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goldafterglow · 4 years

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embellished lungs

Summary: Ezra buys a pretty thing for a pretty thing.

Request: hc about what renders Ezra speechless 😶 - @lose-eels (this is not even what you asked for but fuckin here ig im sorry sgkfjdshg)

Pairing: Ezra x reader

Word Count: 2.6k+

Warnings: a big fat drabble?, very really soft, not beta read and tbh barely even normal read i read this maybe twice oops

Author’s Note: i almost put this just like under the ask but I’m not gonna sit here and act like this is a drabble bc i’m a clown. i don’t want to talk about it. and spitting this out bc I was soft for Ezra and @mrpascals made me

Gif Cred: my wife and my baby @pascalplease

masterlist | taglist modifications

He spies it in the open market while he’s stocking up on supplies.

The day is hot, the Sun bearing down on its disciples with a violent red fury, but it’s light is strong, bright. Everything is reflective, hot to the touch from boiling in the heat, and all of the creatures begin to melt together like dyed wax to form one big discernable blob, if you really squint. Ezra’s sweat escapes the barrier of his brows and leaks past his lashes, dragging across his eyes and stinging a little, blurring his vision and dripping onto his arms, but he doesn’t care. He’s far too exhilarated.

The market in itself is absolutely brilliant to him; he’s always been enthralled by this, by people and pretty things, and to be completely surrounded by both felt like something akin to sensory overload. His heart is racing at the sight of people traversing the dirt road, loitering and browsing through produce colored so vibrantly he wonders if the bright red apples and deep indigo berries have been dipped in the tinted glow of fairies that dance in the forest. And he’s utterly taken by the art and trinkets. He’s always had a little soft spot for art - a tender, exposed section of his beating flesh that is so sensitive, so delicate and so easy to provoke. And right now, he seems like he’s subject to a battering ram, pounding against his chest in the best way possible.

His eyes dart around quickly as he tries his best to take everything in. He finds himself cherishing every little interaction, every stranger whose shoulder he is forced to brush in an attempt to make his way through the market, every vendor that begs to him, calls to him to try “just one last berry sir. I’m sure your lover will be delighted by the raspberries from yesterday’s harvest.” He ended up buying a quaint six ounces just so that he could feed them to you. But that would be a treat for later.

And just like that, he is thinking of you. The prettiest, most beautiful thing. A sculpture with imperfections so perfect that he knows it must have taken eons to craft you out of gold and diamonds and the soft fluff of hummingbird feathers and butterfly wings. You are art, a walking, breathing, touchable piece that he gets to admire up close. It’s a privilege, really, to have been gifted with Kevva’s finest handiwork.

As his pupils peruse the stands, admiring his surroundings, they suddenly become frozen in place, permanently stuck on a little trinket that’s caught his attention: a necklace. The gem sitting in the center isn’t aurelac; it’s much more vibrant, much more dramatic and almost rainbow when he looks at it from different angles. The chain isn’t long, and knowing you the gem would fall right between your collarbones. He can already envision you wearing it, like a child flicking watercolors onto the Venus de Milo, but he wants to see his deep green paint draped around your shoulders. The way he sees it when you wear his clothing, when you’re adorned with bruises of his passion like stars adorn the sky, when you wear him. It’s intoxicating, seeing that he’s had any impact on your life and that you parade it around like a trophy. That you think about him without him prompting you to do so - not that he isn’t constantly in your presence. But he wants to buy it just so that he can see you wear it. Perhaps even only wear it.

He’s already thinking about how fucking gorgeous you would look in it. He is thinking about putting it on you, tugging on it ever so lightly in a way that signals to you - that is, rather than exerting any true force on you - that he wants a kiss. Perhaps pulling on it a little harder so that metal bites your skin and you can feel it, feel him digging into the soft flesh of your neck. Now he’s imagined a thousand scenarios in which he can have his way with you just by getting you to wear this piece, and he has to purchase it.

When the vendor finally hands it to him, packaged with care and placed deep into the hollow of a black velvet box, he finds that it barely fits in his pocket. He doesn’t care, though, because it’s too exquisite an accessory to be thrown in with the other supplies and it’s too precious for him to take it out of the box. He’s excited when he comes back to the pod, back home where you are.

Home is you.

He assumes you must’ve heard him come in, the pod door loud and rambunctious as he dumps the bags into the center of the pod space and then crawls in himself - it was hard enough with two arms, nonetheless one. He lets out a sight as if to let the excitement drain out his vessels and into the atmosphere of the cockpit, mingling with the peace and solitude to create a soft buzz that zings through his ears and vibrates his eyes. The exhilaration from being the market was utterly electric, but he is home now. He can crawl into you, let you absorb into him, and he likes how you can make his heart race a million miles and yet also pacify him, a cold compress to his aching soul to help reduce inflammation. He wants to maintain that semblance of the intricate pastel harmony, adorned in lilac and peach hues. So he stands in the middle of the cockpit and closes his eyes, lets himself sway to the rhythm of his lungs for a moment. Just a fraction of solitude, and he doesn’t mind because ever since he met you he has never felt lonely, not even when he’s alone. He always feels you with him.

Once his head has cleared, he palms at his pocket where the little black box still resides, as if to check that he hadn’t dreamt up some fantasy ornament that would look so perfect on you. It’s still there; of course it is, and he feels foolish for thinking that the pretty butterflies would have fluttered it out and flown it away, but sometimes he wonders if the same thing will ever happen to you. If one morning he will wake up and you will have migrated with the birdies, off to seek true warmth because you’re not real, because nothing so good as you could ever be caged by him.

He steps into your shared bedroom and spies you with your back to the entrance. The room is cool, but you’ve elected to wear his shirt, even foregoing pants. His favorite outfit of yours, and he knows you know it. You’re wearing headphones, something he’d picked up for you on your last supply run, and he can tell you’re playing one of those instrumental stations you so adore listening to when you were working. A mutely-colored map is stretched out onto the desk, and he’s not even sure you can focus the music because your mind is moving faster than your poor hand can keep up as you mark up a new dig site. He almost feels bad for interrupting you while you’re in such deep concentration, your forehead smashed into wrinkles without even noticing, but Ezra cannot resist his greed for your attention. Ever so gently, he places his hand on your shoulder from behind so as not to startle you.

You almost immediately register the delicate touch, turning the radio off and pulling your headphones off your ears so you can give this kind artist your undivided attention - Kevva herself knows he's earned it. You turn your head to face him, craning your neck back so you can take his softly smiling depiction like pressing a plush blanket into your face.

“Hey, pretty boy,” you coo, letting your pen fall tumultuously from your hand. The sound of it clanging against the table and then rolling around to a stop fills the room, but you can’t hear it; Ezra is talking now.

“Hey, sweet stardust,” he greets back, voice orange and warm like the heat that simmers under the stars during the summer at midnight.

Comfortable.

“Hey” was never his preferred salutation, and he’d tried to omit it from his vocabulary for so long, but he started to notice that he likes it when you say to him. Like a little pearl of your voice, so sweet like honey with the honeycomb still mixed in, a little grainy and so cheeky.

“Did you get everything we need?” you ask, beginning to stand to that you can press a hand to his chest, grounding him to the pod and to your sanctuary soul. Ezra grins wide, unable to hide his excitement at your words.

“I in fact exceeded our needs, sweet rose bud,” he says with a pride that fills up your chest and makes you want to hold him tight because you love when he gets giddy like this, with the childlike enthusiasm of showing your parents the shitty drawing you made or your ugly macaroni art. Ezra is light, his tone airy. “I happened to spot a gem that reminded me of your vision and I couldn’t resist the urge to get it.”

You brow furrows a little, not out of confusion but out of curiosity. Ezra’s taste has always inspired you, and you knew his never ending quest for art is always in an attempt to find beauty in everything. You don’t even have to look at it to know that it will be stunning because his stamp of “pretty” approval is your gold standard.

He pulls the box out and opens it facing you so that you can get a good look, really admire it, and you are already taken by the shimmering pendant.

“Oh Ezra, it's - it’s utterly magnificent,” you gush, and he can spot that little glimmer in your eyes that you get when you’re looking at something that you’re enamored with; they way you look when you’re gazing at him. You raise your chin to look at him, his cheeks rosy with delight and sweet eyes crinkled at the corners. “Put it on me.”

It’s not so much of a demand as it is a gentle instruction; you know he wants to, know he’s been thinking about it since he bought it, and you want to be open to him. You want to invite him into your heart, inside of the flower garden of your chest, with open arms because he deserves to feel wanted.

You help him pull the chain out of the bottom of the box, keeping one end in your right hand and letting him take the clasp in his left. He wills himself to move slowly, to savor every little stimulation you send through his skin as he steps behind you. His fingers press against your clavicle, tracing along the bone before traveling up over the valley of your shoulder, tips of his hands brushing against your throat. He is feeling you, mapping out your body because he’ll never get to see an angel in his life but he’s certain you must be the spitting image.

You can feel his breath against your skin, hot and intoxicating as a small film of dampness coats your exposed back and neck. Your right hand rests at the nape of your neck, waiting expectantly, but you don’t rush him. He takes his sweet, sugary time, because the surface of your skin feels like he’s running his fingers through a field of silicone needles, firm but harmless as they stimulate a sensation he never knew he could feel before he touched you for the first time. You’re addictive, the best high he’s ever gotten, and he almost lets his hand lose all abandon and travel so carefully down the front of your body, palming your breast along the way and pressing right into your diaphragm before he keeps going down, down, down…

Almost.

But he will save it for a later time, especially since he’d been fantasizing about you wearing the necklace like a carefully chiseled bust is adorned with sashes. So finally, after what feels like hours of roaming and teasing, you feel that calloused, worn sensation of your lover’s fingers seeking solace against yours. You pin your breath to your lungs, not daring to let it go as you wait for the heavy release of his hand indicating that the necklace is secure. But even once you feel it, even as you let your right hand fall down at your side, Ezra does not take his hand off of you. You don’t want him to.

Slowly, so that he never has to cease his touch, you turn to face him. You’re still looking down at the pendant, in awe of how the gem rests so perfectly between your collarbones. You can’t see Ezra’s adoring gaze, his completely awestruck fixation on how ethereal you are to him. Like you’re emitting a golden glow, too hot to touch and yet begging, inviting his fingers to feel and press and hold.

Celestial.

He feels his emotions expand in his stomach, diaphragm threatening to spasm. His hand trails up to your chin, palming your jaw as he tenderly lifts your line of sight so that he can see your pretty eyes.

“You’re divine,” he mumbles to you, not wanting to disrupt the tight silence, so tense he’s afraid of speaking too loud lest it break and snap against his cheek leaving an angry raised brand.

Overwhelmed with appreciation, you balance your hands on his shoulders and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, letting it linger so you can savor the honeysuckle dew on his skin. “I love it,” you whisper with a grin.

Ezra giggles.

When you pull back to face him proper, his face is utterly red. His smile reaches the lobes of his ears, bashful and boyish like his belly has just been tickled by the sweetest of baby chicks, and he can barely get a word out. He can’t speak. His mind is in overdrive, completely inundated with a blistering adoration for you and your approval because you said you loved it. His gift is not a splash of children’s watercolors; it is a clean swipe of gold running along your jaw, accenting your beauty and emphasizing just how exquisite you are to him.

“Yeah?” he managed, a soft giggle still passing his lips like the first cries of a baby deer, the first flutters of a newly hatched butterfly.

Adorable.

You can’t resist the urge to giggle back, placing a hand at the nape of his neck and pulling him in for a true kiss on his glittery lips. It only lasts seconds, however, because Ezra can’t stop smiling and you can’t stop giggling, so you both settle for the blissful solitude of pressing your foreheads against one another, breathing in each other's air and taking up the same space.

“It’s gorgeous, Ezra. Thank you,” you whisper lightly so that the wisps of air tickle his upper lip, and suddenly he is so inclined as to press his left arm into the small of your back so that you’re so much closer and kiss you the way you deserve; a dynamic series of long, deep, searing kisses that send you to the clouds and drop you into an endless pit of lavish fluff at the same time. You don’t know how he does this, makes you feel like you don’t exist and that there isn’t anything in the world but you and him, and you often wonder if it’s because Ezra is within you, or that your broken parts and his broken parts make some hauntingly majestic sculpture of its own; something better than the fucking Venus de Milo or Athena or Great Sphinx because it should be something so hideous and yet it feels to utterly priceless to you.

It’s precious.

ppl that asked to be tagged: @gustavos @catfishingmorales @keeper0fthestars @1zashreena1 @blancatobarxoxo @honeyedspace @chaotic-noceur @opheliaelysia @adikaofmandalore @din-damn-djarin @mrsparknuts @girlwithanewplan @mrschiltoncat @cryptkeepersoul @buckstaposition @the-feckless-wonder @cocoatales @agentpike @cryptkeepersoul

ppl that did not ask no ma’am no sir: @ergotautology @dindjarindiaries @pascalplease

again, you can join/leave my taglist here :)

#iris writes #ezra #ezra prospect x reader #ezra (prospect) x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #ezra x you #ezra prospect x you #ezra x reader #pedro pascal x you #shgkdjfhgd #this one was #huh #idk how i feel abt this lol #hope you beautiful bitches like it though :)

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

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Humans are Space Orcs “To Deep Space.”

I am finished with university, had my last final yesterday, so we will be moving back to the normal writing schedule, yay!

I have no idea where this arc is going tbh, but it is going to be good and I am excited. I hope you guys will enjoy it as well!

“Dr. Adric, Dr. Adric please report to the bridge.”

He stepped from his office wondering what they could possibly need him for there. He had just been trying to get his office situated when the call came out. He set down his papers on the desk and made his way into the ship looking around as he made his tentative way towards the bridge. The ship was roomier than he thought it might be, but still rather small, he wondered how that affected the people on the ship.

He knew that they had to keep plants aboard the ship for the crew’s mental health, but he honestly wondered how much that help. Overhead he was assured the lights were UV in nature to mimic the sun and stave off depression after long months of being trapped inside a metal tin can hurtling through space. Not one was really sure what the effects of deep space on a person.

They knew that being lost in space could result in mass hysteria as demonstrated by the Commander’s own crew and malfunctioned civilian transport, the likes of which had apparently driven themselves to cannibalism in their panic and confusion.

He had read the reports, it was both disgusting and fascinating.

He paused just inside the bridge turning to stare with wide eyed at the men and women positioned at their consuls arrayed in a semicircular pattern against the outside edge of the room. A second tier comprised another smaller set of consoles for about four people, and just above that was a single raised chair.

The captain’s seat.

The room had been designed with both hierarchy and function in mind in that the captain’s chair could look down on all the other chairs with the ability to see what his crew was doing at all times.

And right now they were prepping for launch.

“Engines.”

“Engine one through six online and reporting no malfunctioning cells Commander.”

“Check them one more time. Crew manifest.”

“Four hundred and eighty six confirmed crewmen, sir.”

“What does the manifest say?”

“The same.”

Dr Adric tilted his head watching as the crew worked, but specifically watching the commander. The man spun this way and that, giving orders, taking information, and all the while making quick check-marks in a little black book he held in one hand. He seemed at east in his chair.

The chief weapons officer, the Drev named Sunny, sat at her station despite not really needing her at the moment, and he could see over her shoulder that she was also doing a weapons check for the ship.

The commander turned in his chair spotting the doctor and motioning him over.

He came confused not sure what he would be needed for.

“Commander?”

The man smiled, an expression that fit well on his face. Despite his youth, the doctor could already see laugh lines, faint and barely visible beginning to form around his eyes…. This was a man used to smiling.

“Take a seat doctor, and strap yourself in. This will be an uncomfortable assent.”

“What do you mean?” He wondered in confusion.

“I generally let all new recruits sit on the bridge for at least one launch or warp. I feel it makes the experience real for them instead of just expecting them to use their imagination. Besides, who doesn’t want to watch a ship launch.”

He was a bit surprised but of course he nodded walking over to the indicated seats and strapping himself in with the five point harness. He continued to watch the crew work. The bridge itself seemed to run rather smoothly under the direction of the commander, and from what he could tell the crew seemed very excited to be off.

“Engines ready, commander.”

“Fuel cells engaged.”

Commander Vir reached for his microphone broadcasting his voice throughout the ship, “Alright you beautiful hooligans launch begins in T minus one minute. Please strap yourself and any loose items down and keep your hands and feet inside the ship for the duration of the ride.” He cut off his mic smiling.

Dr Adric watched closely.

“Ground control this is Harbinger preparing to liftoff in T minus 55, do you copy.”

“Copy harbinger. Launch is ready for go standby on grid line trajectory Alpha two niner one one preparing for liftoff over.”

“Thirty seconds.”

He gripped the seatbelt hard teeth gritted watching as the rest of the crew braced themselves as well. The commander flexed his hands sliding his fingers into the flight gloves and hooking his toes onto the pedals. The holographic shield popped up to cover his eyes.

“launch in 10, 9 ,8, 7, 6, 5.”

He gripped tighter.

“4, 3, 2, 1, “

“Launch.”

The force of the rising ship slammed him back into his seat as they were born skyward. All around them the ship seemed to vibrate and rattle. His chest felt like it had a carton of bricks stacked on top of it and a little black circle was beginning to encroach at the edges of his vision.

Somewhere, someone in the room was cheering. Past his vibrating eyes, he could see the commander valiantly fighting to bring the ship into the sky despite it’s immense bulk which had never been designed for gravity. Eyes wide he watched as the eggshell blue of a perfect day morphed before them and grew darker until space stretched out before them like a pair of waiting arms.

“Prepare core for warp. Navigations.”

“Yes commander?”

“Warp Coarse.”

“Sagittarius A. But not to close! Keep to the coordinates the smart guys gave us” he repeated very suddenly looking very nervous all things told.

“What’s in Sagittarius A?” He wondered

The commander turned in his chair one eyebrow raised looking almost incredulous, “you don’t know?”

The rest of the crew shifted very nervously, he could see it on them though there were hints of excitement.”

He shook his head.

“Our primary directive on this ship is deep space exploration. We are a military vessel, but we hold trillions of dollars in scientific equipment aboard this ship, as such we have been tasked by the UNSC in accordance with the NASA foundation to head to Sagittarius A and take the first close space images of the supermassive black hole at the center of the milky way.”

He felt his hands and feet go suddenly cold.

“B but how can you take a picture of something that sucks in light.”

“The accretion disk of course and then the massive black spot at the middle.”

“But if we get to close….”

“Yes yes doctor, I have been flying in space long enough to know what happens if you run amuck of a black hole. We get sucked in and suspended forever in a slow spiral of doom as time slows down and our bodies are slowly ripped apart atom by atom. Please we aren’t getting THAT close. Even I’m pissing myself just thinking about it, but also super excited to be honest. No mess ups this time which is why the ship has been checked to hell and back to make sure it’s working.”

Not for the first time, he was beginning to wonder if he was psychologically stable enough to be on this mission as it seemed you hat to be just a little crazy to want to do this. Maybe that is why a high percentage of people on the ship had presented with psychological anomalies, least of all the commander himself.

How he hadn’t gone mad with fear regarding the eminent death that surrounded them constantly was a mystery.

“Warp core?”

“Ready for ignition sir.”

“How far out are we.”

“Almost to the warp zone sir,”

Dr Adric rubbed his temples. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to see a black hole. What kind of psychological effects does something that powerful have on someone, knowing that if you are caught in its gravity well you are done for in the most horrible way possible, and just looking at it from a distance he imagined would be like watching a bear or tiger out in the wild accept for this was different since the bear could now swallow stares whole and the tiger ad gravity so immense that not even light can escape it’s center.

“Preparing for warp in ten.”

He closed his eyes

But they didn’t stay closed as the countdown continued opening for a moment as he felt the space around him go strange. When he did he nearly lost it as his vision seemed to be looking through a glass fish bowl all warped out to the sides and stretched, far things looking close, close things looking far. Outside the window a massive spot appeared before him and around it the stars were morphing and repeating.

The ship reflected back a thousand times in fractal images.

He yelled in shock clenching his seat, and then, it was over.

He was breathing hard, outside there was nothing but blackness, and the emergency lights had flicked on over the crew.

The captain unbuckled his seat-belt and stepped down onto the floor.

He turned to look at Adric who was gripping the seat so hard his knuckles had gone white, “Nice work, first time I warped I definitely pissed myself so, good constitution.” He patted Adric on the shoulder. The blue Drev stood, and the commander grabbed her by the shoulder hauling himself up onto her back.

Adric watched as the two of them walked away.

How strange.

He was in for seeing a lot of strange things in the next few days. The commander and the blue drev spent a lot of time together, and often he rode on her back. At one point he walked in on the crew having a jousting contest where two drev ran full tilt at the other while the two crewmen brandished brooms.

He walked out of his room more than once to find the commander heelieing down the hall at the head of the bridge crew giving orders.

When that wasn’t happening he had run amuck of a freaky group of spider creatures being taken care of by a dog and a very strange humanoid creature who claimed he could read minds. He hadn’t believed it until it started repeating his inner thoughts back to himself.

Instead of being freaked out he found himself almost envious. If he had that kind of power imagine the sort of things he could do to help his patients.

Everywhere he went it seemed as if something strange was happening.

One day they were playing an aggressive game of keep the balloon off the floor and the next they were using window markers to drawn on the viewing field. As expected from a group of soldiers it turned into a heard of inappropriate doodles until it looked as if their ship was cruising past a heard of winged space dicks.

And he himself kept a close eye on the crew. None of them seemed bothered by the fact they were in deep space, but many of them had strange habits.

The commander and the Drev named Sunny spent an excessive amount of time together, or so he thought, the little doctor never relaxed, and couldn’t to save his life even when he tried. Conn, the mind reader, did his best to get attention by pissing everyone off, and the spiderlings, as he had come to know them, were constantly acting up as well.

He would need more time to get used to the crew, but it seemed as if he had his work cut out for him.

If he could hold himself together that is.

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reversecreek · 4 years

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struts onto the dash carrying this deliriously wriggling little elf in my arms like a swaddled bebe......... they’re genuinely my oldest muse of all time i think i created them when i was like. 13 possibly. n i haven’t written them in Years but. i’m literally so excited to jst vibrating w muse. smiles at u all demurely..... they have risen. u can find their pinterest here n their playlist here.

* alana champion, nonbinary + they/them | you know nyla palmer, right? they’re twenty-two, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, eight months? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to 6669 (i don’t know if you know) by neon indian like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole a two headed doll of a prairie girl with stitched on rabbit ears and butterfly wings, befriending shadow puppets & finding god with your eyes open underwater in a public pool you broke into thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is march 2nd, so they’re a pisces, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( nai, 24, gmt she/her )

HISTORY:

was born in georgiaaaa georgiaaaa (phoebe bridgers voice holds my bang...) to a vry honest hard working man named george (omgggg he’s called GEORGE and he’s from GEORGIA? ahaaaaa fuckk ur jestinggg) nd a woman who did her best named pamela..... george worked on a construction site n pamela was a pharmacist..... their house was this small rickety white thing with a wrap around porch n a very rabid overgrown garden tht kind of looked like the earth ws trying to reclaim it bc nobody ever hd the time or motivation to mow the lawn.... there ws literally a piece of fold out furniture just entirely submerged by weeds n foliage

nyla ws always closest w their dad george..... he hd this way of looking at the world tht was seeing the best in all of it.... he took them on long walks where he talked abt how u have to respect the trees bc they’re breathing fr us n we’re breathing fr them..... he hd a strange whimsical sense of humour n a gnome alter ego called grundlebolt who always tickled them..... in a way this closeness created a distance between nyla n their mother but not so much that it ws rly a problem. just enough tht nyla sometimes waited until their mother ws out of eye n ear shot to tell their dad they loved him bc they didn’t wna make her sad >_>

(mental health, death & grief tw) pamela always struggled w her mental health but george ws great n understanding n knew how to help her thru this... nyla didn’t get it too greatly at a very young age bt they knew their mum got “the sads” sometimes (how their dad wld explain tht she needed to lay down in the quiet for a while or why she’d stood at the stove n let the dinner burn until the smoke detector went off without doing anything abt it). when nyla was 14 they got home one day to a police car in the driveway n came prancing in exuberantly as they always did. immediately hugged the legs of an officer bc this is hw they wld greet everyone they ever met. they only realised something was wrong when they let go n saw their mum sat at the table crying. essentially there ws an accident at the construction site george worked at n :/ yeah.

(jst mental health & grief tw now) this rly had an intense ripple effect on everyone tbh. pamela’s mental health deteriorated quite a lot without george there as her rock n nyla sort of had to step in as best they cld but it was....... hard. some days she ws better bt some days nyla had to sit her in the bath n stroke a wet sponge over her back bc they didn’t know how else to calm her down. nyla always had a very overactive imagination which george encouraged bt it ws like. losing him rly opened a window in nyla’s head n all rationality went floating out of it. their dreams seemed more real than being awake. fantasy wasn’t jst the way they coped bt it was the way they thought n the way they saw. everything on earth was alive. the trees n the clouds n the wall with a brick missing at the bottom of her road n especially their dad. their dad was alive in everything in nyla’s head. the sun shining extra bright in the morning was george. ponds were a veil they could dunk her head under and find george waiting on the other side. reality rly just pulled the plug n said bye tbh n they were ok w that <3

(abuse implied tw) their mum remarried too fast to a man named stephen n it was jst not a good arrangement. he was Not a nice man. i won’t go into this but home wasn’t a nice place for nyla any more n after a couple of yrs stephen wound up asking them to leave n their mum said nothing to contradict tht. there’s more to this bt long story short nyla left <3

(drugs tw) they couch surfed fr a while before settling living w their best friend. they got up to like... all sorts of trouble n grew up far too fast. nyla’s lack of sense n realism hd a habit of getting them into some sticky situations n these few yrs were a rollercoaster where they got by on the skin of their teeth. when they think of high skl they think of gravel and skinned knees and sucking sherbet dunkers to ignore the taste of pennies in ur mouth and getting lost in the woods a lot bc they’d take FAR too many drugs n be lead astray having conversations with kind trees whose branches held their hands

(drug mention) got by on odd jobs like making candles n selling them at market stalls. leaf blowing at cemeteries. face painting fr children’s parties (where they were blatantly high). random stuff. all over the place. in this time them n their best friend also hd a sugar daddy named tony who always wore very impressive colour block suits n mink stoles n jewelled fedoras n hd a swanky apartment w marble floors. rly just. surreal. lots of strange stories frm this time.

things kind of blew up in their friendship group n they fell out w their best friend raya bc she slept w this guy aj who nyla hd been madly in love w for yrs.... he was a Stinker n honestly so ws their best friend so good riddance i say bt obviously it felt like having their entire world flipped upside dwn fr nyla.... they split after this came out bc they just did Not want to b around these ppl any more n they decided to leave w this guy frm a band they barely knew tht much save fr a one night stand to tour w them..... this ws another whirlwind. jst chock full of them. it ws similar to being on a teacup ride at a carnival n spinning round n round n only knowing u were surrounded by lots of lights. tht’s how they’d best describe their time on tour.

SO in terms of them coming to irving 8 months ago they came w the band.... they honestly did pretty well on tour n wound up renting a big beach house on dorado as a kind of “retreat” sort of place fr them to shack up in while they worked on writing and recording their first big studio album (they gt signed w a label so it’s all vry exciting stuff). nyla among like 3 others were allowed to stay w them too bc they hd a lot of fun on tour. literally jst. taken on as professional groupies essentially. nyla loved it bc they’d never seen the ocean n when they first got there they jst threw off all their clothes n ran straight into the water. it was 3pm on a tuesday afternoon. they got arrested fr public indecency n didn’t get why bc they were like but i just wanted to hug the ocean u silly little oinker? i picture the beach house as like. the loudest one on dorado.... comes alive like a jungle at night..... they r probably bad neighbours. anyway. onto personality puts hand on hip.

PERSONALITY:

sets out patio furniture on someone else’s lawn n jst takes a seat n leans back like ahhhhh vat a nice day to be alive ya! (swedish accent suddenly bc they think it’s fun). they come out n start yelling n they’re jst so confused they’re like hey wat’s the big idea hey wat’s go on here why u angies why this happen?

likes drawing imaginary veins over their arms in all different colour blue pens in a sudden fit of hyperfixation n then forgets all abt it n goes out like tht n scares several townsfolk bt they’re oblivious they’re jst in her own world loving life already onto the next fixation. has many many different fads like this. one day will jst start snipping up a bunch of magazines bc they’re like EYES ARE COOL N THEY SEE EVERYTHING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :P n they’ll stick a bunch of them over their wall n then forget they was doing that n leap onto the next. quite a pattern. bt they love the vein thing a lot it makes them feel like a walking planetarium like they have their own constellations

sometimes jst doesn’t make sense. they’re honestly kind of strange. pops up in places like they suddenly materialised there n it’s like how did u get there where have u been when were u last seen are u ok. has the energy of an ancient deity frm deep in a mountain cave n an ambiguous forest sprite all at once..... talks shit honestly. abt anything n everything. sometimes outrageous. sometimes plain incoherent. like what are u talking about? i dnt kno. even i dnt kno sometimes.

luvs stick n pokes will let anyone tattoo whatever they want on them for the price of a gummy bear kindly placed onto their tongue n swallowed whole

has this obsession w being underwater w their eyes open luvs it. calls it their tadpole time. runs baths just to lie there blinking looking around n drifting her arms. best friends w the bottom of any local swimming pool n hs probably given it a quick kiss so it knows they’re bff’s n then got sick bc there’s sm germs in a public pool. says the kgb probably poisoned their oatmeal n r finally here to deliver on their promise n THAT’S why they got sick unrelated to the pool incident. what promise? noone knows.

unclear if they believe what they say or if they jst has a very expanded sense of humour where they nvr let on if they’re joking.... lines r blurred a lot.....

loves excitedly shouting things. sometimes just screams at the sky bc they say it’s good to let the creatures in ur belly fly out every once in a while otherwise their wings get sore.

(drugs tw) still does an excessive amt of hallucinogens n it kind of shows. very bad fr their brain bt we’re going to ignore it.

dresses fun n strange n eccentric n careless. loves to experiment. does nt care abt what’s considered to be societally appropriate. living in their own world.

sleeps around a lot... jst doesn’t rly see sex as a big deal.... very free w themselves in that way..... sometimes greets their friends w a kiss on the lips they’re like awww :) kisses <3 when they run into them in the middle of the cereal aisle n then pulls away n suddenly breaks into a box tht has a free toy in it bc it’s a banana with googly eyes n that’s the best thing they’ve ever heard in their LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! n isn’t he so HANDSOME????? enchante indeed my good sir ;)... gives the toy a kiss too.

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

other groupies of the band: self explanatory a little.... i dnt have a name for the band yet bt all can b worked out..... i picture them as kind of. not that nice but like. there for a good time........ rock genre.... bit chaotic...... to say the least........ they dnt have to have come there w the band like nyla n the others they cld have been adopted in their time there.... whoever wld b wild n down fr a good time <3

chaotic trash goblin friends: idk what this title rly means it just came to me in a vision....... jst ppl tht r rly kind of off the rails n don’t care abt anything...... they r who nyla tends to mesh very well w......... they rly r living in their own world n by their own rules n they like ppl who do this too <3 inevitably they get up to no good n party far too much...... cld be angst to this if they enable each other’s bad habits...... world’s our oyster. opens my office door. let’s talk abt it.

nyla set up camp on their front lawn: maybe jst w a fold out chair. maybe w a literal pop up tent w someone else too. genuinely so bizarre of them bt that’s what we’re dealing with. they poke their head into the tent n nyla’s lying down crunching on a cracker crumbs over their tits n they just hold it out to them nt even fully consumed n are like hey polly want a cracker? :)

they responded to her craigslist ad: they posted one saying they cld cleanse their house of demonic energy bc they’re an all seeing eye in touch w the spirits. this is a lie. they came n waved sage around n did a little dance as they did it w bird sounds playing on a special cd they brought fr the occasion (had weird indistinct doodles over the case it ws brought in) n then ws like OOH! scary.... n jumped at something in the hall. they go in thinking maybe they’ve seen a ghost bt they just were startled by their own reflection in a mirror n is like. scary mirror placement...... might wna reconsider that........ they charge them merely 10 dollars fr their time n is like this was so fun we shd do it again some time :) also i think u have mould on ur bathroom tile! vanishes. they dnt recall them ever going to the bathroom.

came knocking asking for items for a garage sale: yes. u heard that right. they’re asking for ur muses things to set up their own garage sale. selling items that do not belong to them. they think this is a genius business strategy n don’t understand why ppl think this is so strange or why they cant just ask ppl to donate them things to sell bc hey they’re an entrepreneur? they even had a pencil behind their ear when they knocked on the door so why aren’t ppl taking their business seriously? probably got distracted several times trying to explain their pitch n chattered abt random other things instead.

honestly anything... fwbs... flings... good influence... someone who cnt stand the fact they’re barely coherent.... someone they stopped on the street one day n asked for their opinion on water beds.... we cn do literally anything. fling ur chara my way n we can talk.

#irvingintro #mental health tw #death tw #grief tw #drugs tw #abuse tw

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pixiegrl · 4 years

Note

no rush or anything but you said i could send mashton prompts so, “This movie is really scary, but you’re into it so I’m trying not to cover my face the whole time, but- WHAT IS THAT?” would be a lovely mashton prompt i think! love you love all the writing you do

Omg this is like an early Halloween gift. Tbh I almost had them watch an actual scary movie but it’s funnier if like...Michael is just a baby (aka me). Please enjoy the Masthon for Maggie!

On ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26688082

Michael has a secret. Despite the fact that he is very solidly a self-proclaimed “emo kid,” Michael has never seen Nightmare Before Christmas. He is 25 years old and Michael has not seen what is the probably the most classic emo kid movie. There’s a reason for it though. Michael’s other secret. Michael hates scary movies. Halloweentown made him cry as a kid. The skeletons, the goblins, the ghost in the screen? Michael had screamed and hid in the bathroom, crying until Calum promised that he would turn off and they could watch something else. Michael still hasn’t finished it, paralyzed with fear just thinking about it still. He’s an adult, with a job and a boyfriend and he still shakes a little thinking about that movie. So Nightmare Before Christmas? Out of the question, he doesn’t care if Fall Out Boy or Panic At The Disco covered songs from it. Michael doesn’t care if it’s fun or if Luke and Calum dress up as Sally and Jack for Halloween and everyone says how cute it is. Michael will not watch it.

Michael’s boyfriend, Ashton, however loves horror movies. Loves anything scary or spooky. Ashton owns every copy of Halloween and the old Universal Monster Movies. Michael would rather watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s with Luke again and have Luke sob on his shoulder before he touches any of Ashton’s movie collection. He’s planned their couples costume since January 1st, despite Michael’s protests. He’s been decorating for Halloween since August 1st, covering the apartment in cobwebs and spiders. Michael had come home one day and almost walked into the cobweb, barely holding back a scream of terror. Michael doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he doesn’t really like all of this, wants to eat candy and hide and watch literally anything else.

Ashton’s favorite holiday movie though? Nightmare Before Christmas. Ashton adores it, has so much merch for it, between cups and plates and some plushies. Can’t stop talking about how it’s his favorite and he’s sad that Calum and Luke got to do the couple costume first because now they can’t. Michael’s relieved about it. There’s no way he’s dressing up as some kind of doll with stitches on his body. He doesn’t care if it makes him a bad emo, they can take his fucking card, as he doesn’t have to be Sally.

They’re making dinner when it happens. Michael’s been busy, focusing on the mac and cheese he’s stirring on the stove while Ashton cuts up some chicken. Ashton’s talking about the movie for the 20th time this week, mentioning that the local theater is doing a shadow play for it and how they should go and get all dressed up and have a good time for date night when Michael finally blurts it out.

“I’ve never seen it before!”

There’s a long pause. Michael knows Ashton is staring at him, the sound of the knife hitting the cutting board no longer there. Michael can feel the hole Ashton is burning into the side of his head as he stares.

“What do you mean you haven’t seen Nightmare Before Christmas?”

“That! I mean that! I never saw it as a kid because I don’t like scary movies!”

“It’s not a scary movie though? It’s claymation, it’s meant for kids. Disney made it. And you’re the emo kid!” Ashton says, tone raising in confusion and indignation.

Michael turns to his boyfriend, flustered and red faced, “Well I was a kid and it scared me! That stupid sack creature with the bugs? I hated it!”

“That’s the main villain, how can you hate the villain!” Ashton cries, visibly upset about this.

“I don’t like horror movies. We’ve been over this.”

“Nightmare Before Christmas isn’t a horror movie, it’s art.”

“Shit and you called me the emo kid, Ash,” Michael rolls his eyes, turning back to the macaroni. He will not be shamed for this. It’s stupid and trivial for Ashton to be so worked up about this. Ashton thinks Michael’s video games are dumb how is this any different.

Ashton’s frowning. He’s cutting the chicken up into small pieces and frowning, eyebrows furrowed. Michael sighs.

“What? What could possibly be wrong now?”

“We’re going to watch it.”

“Ashton, no. We are not.”

“Yes we are. You’re my boyfriend and I love you but I love this movie and I want you to watch it with me.”

“Ashton, I love you, but I don’t like scary movies. I don’t want to watch it.”

“Please. I played FIFA for you. I hate FIFA.”

Michael sighs, put out. He’s right of course. Fuck Michael’s going to have to do this isn’t he.

“Fine. I’ll watch the stupid movie.”

Ashton grins, wide and bright, beaming as he planted a kiss on Michael’s cheek. Michael refuses to give in. He’s already dreading this movie.

***

Ashton’s turned the movie into a production. He’s gotten popcorn and candy (M&Ms and Reese’s) and begged Michael to bake the pumpkin cupcakes he likes so much. Michael had grumbled about it because he doesn’t even want to watch the stupid movie, but he’s weak in the face of his boyfriend asking nicely with kisses. All in all, they’ve created the perfect mood for a Halloween movie and Michael wishes they were watching anything besides Nightmare Before Christmas. Michael is still planning how he can get Ashton to watch The Lost Boys instead, the only vampire movie Michael’s ever watched or enjoyed when Saturday night rolls around and Ashton insists it’s time to start the movie.

Ashton’s practically vibrating with excitement as he hits play on the movie, snuggling down into the couch next to Michael. He throws one arm around Michael’s shoulders, looking expectantly at him as the opening song starts. Michael can admit, visually the movie is interesting. The claymation of it is amazing, considering the movie’s from 1993.

They’re not even two minutes in and Michael’s already ansty. There’s a character singing about having snakes for fingers, with the creepiest looking, long fish like face. Michael feels like it’s staring directly at him through the TV screen. He’s relieved when some vampires show up and then immediately unsettled when the Mayor turns his body around. Michael keeps shooting looks at Ashton, who’s so focused on the screen he’s not looking at Michael. Logically Michael knows the movie isn’t scary, but it’s just unsettling enough for Michael to feel a little freaked out.

By the end of the first song, Michael’s decided that he does not like the movie. The creatures are unsettling. The rag doll’s arm has ripped off and stuffing pops out. Michael flinches, glancing over that Ashton. Ashton’s still watching the movie in awe, face lit up. He will say the little ghost dog is cute though. He’s trying to focus on that at least.

“I like the dog,” Michael comments when Ashton looks at him, expectantly. Ashton grins widely, grabbing Michael’s hand.

“I knew you’d say that, Zero’s so cute and you love dogs.”

The skeleton is singing on screen now, the rag doll back with her creepy eyelashes and stitches and Michael remembers Luke’s costume now. Although he doesn’t remember it looking so strange on Luke. The skeleton pops his head off, referencing Shakespeare, popping his head back and smiling too widely for Michael’s low fear tolerance. He squeaks, hand making an aborted move to cover his face. Ashton barely notices, too wrapped up in the movie to pay attention. Michael would pout about it, but he’s just hoping this movie will be over soon.

“He’s going to Christmastown now,” Ashton whispers. Michael snaps his attention back to the screen, seeing the snow on the movie. He relaxes slightly. Christmas seems safe. No monsters or ghouls or creepy things to scare him. Although, maybe it’s the art style but the elves are still creepy. God, Michael regrets finding a boyfriend who likes scary things. He’d be having less heartaches now. He’s barely controlling having to cover his eyes when they go back to Halloweentown. The vampire is pulling his eye out and Michael gags a little. He really doesn’t like the little creepy doctor either, he looks like a fish gone wrong.

“Do you like it?” Ashton asks. Michael hums, trying not to make eye contact with Ashton. God this movie isn’t even that good, nevermind the scary bits. The only thing good about this is the cute dog.

“It’s fine,” Michael says, drifting his attention back to the movie, hoping he doesn’t have to tell Ashton he doesn’t like the movie. Do they all stop singing soon?

The kids are unsettling. The kids are really unsettling. Michael is really trying to not cover his eyes now. They’re too green and blue, with creepy little eyes and the girl has stringy hair. Michael’s starting to wonder if he takes out his phone and starts messing around will Ashton get mad at him. He thinks there’s still like an hour left of this movie. He wants it to be over already.

Michael’s not fully paying attention when the sack monster shows up. He’s only half looking at the screen, hoping if he doesn’t look he’ll stop being so scared. He glances up and all he sees is spiders coming out of the sack creatures eyes.

Michael screams. He screams loudly, too startled and creeped out to care. There’s insects coming out of the sack creature and he can’t take this anymore.

“What the FUCK is that?” Michael screams, pointing at the sack that now has a snake tongue.

Ashton jumps, turning to Michael wide eyed, “That’s the main villain Michael.”

“I can’t do this anymore. I can’t watch this I’m sorry and I love you, but I can’t do this,” Michael stands up, covering his eyes a little. He hates agreeing to this; he doesn’t want to watch this anymore.

“But it’s not even-”

“I don’t care if it’s not over I don’t want to finish it Ashton it’s freaking me out,” Michael mumbles, face still covered. Ashton makes a little sound, but there’s shuffling and the movie clicks off. Ashton rugs gently on Michael, forcing him to sit down. He wraps Michael up in a hug, resting his chin on his head.

“Sweetheart I’m sorry. I really like this movie and I didn’t think it would scare you so bad.”

“I’m not scared, just freaked out a little,” Michael protests even though he’s still hiding a little. Ashton snorts like he doesn’t believe him.

“We can watch something else instead. What about Scooby Doo?”

“Not the zombie one. Too scary.”

“That’s a children’s movie Michael.”

“And I don’t like the zombies in it.”

“Aw, I can leave the light on for you tonight to help you sleep.”

“Shut up or I’m making you sleep on the couch.”

“Probably for the best. Gotta protect you from the zombies.”

“I hate you.”

Ashton laughs, kissing Michael gently, “No you don’t.”

“Fine I don’t.”

“Besides if you kicked me out of bed, who would help battle the claymation monsters trying to break in.”

Michael rolls his eyes, but let’s Ashton tease him anyway. He snuggles into Ashton, as he clicks out of the movie, trying to hunt for something better for them to watch. Michael may hate Halloween, but at least he loves Ashton. Even if he’ll have nightmares now.

#my writing #mashton #michael clifford #ashton irwin #it's a little mashton for maggie #as a treat #calumsclifford #god this was fun to write #michael and i are one

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yeoldontknow · 6 years

Text

Bloodletting: 3 (M)

Author’s Note: the link to the story masterlist will not be included in this post. i have been informed that any posts with links that lead to literally anything have been suppressed on my blog (and everyone else tbh) and will not be searchable. if you want to read the previous parts it is on my full masterlist. Pairing: Taehyung x Reader (oc; female) Genre: Vampire!AU; horror; thriller; smut Rating (this chapter): NC-17 Warnings (this chapter): dark, predatory themes; graphic violence; explicit language; male dominating themes; dom!taehyung; sub!reader; slight daddy kink; biting; bloodplay; explicit sex; orgasm denial; unprotected sex; creampie (please take these warnings seriously as many themes in this chapter can be triggering) | the language and themes in this story may be triggering so do not read this chapter, or this story, if you are under the age of 18. you have been expressly warned!!! i do not condone any of the actions in this chapter or any of the others. this is a horror story that focuses on the actual horror of vampires and the horror of their lore. again, you have been warned. do not read if any of these topics trigger you. Word Count: 5,930

Now, I am many things but at the core of me, buried underneath the years of dust and distance, are the threads of man capable of wanting. One dare not call it loving, for such a word became meaningless to me the day I lost my soul; but as a verb, as an action, in this I was exceptional. Having learned the intricate nuances of the human form, I had become adept at tempting, skilled at pleasing, and, at once, I found I wanted to take pleasure in you. In seeking the lush delights of your body, I succumbed so completely to my urges after one single breath of your moist flesh.

With a smile pulling at the elegant curve of your lips, you had taken my instruction with glee and moved up the stairs with a tantalizing sway in your hips to undress. Behind my eyes I saw it all - the loosened straps of your bra slipping from your shoulders as you removed it from your breasts; the slow and aware way you slid your underwear down your thighs, climbing into a hot bath to ease your with sigh. Your hands painted agony behind my eyes, my heightened hearing and the delicate exposure of skin turn my tongue into a wet and heavy thing, trapped within my mouth. Even floors below, I could taste you in the air.

Floors below, I let myself consume you. Or, perhaps, it was you who consumed me.

I’d retreated to my study, seated in a leather chair with the unfamiliar tension in my spine when I let myself become overwhelmed, eyes closed and lips damp. It had taken centuries to get used to my new senses, my gifts - to accept them as my normal gift of existence; to walk at speed with my companions, to block the sounds of their hitched breathing, their beating hearts, the flow of their blood, the synapses of their brains firing too quickly for them to notice. I’d become so adept at blocking these things from my awareness that the sudden onslaught of you made my control unravel and my usually flaccid cock twitch with pleasure.

That the majority of taste is comprised of smell meant my mouth began to salivate. It’s such a shame the mortal nose can’t discern the tantalizing nuances of flesh and bone, to breathe in the life they live and feel it vibrate on their tongue. And as I shut my eyes to savor these flavors, I suddenly became victim of my own desire.

Dragging my tongue across the length of my lips, I leaned back in the chaise and scratched my nails along my thigh, the noise of it mingling with a sigh born from the center of your chest. Releasing a hiss of breath into the air, I adjusted my hips to ease the tightness within my trousers and began to feel as though I had become submerged in the bath with you. With minimal focus, I could hear your breathing, the small sighs of pleasure escaping your lips - whimpers on the wind I could almost kiss - and the calm, almost soothing rhythm of your heart. My brain filled the images in around the senses, painted you, coloured you; and I imagined your hair growing wet, your lips growing red, the water pooling and lapping against the lines of your naked ribcage. Without my consent, my hips started writhe slowly in the base of the chaise and I ran one hand through the stands of my hair, wanting.

You were such a fragile thing, held together only by thin lines of cartilage and malleable sinew. I could so clearly picture the perfect shade of crimson your blood would stain the porcelain and the water, the redness of you a sin I ached to suck. Oh, it would swirl and swirl, and colour you something magnificent, a masterpiece for me to lick clean. I thought of drowning you, holding you underwater and keeping you moist until your eyes turned to glass, until I could put my lips to your throat and drink. I thought of pulling you from limb to limb and swallowing you through a straw, clean and simple and almost comical in its delight.

Neither of these things were satisfactory. No, you lived with such transcendent naivety you deserved to worshipped beautifully before death, and to die amidst poetry and tragedy. But even then, even as I toyed with the knowledge that I would have you, all I could settle on was the thought of fucking you raw as I kissed the breath straight from your lungs.

The sounds of your fingertips streaking along the wet rim of the tub reached my ears, and I bit back a moan at the thought of being the cause of such a sound; that it was my body fucking your bones to ash, thrusts executed so perfectly into your center that your fingers would slip for purchase, holding onto the the tangible meat of your surroundings as you quaked and quaked and quaked. Gripping the fabric of my trousers in my right hand, I let my rampant imagination feast on the reality of your impending collapse, my throat becoming tight with excitement.

I might never know how long I remained in such an uncharacteristically vulnerable state, open wide and waiting to drip with you, but soon I found myself propelled from the chair, forced into action by the all consuming need to satiate my libido, and was at your door within seconds. Pressed against the wood, cold handle held tightly in my hand, I could hear you coming to rise from the tub. I was assailed by the noise of such a simple action, stunned by how starved I had truly been for the simple pleasure of tarnishing human chastity.

Working at the handle I found you hadn’t locked the door, and it thrilled me to wonder if it was due to either a misplaced sense of trust in me or the subtle yearning at your core for me to find you, expose you, devour you. It only convinced me further that some people were merely born to be tasted whether they realized it or not.

My sudden entrance had startled you, made you pause in the center of the room wrapped in a white towel. Water slowly made its way around the supple curve of your breasts, gliding down your skin like sweat, blood, or come. I wanted to drag my tongue in a long line up to the apex of your thigh and swallow it down.; to kiss your core and feel you become drenched by me. If I was capable of such a feeling, I would have fallen in love with the way you stood still as I approached you, eyes wide and unassuming. You were quaking with it, the desire to be touched. Even from a distance, I could sense the way your blood cells were swelling in anticipation of a tidal wave of lust.

From the very depths of my soul, I felt the familiar, primal sense of hunger and control about to brim over and shatter my nerves. Like fire, it was spreading from my chest and down into my thighs, across the muscles of my shoulders, and into my neck, turning me into the base creature I was only too proud to be. I reveled in the way your eyes shut, lashes splaying across your cheeks, as I brought a hand to your neck. The subtle tilt of your head was so perfectly timed I wanted to throw you down and rip you open as a love note to the action.

We both released a small exhale of breath, a contained sound that trespassed beyond our lips as my hand made contact with your damp skin. Touching your neck felt like I was reaching down through you and stroking your soul, holding the frailty of it, the strength of it, in the embrace of my palm. Even then, I could feel your pulse beating against my hand like a wire, ready to be pulled. In that moment, you were so vital, so fully alive and present I almost thought the flow of your blood was poetry.

Bringing my face close to yours, I hummed softly as we began sharing breaths, sharing the intimacy that comes with breathing in unison. My momentary hesitation in placing my mouth over yours was neither to tease nor to reconsider, but to watch the way you sauntered into kissing. Expectant, you preened, raised yourself and your pride to meet me, as if demanding a crown. You wanted it, desperately - me and the crown, the pride that comes from being desired. I could smell the sweet scent of arousal almost dripping from your wet core, the aroma lingering in the air to tempt me.

I held you on the precipice of need, barely letting the edges of our lips touch for as long as I could possibly stand, for I too was aching with you. Slowly, I brought the the tip of my tongue to the center of your bottom lip and traced the plump skin before your too brought your tongue out into the open. You moaned at the contact and I offered you a shallow laugh before plunging into the wet cavern of your mouth.

If I were any other man, indeed if I were a man at all, I would have been utterly enamored with the way you delivered yourself to pleasure. You only let yourself wither beneath the weight of the kiss for a moment before you wrapped your arms around my neck like a vice, pride at being kissed so fully winning over the nerves in your body. The nails in my fingers were starting to sharpen, turning themselves into talons and aching to hitch under one soft flap of skin and tear and tear and tear until you there was no end to wear our bodies joined.

My hand slid slowly up your neck to your cheek, the other pressing deeply into the full plumpness of your ass as I massaged your tongue with mine. You were trembling in my grip, fingertips pressing into the muscles of my neck and my back in the hopes of finding some element of control over this sudden and overwhelming bodily response. Smiling minutely, I squeezed the round flesh of your ass through the towel to exert the power I had over your body, and you tipped your head back, slack jawed and awash in bliss as you moaned.

With the slender line of your neck bared, I could barely help myself, confronted by the vitality of you. You were offering me dessert before I’d even had my fill of the feast, showing me what was waiting if I handled you carefully, wisely, and with the full roughness of my fingers. I moved my lips down your jaw, onto the stretched tendon and placed my tongue flat against the skin. Your fingers twined in the hair at the base of my neck as you pressed my face deeper, your body harder against mine.

‘Oh, Daddy,’ you moaned, voice tight and compressed beneath the pressure of or ravenous appetite.

Part of me wished I could have focused on the thick weight of your voice, the wilting cadence heavy with sex and arousal, rather than your audacious disobedience. But you had spoken the words with the intention of my response, the expectation of punishment lingering in the atmosphere, and I felt rage erupt from within me like a wrathful volcano. In an instant, I had lifted you from the floor, the towel unraveling from your waist and dropping heavily against the tile, and wrapped your legs around my waist as I walked you back and pressed you against the wall.

The force and strength of my body against yours forced a moan from the cages of your lungs, your eyes suddenly glazed with wanting, but your laughed through your breathlessness and smiled with half lidded eyes. Cocking an eyebrow, I ran my nose along your cheek and took your hand in mine to drag it up the wall.

‘Laughter? Did you like that? Do you like begging for mercy?’ I whispered against your skin, drowning in the way your pheromones made my mouth water.

You tightened your legs around mine in response, grinding your hips in the process.

‘Fucking loved it,’ came your reply, leaning your head down to let your tongue lap over my lips. ‘You know I’d only beg for you. No one else deserves it.’

Perhaps it was then that you transfixed me, bewildered me with a delight I had forgotten over the year. It was rare I would be fought for dominance, rare that I would be fought at all, and it was this surprise that made me crave you more. Using your desire and your ability to praise, a gift I think only you had been endowed with, you challenged me. There was an edge to your voice that told me you wanted this, and you wanted it to hurt. You, vying for the upper hand and foolishly thinking you could win - I wanted you. Mostly, I wanted to battle you, too.

I pulled you away from the wall, hands still bound together, and swiftly walked out bodies over to the bed, where I let you fall against the sheets. You surrounded to the drop, with grace and a beauty I would have called ethereal in another life. With your arms and legs spread, your back arched off the mattress, ready for my touch against your thighs, your ribs, your breasts.

With wide eyes, you watched as I undid my clothes, limbs splayed across the silk, cream of the bed in acceptance of my bodily gift. As my shirt slid off my shoulders, you leaned up on your elbows, as transfixed by the unearthly white of my abdomen. At your sides, twisting within the sheets, your fingers began to demand contact. I stepped back just an inch, distancing myself from your reach and felt myself ascend in the musical whine that erupted from your throat. I quickly undid my trousers and tugged them down with my briefs in one swift motion, relief stinging the nerves of my thighs as my cock was finally freed.

Fully naked, I lowered myself to your embrace, wrapping an arm around your wise to slide our bodies back and up towards the headboard. You began nipping at my chin, sucking at skin, grabbing whatever piece of me you could. I merely hovered above you, smelling the arresting perfume of your arousal mixed with the bath soap, a heady concoction that made your skin feel like dew. The wet folds of your cunt rubbed desperately against my my hardened cockin your efforts for closeness, and I marveled at the way urgency bloomed across your features. With the moonlight illuminating the bliss on your face, you thrived, haunting the room and demanding the walls breathe with you.

To me, it seemed you were born to sin, born to bathe in lust, and born to burn with desire from within.

Reaching around to grasp both your hands, I pulled them away from my arms and placed them next to your head. Spreading your legs wide, you welcomed me, opened yourself to me. Slowly, I slid down your body, my nose inhaling deep as I passed your nipples, your ribs, your waist. The apex of your thighs, the sweet tender folds of your center, was an oasis, blood pumping so ferociously beneath the skin it took every inch of my self-control not to claw the flesh away and drink. No, I continued on, just beyond the warm cunt that was aching for attention and pressed my face to your inner thigh.

This was my real treat, the large artery in the inside of the thigh, the second largest in the human body. I kissed the area gently like a prize before taking fingers into my mouth and wetting them with my tongue. You had brought yourself to lean up once more, the warmth of my breath against your skin slowly bringing you to madness. Your lips were glistening, sweat and bath water copulating along your hairline to paint you the picture of a heretic. I smirked at you, knowing you would catch my intention the moment you saw my fingers slide from my mouth, dripping with possibility.

‘Do it,’ you challenged, voice tight with a hunger that surprised even you. ‘Do it rough. That’s how I like it.’

Pieces of my dark heart came alive in the aftermath of your words, pieces only too happy to fulfill your wishes and make your voice plead - for more or for less, I couldn’t decide. The options were endless.

With my left hand clutching the sharp bone of your hip, I brought my soaked fingers into your core and stroked, and stroked, and driving them home, curling just so to make you howl. The tightness of you, the way you welcomed me so fully with the slickness of your walls possessed me. Spreading you with two fingers made you collapse back against the bed, before I pressed them inside once more. Almost immediately, you were grinding down against my hand, walls clenching around my knuckles to keep me inside.

For such a vocal woman, your moans were small, aware of how loud you really could be and trying to keep yourself together. The tension in your sighs, your moans, urged me on as I pushed deeper, wondering how quickly I could make you scream. It was only as I pressed my thumb to your clit that you started to unravel within my hand, whimpers echoing off the vaulted ceiling and making my own toes curl with purpose.

Caught between biting your lip and begging for more, you gasped as I moved my thumb in slow circles. ‘Yeah, just like that,’ came your encouraging cry, one hand clutching an embroidered pillow as the other slid down to card through the thickness of my hair.

There was an urgency to the way you tried to guide my face into the sweetness of your cunt, grip tightening its hold as you tried to thrust upwards for the full completeness of my touch. You were aching to be filled, spread, fucked. But then, you had transformed pleasure into such a game, reminded me how it truly felt to be thrilled, and so I took my time unmaking you.

Moving my head slightly out of the grip of your hand, I pressed down on your clit and hummed. ‘I’ll taste you when I’m ready.’

Dissatisfied, your hands left the bed and fell into my hair, guiding me back to where you wanted me most with a demanding furrow at your brow. ‘I need something bigger than fingers. Put your tongue inside me.’

The hunger with which you asked for such a thing briefly made me consider you my equal, an astounding thought that moved within my mind for seconds before dissipating beneath the understanding of my control over you. Even on your back your were challenging me, matching my hunger and need with a fire in your veins that made you thrive. Perhaps that is why I appeased you so quickly, breathing deeply as I sucked in the smell of your wet core.

Running my nose along the silk of your thigh, I brought my lips just centimeters from your folds to kiss them between my fingers, letting the gentleness from my mouth tease your back off the bed in a wide arch.

‘Jesus Christ,’ you whispered, eyes fluttering closed as your head pressed back into the pillows.

It was such a cruel thing to do, but with your body spread before me so open and willing for whatever whim may suit me, I couldn’t help but gently run the tip of my tongue in a small circle against your clit. The sound that came from your chest was the most glorious, keening whine I had ever heard and so I did it again just to spite you, my fingers never once stalling in their rhythm.

My tongue on your clit made you vocal, turned you into something ravenous, but it was when I pushed my tongue inside you that you truly came alive. Your hands held me in place as I licked at you, drinking this false nectar down just to add sugar to your blood. Thrusting inside you, your voice began to shatter, the sound needy and urgent as you ground against my face seeking your orgasm. Pushing my tongue deep, I slowed my fingers and my pace, pulling out slightly before I brought my mouth to your clit. And it was then I sucked at the small bundle of nerves as I drove my fingers back inside once more.

And it was when you screamed that I think I heard music for the first time.

‘Fuck, me,’ you begged, hands pulling at my hair to ease me away. ‘I’m gonna come like this if you don’t stop. I want to come around your cock.’

Gently I pulled away, licking my lips as I took in the sight of you. It felt good to hear your voice start to crumble, always so confident and demanding in your desires. Not once were you shy, speaking your needs with a will of iron, even if your will demanded that you be felt and shattered from the inside. Your hair splayed beneath you against the sheets and mattress, transforming you into a painting, a visual and sensory delight, aromas of pleasure soaking into the silk, my pores, my lungs. In that moment, I wished you could have seen you, features marred with the affect of yearning. You would have swooned for you as I did, except, in my own longing, I wanted to see just how far I could push your will.

‘Not yet,’ I repeated, keeping my tone as gentle as possible. There was something luxurious about how my voice made you bend, moving your limbs as though held by water. You swam in it, swam in me, ready to capsize.

Adding a third finger to keep you stretched and ready to take me, I returned my attention to your femoral artery and, knowing you liked to play rough, wondered just how far I could push you.

‘Darling,’ I said, the edge to my voice almost metallic. ‘Can I bite you?’

‘What?’ you gasped out as I curled my fingers to watch your back arch off the bed.

‘Can I bite you,’ I repeated again, this time without the inflection of a question. I was eying the way the muscle in your leg was quivering, driven to tension from pleasure. Legs spread wide to accommodate my body, my hands, my mouth, the urge to sink my teeth into the flesh beside your artery was breathtaking. ‘I promise it won’t hurt, not for too long.’

You contemplated my words as best you could in the throes of ecstasy, choking on his answer as you struggled to catch your breath.

‘Su-sure, just fuck me soon. I need you inside me. I’m gonna come - I can’t take it.’

The words of your consent had barely made it past your lips before I brought my teeth to your thigh and bit down, piercing the skin in one swift motion. Beneath me, your body jerked with a tepid sort of violent surprise and you screamed in a hollow sort of timbre that melted from pain into a giggle of pleasure as I sucked the wound I had just created. To bite such a delicate artery, one has to be careful - one single, misplaced tooth could cause a human to bleed out within seconds. This was not the eve of your death, and therefore I placed my mark just outside of the artery, nicking it rather than eviscerating it completely.

Blood seeped into my mouth, overflowing and dripping down your leg in a thin line to stain the sheets. And you loved every moment of it. The elegant line of your hand hand flew to my hair, fingers tangling in the strands to press my teeth deeper, and you shifted your hips to meet my mouth in a helpless grind.

You tasted sweet, like a massacre. There were memories in your blood, memories I could taste and feel deep within my veins. The iron and metal of you were intoxicating, and soon I became drunk, asphyxiating on the essence of you. I could feel my eyes become blown out with black thirst, and suddenly you was every candied kill I’d ever had.

You were a fourteenth century nun, dying on a raised altar.

You were a Victorian dandy, begging me to drink and drink and drink until he lived inside me.

You were a street walker, homeless, looking for a body to share, with blood like sugar.

Before I could let myself drown in the deluge of your blood, I pulled my mouth away and heard you whine at the loss. My lips and chin were drenched in your essence, a crimson stain I hoped would melt into the ash of my bones, and I grinned a cannibalistic grin that only made you moan with voracity. Placing my hand on your thigh, I pulled my fingers out of your core, and slid up your body to grab your neck and force you to look at me.

‘Taste yourself.’

You, bleeding beneath me and torn between moaning at the loss of my fingers or in confusion, were so alive in my hands I was taken aback by the speed at which you placed your mouth over my fingers to suck your own juices from my skin. But this, still was not enough to satisfy me. It was not the sweetness of your cunt I wanted to swallow down, but your essence, the heady iron of your DNA.

Pulling my fingers from your mouth, I dragged my thumb over your lip, guiding it down gently to watch how the simple motion made you quiver, shivering at the touch. The subtlety of the action made you grind against me, whining with disappointment, as you tried to lean up for more.

‘Not my hand,’ I smiled, shaking my head at your petulance. ‘Taste your fullness in my mouth.’

I’d asked such a thing before, of men and women alike, and every time I had been met with resistance before the slow acquiescence washed over their souls. It seemed as though they knew I’d never be satisfied, that they would not be truly satisfied until until they kissed themselves from my mouth as though paying a debt. But you came to my mouth with an eagerness that felt devout, as though you sought sanctity on my tongue. It had been a long time before something quite as holy had eclipsed my existence, but even then it did not paint you as a goddess. There was a baseness of pride to this sin, the knowledge that as badly as you wanted me, you wanted yourself just as much.

Once more you demanded a crown. But this time, you found it within you.

I rewarded you by moving my hand from your hip to my cock, grasping it firmly with slick fingers that had become coated in red and moving the tip lightly against your folds. In response, you ground up into me, desperately trying to push me deeper into your core, jaw dropping open slightly in pleasure.Your half lidded eyes tempted me, made me want to kiss sin into your mouth and watch it ignite over your skin. The wetness from your center slid delicately over the head of my cock, hot and warm and oh, how I craved to bury myself inside you.

Pushing myself deeper, I watched you bloom. In one brief moment, a length of time barely perceptible to the human mind, your eyes widened, glazed over with a lust that only seemed to amplify the flush at your chest and cheeks. The arch of your back pushed your breasts up against my skin and I watched your tongue lap at your lips. One single moment, a moment in which you were trapped in a liminal space between primal, uncontrolled need and the refined beauty of humanity.

One single moment, and I grieved for all the ways I would never be this way again.

‘There’s-there’s a condom in the - in the -‘

You could barely get the sentence out, your breath catching in your lungs with every attempt to speak.

‘There’s a condom in the top drawer,’ you finally managed through grit teeth.

Even against the swollen head of my cock I could feel your walls clenching, doing your best to lure me inside.

‘Someone was eager,’ I whispered with a dark laugh, lips pressed against your ear as I leaned down to kiss the warm tendon of your neck. ‘I want you raw.’

So used to your combativeness, I had planned to say protection would be useless, that you would not fall pregnant; that fucking me meant a different kind of harm and once that did not involve conception. Instead, you gripped my arms as you sunk your teeth into my shoulder, not nearly sharp enough to make me bleed but the valiancy, the aggression, the terror of you, made me strain to stop myself from burying my cock inside you.

‘Fuck me,’ you spat, moving your teeth to my neck. Biting down, I felt my body shudder briefly, the violent delight of this affection beginning to eat at me. ‘Fuck me, Daddy, I’m going to come right here, right now unless you fuck me how I want you to.’

Taking hold of your hips, I pressed my forehead to yours, gazing deep and down into the depth of your soul as I thrust myself inside you, hard enough to quake the bedframe against the wall. I did not care if you saw the truth of me, of the blackness of my irises and the way the night amplified the terror of me. I wanted you to feel me, wanted you to feel me deep enough to hurt, wanted to come inside you hard enough that you would miss me when I was not there.

‘Je vais te niquer comment je veux te niquer’ I ground out and, during your pause to try and understand what I had said or to try and see if my eyes really were as black as they appeared, I pulled out fully and drove myself back in to the hilt.

The sound of your scream as I buried myself inside you made me throw my head back to bathe in the sound. My fingers pressed into the warm flesh of your hips hard enough to bruise. The rhythm I found was borderline belligerent, but you met me thrust for thrust, lifting your hips to take me, and hold me inside you.

'Fuck,' you gasped, moving your hands from my arms to my shoulders. 'Fuck me just like that.'

Scratching your nails down my back, you gave yourself over to pleasure with a fullness that felt monstrous. The ugliness of this sex transcended what I had come to know of you, of humanity, of what monsters and myths could achieve. Teeth sinking into my collarbone as your walls tightened with every thrust, legs wrapped around my waist as your hands came to grip the cheeks of my ass, I almost rejoiced at the sensation of your still leaking blood soaking into my hip and dripping down into the space between our bodies.

You felt like velvet, muscles in your cunt and thighs winging around me as though I were the thing made for killing, as though this were the poetry of my release.

Moving a hand from your hip, I slid my fingers gently up your body to cup your breast, bending down slightly to squeeze your nipple between my teeth. Easing my pressure, sucked and sucked and the nub, licking with the roughness of my tongue until you whined, signaling the pain had started to sting. And only then did I finally move to the other, luxuriating in the paradox of the violence of our coupling, and the satin expanse of your skin.

‘I won’t last,’ you whimpered. ‘I’m going to come, Jesus Christ, Daddy.’

‘Je suis pas ton papa,’ I growled.

I was too far gone to be embarrassed that my control over the English language had slipped and I had reverted to my native tongue. You paid no mind, as every inflection of my accent only made you suck harder on whatever piece of flesh you could find, aroused only by the sound of it.

‘I’m gon-gonna come,’ you gasped out.

‘Non.’

This you understood.

‘Fuck’s sake, come on. Please.’ Your voice was becoming little more than a desperate croak, exhausted from the effort of making your hips match my frantic pace.

‘Seulement quand je dis.’

My orgasm was burning at the base of my spine, only a few thrusts away from brimming over and poisoning you. I was thriving off it, the control a few simple words had over your breath, your hips, your hands, and I would make you wait until the very last second before I could empty myself inside you. On a whim, I decided to change the angle, lifting you up to sit in my lap, my legs bent beneath me as yours wrapped around mine, turning us into little more than a coil.

It was then I slowed my thrusts, ensuring the upward motion was infinitely more powerful than before, and at once you went limp in my arms. The stimulation made you crave me, rely on me, and I drove myself deeper inside you as a gift for your sudden giving over of control. Resting your head on my shoulder, you panted for breath as your arms held me tight against you, unwilling to let me go.

Twisting my hand in your wet hair I tugged your head to watch your neck stretch. Mouth open and eyes glazed with bliss, I felt your walls quiver and it was then I moved my hand from your hair to your clit. Pressing swift circles against the nub, I let myself provide you the full richness of my voice. The real depth of my tone, a sound that made you crumble.

‘Maintenant.’

Your orgasm tore through you as mine spilled into you. I filled you with me, pumped myself inside you as you clutched at me for fear of falling or disappearing or simply coming apart. There was an electricity to your orgasm, a cosmic thunder that made all the muscles in your body wind tightly, hypnotizing mine to do the same. We trembled together, the aftershocks eating at you as the stimulation of your folds turned touch into a punishment.

I released you, laid you back on the bed as I pulled out and watched some of my black come leak onto the cream sheets. You were positively captivating in this post-coitus state, wrapping yourself in the duvet as your chest rose and fell, glistening with sweat. You would sleep for hours, perhaps days, plagued by blood loss and the essence of evil I had spilled inside you.

I removed myself from the bed, gathered my things and left you to fall into a deadly sort of sleep while I came down from the high of living.

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