#now amber sweet is addicted to the knife

[fandomcringebucket]

ZYDRATE ANATOMY - TERRANCE ZDUNICH, PARIS HILTON, ALEXA PENAVEGA (REPO! THE GENETIC OPERA)

[al4dy]

My addiction [Amber. F]

Pairing: Amber Freeman x fem!reader

Summary: You've been having encounters with Ghostface and now you find yourself addicted.

Warnings: toxic relationship, sick love, mention of drugs(?), addictions, sadism, knife play, violence, blood, knives and things like that. Not proofread, sorry. +16 only, please.

a/n: My friend @jennacarioca was sad and I started writing this to her since she likes Amber (It's shameful how long it took me to write just this little bit), and also her birthday is almost knocking on the door, so it will be two birds with one stone. (english is definitely not my first language and this'll be kinda obvious lmao sorry again)

What makes addiction an addiction? The release of dopamine is one of the factors, that's for sure. The hormone that brings you happiness, pleasure, satisfaction, just as it can also bring you into deep, unforgiving waters and make you drown in these temporary sensations. Something that gives you so many good feelings can - if you're not careful - be your downfall.

Already showing signs of addiction you would recklessly look for things that release this rush of sensations just to feel something similar again.

It's just fucking hard to get out of an addiction, especially if you've been doing it for a while. Sometimes you may end up not getting rid of it even if you want with all your might, because deep down you know that maybe nothing will give you those same sensations.

And that's exactly what was happening to you. Your addiction was consuming you, slowly corrupting you, leaving you rotten and dependent on these sensations, this type of adrenaline– And there's only one person in the world capable of making you feel something like that; Woodsboro's most wanted serial killer.

Your body carried dagger cuts, some still healing and others already healed. Your throat had the perfect imprint of the hand Ghostface used to squeeze it, to choke you until you begged for air, for mercy. All of this was enough sign for you to get out of this fucked up situation, look for help, run as far away...

But how could you? None of that compared to the feeling of those soft lips tracing moist kisses down your neck, whispering words of comfort, sweet words that no one had said to you before. The feeling of those slightly pointed canine teeth grazing your sensitive skin to the point where blood can be seen; it was an agonizing pain, but then their tongue slid over the spot so gently, eliciting a drawn out moan from you.

Now that you put yourself in this situation, you couldn't get out.

The cold night breeze tickled your skin, goosebumps spread over every inch of your body but it definitely wasn't because of that. No, the cold breeze didn't play even the slightest role in how your body was completely rigid, or how - even slightly - you were shaking. It was because of the person dressed in a black cloak in front of you; their face being hidden by a Ghostface mask.

At this point you should be feeling the cold metal of the dagger slowly sliding across your skin - not too deep, but deep enough to make Ghostface pleased to see your pained expression and the crimson liquid running from the cut -, but now what you felt was the fabric of their glove against your skin, making small circles on your neck with the index finger.

You were used to this game. It was a pattern and you discovered it pretty quickly. Ghostface likes to hurt you not only physically, but also mentally: One night they like to play with you, especially with knives, restricting you and any disobedience would be another cut on your body. Over the next few nights they shower you with affection, treat you like a princess, say the most romantic things and make you feel loved like never before. Only to disappear for a few weeks, leaving you distressed, anxious, needing more. That's when Ghostface comes back again and the cycle continues, exactly in that order.

“You keep coming at me, why?” the voice was modulated, but the soft way they spoke to you made the air in your lungs empty in seconds. You're feeling uneasy, you could feel your stomach turn from feeling your body heating up. You hated it, it was ridiculous- however, you still wanted to keep feeling that way.

You opened your mouth but nothing came out, it was as if a lump had formed in your throat, preventing you from saying anything.

“Come on love… you know exactly what to say.”

“B-Because I love you.” You felt your stomach drop, you always did. It didn't feel right to say those words, not in this situation and definitely not to that person.

As soon as the words completely slipped out of your mouth, a robotic laugh was heard in that dark and deserted alley. “Oh god- that never fails to make me laugh!”

“As much as I like to hear you say it, you don't love me, baby. You love how I make you feel.” You lowered your gaze to the dirty floor, but it didn't last long as the same hand that made small circles on your neck grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up at them. A gasp left your lips. “Look at me while we’re talking.” Ghostface had a threatening tone. You could tell they were smiling and enjoying it.

You were completely right, you just confirmed it when they took off that mask.

As soon as the mask was off your breath hitch. No matter how many times you saw Amber taking off that mask, you always got the same reaction. Having those intense eyes staring at you dead in the eye made you want to squeeze your thighs together. It was as if all that uneasy feeling disappeared as soon as you saw her face.

Amber had a cheek-to-cheek smile on her lips; a smile that make you shiver from head to toe in fear. That was definitely what people call a “maniacal smile”. She tightened her grip on your chin.

Your eyes were seen so much clearly now, your frown said that you were thinking about getting rid of this touch because it was really hurting, but the way you swallowed hard and sighed with your lips parted right away put everything Amber needed to know on the table.

You still wanted her, you still needed her even though she treated you like that and that was just a trigger for her to continue.

“Hmm...” The hand that held your chin firmly slid slowly down your jaw. “But it’s okay if you don’t love me, because I definitely love you.” The sinister smile on her lips gave way to a softer one, you could have sworn it was something more tender.

“Let’s get out of this alley so I can love you completely, okay?”

It was always the same question, you knew that after that night it would take days for you to see her again. You knew she would make you go to heaven only to pull you straight to hell.

But you don't care, do you? As long as you're able to be with Amber - as long as she can make you feel alive even though she's killing you slowly -, you'd go to hell blindfolded.

“Yes.” You said quietly.

“Yes what?”

“Yes love."

[shittykinaesthetics]

Shitty Amber Sweet aesthetic: so let’s say hypothetically that amber sweet is addicted to the knife. allow me to reiterate: for the sake of the argument, amber sweet is addicted to the knife. so then logically it would follow that she would need a little help with the agony, right? so now that we’ve established that, let’s say that help comes in the form of a little glass vial--

[politeparadox]

so let’s say hypothetically that amber sweet is addicted to the knife. allow me to reiterate: for the sake of the argument, amber sweet is addicted to the knife. so then logically it would follow that she would need a little help with the agony, right? so now that we’ve established that, let’s say that help comes in the form of a little glass vial

then, hypothetically, we can assume that, *when* the gun goes off, She will, assuredly, be ready for surgery.

[whenyourunlabeledbutlabeled]

HEYOOO

Warnings!!

A/N: My favorites with a friend/s/o whatever I DONT FUCKING CARE

Mentions of knifes, violence,guns, loss of sanity, cussing, death

GENDER NEUTRAL

IF I LEAVE OUT WARNINGS ON ACCIDENT LET ME KNOW!!

Sorta like this

"Amber Sweet is addicted to the knife

Addicted to the knife?

Addicted to the knife!

And addicted to the knife she needs a little help with the agony

Agony!

Anfa little help comes in a little glass vial and a gun pressed against her anatomy."

Please say it's your brain and now your down there I'm not ready for that

Rantaro Amami

Genuinely interested at you at first, a little intimidated but mostly just interested in why you have that.. lack of sanity.

Scared when you start stabbing a knife between your fingers and saying it's the knife game!

For the sake of the story you either intentionally or unintentionally stab yourself in the hand like full on just STAB

If it was unintentional, he patches you up and scolds you on being careful, and also implying to stop playing that stupid knife game

If it was intentional, a little scared, he managed to stop you from full on stabbing through your hand into the table or whatever

Still patches you up but the scolding is a lecture, you are banned from the knifes.

Still curious about you, tried to learn more about you, ends up following you to your dorm before you let yourself in

You end up pulling out a random ass GUN???

Like reader calm your ass down

Ends up realizing your playing Russian Roulette, and stops you

After that, he realizes how far gone you were, and still managed to be your friend.??

Or s/o????

Pop off king

ANGST YOU DIE

Very confused with the Monokuma Announcement, But heads to your Ultimate Lab anyways.

Finds you on the floor next to a counter with a knife through your hand and a katana through your chest(pretend you just have a katana or sum)

Scared shitless, What the hell happened here, they can't be dead-!

Watches your killer's execution, this time without your snarky remarks

Mikan Tsumiki

Genuinely concerned about your well being, you tend to display little sanity and when you do your blunt and almost rude, essentially clinging to the last shreds of sanity

Tries to help you feel better, especially if you self-deprecate and generally act like Nagito(stinky baby)

When she finds out scaring the shir out of Hiyoko by fucking- animalistic JUST GRABBING, like bro stop ur killing her hand circulation

Anyways, you end up playing the knife game(slandering the table wtf man)

Homegirl panics, ends up lecturing you about that while she patches up Hiyoko's finger(girl almost got shanked)

Your instability knows no bounds

Its even worse when she finds you playing Russian roulette in your room.

"(Y-Your name-!) You can't just do stuff like this! You'll get h-hurt!"

A sarcastic remark is thrown her way, then you stubbornly apologize before you get lectured again.

ALRIGHT GET OUT IM TIRED

I'LL FINISH THIS LATER I PROMISE

ANYWAYS ILY ALLL

Ty so much for reading this your so sweet

Take breaks

Don't die pls

HAVE A GOOD DAY

[chromosoid]

Zydrate comes in a little glass vial.

a little glass vial ?

a little glass vial.

And the little glass vial goes into the gun like a battery.

And the Zydrate gun goes somewhere against your anatomy.

And when the gun goes off, it sparks, and you’re ready for surgery.

Surgery.

[dredsina]

Me: all we have are vpacks but this machine only takes kcups so I'm gonna have to do a little surgery

The chorus in my brain: SURGERY, SURGERY...

[delirious-donna]

hi, bestie. could i possibly ask for some kiba x y/n headcanons that you think would fit the fanged menace? ☺️

can be both fluffy and nsfw. i'm super curious what you come up with 💞 thank you!!

I am so unbelievably pleased that you asked me for something like this, feels like you trust me with your precious fang boy!! I went with a mixture of fluff, a teeny tiny bit of angst and plenty of NSFW (cause that's what I do best ^^), I hope you like what I came up with.

warnings: NSFW, fluff, lil angst, mentions of: unprotected sex, oral sex f!receiving, breeding kink, angry sex, Dom/sub, fondling, drinking, aggression(but nothing serious!), Kiba is a damn cutie

Kiba Inuzuka

Modern AU Headcanons

Kiba is very much the type that had no idea why he felt so sick to his stomach every time he was in your presence from the age of twelve onwards. Kiba isn’t known for being the sharpest knife in the drawer and for the longest time he assumed that everyone could smell the alluring scent that was unique to you. It wasn’t until Naruto had given him the strangest look, his entire face scrunched up in confusion when he mentioned the sweet smell that always tickled at his nose.

“Dude, what the fuck are ya talking about?” Naruto asked, not even trying to keep his voice down in the quiet library.

“Shuddup man!” Kiba hissed in reply, the tips of his ears burning, “so… you can’t smell it?” he asked timidly.

Kiba is ridiculously competitive, to an insane level. He participated in more extra-curricular teams and activities than anyone else in his year. Even in disciplines not suited to him, he would push himself harder than anyone else to succeed. His chest filled to capacity whenever he wins, it’s an addictive sensation. Winning against a friend – you best believe he is going to lord that shit over their head for weeks to come.

“Don’t be a sore loser Sasuke, I’m just better than you man,” he crooned for the millionth time, completely oblivious to the burning rage filling the Uchiha’s eyes.

It would take years for Kiba to realise that he had feelings for you, the light bulb moment finally happening when he spied you on a date with another boy, an older boy and he didn’t like it – not one little bit. At eighteen his hormones ruled his body and mind, testosterone flaring as he spied you in the booth of the diner. Amber eyes fixated on your hand that rested on the tabletop, pupils blown wide as the idiot opposite placed his own on top. Yet, he does nothing. Hands curled into tight fists, not listening to a word that Shino is saying to him. How could he hear the words when his heartbeat is drowning everything else out?

“What does he have that I don’t?” he’d muse morosely.

Kiba volunteers at an animal shelter on his weekends. His affinity with animals comes in handy when a new rescue arrives, the pup terrified and snapping at anyone daring to approach. He’d sit in the corner of the pen, brave enough to let the animal out of its restraint despite the threat of injury. Kiba talks in a low tone, his head fixed down on the ground as he speaks to the trembling pup. He’d sit there as long as it took, making idle one-sided chit-chat until the dog nervously nosed his bent knee. A hand reaches out to stroke behind the dog’s ear, fingers working into the fur both to indulge the brave pup and to check for unnoticed wounds. Eventually, Kiba would make eye contact, smiling warmly and praising the dog for being so brave, reassuring her that everything is going to be fine from now on.

“Whose a good girl?” he coos affectionately.

The first wagging of her tail is enough to fill his heart with love.

You find out about Kiba’s crush by way of his older sister, Hana. Apparently, she was sick to the back teeth of Kiba’s petulant sulking and decided to take things into her own hands. You were a little surprised to be approached by the older girl, blushing as she spoke so directly.

“You gotta be y/n, you fit the description he mumbled to me in his love addled daze,” she stated, assessing you with cool precision.

“What?” was the only thing you could think to squeak as Hana continued to reveal Kiba’s most well-guarded secret.

Your heart fluttered at the thought that the boy you had crushed on for at least five years returned your feelings. What a damn fool he was not to tell you, and here he was at long last. Face matching the shade of an overripe tomato and fingers fiddling with the zipper of his hoodie, Kiba finally asked you out.

Kiba can handle his alcohol well, that is until he switches to whisky. One drop of the smokey amber liquid and he is practically a slurring and stumbling mess. Propped up between Naruto and Shikamaru he coos how much he loves you loudly, wanting everyone within earshot to hear about how amazing he thinks you are. He shares his love out, not keeping it all for you as he smacks Naruto’s cheek a little harder than intended and giggles at the angry expression the blonde wears in response.

“Naru is soooo mad at me,” he loudly whispers to you, finger on his lips as if it’s meant to be kept a secret. You and Shikamaru can't help but snigger at the pair of them, Kiba giggling like a schoolgirl and Naruto blushing, pointedly looking away.

Annoyingly, Kiba seems incapable of suffering the consequences of these alcohol-fuelled nights. Hangovers are something he is only aware of through the experiences of you and his friends. Regardless of how much he consumes, Kiba wakes bright and breezy just like he does every other damn day. His smirking face looms over your own, which only wishes to press into the pillow beneath your head. He chuckles at your every little groan and whimper, finding you so damn adorable as you beg him to end your suffering. The only thing saving him from a smack in the face is his willingness to wait on you hand and foot. Bringing you orange juice and painkillers, willing to go pick you up any food your hangover craves, regardless of how far he’ll have to drive and snuggling with you within the cocoon of your blanket fort.

“Wanna go out again tonight? Sakura is having a party at her house,” he asks in-between littering your cheeks with soft kisses.

“Are you motherfucking insane? No!”

Kiba is always the big spoon in bed, he pouts and whines if you even dare to snuggle up against his back. He wants to be free to roam his large palms over the front of your body, often his hands slipping under the thin cotton of your top, teasing the underside of your breasts until your hips roll against him. The man is a damn menace, smiling against your neck as he toys with your pebbled nipples, pinching firmly.

“You like that baby?” he purrs, raising the hairs along the back of your neck.

It is well known that Kiba has wickedly sharp teeth, he had been rather self-conscious of this fact growing up and often went out of his way to keep them hidden, that was until you. The second he found out that you found them sexy, he flashed them at every opportunity afforded to him. Kiba delights in the obvious way you flush at the very sight, breathy sighs puffing through your parted lips and fingers inching towards his hand. He knows you want him, and doesn't care that you are in the aisles of a well-lit grocery store as you press firmly against his much larger body. The first time he dared to use them on your tender flesh, he got instantly as hard as a rock when you keened for him. Your fingers carding into his lush chestnut hair, yanking fistfuls that tugged his scalp and made him see stars. From that moment on he made sure to leave the prettiest of marks on your skin – reminders of who you belong to.

Kiba has a breeding kink, and nothing beats the feeling of fucking his seed so far into your cunt that he plugs you up. It’s a game at this point, both of you knowing deep down that you are on the pill but the filthy words that Kiba feeds into your ear only heighten your pleasure. The absolute sky-rocket of tension floods your belly as he promises to make you round with his child, to fill your tits with milk and keep you that way is enough to have you gushing around his cock. It is a promise he intends to keep, but not yet – there is so much he wants to share with you before it is time for kids, but the time will come.

“Shall I fill your cunt up with my cum, baby? You wanna be a mommy, huh?” he pants through pounding thrusts, the tip of his cock bruising against your cervix.

“Mhm. Fuck, Kiba,” you sound so needy as you beg him for it.

For all his dominant traits, it is remarkably easy to turn him into a bashful, whimpering mess. Kiba low-key loves when you are all large and in charge, not something that happens often but when it does, he enters subspace with ease. How pretty he looks laid out on your bed, thighs quivering as you crawl towards him. Cheeks a beautiful pink, dark lashes fanning his cheeks and breath puffing through his chest as he waits for you to settle over his face. He knows his hands are to remain idle, no touching allowed – that goes for himself as well as you. It’s sloppy work, his mouth and chin drenched in a mixture of your arousal and his spit. Throaty moans sounding muffled from under your weight, his hands fist the sheet to keep them from grabbing at your hips or at his aching erection. You praise him and he loses his goddamn mind, coming over his stomach and thighs without even being touched.

“You’re such a good boy for me, baby. Making me feel so fucking amazing,” you purr, the authoritative tone causing his thighs to clench seconds before his release.

You best believe that any kind of argument is going to end in the most explosive sex. It’s not even makeup sex, the fight is still ongoing and neither of you is willing to give in to the other, but it doesn’t mean you want each other any less – far from it. Kiba is a stubborn motherfucker, if he thinks he is right about something then nothing is going to change his mind. Sometimes even flaunting irrefutable evidence under his nose is not enough to dissuade him, and how this boils your blood. There are times that he is simply in the mood to be awkward, if you say black then he says white and so it goes until you snap. His voice rises with your own, screaming from opposite ends of the room and slowly advancing until you meet in the middle. There are no sweet kisses, you both use your mouths for punishment not sweet pleasure – bites littering necks and shoulders. Streaks of painful red stain his back, your nails digging enough to draw blood as he fucks into you, supporting your weight with his boundless strength. Nasty name-calling is a given and you take it in your stride until you are splayed on the floor, sweating and panting for oxygen to fill your burning lungs.

“I’m still fucking right, you know that y/n?” he hisses through clenched teeth.

“Just shut the fuck up Kiba!” you yell in response.

Masterlist

[tartagliaxx]

" CALL ME BY MY NAME "

━━ ☆ PAIRING: xiao/reader

━━ ☆ GENRE: fluff, hurt/comfort

━━ ☆ SUMMARY: you cross the line with a candied whisper of his name.

━━ ☆ WARNINGS: spoilers on xiao’s storyline, dubious analogies, mildly suggestive

if you were a scholar for the arts then he was the fine specimen from histories long past. in your eyes, he was the depiction of avant-garde: an oddity amongst the known, an unorthodox idea that never ceases to steal your breath. your elders warned you of one thing alone: stay away from the young gentleman that rests on the high treetops. but how could they ask you for the impossible? the fear, the curiosity, the mystery— it all conjoins into one fine liquid gold that sends you into a delicious high. an inescapable drug; a beautiful poison with the right mix of beauty and rage.

his hands were stained with a sweet crimson hue— be wary, their rigid tones echo inside your head— but you found beauty in painting your blank canvas with that vibrant shade. when the distance between you waver, and he steps in the boundary of what could be and what must not be— when he allows himself a little room for greed— when his fingers graze against yours and linger for a little too long to be considered friendly, you sigh as poets scurry around to write the words that bleed through your mind.

a strange addiction maybe, but there was something uniquely different, far more satisfying in unfolding all his wonderful idiosyncrasies. does he hear heaven sing in lush orchestral sounds when he laughs? does he feel the blazing fire against his skin when his amber eyes gleam dramatically in the face of evil? does he live as a marble masterpiece or was it just your love induced daze that made everything he was made of appear like dazzling meteorites that descended from the skies?

"what are you doing here?" his tone was as sharp as ever, hanging thinly in between a greeting and a knife to your throat. you realized you loved the adrenaline rush from danger.

"resting. i didn't expect to meet a group of ruin hunters while i was taking a stroll."

maybe it was just the ripples of the mirage but for a millisecond, you thought you recognized the familiar blues of disappointment in his eyes. did he think you were here for him? he wasn't too far from the truth.

"you weakling."

"am not!"

you grunted at his unamused expression. "i was just caught off-guard."

your steady eyes watched as he jumped down from the roof to sit beside you on the ledge of the balcony. his presence was nice beside you, you just hoped he was a bit closer— just until you can no longer recognize whose affection was whose or when you're a whisper away from grazing your lips against his.

"when those kinds of things happen again, call my name. i'll be there."

his invitation was dangerous, you wanted to tell him. you barely had it in you to stop chanting his name, and now that you knew he'd come, how could you stop yourself from saying it in prayer just so you could see the way his eyes dilate when you innocently give him your devotion?

"alright." you settle with that. "i'll be expecting that from you, xiao."

was it alright to feel bewitched with the small shivers that conquered his body? was it acceptable to want more— to desire what goes deep underneath his depths like a madman? you almost feel guilty for wanting to swallow undiluted darkness and pain. if only it didn't taste like raw honey on your tongue.

"xiao? are you alright?"

he looked beautiful like this— lost and disturbed. it was disgusting how much you wanted to corrupt him:  to make him fall in the same bittersweet space you were in, to let him have a taste of this alluring insanity, to unravel you like how you wished he would do in your fantasies.

"stay away."

did he really want that? you didn't think so. not when his hand chased after yours when you moved away.

"if you want to stay sane, you should run away from me. it's not too late."

"what if—" you breathed, liking how his amber eyes dimmed a few shades darker from the multitude of emotions hidden behind it. "what if i was never sane, to begin with?"

your temptation was strong and he was a second away from biting into it. his heart longed to sing hallelujas as he held you skin to skin, bone to bone. his head wanted to write prose of your beauty as you stood in front of the warm, aurous hue of the sunset. he wanted you— his saccharine salvation. he wanted to commit blasphemy as he worships you better than the gods he had served for millennia. but how could he? he's—

"be greedy."

a monster, a fragmented mind broken beyond repair, a damned man. so who could blame him if he succumbs to his primal urges? it was scorching, and like wax under immense heat, your lips melded into his. he was sweeter than your honeyed fantasies and far more bitter than the foreboding end of it all. he was heavy over you but you felt light like an angel. his grunts resound deep into his chest that was closely pressed against yours. it was a delightful feeling. having him so close that you could vividly picture each ridge of his torso was the closest you have felt to celestia. by the gods, it might be even better because a pile of floating rocks cannot compare to the feeling of his hands on your waist or your back pressed against the balcony, just barely holding on which seems to be a fitting anecdote for what was happening inside your head. free falling to whatever this was— falling to him, falling in love with him.

"say my name."

the tremors that came from his growl that was placed so close to your ear sent earthquakes that destroyed every single pillar that held you up and so you let his name dance on your tongue and he swallowed each drop of it just as he had dreamed of doing. your little carols, all for him, how adorable. you were just so addicting— his tiny little drug, his magnificent devotee, his tasteful dream.

"xiao—!"

you couldn't breathe from all the pent-up passion all being released in one blissful moment but you didn't mind. if his sultry embrace would be your deathbed then you would have no qualms passing on. you let him have his way, offering your entirety to him— to save or to conquer, to rid off or to keep, you would no longer complain.

"say my name."

but this time you part, swollen lips and all and you stared deep into his glazed-over eyes. his bright amber eyes that set everything ablaze. his eyes that seemed to betray every hurt and burden he has been carrying for millions of seasons. it was strange to see him so open, so different from the coldness he usually held but you welcomed it regardless.

"alatus."

he never meant to break down— never wanted to show you a side of him so vulnerable and weak. but you called out to him like an angel descending the heavens. you sang his name with your soft voice, coaxing him out, telling him that he was forgiven. how can a sinner remain still when your hands gently wiped away all of his anguish?

"you're alright."

he was. for the first time since he remembered, he found solace in his mind. like it was his once again and not the morbid memories of his repeated murders. your words were magic to him. no, that was blasphemous to say. you were his holy grail; the hope that redeemed him from his mistakes and cruelties for a sweet, brief moment.

it wouldn't stay. his binds made sure of that but he digressed. those were not important. not when you have unshackled him temporarily and gave him something to hold onto. not when you told him it was alright to leave all of that behind and pave a new path onwards with his own will and not the will of some nameless god. not when you were smiling down at him as if it was him who saved you and not the other way around.

"stay with me."

"for as long as you would let me." you rest your head against his. "if you need me— if you want me... call my name and i'll be there."

your invitation was dangerous. he barely had it in him to stop himself from devouring you completely. although, he chuckled— the rare laugh making you flush a bright red, you probably wouldn't complain if he did. now that he has your permission, he wouldn't let go. what kind of subject would he be if he didn't remain devout to your grace? with a light squeeze to your hand, he sealed another silent contract, but this time, not out of duty but out of his heart.

you wondered when he would let go; if he would ever do that if only so you could prepare yourself for heartbreak. but when he didn't, when he held your hand gingerly in his, your anxieties were calmed and you laughed. he exceeds expectations. he wasn't just your high, he was also your sobering up, a delicacy you could indulge in for the good times and the bad. you wouldn't have it any other way. you were content with just sitting by him in the balcony of the inn, overlooking liyue whose warm colors contrasted with the pale glow of the stars with an exuberance only silence could bring.

it was like a scene in a beautiful opera and this might end in a tragedy but you were perfectly fine with that if you could play the the roles of two blissful lovers until the climax.

━━ ☆ NOTES: made myself blush with the amount of tension and heat i wrote. sorry, i’m new to this. uhm… this might be a bit of a tmi but the reason this ended up being so suggestive compared to my other works is because i got the idea while reading uh explicit mangas and the lead girl had a name kink and i was like: ‘oh. that’s so xiao.’ i don’t write nsfw for this blog though so… anyway, the title is inspired by the movie ‘call me by your name’ but that’s about it.

[the-slasher-files]

MOONLIGHT

INCLUDES ANDREI KULOKOVA

People have been asking for more Andrei stuff and I am happy to write for him. This is basically if you are his ‘plaything’ that has gotten the privilege of having your own bedroom in his house and he is just teasing the shit of you because it’s Andrei... Hope you enjoy 🔪💕

MASTERLIST

"Myyyyshkaaa."

Your eyes snapped open the in the dark night trying to collect your surroundings. His voice is smooth and sharp like the blade you're sure he is holding in the shadows. You don't dare move in your bed, the wolf had a split personality and you never knew which one you would get; Andrei, the man who bared the teeth of dogs or The Wolf, the beast within the man, hungry for your soul.

The slightly ajar door was smoothly opened with a small metal whine from the old homes rusted hinges. Warm yellow light spills into the room from the hallway, a shape of the wolf marked dark and sharp within the soft light behind him, then suddenly your room has gone dark with just the moonlight once again.

It is a deadly silence. The calm before the storm. All you can hear is your heart pounding against your ribcage, surly he could hear it from wherever he stalked within the shadows. You try to control your breathing, the lamb doesn't dare spark the chase within the malignant wolf.

Squeezing your eyes shut you lay trying to listen. You hear the stalking steps of the leather, blood-stained combat boots on the aged and scratched hardwood, scratched from the ones before you. His footsteps match the rhythm your heartbeat like a perfect machine that you second guess yourself even if he is in the room. Maybe he had left you alone for the night, the wolf had a habit of playing games with your body and mind, that was until there was the unmistakable sound of the metal lighter. The fresh smell of the Siberian wind from the agape window was instantly replaced with the toxic addicting sweetness of his cheap Russian cigarettes. Your stomach twisted with the smell yet you caught yourself yearning for it, the wolf had trained you to learn that with the cigarette smell will come his other smells of earl grey, amber, cedarwood and his unique musk.

The man was addicting like his clear poison and tobacco, toxic and sick but sweet and sultry. You had turned into his servant, but most days he never made it feel that way. You had become happy to bring him his tea or be under his rough hands just for the intoxicating euphoria only he could bring you tangled within the bloody sheets.

Slowly opening your eyes, the warm glow of the burning ash behind your back somehow was comforting like a cozy fire on the winter nights until the wolf covered your body in the sinister smoke he blew on your naked shoulders that had slipped from the sheets. A shiver ran down your body just by his breath, you knew what he could do to you, it was just a waiting game, his game.

Not moving, you counted his slow breaths as he took a few drags of the cigarette. Every one he took you wished it would be his last until the wolf would leave or do whatever he wanted with you just to get it over with. Unbeknownst to you, he was also counting your breath and waiting for you to do something, to slip up in his game but you stayed put like a good little lamb.

Quietly the glow faded into the night and it was completely silent once more as the wolf took his time picking you apart, slowly and methodically, messing with your head to second guess yourself if it was a dream or a sick hallucination, but the oh familiar sensation of his icy blue predatory eyes were upon your body, like he was eating your senses alive and taking away any guard you had put up.

You do not know how long he waited but there was finally a gradual dip in the bed behind you, the small creaks of the mattress resisting against his large powerful frame as it settled. The wolf did not touch you as you laid quiet and unmoving, your breath was steady but fast as your skin prickled, aching and waiting for his venomous touch and the teeth behind his lips.  

The optimistic part of your brain tried to convince you that all he wanted was just your body close to his but the realistic side screamed and kept you awake, tense and with nerves ready to break as he silently stayed put. A stubborn man he would wait for what he wanted.

The seconds turned to minutes as you heard them tick away from the dusty clock on the wall as it hung against cracked wallpaper. With the lack of movement and the sound of the winter winds your eyelids began to droop, fading back into sleep, maybe it was just a dream that he was behind you, the dark room had held you and pulled you into half consciousness.

Soothingly the wolf placed 2 skilled fingers upon the skin of your arm and it made you jolt awake, any sleep from your eyes was gone by one quick touch that left goosebumps behind his fingers. You were going to move until the hot, damp breath was on your neck making the hairs stand on end.

"Don't move." The wolf simply whispered as his rough lips grazed the tense muscles in your neck.

You didn't dare disobey him, laying still, waiting. There was a sudden glint of shinning steel in the low moonlight and it made you squirm in the sheets trying to stay calm despite the Russian blade that had now disappeared from your sight lingered in the shadows. Screwing your eyes shut again every breath seemed to be in vain, like he was stealing your oxygen.

Shattering the nerve-breaking silence was his knife tearing through the wrinkled sheets around your still body, it sounded as if he had broken your ear drums compared to the lull the room held for so long and it made you whimper, trying so hard to be good. 

Biting your rosy bottom lip the tip of the cool blade trailed up your naked thigh, goosebumps superseded the path of the wolf's favorite weapon. The shimmering steel you were taught more so to be good, pleasurable and even enjoyable instead of the real intended purpose, the purpose only his enemies knew well. As your skin tingled at the feeling, wetness began to pool in your panties, it was pathetic that only small touches, hot breaths and the drag of a knife could put you in this state; trying not to whimper, your pussy clenching on nothing and your lower lips soaked.

The wolf’s breath was still hot and damp on the back of your neck as the cold knife made it’s way up your body, along the middle of your torso and up between the valley of your breasts, so fluid it looked like a glowing, dangerous serpent controlled skillfully by only one man. Closing your eyes as the Russian steel came closer to your neck, you didn’t know even if being departed of sight would work to settle your nerves but you tried, so needy to just lay still or be ravished, you had no clue. 

His free hand, the one inked in the words “no gods” to hold him accountable for all he has done, ironic for all the pain he continued to cause without care, for selfish acts or needs of pure desire he couldn’t live without, no one would know for sure, it smoothed along the soft skin of your hip and trailing along the waist band of your soaked panties. Walking his thick and scarred fingers on the delicate fabric you shifted a little beside him and the wolf let out a growl in warning, his sharp inhuman teeth grazing on the soft skin of your shoulder. 

Turning up his teasing, the wolf put the flat of the ice cold blade on your hardening nipple making you whimper as the fingers on your clothed heat began to rub in slow circles over your throbbing clit. Pathetically with only a few touches you were trembling and the warmth had spread from between your legs to throughout your core. Burning and aching for a release already.

“Such a needy thing” The wolf cooed in your ear, his teeth aching for blood but that wasn’t tonight’s game. 

Pressing his erection firmly against the small of your back it instilled hope in you that tonight he wasn’t going to toy with you but fulfill your every need. The wolf pushed his two fingers against your dripping cunt, the wet fabric slightly meeting your quivering walls, pink and swollen, it was all for him. 

Another growl left the wolf, deep and menacing, but this one was of appreciation, how needy and responsive your shivering body could for him. Whining and trying to stay as calm as possible it was becoming a fruitless task against the way he played you like an instrument. 

Adding a third finger to apply delicious friction on your pussy and his inked palm rubbed beautifully against your clit, the warmth in your core was becoming unbearable as he worked. Scrapping your teeth along your bottom lip, hot tears stung in the corner of your eyes, begging the wolf silently but suddenly all the motions stopped and his hot hand and the cold blade left your body, the breath on your neck was still even and you desperately tried to not let a needy whine out. 

“You are mine.” The wolf snared deeply and dark before he gave you a sweet kiss to the cheek, the duality of rough and soft he had perfected drove you mad. 

All of a sudden, you felt the mattress conform back around your body as his left and the footsteps the wolf created as he was leaving the room almost made you beg him to come back and finish what he started but, you knew well that the wolf would be back in the night again. 

The slightly ajar door was smoothly opened with a small metal whine from the old homes rusted hinges. Warm yellow light spills into the room from the hallway, a shape of the wolf marked dark and sharp within the soft light in front of him, then suddenly your room has gone dark with just the moonlight once again.

It was back to the eerie silence, the sheets torn around you, used and aching for more. He owned you. He always would.

[shedobewritingalittle]

Like Real People Do (Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Reader)

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Reader

Summary: When Frankie comes home with his friend Santiago in tow, Reader is rightfully suspicious of why Santiago is here.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings:Mentions of drinking, mentions of substance (cocaine) abuse, cursing

A/N: I made fun of Tom maybe a little too much in this, but also? He deserves it :)

"Baby! I'm home!" Frankie calls out as you finish changing your little girl's diaper. You smile down at your daughter, lifting her up into your arms. She pulls at her lilac colored onesie, making a soft little noise. You carefully fix the gold studs in her ears, humming softly. She babbles on as you try to fixed her messy hair., giving up when she starts to squirm.

"Daddy's home, baby girl." You say in a singsong voice as the two of you walk out of a her room and down the hall into the living room. You're more than a little shocked to see Frankie's friend Santiago standing beside your boyfriend. They're both grinning ear to ear (both of them wearing their own respective hats), especially as Frankie walks over to you, kissing you and then your little girl's forehead. He's so happy that you can't be mad at him about bringing Santiago around unannounced. They're also both definitely drunk. Benny's fight.

You've only met Santiago on a handful occasions, mainly at bars. You knew through Frankie, Benny, and Will that he had been down in South America for a year or two hunting down a big drug lord. You knew that he, Frankie, Tom, Benny, and Will were all best buddies and teammates. While your information on Santiago was limited to what Frankie and his buddies told you, you knew that it was a little weird that he was currently standing in your living room.

"Y/N, you remember Santiago, right?" Frankie asks and you nod. Frankie's smile is contagious because soon one is appearing on your face.

Santiago is grinning as well as he walks over to you, hugging you carefully as he leans over the child in your arms.

"Of course I do. He's your best looking friend." You respond, which makes said man laugh as he pulls away. You just know that Frankie is rolling his eyes, but you aren’t wrong.

"It's nice to see you too and this-" Santiago starts, looking down at your daughter, "Must be the little girl that Fish won't shut up about."

"Pope, this is our daughter Sofía Isabel." Frankie's voice is filled with pride and adoration as his arm wraps around you. You turn your head to look at your boyfriend, grinning almost as much as he is. However you notice that something in Santiago's shift. He's smiling, but it's not in his eyes. There's definitely something wrong here. Frankie doesn’t notice is because Sofía has all of his attention.

"She's adorable. Thankfully, she looks like Y/N. You should be grateful she didn't get his nose." He says, smirking. You laugh, rocking your child slightly. You really want to defend your boyfriend’s nose, but want you want to say gets caught in your throat. A sinking feeling suddenly arises in your stomach and you try to ignore it.

"Pinche pendejo." Frankie curses, "You know what, next time I'll let you eat dinner in Tom's sad little apartment. Eat a fucking frozen meal."

-

"No seriously, Tom came to visit us a week after Sofía was born and just wouldn't stop crying. It was...depressing." You tell Santiago as the three of you sit around the dinner table, Santiago and Frankie busting up with laughter. Sofía was already fast asleep in her crib and dinner had been long finished.

"Jesus. What'd you do?" Santiago asks, leaning forward in his seat, his hand wrapped around his amber colored bottle of beer.

"I tried to console him! He had mocos everywhere-It was bad." You reply, taking a sip of water. Frankie snorts, taking another sip of beer and quickly swallowing it.

"So then I come back in the room, Tom's crying and so is Sofía so Y/N is trying to calm both of them down. It was a complete shitshow." Your boyfriend adds and you laugh, as does Santiago. It must've been a little too loud, because Sofía's cry cuts through the noise like a knife. Both your face and Frankie’s drop, your heads turning towards the hall.

"Shit." You mutter and move to stand. Frankie puts his hand on your arm. You look over to him, seeing that he's giving you a sweet little smile.

"No you've had her all day. I'll go." He responds as he stands. You nod with a smile, sitting back down in your seat as he walks down the hall. Your smile fades as you look at Santiago. It was the perfect moment for your little interrogation.

"Why are you back? You're not here for vacation, because if you were, the two of you would've talked more about it." The humor is gone from your voice as Santiago straightens in his seat. Even though he's been in worse situations than this, the color drains from his face.

"Y/N, I-" He starts put you hold a finger up, silencing him as you listen to Sofía still crying and Frankie trying to calm her down. You lower your finger as he presses his lips into a thin line.

"The truth, Garcia. That's all I'm asking for." Your voice is quiet and he puts up his hands in a mock-surrender.

"I came to try to get Fish and the others to come back with me so we can help the government take down Lorea." He informs you, his voice low as you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding in. You pinch the bridge of your nose.

"Did he tell you that his piloting license was revoked? Tell you why?" You question and Santiago just nods in response. You put your head in your hands. The crying had quieted now.

"It sounds a lot worse than it is, I promise. I wouldn't have him risking his life, not now." He tries and you look up at him. You don't know how much time you have left, but it isn't much as you hear the telltale soft creaking noise of Sofía's door as Frankie leaves it slightly ajar.

"He already said yes, didn't he?" You ask and Santiago sends you a discrete look as Frankie's footsteps draw near. The fact that he didn't even try to tell you know answers your question. Your boyfriend had already decided he was going on this mission to South America.

"Said yes to what?" Frankie announces as he walks into the room. Your boyfriend sits down next to you, looking between you and Santiago.

"I was asking Santiago if you had already asked him if he was going to stay the night. He said that you did, but Santiago asked if it was okay with me, so I asked if you already said yes, that it was okay with me." You effortlessly lie and out of the corner of your eye you can see Santiago's slightly shocked face. You're grateful that he quickly masks it. Frankie gives you a sheepish look.

"Sorry, baby. I should've called and asked you." He apologizes, his hand moving to rest on your thigh. You smile at him and at Santiago, your hand moving to rest on top of his.

"Rather have him stay here than in Tom's apartment. At least you get a bed here." You tease, not completely joking. As your boyfriend and his war buddy laughed, you knew that you were going to have to bring the whole drug lord situation up with Frankie.

-

"It's nice to have him back in town." You announce softly as you walk into your bedroom, heading to the bathroom. Frankie follows after you, sitting on the ledge of bathtub as you take off your makeup.

"Baby, I-we weren't being completely honest about why Santiago is back in town." Frankie starts, looking at you in the mirror. You lower the makeup wipe, turning to look at your boyfriend. Frankie has been able to slightly sober up before the two of you had bid Santiago goodnight.

"What do you mean, Frankie? You two said he was here on vacation." You respond, trying to really act shocked. You hated lying to him, but you also wanted him to tell you everything himself. Your boyfriend wipes his face with his hand. He suddenly looks older than he did five minutes ago.

"About a week ago, Pope sent me and the others a file on his work on Lorea. He wanted us to come down there and help him out. Then he showed up at Benny's fight tonight and I told him that I didn't know because I have you and the baby and that's not my life anymore-" He starts and you sigh.

"And he convinced you to join him." You fill in and then it's his turn to sigh. You walk out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. He stands up, following you. Frankie moves to hand in front of you, his hands moving to rest on your arms. You did not want to be mad at Frankie (mainly because it was practically impossible to do so), but you couldn't help but feel some type of anger in this situation. Frankie had already said yes to going on this mission without talking to you about it. You were sure that you were allowed to be sort of mad at him in a situation like this.

"Y/N, it's a lot of money, money we need." He tries to convince you. You give him a look because you make more than enough at the hospital and he gets his pension. You two were doing fine.

"I'm not focused on the money, Francisco. We are doing fine, babe. What I am focused on is that we have a three month-old baby and I really don't want to raise her by myself." You respond, trying to keep your voice even. Frankie's eyes soften and he pulls you into his chest, hugging you tightly. You let your eyes shut as you bury your face into his neck.

A couple of months before Sofía Isabel was brought into the world, your boyfriend had stumbled in through the door, telling you that he was sorry. You were extremely confused until you got a little closer and saw his red, dilated eyes. Nursing had taught you what that meant. Then Frankie told you that his piloting license had been suspended and you knew why. You were livid and you told him that he needed to get sober because you weren't to raise your daughter with a man that was addicted to cocaine.

Thankfully, he was sober now, but this whole situation just worried you.

"We are just going in and coming out. I'll be okay, okay? You can't get rid of me that easily, baby." He murmurs into your hair, rubbing your back. There was a lot more you worried about. Frankie was only a few months sober-four to be exact- and you worried that this whole thing was just going to push him back towards his addiction. It was already hard now, trying to make sure both he and your daughter were always okay at all times. At least Sofía let you know when she was upset.

"I swear to God if anything happens to you, I'm kicking Santiago's ass. And Tom's, Will's, and Benny's." You say, pulling away to look up at him. Frankie chuckles, his eyes only on you. When he looks at you like this, damn you feel like the only woman the entire world. For a second, it makes your anger disappear. But only for a second.

"I wouldn't expect anything less." He responds, smiling at you. Frankie kisses your forehead, his scruff scratching at your face.

"When you do you leave?" You question and Frankie sighs again. You know it must be soon when he rubs his thumb along your cheekbone. Your face must show your disappointment because he holds you a little tighter.

"Thursday, but it isn't a long trip. I'll be back before you know it. You two won't even notice I'm gone." Frankie tells you, kissing your forehead again. It's a lie and a big one. He's trying to fix the situation in any way possible, trying to soothe your nerves.

"Sofía will definitely miss her daddy." You retort and Frankie chuckles. You grin and continue, "I'm going to miss you, Francisco."

"And I'm sure as hell going to miss you, baby.  Please don't worry about me, okay?" He says, kissing you softly before you pull away from him, moving to sit down on the bed.

"See you say that and it just makes me worry about you way more." You respond, running a hand through your hair. You didn't doubt your boyfriend or his team's skills. You knew that Frankie could handle himself, but you couldn't help but worry. He wasn't exactly a fresh chicken and it wasn't like his friends were doing any better. The only two that were still sort of in their prime were Will and Benny.

"I know, Y/N.” Frankie walks over you, cupping your cheek in his calloused hand. You look up at him, taking in every little detail of your Frankie. From the wrinkles around his eyes to the way the ends of his hair started to curl to the way he leaned on his right leg a little more then the left. God, you were going to miss him like hell. However, you weren’t going to miss the smell that was wafting off of him.

“Why don’t you go shower, Frankie? You smell like stale beer and rednecks.” You tease, a smile on your face. Frankie laughs, his dimple making an appearance and the skin around his eyes wrinkling. You kiss the palm of his hand, watching him as he shakes his head.

“You know, I don’t appreciate you and Pope both making fun of me.” Frankie retorts as he pulls his hand away, “Keep it up and I’ll invite Tom over for breakfast. He’ll be crying into scrambled eggs, talking about how Molly used to make the best fuckin’ eggs.”

Translations:

Pinche pendejo - fucking asshole

Mocos- boogers

[autistfanatic]

Me: *plays Zydrate anatomy* Now Amber Sweet is addicted to the knife. Addicted to the knife? Addicted to the knife!

Mum: Who are you talking to?

Me: -_-

[monsterlovinghours]

Hi, can I pretty please put in a request for the readers first time sleeping with greaser!beej? I just love him and I think he has a huuuge daddy kink, and a knife kink, and just uhhhhhh I love him lots

you and me both nonnie. this kinda got away from me a little but i hope this makes up for the long wait!

It couldn't have been a more perfect night. The air was clear and cool, carrying the distant scent of a bonfire on the breeze. The stars seemed brighter tonight, sparkling like chips of diamond in the velvet black. And then there was him, solid arms around your waist, stubble scratching against your neck as he rested in his chin on your shoulder. You'd been going steady for a while, long enough to proudly wear one of his rings around your neck, and tonight, Beetlejuice had surprised you. He had coaxed you outside, out to the sight of a basket strapped to the back of Big Sandy, and had helped you onto her back with a secretive grin on his face. 

"You trust me, toots?"

Of course you did. Demon or not, you trusted him implicitly. Sandy purred to life beneath you as he sped off, reaching back every so often to squeeze your thigh. It was his way of asking over the roar of his rig if you were still alright, and the tightening of your arms around him signalled that yes, you were fine. It was a small thing, yet it never failed to send a pulse of warmth through your chest and a flutter to your stomach. 

He had taken you to an overlook that was tucked out of the way behind a copse of trees. His hand wrapped securely around yours as he guided you through the thicket, a grin on his face when the trees thinned and you saw the view, the sprawling city in the purple twilight, and gasped. In the basket, there was a blanket, a flask, and two glasses, and as the sun had begun to set, he'd laid the blanket out on the grass and invited you to sit beside him, deftly pouring out a measure of amber liquid into each glass while his other arm snaked around your waist, pulling you close. Together, you nursed your whiskey, which despite the lack of ice somehow remained perfectly chilled, and watched the sun go down, the lights of the city a reflection of the stars above. 

Somehow, you had ended up sitting between his spread legs, his arms around your waist, his rings catching in your hair as he swept it aside to kiss at your neck. That familiar fluttering warmth returned to your stomach, and you gripped your glass tighter. It wasn't a secret that you weren't what some might call "experienced." You'd flirted, kissed, touched a little over clothes, but that was it. No one had inspired that deep pull of physical attraction in you...at least, not until you had said a certain name three times and found yourself face to face with a certain grinning, leather-clad demon. His pursuit of you had been persistent, and a little obnoxious at first, but eventually you had caved, unable to deny that you thought about him strictly more than you should. Especially how he seemed to drop the tough-guy persona when he was around you, how his tone softened and his hands gentled as he touched you. When it was just you and him, he could be incredibly sweet, and it was at those times, times like this very moment, when you knew that it was going to be him. His kisses trailed up to your ear, his tongue cool as he dragged it against your skin, and you shivered. It was going to be him, and it was going to be now.

“Beej.”

“Mmm…”

“BJ.”

“Yeah, doll?”

“I…” Your hands twisted in your lap, nerves closing your throat. “I think I’m ready.”

He paused, then his hand lifted to cup your jaw, tilting your head up to bring your eyes to his. “You sure about that, babe? You’re really sure?”

“Yeah.” You smiled, leaning back against him and softly brushing your lips against his. “I’m sure.”

He grinned, practically beamed down at you before capturing your mouth in a more insistent kiss. His tongue slipped into your mouth as he gently maneuvered you onto your back, kneeling over you as he shrugged out of his jacket, balling it up and breaking the kiss just long enough to lift your head and slip it underneath as a makeshift cushion. “I’ve wanted to hear you say you’re ready for ages, kitten,” he growled, burying his face against your neck and nipping at your pulse. “You know I’m crazy about you, right? You know that I’d never hurt you?”

You let out a soft whine as his kisses and bites trailed lower, dappling your collarbones. “I know, Beej.” Sighing, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, biting your lip as he worked his hips between your legs. When his lips reached the neckline of your shirt, he sat back, reaching into his boot and withdrawing his favorite knife. Silver flashed in the moonlight as he flicked out the blade, slipping the pointed tip just under the hem of your shirt. The cool metal brushed the warm skin of your stomach, tickling you, and you squirmed beneath him, bringing a grin to his face and a green tinge to his cheeks.

“You trust me, honey? You trust me enough to let me do whatever I want with ya? Trust me enough to do as I tell you, to be my good little kitten?”

Your throat went dry, your stomach doing flips, your cheeks on fire. He had never spoken to you this way, never so much as pointed his knife in your direction, and you had to admit, the flood of arousal that swept through you at the nearly predatory way he leveled his stare at you was staggering. You nodded, and his grin widened a fraction, though he shook his head and tutted.

“Ah ah, baby, you gotta use your words. Tell Daddy.”

Just the word brought out a moan from you, and you laid back against his jacket, eyes hooded and skin on fire. “I trust you, Daddy.”

The color on his cheeks deepened, and he practically purred as he used the blade of his knife to cut your shirt cleanly up the middle, running the flat of it against your newly exposed skin. “Thatta baby,” he whispered, and pressed his hips into yours, his fingers sinking into your skin even as he held the knife against you still. “You just let Daddy take care of you, kitten.” 

It seemed he couldn’t say it enough, couldn’t hear it from you enough, even as he cut your clothes from your body, even as his own disappeared into so much green smoke. When he entered you, you moaned it in his ear, hands sliding through the hair at the nape of his neck which had flushed a deep, intimate pink.

“Oh yes, Daddy…”

The flat of his knife stayed pressed to your skin, across your stomach to make you shudder, against your throat when you threw your head back. After a while, the metal warmed, matched the heat of you. You didn’t miss the way his eyes always seemed to fall back to wherever he had his knife pressed, drinking in the sight of it pressed against you, your life quite literally in his hands. “Do you know what it does to me,” he rasped as he ran his tongue up your breastbone, “to have you give over everything you have to me? You’re so fragile, kitten, more delicate than I think you realize. And you’re trusting someone like me with your pleasure, with your body, with your very life.” He leaned up, and in a moment of unexpected tenderness, stroked the back of his fingers along your cheek. “Means more to me than you’ll ever know, sweetheart.”

Not that he didn’t try to show you exactly how much you meant to him. While one hand held his knife to your throat, the other slipped between your bodies, finding the places that made you shiver and cry out and tighten around him, merciless in his pursuit of your pleasure. When you came for the first time, you very nearly screamed his name, swallowing the final syllable behind your teeth, unwilling to risk accidentally banishing him in a moment of passion. He laughed and redoubled his efforts, determined to make you come again. “You know what to call me, babydoll. Lemme hear you, hm? Come again for Daddy.”

And you did. You gave him all you had, let him overwhelm you, scratched your devotion down the plane of his back and the muscle of his thighs. When he finally finished, his head buried in your neck, knife finally falling from his hand as he clutched at you, his moans filled you with satisfaction, more pleased than you could express to know that he was just as unraveled as you were. On the blanket, panting and entangled, you both laid for God only knew how long, sticky and sated, until he finally lifted his head and kissed you. 

“Baby...that was worth waiting for.”

tagging @lovebugbeej  @heisentwerk and @greaserink y’all feed my soft greaser beetlejuice addiction and bless you for it

[kite-writes]

ABOUT THE WRITER

hi, i’m abi! i’ve been meaning to post this introduction for a while now - i’ve been dipping in and out of the writeblr community for a few years now, but i recently graduated uni and so finally have the time to dedicate to writing my own stuff. right now nullifidius (more about that below) is my only wip, although i’m also playing around with historical dark academia, a sci-fi plot about elves! in! space!, and a collection of short stories taking inspiration from each of shakespeare’s plays. ok. am not really sure what else to put here and will probably make a better intro soon, but in the meantime here are some facts:

i wrote my dissertation on mothers in early modern tragedy, and news flash: i love medea

i’m 22 and i’m from the uk - i live in a very boring town in the middle of nowhere. i’m gay and i write poems about 1) being gay 2) space

i really love greek myths and ancient greek history

please let me know (either through this post, dm, or ask) if you want to be on any kind of taglist for nullifidius - i’m going to start posting excerpts and character bios over the next few days, as well as aesthetic moodboards (which i am addicted to making) and playlists! it would be great to connect with more writers on here - if you like/rb this, feel free to introduce yourself and i will definitely check out your blog!!

ps. you can find me on goodreads here and my brand-spankin’-new writing twitter is here!

NULLIFIDIUS: THE GODS OF CATS AND BIRDS

GENRE

ahistorical fantasy; new adult

THEMES

lgbt; diverse; mythical creatures; supernatural creatures; astronomy; religion; gods; nature; female relationships; time; betrayal; prophecies; flora and fauna

POV

third person limited; past tense

STATUS

first draft; world-building; outlining

SYNOPSIS (under read more)

twenty and one more makes the wolf white eye waxing, white teeth flashing waiting in time and shadow and flesh.

In the ancient city of Corinth, times have changed. Harpies - females warriors, once known as the winged dogs of the father-god himself - still watch over the city, but the threats that once hammered at its walls are now so distant that they no longer trouble the memory of even the oldest fae: they are consigned to myth, to imagination, to folklore.

In place of War, Peace thrives. It reclines over the city like a well-fed calf - glossy-coated and bright eyed, senses lulled by the scents of sweet-grass and wild flowers, the drone of honey bees burying the sound of the rasping knife. Under its docile tranquility, centaur-drawn carts clatter down streets made cloudy with dust, silk-clad dancers pay a feverish homage to the stars, and selkies forget their water-lust under the intoxicating light of the moon.

And so danger, when it comes - in new stars in the sky, in spectral glimpses of the uncannily familiar, in blades waiting on the hillside - finds no resistance. It slips, weasel-fast, between cloven hooves, and slides beneath an unprotected underbelly undisturbed. When Peace finally startles - smelling the iron threading the breeze, feeling the nosing of claws at its open chest - it heaves itself onto unsteady knees, ungainly and drowsy in the summer heat. Head bowed, legs quivering, it moves to stand.

Too late, of course. It is already dead, even if it doesn’t understand it yet - even if the teeth in its throat feel foreign, and the gore matting its fur it doesn’t recognise as its own. It is dead.

Maybe this was fated. Maybe Peace is only ever meant as a sacrifice, to be bred and fed and fattened until the serrations of its dual existence - security and doom, future and altar, divine and defiled - catch at the skin of something ancient and terrible, which Peace will forever die to sate: a bog-body that refuses to drown blindly beneath the quagmire; a fly struggling against the amber that binds its wings. A forgotten god nursing a fierce and wounded pride, caged under a midnight sky by a people who insult him with their ignorant blasphemy. Peace is not the only thing he will claim in recompense.

When, one night, a trespassing cat witnesses the dark and gruesome depths to which forgetfulness is plunging the city, her path will be forever entwined with those of a stargazing gardener and a reluctant priestess, and together they will learn the reality of dreams, the strength of friendship, and the inevitable cost of outwitting the gods.

it will begin with a bee that does not sting; it will end with four birds who do not sing.

[a-brighter-yellow]

Rules: answer 30 questions and tag 30 blogs you would like to get to know better

Tagged by: @homosociallyyours (thanks, love!!)

Nickname(s): My name is uncommon, so I don’t really have any

Gender: Female

Zodiac: On the cusp of Aquarius and Pisces (I’m definitely more of the former)

Height: 5′4″

Coffee, tea or hot chocolate: Coffee, always coffee. With almond milk and Splenda (I KNOW) in the morning; iced from Dunkin; at Starbucks, a caramel macchiato

Fav band(s): Hanson, One Direction, The Killers, Jonas Brothers (FIGHT ME) 

Fav solo artist(s): Robbie Williams, Harry Styles, Matt Nathanson, Niall Horan, Jason Mraz, Kris Allen, Bruno Mars, Robyn, Beyonce

Song stuck in my head: Matt’s “Kill The Lights” thanks to @crinkle-eyed-boo‘s Own The Scars time stamp. I’m enjoying every second of it though.

Last movie I saw: I rewatch The Social Network the other night and it’s still perfect. It and Jesse were robbed af at the Oscars that year.

Last show I saw:  I don’t know if this is theater or TV, but I’ll give you both. I’m mid-7th season in my Cheers rewatch because sitcoms are a dying art and it’s probably the best one ever made. And I saw Children Of A Lesser God on stage a couple weekends ago and stage doored Joshua Jackson because I’m Team Pacey in every way possible.

When did I create my blog: 2011, though I didn’t really use it properly until 2012. And still don’t, actually.

What do I post: My Tumblr is basically a receptacle for my obsessions; I rarely post anything original. I don’t know why I bother tagging Harry anymore, since this blog is 90% him. Otherwise: Louis, Niall, Liam, and other 1D stuff, The X-Files, fic recs/to reads, Doctor Who, Stucky, etc.

Last thing I googled: I was working on a rundown of Scandal’s wildest moments, so I spent a lot of time on the Wikia last night trying to remember/unravel plots from the first few seasons. 

Do I have any other blogs: Off-Tumblr, I have headoverfeels.com, which I run with @crinkle-eyed-boo. And I tried for about 5 minutes to run @harryforhedwig, a campaign for Harry to play Hedwig Robinson on Broadway. (PICTURE IT.)

Do I get asks: Almost never. But I posted my first fic a few weeks ago and got a couple of messages from that and it’s THE BEST feeling? Send me asks, I’m addicted now!

Why did I choose my url: It’s from a Jason Mraz song that always makes me happy.

Following: 962

Followed by: 171, and I can’t believe any of you are here.

Favorite color(s): A bright yellow, obvs. And deep red.

Average hours of sleep: I’m a gigantic baby who needs sleep - usually 7-8, if I can manage it.

Lucky number: I don’t have one. Should I have one?

Instruments: I played piano as a child, very poorly.

What I’m wearing: Fleece pj pants and a sweatshirt that says “Kylo Ren is a punk bitch.”

Dream job: Being independently wealthy and left alone.

Dream trip: I don’t have a ready answer for this one, but I’d like to see more of Eastern Europe.

Fav food: Cereal, french fries, caesar salad, pad see ew, peanut butter

Nationality: Italian, Romanian, German, Welsh, English, and probably more, but those are the biggies.

Fav song: “Under Pressure”

Last book I read: I’m in the middle of re-reading the Golden Compass series and I’d forgotten how metal those books are. Finished The Subtle Knife earlier this week, on Amber Spyglass now. I cannot wait for this new miniseries to give it the treatment it deserves. (The World Only Spins Forward, the history of Angels In America, is on deck.)

Last fanfic I read: anonymous said, a very sweet You’ve Got Mail-esque Larry fic.

Random fact: I have kids names picked out even though I do not under any circumstances want to have kids. So if anyone needs some extras, hit me up.

There’s no way I’m tagging 30 people, so @crinkle-eyed-boo @disgruntledkittenface @louvedup @somanylayers @whynotsara @amentet901 @rebeccazoe @hollywoodtwit, plus anyone else who wants to give it a go.

[absylphe]

Now Amber Sweet Is Addicted To The Knife