh left his parted lips but other then that he made no sign of leaving.

You where now stuck with the world's most dangerous weighted blanket slowly being tugged through the sea. It wouldn't have been so bad if he didn't seem to enjoy scaring the life out of you. With little too firm grips to your soft sides. Testing the thin skin with his much too sharp claws or nuzzling his face into your plush belly. While his parted lips allowed those perky white razor sharp teeth to skim over your flesh just barely mising nicking your flesh.

The teasing always enticed a sharp whimper or jolt out of you and in turn he made almost happy sounding thrills and purrs. How could he not!? Having such a silly little thing in his arms making the most silly of chirps made his tail wigge.

It was only when a pretty daring sailor desided "fuck it" and napped one of their long handled nets. He took off the net part and used the handle to start poking at the cage making the metal against metal clang loudly.

"Shoo! Get yah wild thing!" He starts yelling. The other sailors started getting onto him for getting so loud. They where trying to keep the diver alive not get her caught up in a wild mers rampage. Though they didnt do much to stop him other then yelling and watching. In all honesty they all where scared shitless, it was one thing being near sharks but shark mers and a great white one at that ment trouble. And they where not payed enough to deal with that.

This was when your fear spiked past what the mer had started. The loud noises and jostling of the cage made your breath shutter and body tremble. This also seemed to rise an reaction out of the mer, seeing his cute little human becoming so stressed from something he didn't do made the hairs on his neck raise and his head lifted from your lap.

his head lifted up over your hunched form, your hands clenched to your chest as an attempt to keep them from shaking too much. But when the shooting and clanging abruptly stopped curiosity pulled you to peek up at the mers face. His face almost made your heart stop. Eyes narrowed into a deep glare and his lips pulled back in the largest snarl you've ever seen on a human like face.

It just reminded you how much he wasn't human along with his sharp teeth showing, the many rows just peeking out as he started up a low rumbling growl at the cocky sailor. Just daring him fo attempt that again and find out what he can truly do.

The sailor backed off, with a wounded pride and loud hazing from the others. Somehow seeing the mer calm back down and lean back to hovering his race right at eye height of yours with those softened eyes seemed to calm back down your gasping breaths and tremoring hands. He let you relax back into a calm cold sweat before nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. The heat of his breath finally calmed you into hesitantly wrapping your arms around his torso.

A sweet little calm after that sudden storm made the perfect distraction before a sudden yelp escaped your lips. It came from a sharp pain enveloping your shoulder before the mer pulled back with a shit eating grin that showed his now blood tipped teeth.

Maybe it was the fear or enticing scent coming from your small frame. Whatever it was he just needed a taste, just to know if he would have to worry about getting sudden hungers for his sweet little human. Thankfully your blood didn't taste any better then others. But that adorable little sound that came from you really made his gills flare before leaning back down to rest his head on your lap.

You couldn't even check the wound as he immediately went to fiddling with your fingers. Bending them and rubbing his pads against the blunt of your nails making it impossible to pull them away and touch at the dull stinging coming from your shoulder.

At least it didn't hurt too bad, maybe only stinging so much from the dried sea salt stuck to your skin. But it did remind you that you where dealing with a wild animal here. No matter how intelligent he showed to be. He was still a creature of ths sea and not to be played with as if some kind of house pet.

Its Pan! I'm so happy that this little idea exploded so much. XD Really makes me happy seeing my ideas being liked and my ideas being explored a bit. Though Iv never really been good at long fics without ideas and prompts from others. Xp If yall have any questions about Shark boi and his little diver go ahead and ask! I'm open for any questions and am happy to answer >w< Anyways have a nice night!

[eepwriting]

hello hello I'm dropping by with another request to my favourite blog!

could we please get iii x reader where the reader is a brat and has been teasing him to high hell for a while so he decides to return the favour with rough cnc/dubcon sex + lots of degradation and praise and all that good stuff just leaving the reader a sobbing overstimulated fucked out mess (+ maybe blood play if you're feeling it 👀)

craving that commanding, aggressive and frustrated iii

Love,

thigh anon

What Did You Expect? ✶ III x GN! Reader

Warnings: nsfw, smut, hints of dubcon, degradation, biting, intercourse, oral, overstim, mean! iii

My beloved thigh anon🦵returns!! Your asks never disappoint. No blood play cause I gotta research and learn how to write it so I hope that’s okay 🥲 Hope y’all enjoy 🤍 p.s there’s like no plot really, just filth.

!! mdi !!

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“Make me.”

The words leave your mouth with little to no thought behind them.

The look he gives you has your heart beating out of your chest. You open your mouth to take the words back but your breath gets caught in your throat.

He stares at you, head tilted before he’s stalking over to you. His hand closes around your throat, pushing you back against the wall. “What was that?” His other hand hits the wall behind you, his head tilting down to eye level.

You try to speak again. Panic sets in because you know you’ve really pissed him off. Your mouth opens and closes with no words escaping while you look at him.

He spins you around and crowds you against the wall, grinding against your ass while roughly gripping your hips. “All day. All day you’ve been a pain in the ass.” He deals a harsh smack to your ass. “Why is that, hm?”

You only let out a whine which earns you another smack before he’s hurriedly tugging your bottoms down your thighs. His hands leave you momentarily and you hear the metal clink of his belt buckle. “It seems that you’re after something. What are you trying to accomplish?”

You have no time to answer before he’s thrusting into you fully. You gasp and bite over your bottom lip. The sting of the sudden intrusion makes your eyes water. “What? You want my cock in you?” He grabs both your hands and brings them together behind your back. “Take it then. You seem to want it so bad.”

You grit your teeth as a tear escapes. “I’m sorry! Please just give me a second!” Your voice shakes.

“Why would I do that? What did you expect? You act like a whore so you’ll be treated like one.” His grip on your wrists is tight as he roughly thrusts into you. You breathe through your nose and close your eyes. Each individual thrust still stings and you’re almost embarrassed to admit that you like it.

He’s buried to the hilt and sneaks a hand around you to grope at your chest. You let out a moan and you hear him snicker behind you. “Oh, what a pretty noise. I thought you needed a second?” He speaks against the side of your neck. “Do it again.” His teeth close over the skin on your neck before he laps his tongue over the bite. You whine out and grind your hips back against him, your hands straining to touch him. “C’mon, let me hear another one.” He nips at your shoulder.

He tweaks at your nipple before closing his hand over your throat to tilt your head back. A loud whine leaves you and earns you a grunt from iii, his hips snapping to yours faster. “That’s it, good whore.” He relentlessly pounds into you, words of filth and grunts leave him, his hands wander your neck and chest.

You chase your release when his hand finds its way in between your thighs, fingers and palm working over you quickly. You push your hips back to meet iii’s thrusts, whines and whimpers freely flowing from your mouth. He groans against your neck, sucking the skin. You clench your hands behind you, eyes squeezed shut as you let your head fall forward. Your legs shake as iii’s hand and cock work you through your climax. It’s only when you’re begging him to let off, on the verge of tears that he pulls away from you.

He’s quick to spin you around, his mouth meeting yours in a hurried kiss. “I’m not done with you.” He speaks against your lips, a hand reaching around to land a sharp smack on your ass before groping your flesh roughly. You whine at the sting and he pulls away from you, a smirk on his face. He cups your jaw and looks down at you. “What? That hurt a little?” He tilts his head, thumb running over your cheek. You nod and furrow your brows. “Good.” His hand lightly slaps your cheek. You’re taken aback but you can’t deny the slight ache that returns between your legs.

He moves to stand behind you again, crowding against your back while pushing you towards the bedroom. His head bends down to kiss along the side of your face, teeth closing over your earlobe. You can barely focus as you walk, his mouth and wandering hands making it hard to think.

“On your back for me.” He says once you reach the bedroom. You’re quick to follow instructions, not wanting to make things worse for yourself. He stands at the side of the bed and pulls you to him by the backs of your knees. You watch his jaw clench when your hips meet abruptly. He shakes his head as he looks down at you. “Don’t look so nervous, love. You knew what you were getting yourself into, didn’t you?” He brings your legs to rest on his shoulders, fingertips lightly running along them.

You nod and dig your heels into his shoulders to bring him down to you. “I said I was sorry.” He lets you pull him down and smiles slightly when you press a kiss to his mouth. “I heard.” You feel the head of his cock press against you again. “But I still haven’t taken out all my frustration on you yet.” He says through gritted teeth as he sinks into you again. You hiss. You’re still sore but he at least gives you a couple seconds before he starts moving.

A gravely groan comes from him as his head rolls back. His fingertips dig into your calves as his thrusts speed up. “Shit, you just feel too good.” He breathes out. You can tell his focus is purely on finishing, his eyes screwed shut, brows furrowed. It doesn’t take long before his movements turn frantic and sloppy.

You’re surprised when he abruptly pulls out of you and moves to crouch down beside the bed. His mouth is on you before you can even register what’s happening. His tongue works over you as his fingers dig into the sides of your thighs. You thread your fingers into his hair and tug, which earns you a groan, the vibrations from him only furthering your pleasure. His hand eventually replaces his mouth and he moves to suck marks on your thighs. “You’ll cum from my mouth and again while I fuck you. Hear me?” He speaks against your skin as his hand moves faster.

You whine out and tug on his hair again. “What about you? I know you were close a second ago.” You speak breathlessly. You hiss and try to jerk your leg away when you feel his jaw close over the top of your thigh quickly. “I didn’t say anything about what I want.” He hums before digging his teeth into your skin again. “You really don’t know how to listen, do you? Dumb little thing.”

Tears brim your eyes as he repeatedly lets his teeth close over the same bit of your flesh. Finally giving you some reprieve, he runs his tongue over the marks before replacing his working hand with his mouth. That doesn’t stop him from running his thumb over the bite marks, massaging over your aching skin. A few tears fall. Half due to the pain, half due to the overwhelming feelings and sensations you’re experiencing. Your hips buck up to meet his mouth and he does nothing to still them. Your whines and moans are just as constant as the tears that fall from your eyes.

Your second release hits you just as hard, if not harder than your first. It sneaks up on you and knocks the breath out of you. Your hips still and your fingers pull roughly at iii’s hair as he works you through your second climax. He groans against you and it sends shockwaves through you. It’s almost too much when he keeps his mouth on you, cleaning you up with his tongue.

You feel like you could drown with the amount of tears falling down your face. A labored sob comes from you and you feel iii reach up to rub at your sides. His mouth eventually lets up and you feel like you can relax a little. “Now I’ve got you crying. How fitting.” You can barely hear him through the blood rushing to your head.

He gives you little to no time before his cock is in you again. You could scream out at the oversensitivity between your legs but you’re too spent and dazed to move away from him. He gives in to two quick thrusts before he stills above you. “Hey, look at me.” You feel his thumbs on your cheeks wiping tears away. You open your eyes and attempt to catch your breath as you look up at him. You think you see concern flash across his face but it’s hard to tell through your hazy vision. “You’re alright. You’ve been so good for me. Just once more for me and we’ll be done, alright?” He smooths a hand over the top of your head. “C’mere.” He leans down to press a tender kiss to your mouth, wrapping his arms under and around you in a tight hug.

His mouth moves to the side of your face to pepper kisses on your cheek and jaw. “You okay?” His hips grind into yours. You sniffle and nod, digging your fingertips into his sides. His full thrusts return and you squeeze your eyes shut and let out a deep breath. He coos and shushes you before pushing his head into the crook of your neck. His tongue lazily laps over your neck, quiet grunts sound in your ear. He keeps his movements somewhat slow and gentle, making sure to take notes when he hears whines from you.

You knew it wouldn’t take long to finish again but you’re almost surprised at how fast it hits you. Your legs loop around iii’s hips in an attempt to keep him to you. Mouth open in a silent cry, hips bucking up. III goes silent next to you but you feel his jaw clench against your neck. His movements once again turn sloppy before his hips still against yours and a deep groan leaves him. His arms squeeze you tighter as he shudders when clench around him.

You’re on the verge of sleep by the time he pulls out and away from you. You feel his lips on your forehead and faintly hear his words of praise and appreciation before he leaves the room.

He eventually gathers you to lay next to him on the pillows, after cleaning you and himself up. He wraps himself around you, fingers running down your arm as he waits for your breaths to even out, before falling asleep himself.

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III is just so….

Thanks again anon for this ask, was very….fun 👀

I think I’ll be closing my requests for a lil bit so I can work on the NINE I have sitting in my inbox!! Y’all are so fun with your requests and I love it!! 🤍

K. Bye bye.

[small-z24]

One-Shot: The Breaking Point

Summary: A heated exchange between Y/N and Azriel leaves them both broken hearted.

Word Count: 958

Warnings: None but so much angst

The House of Wind stood silent and imposing under the pale light of the moon. Inside, the tension was palpable. The Night Court's inner circle had gathered in the main hall for a meeting that had quickly turned heated.

Y/N stood with her arms crossed, her eyes blazing with defiance as she faced off against Azriel. The usually composed Shadowsinger was visibly agitated, his shadows writhing around him like a storm ready to break.

"You had no right to interfere, Y/N," Azriel snapped, his voice low but filled with anger. "This mission was dangerous, and you put yourself at risk without consulting anyone."

Y/N's eyes narrowed, her own anger flaring. "I did what needed to be done, Azriel. You were taking too long to make a decision, and I couldn’t just sit by and watch people suffer."

Azriel took a step closer, his shadows swirling around him menacingly. "You’re reckless and impulsive. Do you have any idea what could have happened? You could have been killed."

"Reckless?" Y/N scoffed, refusing to back down. "I saved lives, Azriel. While you were hesitating, I took action. Maybe you should thank me instead of berating me."

Azriel's hands clenched into fists at his sides. "This isn't a game, Y/N. Every decision has consequences, and you need to learn to think before you act."

"Don't patronize me," Y/N shot back, her voice rising. "I'm not a child, and I don’t need you or anyone else telling me what I can and cannot do."

The other members of the Night Court watched the exchange with varying degrees of concern and discomfort. Rhysand and Feyre exchanged a worried glance, while Cassian and Mor looked ready to intervene if necessary.

Azriel's jaw tightened, his eyes dark with a mix of frustration and something deeper—something that Y/N couldn't quite place. "You think you know everything, don’t you? You think you're invincible."

Y/N stepped closer, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "And you think you can control everything and everyone. Maybe if you trusted people more, you wouldn't feel the need to."

Azriel’s eyes flashed with hurt and anger. "This isn’t about control. This is about keeping you safe. Why can’t you see that?"

Y/N's breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest. "Because you don't trust me, Azriel. You never have."

Silence fell over the room, the weight of her words hanging between them. Azriel's expression softened for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his features.

"I do trust you, Y/N," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I can't lose you. Not like this."

Y/N's anger ebbed slightly, replaced by a mix of confusion and sorrow. "Why, Azriel? Why does it matter so much to you?"

As she stared into his eyes, she felt a strange pull, a connection that she had never noticed before. It was as if her very soul was reaching out to his, recognizing something profound and unbreakable. The realization hit her like a tidal wave, leaving her breathless.

"No," she whispered, her voice trembling. "It couldn’t be. We can’t be... mates."

Azriel's eyes widened slightly, and Y/N could see the truth in them. He had known. He had known all along.

"You knew," she said, her voice rising with a mixture of anger and betrayal. "You knew and you didn't tell me."

Azriel stepped closer, his expression pained. "Y/N, I—"

"How could you?" she interrupted, tears welling in her eyes. "How could you keep something like this from me?"

Azriel reached out, but she took a step back, shaking her head. "I didn’t want to overwhelm you. I didn’t want to risk our friendship, our partnership."

Y/N’s heart ached with the weight of his words. "But you did risk it, Azriel. By not telling me, you made the decision for both of us. You didn’t trust me enough to handle the truth."

Azriel’s shoulders sagged, his shadows wrapping around him protectively. "I thought I was protecting you."

"Protecting me?" Y/N laughed bitterly. "You were protecting yourself. You were afraid of what it would mean for us."

Azriel’s eyes pleaded with her, his voice breaking. "I was afraid of losing you."

Y/N took a deep breath, her anger mingling with the hurt. "Well, you might have just done that."

The room was silent, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating. The other members of the Night Court watched, their expressions a mix of sympathy and concern.

"Y/N," Azriel began, his voice desperate. "Please, I’m sorry. I know I should have told you. I was wrong. But I love you. I’ve loved you for so long, and I didn’t want to ruin everything."

Y/N’s heart twisted at his confession. "Love isn’t about keeping secrets, Azriel. It’s about trust, and you broke that trust."

Azriel’s face crumpled with regret. "I know. And I’ll do whatever it takes to earn it back. Just... don’t walk away."

Y/N closed her eyes, trying to steady her racing heart. "I need time, Azriel. Time to process this, to figure out what it means for us."

Azriel nodded, his expression filled with sorrow. "Take all the time you need. I’ll be here, waiting for you."

With that, Y/N turned and left the room, her emotions in turmoil. The bond had snapped into place, but the road ahead was uncertain and filled with pain. As she walked away, she couldn’t help but wonder if they would ever truly find their way back to each other.

And Azriel, standing in the silent hall, felt the weight of his choices and the fragile hope that one day, they might heal the rift that had formed between them.

[the-kr8tor]

Talking Iron

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 5.4k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, CW blood, TW death, CW guns, CW injury, CW food mentions, CW vomit mention, CW violence. Cowboy AU, old west AU.

Our Place in the Middle of Nowhere Masterlist

Navigation

CHAPTER 2 >>> CHAPTER 3

You haven't been this close to him in 5 years. Breath to breath, heart to heart, you watch yourself in his jade eyes like how one sees themselves for the first time.

“I've finally found you.” Eyes shining, smile brighter than the sun bearing down, you grasp his face tenderly—as if your own eyes deceive you, as if you're dreaming. “Hobie?” You call for him when he doesn't move an inch above you.

Hobie's green eyes just stare at you, or through you. Mouth agape, breath stuck in his throat. To get his attention, you place your thumb softly over the corner of his eye, rubbing gently like you always did when he needed to wake up from a daydream.

For a split second, he leans in your touch. But as fast as he leaned in, he flinched away just as quick. Hobie scrambles away on the dusty ground like you've burned him. You might as well have when he felt how cold the golden band around your middle finger is. Soil dirtying the thick leather he wears, he stands up shakily. With the sun behind him, you have a hard time seeing his face, seeing the face you've longed for. A shadow cast around him, a halo of light around his head, the shadow blanketing him, as if you're not allowed to bear witness to all his glory.

Instead of ‘I love yous’ or ‘I miss yous’ falling on his lips, harshness flows out of them. “What are you doin' ‘ere?”

Hands bound, you try to sit up but fail. “Looking for you of course!” You say cheerfully, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. It is to you, for him, it's the most confusing statement.

“Why?” Hobie's hands clenched into fists. He's not going to hurt you, he'll never hurt you—but he really wants to punch something. Just when he thought the past won't haunt him, just when he pushed the past behind him, you came to him like some miracle.

You almost scoff. “W-why? To see you, just like you wanted me to.” Finally succeeding to sit up, you huff. “Five years of no communication,” you say forlornly, “of course I'd come and see you the moment you sent word.” You smile again, and he looks away. Anywhere, anything else than the curl of your lips.

“Sent word?” He shakes his head. “I've never sent you anythin'” His words would pierce your heart but your excitement and relief triumphs over the feeling.

“A-are you sure?” You blink slowly, reaching up with your bound hands. “Can you help me up, please? I'll show you the letter.”

“Letter?”

“Can you stop asking and just help me up, Hobie? Please, the ground is hot.” With a quick nod, eyes still glancing away from you, he grabs you by the rope around your hands, avoiding touching your own; lifting you up rather quickly. The moment you're back on your feet, he yanks his hand away from you, to which you're too happy to even notice. “It's in my skirt pocket, the right.” You instruct him since you can't reach it with your hands tied. Hobie reaches to your left, hand roaming around your empty pocket, careful not to graze your thigh. “My right, Hobs.” He freezes in place, he hasn't heard that nickname in years. Without another word, he takes his hand back, then he searches for the neatly folded paper. “I've never pegged you to be a law man. Are you gonna turn me over, sheriff?”

Hobie scowls at the title, “not even close.” He sees how much it's been folded, like you've read it a thousand times. Opening the letter, scanning the contents, the pause gives you time to admire him fully. The whole ‘american cowboy’ shtick suits him, you think. You ogle him unabashedly.

Each word has his jaw tightening. It's in his writing, he remembers the exact words that's full of longing and sadness. It's full of the words you expect him to say. Yet, he wasn't the one who sent it. He's sure he didn't, especially that it was written when he was drowning in his amber filled glass. “Where'd you get this?” His eyes flick over to you, your smile faltering for only a second.

“A mail carrier?” You chuckle, “it was delivered to me.”

“I didn't send this to you.”

“Oh.” Your smile crumbles but you fix it back up almost immediately, optimism winning. “Maybe you just forgot? Remember when you forgot to put on a sock that one time and—”

“This isn't some sock, Y/N.”

“You didn't ask for me? Was it forged?” You ask quietly, heart shattering with every question.

Hobie shakes his head, sucking in his teeth, he pockets the letter. Taking the rope that hangs on your bounded hands, he tugs you back to the shop. “C’mon.” Boots thudding on the ground, he's going to do what he's good at—his job.

“W-wait! I haven't seen you in five years and you're seriously taking me to face charges? Not even a ‘hello’ or ‘how are you doing?’” You yank back, heels digging in to stop him.

“Hello, you're not goin’ to jail, I need the ten bucks. You seem fine so ‘m bringin’ you home.” Dragging you inside, the shopkeeper grins and even claps at the sight.

“That is so much worse! Hobie—” You plead, you don't remember ever pleading with him before.

“Good job, Mr…?” The moustachioed man asks, ten dollar bill in hand.

“No one.” Hobie snatches the bill, then immediately dragging you towards the front of the shop. The bells chime as he opens the door, but you're too polite to not say sorry to the man.

“I'm sorry for pointing the gun at you, but you shouldn't have shot at someone who cannot shoot back. It's rude—!” You get yanked outside, the man looks confused at your words.

“Don't apologize to him.” Hobie says, hands placed on your hips, a feeling that isn't foreign to you, but something you missed dearly.

You grin at him, expecting him to say the words you long for. Instead, you get lifted up. Yelping, connected hands flying to his wrists, he places you on his horse. Hitching your hands around the horn of his saddle.

“I think we're good, Hobie, you got his money. Can you untie me now?” You start to get nervous. The brilliant black horse looks over his shoulder, black marbles staring at you, paying you no mind. “Hi, I'm Y/N. It's a pleasure.”

“The horse doesn't talk, lov—” He stops himself before he could complete his sentence. Hobie lifts himself up, sitting behind you, legs next to yours, arms cageing you in while he holds the reins. “Thought you'd know that. Or is it because the horses back in England learned to talk after I left.” You still have no idea why he left, you're waiting for the right time to ask, for now your main concern is why your hands are tied.

“I know horses can't talk.” You roll your eyes, “I just wanted to introduce myself. I'm sure you're close to your horse, correct? You were always fond of animals.”

“His name is Buckeye.” Hobie says, with a slight kick and a click of his tongue, he holds the reins precisely, steering Buckeye towards the train station further out of town.

“Cute!” You exclaim despite the hunger, you're still happy that you found him. Or he was the one who found you. Hobie always has a knack for that it seems, whether you're hiding away or can't be bothered to be perceived by anyone but him, he always finds you. Always. “It's a cute name. Buckeye, fitting name for a horse that's as gorgeous as you, huh?” You lean down just in time for Buckeye to look back at you. He neighs like he understood you. “Yeah, you agree.” You giggle, the dark horse looks like he enjoys the attention.

Hobie is baffled by the whole interaction. “Stop cooing at my horse.”

“Why not? He seems to like it.” You touch his mane as best as you can with your hands still tied. “Right, Bucky?” The horse has an extra pep in his step with you figuring out his nickname. You continue to giggle, Hobie has no idea how Bucky warmed up to you so fast. “Where to, Hobs? Home?” You ask excitedly.

“Yes, your home.”

“Wait— What?!” You almost fell off with how fast you looked back at him.

—

All your questions were left unanswered, but you still think he's playing some sort of joke on you, a joke that is getting older with every tick of the giant clock that hangs above the railway station. A tumbleweed passes by on the train tracks, a warm breeze passes by the near empty train station. Hobie stands next to you, leaning on a pillar, eyes roaming around the barren place. He's far enough that you can't reach him and tell him all the words you wanted to say to him since he left. Yet, he's close enough that you can admire all the physical changes.

From the scruff of his growing beard, to the peeking scar around his neck—he looks like he grew up. The smoke from his cigarette curls upwards to the brim of his hat, parting ways down the middle like theater curtains that show his chiseled face. His jade eyes are as green as the grass at home, as green as the fields you used to run around with him. It reminds you of home, and at the same time, it reminds you of the years that went by without those green eyes by your side.

“You look really good.” You finally say something that isn't a question. Fingers playing with the gold band around your middle finger. “Seriously, what's your secret?” Your behind hurts from the hard wood of the bench. Travelers are sparse and far in between, you notice them staying away from you.

As predicted, he doesn't answer.

You copy his voice and demeanor just how you remembered it last. “Well, love, the secret is to bathe in cow's milk at least once a week. And to stay away from the sun.” You keep your smile despite the silence from your companion. “That's probably what you'd say.” He barely even looks at you. “Well, five years isn't that long,” you lie, it was an eternity without him. “I always thought you'd age well—”

“Five years is a long fuckin' time, Y/N.”

“Finally, a word from your mouth.” You reach towards him, impatiently showing him your tied hands. “Can you untie me now? I can't run from you, with my ankle still hurting and the fact that I'm starving and dehydrated, I won't be doing any running for a while.”

“You're starving?” There's a glimmer of worry in his eyes.

“Yes,” you almost exclaim. Hobie takes one step towards you, instead of untying your binds, he takes your bandana that hangs around your neck. You flinch in response, an act that has him questioning what happened to you in those five years he left.

Hobie kneels in front of you, more careful of any sudden movement, a vision of a younger him passes over your mind's eye. He lifts your skirt up, enough to show the wound on your ankle. Gloved hands wrap gingerly around your foot as he places it on top of his thigh.

“The bleedin' stopped,” not once has he looked in your eyes. While you stare at him affectionately, a soft smile on your tired lips. Hobie wraps your bandana around the wound, tying it with a knot that you're familiar with. You grin at the memory of him using it all the time. “There,” just as you thought, he taps your foot three times, a habit of his that you're fond of. Hobie realizes what he has done subconsciously, straightening up, he takes a wrapped biscuit from his pocket. Grabbing your hand, he places it unceremoniously on your palm like your skin burns him like a sinner to holy water. “Your people will be here any minute.”

“We've been waiting here for two hours. And who—? What people?”

“The people who want you back home.”

You almost drop the biscuit. “But I don't want to come home! I want to stay with you—!”

“Why are you really ‘ere, Y/N? Hmm? Great aunt not givin’ you enough allowance?” He flicks the cigarette butt away.

Your heart cracks, voice as small as a dormouse. “Why are you being like this?” Hobie inhales sharply. “I told you, I came to see you because of your letter where you wrote that you missed me and wanted to see me. I–I have so many of mine right here—” A train whistle rings out before Hobie could reply.

The smell of burning coal itches your nose, blackened smoke billowing out of the metal beast that creaks and shrieks on the steel tracks.

A small crowd exits the train once it fully stops. You notice Hobie standing closer to you, hand placed on the back of the bench. His eyes search for someone amidst the travelers while you take big bites of the dry biscuit, desperate to satiate the rumbling of your stomach. Damn all the etiquette lessons drilled into your brain, you're starving.

“Can I have some water?” You cough out, palm covering your mouth for some decency. “Hobie?” His head is on a swivel, eyes scanning the stranger's faces. You tug at his coat, he curses under his breath so you retract your hand quickly. “I'm sorry.” Your small voice startles him.

“What?” He looks down at you, your eyes are glued on your lap, palms up like you're waiting for punishment. His jaw tightens, knuckles shaking. What happened to you after he ran? “‘ere,” passing a canteen of water over to you, he places it on your open palms gingerly.

The cool metal of the canteen hits your skin, instead of stinging pain. “Thank you,” you take a drink, Hobie doesn't miss how your hands shake, almost spilling water all over yourself.

“Stop sayin' that.” He says it through a softer tone, “don't be so polite.” He's not trying to chastise you, but you don't know the difference.

“Sorry—I'll stop.” You close the lid to the canteen, giving it back to him without lifting your head up.

As the crowd thins, Hobie controls his breathing. It was better when you were looking at him, at least then he could see how happy you were.

“No one's here.” He finally says, the hands on his sides stretching, joints aching from the previous tightness of his knuckles.

“Because no one's looking.” You hope that was the case. Or at least it was just her looking for you, not him too.

“The reward on your head says otherwise.” Hobie wishes he didn't say everything that passes by his mind when you look at him like a heartbroken fawn. “C’mon.” He takes your arm, helping you stand up. He's ill equipped to handle emotions right now, especially if he can barely control his own.

“Where are we going?” You ask, shoes thumping across the floorboards.

“The post office, it's right around the corner.” Sure enough, the post office is connected to the railroad station. Convenient, you thought. Stopping next to Bucky on his post, he neighs at the sight of you. You smile at him, even though he can't possibly understand your expression. Hobie taps his saddle, subtly asking your permission to lift you up. You nod once, as if you could say no. With one strong lift, you're back on Bucky's saddle. “Right, stay ‘ere, scream if you're in trouble.”

“You're leaving me here?”

“No, I need to check my telegram. I can see you through the window, yeah?” He points at the foggy windows of the post office. “I'll be back in five.”

“What if someone comes?”

He's already halfway to the office. “Scream.”

An old woman with a cane and a trendy dress passes by, seeing your bound hands, she tosses Hobie a look of disapproval.

“It's fine, she's my wife and she likes to roleplay.” Once upon a time, he thought that he'd call you that for real. That was a different time. “Ain't that right, sweetheart?” He opens the door for the woman who looks at you for reassurance.

You give the stranger your best smile. “Yes, my love.” His finger twitches, breath hitching. “Don’t worry about me, ma’am, it's all good.”

The older woman scoffs, muttering a ‘the youth and their weird sex fantasies.’ She enters the office first while Hobie gives you an approving nod.

“The excuse wasn't even good.”

“It worked right?” With a smug smile on his lips, he enters the office while you settle on Bucky.

“Your rider's weird.” You whisper to his horse who huffs in response.

Hobie grabs a form on a table placed near the windows. He has the perfect view of you chatting with Bucky. A smile creeps up on him, to which he tamps down immediately. Writing all the necessary information, with a fake name and address of course, he gives it to the man at the counter who wordlessly reads it and searches in the back for any letters for him.

He watches you smile at his horse, desperately trying to remember how your laughter sounded. A real one where you would almost choke at your own spit because of a joke he told you. The smile curls around his lips once again.

An envelope slides out of the slot, his fake name, Larry Smith, is written in neat writing. He rips it open immediately, eyes skimming the contents. The words ‘change of plans’, ‘moved south’ that are followed by an address that he's familiar with in the southern area has him taking his hat off, hands rubbing along his hairline from how crappy the situation is. Judging by all the detail on the letter, it would take him weeks to get you there, months if something unsavory happens on the road. He has a feeling that something would happen based on the reward increase that's listed next to the address. From five thousand to six.

Your piercing scream rings all the alarm bells in his body, bolting straight away, he sees you try to fight off a couple of men that are quickly riding off with you. They're moving three ways from Sunday, their laughter fading out. Hobie's blood boils.

Buckeye neighs loudly, waking his rider up from his blind anger. Hobie unhitches the dark horse, long leg swinging over the saddle, boots immediately placed inside the stirrups, hands tightly curled around the reins. And off he goes, leaving the railroad station in the dust, galloping incredibly fast.

He hears you yell his name just before you were abruptly cut off by a cloth shoved in your mouth. “Y/N!” Desperately calling for you, anger rolls off him like an avalanche in the winter. Taking his pistol out, with one hand he aims. But with the speed and the jostling around, he can't aim straight—especially if there's a chance of him shooting you instead.

The phantom pain around his neck aches.

Adrenaline rushes through him, he sees reason, aiming at the other man that isn't holding you. With a click, and a squeeze of the trigger—he shoots. The bullet whizzes by with a piercing sound, hitting the man's shoulder, turning his insides out, spraying warm crimson everywhere. The pained yell he let out would haunt your dreams. Moreso of the sorrow filled scream his companion let out.

With a thud, the limp body falls, his own horse running him over. You shut your eyes, mind crawling back to the one place you were happy staying forever in, Hobie's tiny flat back home. Back when afternoon tea consists of him rambling about some new invention he thought of, back when his hands would roam over your skin softly. Back when you held him close to you as he whispered promises in your ears.

Now it's all rough leather against your hand, jade eyes avoiding your own, mouth permanently etched into a frown. You know him, deep down the Hobie who would press feather light kisses on your lips is still in him. That deep down he has built a façade to survive this lawless land, and it's hard for him to break that carefully made façade in one day. You'd find his softness again, but you have to survive this first.

The horse you've been thrown on has finally stopped running. Your chest hurts from all the jostling, you were placed stomach first on the saddle—where the jagged leather uncomfortably rubbed against you and the spine of the horse hit you over and over again. The strange man yanks you away, now you're completely standing up with a gun pressing on your temple. A cry inches up to your throat, the cloth in your mouth chokes you. The man smells of cow shit and iron.

You watch as Bucky halts to a stop, dust flying around like the fireflies back home. The hat on Hobie's head hides the anger in his eyes, trigger finger itching to shoot again.

You cry, his name muffled by the cloth. You didn't mean to cry, but everything hurts. The warm barrel of the gun digs into your skull, whilst your hands grip the stranger's arm, your nails hopelessly trying to claw him away from you. The stranger smells like death.

“You killed my brother!” The man screams in your ears, breath rancid, warm air tickling your cheek. Amidst the loud rushing of your blood in your ears, you hear hurried footsteps behind you. They sound like there could be dozens of them, all pointing their guns at the man you loved. Still love, even now.

Hobie doesn't get off his horse. He sits still, frozen like a bronze statue. The only indication of him being alive was his labored breathing.

“What's happenin’?” A gruff voice asks from behind, thick southern drawl making him stand out from the rest of the gang. “Who's this, Jacky?”

“The broad, the broad from the telegram. Henry and I recognized her, thought we'd be rich. We saw her first!” Jacky acts like a child throwing a tantrum.

“Where's Henry then?” The older sounding man asks.

“With a bullet in him,” Hobie's voice is calm, cold and calculating, none of the warmth you were used to. “He's laying in a pool of his own blood a few ways from ‘ere. I bet the coyotes have him now.”

“You fucker!” Jacky presses the gun closer, you cry out in pain. Hobie's hand twitches. “I'll fucking shoot her! I swear I'd shoot!”

“Do you think that's worth it? Getting her blood all over your nice camp?” Hobie's unfeeling tone makes you weep harder. “Killin’ your mark? My mark?” He speaks commandingly, teeth gritted.

You look up to the heavens, blue sky engulfing your vision. A part of you wants to go home, a part that regrets running away in the first place. But there's a bigger part of you that's glad that you saw him again, even though you face your imminent death. It was worth it, you suppose. At least now your heart can rest after seeing him alive. You close your eyes when the pistol next to your head clicks.

“You talk big, a life for a life then.” A tear slides down your cheek. Hobie aims for your captor's head.

“Wait a damn minute!” You hear footsteps come from behind, the older man steps between them. “I know I remember ya from somewhere.” He tips his hat at Hobie, just in time for you to see him stare at you back intensely. “Yeah, I know ya. You're the one who took out Culver's men in one night, ain't ya? Thirty fuckin’ men all dead in one night.” Gasps are heard from the dozen or so people from behind. You hear whispers of the name ‘spider of the west’ behind you. “Christ, you're him.” With his hands right next to his head in surrender, he looks over his shoulder over to you, you see fear in the old man's eyes. “Let the little miss go, Jacky.”

“An eye for an eye, Arthur—!” Jacky pleads.

“Let her go or I'll be the one putting a bullet to your head, boy!” His scream has you flinching.

Jacky reluctantly lets you go, you almost crumple to your feet but you still stand, not wanting to give them the satisfaction. Your hands tremble as you take out the musty cloth inside your mouth.

Arthur walks over to you, hand ghosting over your back. “‘m sorry about that, sweetheart.”

You walk with your head held high. “Don't say sorry.” Your tear filled eyes flick over to the bearded man. “You’re not the one who hurt me.”

“Still, I'd like to say sorry on behalf of my belligerent men.” He looks up at Hobie who's still sitting on his horse passively. But the older man seems to know the deadly storm brewing behind those emerald eyes. “I apologize for the…miscommunication. If my men knew who you were, they wouldn't have tried anythin'. Jacky and his brother are too big for their breeches. ”

“The next time I see any of you on the road, I won't hesitate.” Hobie says, eyes bright, burning like greek fire.

“As is your right. You take care now.”

You silently lift yourself up on Bucky, with the help from Hobie, hand sliding away the moment you successfully tug yourself up behind him. Hobie doesn't see how vacant your stare is. You refuse to hold on to him, you're afraid of what he did, not of him. He thinks it's the other way around, it's his worst nightmare.

As you both gallop away, the last thing you heard above the hoofbeats is the unmistakable sound of a gun going off.

—

You're getting further and further away from the town you were in. The sun sets next to you as you look at the blood caked under your nails. You no longer shake or cry, just numb.

Buckeye passes by a lone graveyard, metal fences jagged and angled awkwardly. The dilapidated chapel cracks and falls under its own weight. Crows have made a home on the old tombstones, their cawing and beady black eyes raise the skin on your arms. The names of the dead are barely readable on the tombstones—rotten pots of flowers lay on the bed of graveyard soil, black petals going back to where they came from. You look away, afraid that if you don't, you'd see yourself among them.

The large rock formations loom overhead, jagged lines curved and sculpted by time. The holes dotted along its large walls act like a thousand eyes watching over you. Beady limestone eyes twitching, bleading, and crying. The sun fades away behind the horizon, cold replacing warmth, shadows replacing light.

Everything aches, your legs are still shaking from the encounter, the rustling tumbleweeds makes you jump. Eyes frantic, breath quickening, hands going numb—mind reeling back to the bloodied dead man.

“Stop.” You say too quietly. “Stop the fucking horse!”

Hobie reigns in Bucky, halting to a stop. You slid off ungracefully, knee hitting the ground as you scramble away. Bile rises in your throat, acid expelled out of your mouth because of your near empty stomach.

Familiar footsteps walk behind you, you wait for him to close the distance, to hold you close like he has always done five years ago. Yet, he stays far, stopping just a few feet away from your trembling body.

With shaky legs, you stand up, back still facing him. You wipe your mouth clean with your sleeve, Hobie's hand twitches for the handkerchief inside his pocket. He doesn't give it to you. He doesn't know why he didn't. Sniffing, you cough, eyes still stinging.

“Did they hit your head?” He finally says something, his words echoing in the vast empty space.

“No, I'm fine.” You pass by him, hands braced on Bucky's side.

“Y/N—”

You whirl around, “I said I'm fucking fine!” Heaving, chest aching, you rub your tired eyes. “I'm fine, don't worry about me, okay? Can we go?”

“We'll camp ‘ere.” With Hobie's statement, you look back at where you came from. Your captor's camp is miles away from you now, but you swear you can still feel the barrel of his gun digging into your skull, and the rotten smell of his mouth. “They won't follow us.”

“He knew you,” your eyes don't shine with the same optimism he was greeted with. “He looked scared when he remembered you. Hobie, W–what did you do to get him to fear you like that?”

“A lot of things you shouldn't worry about.” He walks past you, grabbing his pack from the saddle. “The less you know, the better.”

You nod, tears brimming in your eyes. He's not the old Hobie you remembered. He would've told you, he used to tell you everything. The gold ring in your finger feels heavy. And all the unsent letters you've hidden inside your skirt feels empty, the flowery words you've written inside are unrequited.

As day fades away to night, the moon shines bright as the stars twinkle above you. The warmth of the open fire settles into your fatigued bones, the pads of your fingers slowly regains feeling. The air is crisp, breeze blowing your lashes, cooling down the hot can of beans in front of you. The scene in front of you reminded you of the time you used to sneak out into the woods to meet with Hobie. He'd light a small fire and huddle close to you while you point out constellations. The beans are new, you wish they were bread instead, like the ones you used to nick from the kitchen.

This time, he sits across from you, far away from you as the fire cackles in between you both. The flames dance in his green eyes, a beautiful sight that you love—yet, you can't help but stay away from it.

“Cold?” He asks, hands properly warmed up from the hot can.

“No,” you answer flatly, legs tucked into you, chin placed atop your knees while you watch the embers flicker away into the dark. The cold helps, it helps numb you down.

“Alright.”

In another time he would've offered his coat, not just the shabby itchy blanket thrown over your shoulders. It all seems like a lifetime ago now.

You have no idea what caused him to leave without a goodbye, whether it was you or your unfeeling family, or for a pursuit of something better—but you know in those five years he has changed, you know he's still the Hobie you love, but you can barely recognize his heart anymore. You came to the new world for a new life with him, away from your predetermined life, because through and through you still love him. The promises he once whispered into your skin repeats in your head like a broken record. It's what's keeping you warm, sane, and in the present.

He eats silently, while you wallow into yourself. You've braved the ocean to see him, rode a dozen trains to get close to him, lost so much and gained so little just to see him alive. Was it all worth it? Worth all the calluses on your feet from all the walking? Worth all the tears you shed just to realize that maybe he doesn't love you anymore? That he fell out of love in those five grueling years?

Does he know that you still love him?

The man sitting across from you is a stranger. Not the one you promised your heart to.

“Hobie?” You call for him, heavy eyes staying on the ashes in front of you.

“Hmm?” He hums, barely audible for you. You silently wish that you don't get used to all his halfhearted replies. You need to hold on to a part of him from five years ago or you'll go crazy and run off into the barren lands of the west.

Against better judgment, against the screaming voice in your head, you finally look at him right in his eyes. “Why'd you leave?”

He quietly sighs, “I had to.” Those green eyes you love so much swirl with unsung emotion that you're not privy to. “Why'd you run away from home?”

“I had to.”

Hobie nods once.

You take your dinner in your cold hands, biting down the bitterness and the feeling. With an inhale, you smile through the pain of your realization. It's better not to dwell on it, or you might lose yourself. Instead, you take the opportunity to live in the moment with him—Relish your time with Hobie or whatever time you have left with him on the journey home.

[viixen01]

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫.

𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐈 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

you bite your lip hard as you stare down at the floor beneath you. tears burned your eyes, blurring your vision as they fell to the floor creating a stain in your carpet. your brain was completely shutting down from the words that just left your boyfriends mouth.

“i’m in love with momo ..” those words echoing and repeating in your head. your fist clenched and bunching up your white skirt that sat just above your knees. you were in denial. so much denial about this. you couldn’t for sure say you didn’t notice it. the way he’d look at her when you’d all be in the main area playing uno some nights, the way you’d took notice to them off to the side having conversations. the way the pink blush sat across her face at his words. the way he’d somehow find a way to touch her, weather is be just his hand on hers. the way his eyes.. those beautiful grey and blue eyes would light up when he’d hear her laugh. knowing he was the one that got such a pretty noise out of her.

you saw it all. saw your boyfriend slowly but surely falling out of love with you, and falling in love with her. but you.. you kept hope that maybe they were just close friends. maybe their friendship was deeper than others. grasping onto anything that would help you sleep at night, hoping it was all in your head and that he loved you, and only you. but the words that still continuously echoed in your head, confirmed the worst for you.

“w-what” you whisper as you sucked in a sharp breathe. you could still see his black sweats in your view, his movement unwavering.

“i’m in love with momo y/n .. i didn’t want it to come to or end like this but .. it just kinda happened” he spoke as he stared at your shaking frame. a shiver went curdling up your spine at his words. you let out a whimper as you felt your heart clenching. clenching so hard. it hurt so bad. you had never ever felt something like this. something so painful, and you never ever though that shoto .. your sweet shoto would be cause of such pain.

you sucked in a breathe again. your breathing had started to become irregular at this point. so many things going through your head.

did you do something wrong? did you say something? were you not doing something enough? were you doing too much of something? you were in a utter state of shock and confusion.

“i hope we can still be friends after this … i didn’t want to hurt you. but i don’t love you like i do her” he admitted as the pain your chest worsened. it felt like somebody had taken nails and hammered them in your chest repeatedly without stopping. each word that fell from his lips was another nail piercing your heart making a whimper escape your lips.

as those words left his lips, you saw his black pants beginning to move out of sight. you slowly lifted your head, which felt like the hardest task, being your body was shutting down from the ache within your chest. but that didn’t matter to you right now. all that mattered to you was you couldn’t lose him.

shoto was your everything. you had been together for what was about to be 3 years. you made your relationship official when you both were first years, and you couldn’t help but imagine graduating and becoming a pro with your one true love. you’d given him everything. your heart, mind, soul. you were one. then when the time came, you also gave him your innocence. you had truly gave shoto all of you.

so how could he do this to you. did all of those 3 years mean nothing to him? how long has he been feeling this way? how long had he been stringing you along? what did momo have that you didn’t? was your best and most beautiful parts about you, not enough for him? were you that worthless to him that he could throw away 3 beautiful years that felt like bliss to you, like it was trash.

you sucked in another long breathe as your mouth fell agape. searching for words to say, something to plead. it wasn’t until the door had opened that it dawned on you. he was actually leaving you.

“shoto .. p-please don’t .. please don’t leave me.. whatever i did, i’m sorry. if i said or did something wrong i’m sorry. i love you so much… you can’t just- you can’t just leave me shoto please” you whine as tears flooded your face.

shoto paused as his hand rested on the knob of your door. he squeezed his eyes shut in annoyance. he was hoping he could leave without you saying anything. so he didn’t have to deal with any of it. he was hoping to leave and be done with it. but he knew all too well the type of love you have for him. he knew you’d do this.

“y/n .. you didn’t do anything. i already told you, i just don’t love you .. i love her” he sighed as he kept his back to you, he wouldn’t dare turn around and look at those beautiful e/c doe eyes. he knew it’d hurt a little. not because he still loves you, but because he knows you didn’t do anything. he knows you’ve been nothing but the sweetest, most loving, caring, and giving girlfriend to him. how could he face you, knowing all that?

“shoto please .. i’ll do whatever you want. whatever you want, whatever you need i’ll give it to you. please don’t do this to me. don’t leave me please” you plead as saliva ran down the corners of your mouth. he had never heard you sob this hard. he feared this would happen. he began to feel bad, feel bad for you.

he needed to end this and fast.

“no. i told you i’m leaving. i told you i love her. there’s nothing to be said or done. we don’t have to be friends, i only asked that for your sake. i’ll pack your things that are in my dorm and put them in a box and return them to you. i’d like for you to do the same with my things. goodbye y/n” and with that he slammed your door shut making your eyes widen.

he was gone. he had left. left you and everything you guys built over the last 3 years. the final nail had been hammered into your heart and that last wave of ache washed over you. and it was more intense than anything you could imagine. you collapsed over on your bed as your body strained from exhaustion, and all that could be heard, all that your body could do was sob. sob as you felt your heart finally break from the last nail.

should i do a pt 2 😭😭?

[mooshkat]

hi i saw this gifset and got inspired. might do smth more with this later, might not, but for now hello og show people welcome to me being way too into ghostface aus lmao 🔪

Buck's heart feels like it's going to beat out of his chest.

He tries to keep his breathing quiet, feeling his blood race through his veins as the adrenaline makes his hands shake.

There's the terrifying possibility of being caught, but he's also so fucking hard while he waits and hides that he aches with it, trying not to give into the urge to touch himself.

Heavy footsteps walk through the hallway of Tommy's house, getting closer and closer. It makes the hair on the back of his neck rise and he slides a hand over his mouth, muffling his breathing further.

“Oh, Evan,” his usually sweet, adoring boyfriend calls out, a dangerous edge to his voice now that makes Buck's dick throb. There's a quiet click and the next time Tommy speaks, it's distorted, coming through the voice modulator he'd bought as he walks past the closet Buck's hiding in. “You'll make this easier on yourself if you come out now, sweetheart.”

Buck has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from whimpering, his knees going weak. He doubts anything would be ‘easier’ if he came out of hiding, so he stays inside in the dark, listening to his boyfriend's footsteps fade away as he continues to look for him, calling out his name again through the modulator.

Christ, that was too close. He shifts on his feet and feels how wet the front of his boxers have gotten, and the friction against his cock nearly makes his eyes roll back. He needs just a little relief, a few quick pumps and he can relax a little.

Popping open the button on his pants, Buck pulls down the zipper slowly, cringing as the sound feels like it nearly echoes in the silence. He shoves his hand down his pants and wraps a hand around his cock, using his thumb to spread the precome and make it easier to fuck into his fist.

The first stroke is heavenly and he whines before he can stop it, spilling put between clenched teeth. Buck tenses in fear, his heartbeat kicking up a notch, but he can't convince himself to stop moving his hand. He's leaking so much that it's getting noisy, the sound wet and obscene as he jerks off.

The door is ripped open and he flinches, cringing back from the sudden bright light after spending so long in complete darkness.

Tommy steps into the doorway, blocking most of the light with his large frame, and Buck immediately locks onto the knife his boyfriend has in his hand. He grips the handle like it's a comfortable, familiar weight in his palm, and when he twists his wrist just so, the light catches on the blade and shines.

Fuck, that's real, Buck thinks and his dick jumps in his hand, another bead of pre dripping from the tip.

Tommy grins and with his other hand lifts the voice box to his mouth, staring at Buck with dark eyes. “Found you.”

[zukkacore]

Crossposted to ao3

The morning after Frosty Fair Festival, Jace summons Porter to the principal’s office.

“I’ve been VP for five minutes, and I find out that one of the fucking Bad Kids is taking three simultaneous years of artificer class? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You can’t pin that on me, Stardiamond.” Porter’s laugh is easygoing, and he’s only half paying attention as he watches the smoke trail from the cigarette he’s waving around. “I tried to dissuade him. He put himself through that.”

“But you won’t sign his MCAT. Do you want his annoying little truant friend to hate you?”

Porter laughs. “Miss Faeth isn’t a truant, I’ve been taking attendance for her in barbarian classes nearly every day."

He takes a long drag. “Of course you have.”

“Miss Faeth hates me no matter what I do. If she hasn’t caught on to what’s going on by now, I think you can breathe. Besides, I like a challenge. Something you could stand to learn.”

He tries to take another drag, but his hands are shaking, he’s so mad. There’s a clenching in his chest where the shatterstar is placed, then a pain that radiates outward. He winces. “Be it from me to question your teaching methods, but. Do you know what the Bad Kids did to the last vice principal?”

“Hey. I brought you back once. I can do it again.”

“I—” He doesn’t want to talk about that right now. He’s not ready to talk about it. “Tell me, does getting chewed out by a devil because one of his best bloodrush players is swamped sound like a good time to you? Jawbone recommended I look into xanax, that’s how wired I’ve been. And that was before I got ‘promoted’.”

“I’m sure you could get your hands on some if you attended one of his orgies.”

“Go to hell.”

“Likewise.”

They glare back and forth. Jace is used to getting into tiffs with Porter, but this—this is real.

 When he opens his mouth, his voice is quiet. “I don’t see why you can’t just sign the kid’s fucking MCAT.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate the whole impassioned speech,” says Porter, “It’s nice to see you actually riled up about something once in your silver-spoon life, maybe finally you’ll start giving a fuck.”

“I’m not riled up,” says Jace, but he’s working to keep his voice steady.

He’s used to the assumptions about his life, and he’d much rather keep up appearances than let a soul know about his estranged parents or the mind that’s trying to kill him. That’s the thing about sorcery—when your power is innate, you can never stop being grateful. If things are fucked, they could always, always be worse. He has to be unassuming. He likes being unassuming, because a gift is not a threat. And if his student’s can see that this scary thing they can’t help doesn’t have to rule their life, then, yeah, he’s ok with being a little bit of a joke.

At least, he was ok with it, before Porter Cliffbreaker broke him and shoved a shatterstar into his gaping chest wound and gave him a choice: rage or oblivion? He made his choice. He can’t back out now. So doesn’t Porter see he’s trying to look out for him? “I just think it would make things so much easier—”

“For who? You? Pardon me for treading on your cushy little gig.”

“Oh, we’re way past that.” Eight months past, to be exact. His mind is drifting back fondly to bleeding out in the Mountain’s of Chaos. He’s grateful that it’s so early in the morning, that no one is around to cast Detect Thoughts.

“Thistlespring could use a little tough love. That’s just the way I teach, now that you’re in charge, you’re gonna have to deal with it. He’s an orc, Stardiamond—barbarism is in his blood. He just needs to apply himself. I mean, you’ve seen the kid play bloodrush, he’s a beast.”

He grimaces. Something about the way Porter is speaking, he can’t place it, but he feels sick to his stomach.

“Right,” says Porter, clearly misjudging the expression on his face. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt for you to show a little school spirit.”

Jace laughs sharply.

“Well. He’s a beast you’re gonna find yourself on the wrong side of if you don’t watch yourself. You know how The Bad Kids are—they worm their way into everything, and the goblin that Kipperlily hates, he’s the worst of all. You know, he ate—Forget it. I just. I don’t want you getting—” He stops just short of saying it. As much as Porter has personally fucked him over, he’s in it too deep. Despite everything, Jace cares about him. He’s just so tired of trying to make things work. “If… this plan is so important to you, you have to be a little more tactful and a little less—you.”

“You think I can’t take care of myself, Stardiamond?” Porter flashes an infuriating grin.

“I didn’t say that. I just said… Be careful.”

“I appreciate the feedback and the personal concern, veep, but trust me when I say you’re letting your personal feelings get in the way with this one.”

His face is burning up, and he’s certain he’s a humiliating shade of red. Jace doesn’t even have to say anything. Porter knows what a low blow that is.

“Yeah, well,” mutters Jace. “Multiclassing is not for everyone.”

“Right.”

Jace is a good sorcerer. So good that it’s hard to articulate to his students what to him is second nature. He’s not the kind of teacher who does lesson plans precisely because he was never the kind of student who needed to study. It’s eerie how much Porter in these moments reminds him of his own teacher—the kind of teacher who praises his natural gifts all day and was absolutely resistant to him looking into other classes because he viewed it as a waste, as noncommittal, as proof of his lack of dedication. 

Jace never got his MCAT signed. And he was… not prepared for the sheer volume of work required for even early level wizardry. He wanted it; he wanted to be the kind of dedicated person who could put in the work. Maybe his teacher had been right, maybe he wasn’t very bright, and maybe he hadn’t been cut out to be a wizard, but it did feel a little like he was thrown in the deep end and told to swim just to prove a point. He’s always been a slave to his impulses. And in the end, he ran back to sorcery where they welcomed him back with open arms because it felt good to be good at something.

He can feel the thrum of the shatterstar in his chest, anger coupled with shame. He hates himself for being Jace Stardiamond. He’s always taken the path of least resistance. 

He’s not even sure he could call himself a good sorcerer anymore. He’s never been the kind of wizardly person who innately finds the joy of learning and discovery. He’s never found it all that rewarding. But sorcery does require a kind of self-knowledge, a certainty of oneself that he hasn’t felt in a long time. Whoever he is right now is a stranger, buried under several feet of bitterness and self-loathing.

“What’s it to you? You don’t even give a fuck about your own students, have you gotten a soft heart about little Thistlespring all of a sudden?”

“I don’t give a fuck about Thistlespring! Don’t you get it?”

“Look, if he confronts me on it, I’ll sign the damn MCAT. Happy? I was only resistant at first because—well, I mean, have you heard that ridiculous song he sings? The kid’s not very bright.”

He doesn’t answer.

“I’ll get it done if it means that much to you. C’mere.”

Porter takes Jace by the hands, pulling him in so that he can wrap his arms around Jace’s waist.

“We’re at school—” says Jace, but his protests are half-hearted. He turns his head, and he can feel Porter’s lips press up against his cheek.

“Listen to me.” Porter takes his face in his hands. “I have everything under control. The Bad Kids are nothing, Jace. Trust me. They’re twig gremlins. Maybe I got a little overinvested. I can’t help it, I need recruits, and the kid’s a natural. But that’s not everything. He’s too… Too timid. Afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Embracing his power.”

“Are… Are we still, um—” Porter’s gaze on him is so intense, Jace forgets what he’s saying. But that drive that he sees in Porter, that deep need to push, to optimize, to always be the best—it’s always been a source of deep frustration for Jace. But he can’t deny those are the same traits that make Porter so easy to admire. Maybe it’s just a wish, but he swears he can see the same admiration mirrored in Porter’s expression.

He can feel himself being reeled back in. His life is currently a living hell, but something in him has always felt compelled to be worthy of Porter’s admiration.   

He wishes he could be the kind of person Porter wants him to be. He worries that there is no ascendant version of him, that this really is all his potential, plain and simple. But he’ll try. For Porter, he wants to be great.

They can hear footsteps on the other side of the door. Time for school.

Porter is quick to change gears. He coughs, clearing his throat as Jace is quick to step away. “Tell you what—I’ll get that straightened away, Stardiamond. I’ll sign the papers. Things were a little rocky at first, but you know what? He earned it, after the damn display of frosty fair. He’ll make a great… adventurer.” He’s watching. “You know. When the time comes.”

Jace sighs, but it does nothing to help release the tension in his chest. Yeah. Frosty fair. He has to make the announcement about that soon. He can feel a headache coming on just thinking about it.

Porter kisses him, but Jace is quick to brush him away and toward the door. “You need to go.”

Porter grins, and Jace can feel his heart skipping like he’s some teen adventurer with a schoolyard crush. “Tell me some things aren’t worth a little risk.”

“Well, I have to give a speech,” says Jace, following Porter out of the office. Jawbone waves at them, and Jace nods as he shuts the door behind them.

“Hey. You’re gonna knock it out of the park, alright?” He gives Jace a punch in the shoulder, and it’s so awkward that Jace would be charmed by it in any other circumstance. Like they’re amicable co-workers and not the bad guys. Like they’re not intertwined, Porter’s rage making a comfy little home in his ribcage. “We’re all looking to you, now, Stardiamond. It’s a heavy burden, but I can’t think of anyone else I’d trust more to handle the responsibility.”

Jace doesn’t bother to check his insight. If Porter says it, he’s ready to believe it.