#stubborn blood sugar

[shxleo97]

Stubborn hypo causes anyone?

#cfrd #diabetes #hypoglycemia #hypo #low blood sugar #stubborn blood sugar #why is my pancreas so damn stubborn

[aisclosed]

love bites - y. jungwon x reader

vampirism comes with unusual cravings and unique solutions

PAIRING: vampire! y. jungwon x vampire! reader GENRE: vampire au , established relationship, fluff | WORDCOUNT: 2.2 k WARNINGS: slightly suggestive , mentions of blood n bites

You do your best to ignore it, the aching sensation radiating from your teeth. But the pain is insistent, throbbing twinges extending from your gums down into your jaw. 

The feeling is almost enough to make you cave, to call your boyfriend and whine for any sort of relief. Almost. Instead you sigh, eyes flickering out the large windows looking at the expanse of the city, the light of the stars competing with the fluorescent buildings and signs. 

It had been weeks since you'd last left your apartment, you weren't ready, not fully turned or prepared to navigate the world in your new form. Jungwon’s words, not your own, and as much as you missed walking the bustling streets with him, you knew he was right. 

There's a faint hunger in the back of your mind, one that had become all too familiar these past weeks. Your brain supplies memories of warm tteokbokki, noodles and dumplings despite knowing that none of the former options could satiate your appetite. As your skin lost its warmth, your heart slowing in its cavity, you had lost your palate for real food, instead craving something that you currently had no way to get on your own. 

Wincing as another stab of pain steals your attention. you run your tongue gingerly running across the edge of your teeth, feeling out the sharp edge of the unfamiliar fangs that had begun to protrude. 

“I thought I told you to tell me if it hurts,” a low voice cuts through the silence, your heart jumping at the disruption. Even after years of dating, you could never get used to your boyfriend appearing abruptly from the shadows. You snap your mouth shut, glancing over to meet narrowed feline eyes with poorly feigned nonchalance. 

“It doesn't hurt, I’m fine,” you say breezily, drawing a scoff from Jungwon. He stalks forward, reaching out to cradle your face, his thumb brushing across your cheek. The icy temperature of his skin is a welcome sensation, and you lean into his palm letting it soothe the flaring ache in your jaw. 

“And you expect me to believe you when you're acting like this?” Jungwon mutters unamusedly. You crack your eyes open from where they had fluttered close, sweeping over his furrowed brows. Despite his best attempts at maintaining his stern expression, he was given away easily by the way his eyes softened upon making contact with yours. 

Jungwon knew your stubborn mannerisms well, that you would rather suffer than admit to him that you needed his help. Which is how he knew that once you had set your mind to joining him as a vampire you wouldn't relent until your wish was granted. Yet that hadn’t stopped him from trying for several weeks to convince you that it wasn't a necessary change. Promises that he would still love you regardless of how you aged and no he didn’t mind that one day you might be mistaken for his sugar mommy rather than his centuries younger girlfriend. His last comment had earned him an indignant scoff rather than an enamored smile like he had been expecting, and he had spent the rest of the day sucking up to you for your forgiveness. 

It had taken many arguments, tears, warnings, pleading kisses and long conversations on what exactly eternity together detailed before Jungwon had surrendered. His coven had been ecstatic at the news, congratulating him with hearty claps on the shoulder and teasing ‘about time’s. 

In all honesty, the pair of you both knew that when it came down to it, Jungwon would much rather have you by his side forever than let you wither away. You were his, and he was yours, and when he thought about an eternal lifetime with you his happiness was poorly concealed. Jungwon only wished that it wasn't at the cost of your own humanity. You would no longer be able to enjoy your favorite foods, your cheeks wouldn’t redden to the same degree when he teased you, you’d have to see your loved ones leave this earth, one by one. 

The guilt ate at him more than the pain ate at you, and that was your main motivation to hide the truth. So you did your best to swallow back the complaints and whines that threatened to spill from your lips, unwilling to see guilt swimming in his red tinted eyes. It’s a futile attempt, given that Jungwon could pick up on the waves of pain through your newly formed blood bond, his attentive eyes catching each wince.

Sighing in exasperation, Jungwon grasps your chin, tapping your bottom lip with his thumb, ”Open up for me baby, let me take a look at your fangs.” You consider insisting you’re fine, that his examination is entirely unnecessary, but the thought is dismissed by the firm look Jungwon gives you, and you comply baring your teeth as best as you could. 

You wait patiently as Jungwon inspects your teeth, tilting your chin up to grant him a better view. Instead you take the opportunity to admire your boyfriend's handsome features, the slope of his nose and the angle of his jawline. Your eyes trail down the expanse of his neck, decorated with traces of your lips and two faint puncture marks, long healed to where they looked more akin to moles than scars. 

From his close proximity you can smell an enticing fragrance wafting from his body. Jungwon always smelled good, of warm amber and clean linen sheets, but there was another underlying scent that caught your attention. There's blood pumping through his veins, fresh blood, Jungwon had recently hunted and fed. The thought causes your vision to cloud, hunger prickling at the edges of your mind.

“Baby,” Jungwon calls out softly, and your eyes drag away from his neck, struggling to find his own in your dazed state. “You're literally drooling,” he chuckles, tucking your hair behind your ear and tugging on the lobe affectionately. 

He had noticed your wandering attention, the way your stare locked onto his neck, a red tint slowly creeping into your eyes and your fangs fully extending against the pads of his prodding fingers. It was a good sign, your instincts were getting stronger and your senses sharper. Soon, you'd be a full fledged vampire. 

A slight flush spreads across your cheeks, the best it can with the limited blood flowing through your system. “Sorry,” you apologize meekly, embarrassed at the prospect of being caught openly salivating over him. 

Jungwon only coos at you teasingly, leaning down to peck your pink cheeks, and then grazing his lips against the slightly raw puncture wounds on your neck. Unlike other injuries which would quickly be remedied by their healing abilities, the initial bite, meant to turn you into a vampire, required much more patience, only closing when the transformation was complete.

The skin on your neck was still broken and bruised but as much as it pained Jungwon to know he had caused you hurt, it also gave him a twisted sense of satisfaction to see the mark he had left on you. He always loved littering your skin with love bites but seeing them fade was his least favorite part. His bite mark would forever remain, a testament to the vows you had made to each other the day he had turned you. 

“Nothing to apologize for my love, I drank extra today because I knew you'd be hungry. C’mere.” He tugs you towards the couch, sitting down on the plush seat then pulling you unceremoniously onto his lap. 

The minuscule distance makes your fangs push uncomfortably against your lips, unable to deny the alluring scent wafting from your boyfriend. You wait for Jungwon to bite into his wrist and present it to you, the way he had fed you each time these past few weeks. 

Instead Jungwon just smirks at you, a mischievous glint in his eye as he leans back against the cushions. “Well? I thought you were hungry baby, come kiss me and bite me.” You splutter, panicking at the mere mention of having to bite him, but Jungwon merely laughs in response, rubbing soothing circles into the small of your back. 

“Don’t be nervous, your fangs are more than ready to do the job and I’ll stop you if anything goes wrong. Remember darling, you bite firmly, sink your teeth in to make a clean wound instead of ripping tissue. As soon as it's secure, you release some venom to alleviate the pain, make it feel nice for everyone and only then do you start to drink. The hardest part is stopping before you do too much damage but I’ll let you know if you're getting to that point okay?” 

“Wonnie, I don't want to accidentally hurt you-,” you start to protest but Jungwon cuts you off with a firm kiss to your lips. 

“You’ll be fine. I promise. If you don’t trust yourself, trust in me, hm? You need to drink so you can feel better and who better to practice on than me? Come on love, I promise I don’t bite,” he murmurs cheekily against your lips, inciting a roll of your eyes, a derisive laugh escaping from your chest at the irony. 

Shaking your head in mock exasperation, you concede, leaning in to plant a peck against Jungwon’s smirking mouth. You trail kisses lower until you've reached the hollow of his neck, ears pricking as soft satisfied sighs escape from his parted lips. 

Angling your head, you finally sink your teeth into his skin, your hands finding his shoulders for support. Jungwon's grip on your waist tightens for a split second until you release your venom, relaxing as the pain subsides and gives way to pleasure. 

 A metallic flavor floods your mouth, relief washing over you as the pain and hunger ebb away. Instead you focus on the taste against your tongue and the way Jungwon strokes your hair tenderly, pressing mumbled praises and groans against the side of your head. 

It's when you begin to feel nearly intoxicated at the feeling of feeding that Jungwon whispers into the hollow of your ear softly, “Alright sweetheart, it's time to stop drinking. Let the last of your venom out and then retract your fangs, help the wound close up, you're doing so good for me baby.” You follow his instructions as best you can given the foggy state of your mind, finally pulling away to look into Jungwon’s eyes. 

He rests his forehead against yours, cupping your jaw fondly, “You did perfectly darling, I'm so proud of you,” Jungwon tilts his face, slotting your lips together, fingers tangling into your hair to bring you closer. You loop your arms around his broad shoulders melting into his embrace. He sighs into your mouth, humming contently at the faint taste before reluctantly pulling away. 

“You were so good baby, soon you'll be able to go out and hunt for yourself no problem,” Jungwon beams at you. Still dizzy from the rush that drinking gave you, blood rushing in your ears, you settle into his arms, burying into the crook of his neck.. 

“I’d rather just have you hunt enough for the both of us and just let me drink from you,” you bat your eyes at Jungwon sweetly and he snorts in response. 

“You must really be blood drunk if you expect me to act as your personal Uber eats for the rest of millenia,” he teases, pinching your cheek. 

You huff petulantly, “Considering I’ve been your walking bloodbag for the past few years I think you owe me at least a year or two of the same.” 

“Not my fault you smell so yummy,” Jungwon noses at the column of your neck, his fangs grazing the skin, “how could you expect me to want anything else?” 

You try to push his face away from your neck to little avail. Jungwon held you tightly in his grasp, knowing you were just being difficult to mess with him. “Well your pickiness and lack of self control is the reason all my neighbors think I get my neck mauled by a bear every night. I refuse to start hunting, you’re just gonna make me into your personal juicebox again,” you grumble, giving in and letting Jungwon continue his ministrations. Vampire my ass, if anything he was more akin to an overgrown kitten, always nuzzling and nipping at your neck. 

Jungwon leans back far enough to knock his head into yours playfully, “Yeah right, you love when I give you love bites.” You go to protest but Jungwon cocks his head challengingly, his eyes daring you to try and deny it. The words die in the base of your throat, and you swallow harshly, your face heating as you look away, muttering half hearted insults under your breath. 

“Did you say something sweetheart?” Jungwon asks teasingly, and you widen your eyes in mock horror, knowing that with his heightened senses he had very clearly heard every word. 

“Just saying how much I love you darling,” you blink up at him, with a saccharine smile. 

Jungwon laughs, his dimple on full display, pressing a sweet kiss on your lips. “I love you more baby, even if that means I have to hunt for two for the rest of my very long life.” You give a satisfied hum and cuddle happily into his hold. Forever seemed a lot less daunting in Jungwon’s arms. 

a/n: ,,,,,idk what to say about this one. I wanted to give you guys something bc MTM is taking so long and I'm about to leave for vacation,,, and this ended up being the product of my 2am thoughts.... hope u enjoy :)

perm taglist: @hoonsunivrs @pkjay @thatfeelinwhenyou @lacimolela @ttalgi @cieluna @ahnneyong @luvlee1313 @meowmeowhoon @llama-lyna @dmoki @w3bqrl @16doie @itsvynnie @saintells @given8taken @yakjw @miukityy @meowwonie @simp4jakesim @teddywons @flowertothejungwon @skywithf1 @yur1a1 @nyeonglover @fallingenluvv

#enhanet #kflixnet #k-labels #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #jungwon x reader #enhypen scenarios #jungwon oneshots #yang jungwon #yang jungwon x reader #jungwon imagines #enha x reader #enha smau #enhypen smau #jungwon fluff #enhypen fluff

[jasmines-library]

Hello sugar <3! (im very sorry if theres any spelling errors, english isnt my first language <3)

I would love to request some angst/comfort with the batfam? Maybe with the reader (tw: sa, rape) struggling with some sexual assault/rape issues, something they haven't told the family yet? The reader acting different for weeks, months even, and the whole family being suspicious and noticing their sudden fear of being cornered, touches and certain smells maybe?

its totally fair if you don't feel like it, I just really really love your way of writing the characters, and your writing over all. I swear, i swallowed your whole page in the matter of a few hours, I loved every second!

Kristy, Are You Doing Okay?

Note: My gosh im so sorry this literally took me over a month to get to, but it's here. I'm so glad you like my page and thank you for requesting! (Title name from song)

Warnings: SA, r*pe (non explicit but this fic deals with the aftermath. Please read with caution.), Panic attack of sorts.

Word count: 2.1K

⛤ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛤

Please remember, if you are ever struggling you are not alone. It may be difficult at first but there are many places for you to reach out to, many of which are anonymous and do not need the involement of of name, if you are just needing for someone to talk to. There will always be someone out there to help you. As an alternative, my DM’s are always open for a chat! Remember: You are loved and you are so much stronger than you realise.

⛤

You hadn’t meant to drift away. It sort of just…happened. And it wasn’t even something you were conscious of really. The thoughts were just constantly there and you couldn’t shake the feeling of his hands roaming all over his body; the ghostly touch of his fingers lingering flush against your skin, burning an invisible bruise into your flesh. You tried to shy away from it but it was always there, buried into the front of your mind festering away like an old, unforgotten wound oozing with pus and blood that would only create more problems the longer it was left. 

The night it happened was cold and bitter. A shallow fog had cast itself over the city as you staggered back to the manor with makeup running carelessly down your face. You shut yourself away, turning the lock on your door and burying yourself under the covers to try and  shy away from the situation. But it never left. It just kept growing, weeding its way back through the open cracks like a stubborn plant that refused to leave no matter how many times you doused it with poison. You didn’t sleep that night. And you didn’t leave your room the day after. In fact the only time anyone saw you that day was when you slunk downstairs in the middle of the night to try and revive the growling of your stomach without having to see anyone when you bumped into Tim who was finally dragging himself up to bed. The interaction was odd. At first he thought that you had just been busy all day and that was why no one had seen you: It wasn't uncommon for one of you to disappear into your room for a few days to catch up on school work or to finally get more than 4 hours of sleep. But something about you was off. You were quiet and lacking that charisma that usually shone from you. You were jumpy too, recoiling as soon as Tim rounded the corner unexpectedly. 

When you finally managed to bring yourself out of your room, you were still withdrawn. Instead of donning your normal seat next to Jason at the table, you sat at the end alone pushing your food aimlessly around the plate until someone had finished eating and you took that as a cue to leave. You didn’t mean to leave them in the dark. Really, you didn’t but the thoughts crept into your mind every time they got near. Every hand outstretched sent a shiver crawling down the nape of your neck as if someone was running an ice cold digit along your spine. The thoughts were worse. Intruding. Obnoxious. You felt so…dirty. And your mind seemed to like to make sure you remembered that. You couldn’t help but feel like somehow the whole situation was your fault, which of course it wasn’t, but you were stuck with being guilt ridden; trapped within your walls. 

Your skittishness didn’t go unnoticed. The boys tried many times to talk to you or to get you alone, but each time one of them hastily trailed after you as you slunk out of a room you would pick up your pace until they got the hint and stopped dejectedly in the halls. You had just skittered off into another part of the manor when Damian decided he had finally had enough. 

He pushed his way back into the library rather frustratedly, stomping his feet so hard against the floor that they continued to pound through the room even as he moved from the polished wood to the carpet amongst the centre of the room. His brothers were still lounging around the room, their legs slung carelessly over the arms of the chairs or folded beneath them as they engrossed themselves in their phones or an ever growing pile of books. They barely even acknowledged that Damian had even returned from his pursuit of use, besides lifting their gaze as he huffed his way back into the room. 

“Something is wrong with Y/N.” Damian declared, planting his feet into the carpet in the centre of the room and placing his hands on his hips. 

Dick felt as though he could laugh. Damian’s statement was so obvious that you may as well have had a huge, yellow sign above your head that screamed ‘i’m not okay.’ It didn't matter how much effort you put into trying to hide the bags that dropped across your skin, or the way that you couldn’t stand to be in the same room with any of them for too long without your skin crawling, they were prominent amongst your saddened features. “Yeah, No shit.”he said, looking up from his phone that he had been mindlessly scrolling on to distract himself from the feeling that gnawed at his gut.

The room fell into a pregnant silence before Damians angry scoff broke the silence. 

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?” He spat. “You’re not worried?”

Jason pushed himself up onto his forearms and spoke out defensively. “Of course we’re worried… It’s just…”

“What?”

“She won’t let us help her, Dami.” Tim said. “We’ve tried, but each time she’s run.”

“Well then try harder!” He said. It was unusual for the youngest Wayne to react this way when it came to his siblings. But, then again it was unusual for you to shy away like this and although Damian would never admit it, he had a soft spot for you and seeing you hurting like this killed him a little inside. 

“Damian.” Dick reprimanded sternly. 

He sighed and swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry. I just can’t see them suffering like this anymore.”

There was a general agreement between the four of them. Tim chewed away at his bottom lip as he thought for a moment. “What do you propose we do?”

The whole room seemed to think together as one for a moment. 

“We corner them.” Damian said. It might have seemed cruel, but it was the only thing he could think of that would stop you from slipping away again. “If they keep running there’s no way we’re going to be able to help, so we just have to compromise.”

~

You knew that Jason was behind you. You could hear his careful footsteps, evenly spaced by his long strides as he tried to catch your attention. He was loitering outside of your room, trying to catch you as you left. It surprised you to see him as you peeled open the door. You had flashed him as much of a grin as you could muster up as he greeted you, trying to draw you into a one sided conversation that you were itching to get away from the moment it started. You tried to remind yourself that it was just Jason. That he wasn’t going to hurt you. But your mind still thought it was funny to play cruel tricks on you and soon you were making up a poor excuse and fleeing down the halls. 

You didn’t make it far though before you collided with a tall figure marching down the other end of the corridor, who braced his hands on your shoulders. Yelping at the unexpected contact you spun on your heel to turn back the way you came only for your breath to get stuck in your throat when you were met with the red of Jason’s shirt. When you backed up, you collided with the eldest vigilante again. Spinning around frantically, you searched for a way out. There was none. 

You were trapped. 

The thought consumed you quickly, dragging you down like a ton of bricks tied to your ankles until you were drowning in the thought of being imprisoned again. It was all you could think of. It screamed throughout your mind, pumped in your blood. It was nauseating. You could see the other two approaching and panic set into your already scrambled mind. You weaved, trying desperately to spot an exit but the two vigilantes were much bigger than you and their hefty frames took up most of the corridor. 

“No. No no no.” You rambled as your heart rate skyrocketed and your breathing came in sporadic, panicked gasps. 

Tim furrowed his brow. He didn’t think you would react like this. He reached out to grasp your forearms to ease your shaking body, but you nearly screamed, yanking your arms away from him and backing up against the wall. 

“Don’t touch me!” You stuttered, barely audible between your spiralling state. Fat, hot tears tracked along your face as you sunk to the ground to bury your face within your knees which you clutched to your chest. 

The four boys exchanged an anxious glance. 

“Y/N…”

“Please…” You gasped. “Stay away from me. I-I can’t anymore… no more. Please.”

“Y/N? What's wrong?” Dick queried. “Talk to us, please. We want to help.”

“No…” You whimpered. 

Damian squatted down beside you resting on the balls of his feet before reaching out slowly towards you, ignoring the warning glance that Jason sent his way, and placing it gently on your shoulder. 

Flinching, you squeezed your eyes shut. He could feel the way you trembled like a leaf under his touch but he didn’t let go.

“It’s just me Y/N. It’s Dami.”

You registered his words, but you still felt like you were back in that room. You allowed your body to relax just the smallest amount.

“It’s just us, kid. You’re okay.” Dick cooed. 

You sniffled. The four of them were crouched around you now.

“You can trust us.”

Your body tensed as you were hit with reminders of that night. The way he had led you away to commit his act of betrayal that would cut deeper than a thousand knives. 

“That’s what he said.” You hiccuped. 

“Who?” Tim asked tenderly. “Talk to us Y/N.”

You shook your head, biting down on your lip. You didn’t want to bring up the memory stuck in your mind. 

“Kid… we can’t help you if we don’t know what’s happening.”

“He- he… took me away from the crowds… He said to trust him- and I thought I could. B-but then he-” Your voice split into an unholy sob. 

“Oh..Y/N/N…” Dick said, suddenly understanding. 

“I can’t stop thinking about it. I can still feel him. Hear him. Just make it stop please!.” You begged, sobbing into your hands.”

“It’s okay. You’re safe.” He told you, reaching out gently to place a hand on your forearm, you tensed slightly but didn’t pull away. “We’re not going to let anyone hurt you. Ever.”

“We promise.”

You peeled your head away from your arms to reveal your bloodshot, teary eyes. From close up they could see how clearly the ordeal had taken a toll on you. Not just on your body but your mind too.

It took some convincing and a lot of gentle touches of reassurance to get you off of the floor, but the four of them managed to ease you back into your room. They refused to leave you alone after that. Insisting that at least one of them stay by your side at all times until you decided on your own terms that you were ready to take the next step in your recovery and stay the night alone. It was a slow process, but each small milestone made them extremely proud of you. They were there when you awoke suddenly in the middle of the night, crying and shaking, and they were there when you managed to move forwards too.  They were there to remind you that recovery isn’t linear, and that it was okay to move backwards. It’s all part of the process. The four of them showed you a different kind of gentleness that you had never seen before, and they tried their hardest to bring a smile to your face everyday. And it was their kindness that began to wash away those feelings. It was them who made you realise that you were loved, strong and would find your way back from the darkness and into the light.

#batfamily x reader #batfam x reader #batfam x gn reader #batfam x little brother reader #batfam x little sister reader #batfam x hurt reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd #dick grayson x reader #dick Grayson #tim drake x reader #tim drake #damian wayne x reader #Damian Wayne #SA #hurt/comfort #recovery #mental health #angst #dc x reader #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction #batfam fanfiction #batfam x sibling reader

[asliceofzosan]

in which Sanji is in Shells Town when Zoro eats the rice ball off the floor

It isn't often that Zeff's plans to get rid of him involve actually making Sanji leave the Baratie on a supply run (mostly because they never work. Sanji always comes back with more produce than the budget allows for which pisses the old geezer even more). But today, he was persistent that he go all the way to Shells Town. Fucking Shells Town. It isn't exactly the first place Sanji would think of when wanting quality ingredients.

However, if there's anything Sanji is, it's that he's stubborn. He'll comb through every market stall if he has to. He's coming back to the Baratie with three kilos of overpriced bluefin tuna if only to raise Zeff's blood sugar out of spite. Zeff raised a brat. So he's going to act like one.

Disembarking off of his boat, he makes a beeline first for a reputable restaurant in town. Cooks know what cooks want. He'd rather shave off time by asking a fellow chef where are the best places to get supplies. A few lovely ladies point him in the direction of a well-loved little restaurant at the edge of town and he each gives them a kiss on the back of their hand as a thank you.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintances, my angels." He says with a wink. Both girls only give him blank stares and walk away from him. He still sighs dreamily as they soon fade from view. It's a lot better than getting hit in the head.

He walks ahead to the restaurant, finding it a little crowded with a couple marines. No matter. Sanji isn't exactly known by face around the East Blue. He begrudgingly understands now why Zeff doesn't want to go here and instead forced Sanji onto his sailboat by himself.

With an irritated flick of his hair, he strides into the restaurant, sitting at a table near the window so he could light a quick cigarette before asking for the chef.

"We already have our order—"

"No. More food is better! Gotta feed the brain!"

Sanji's ears pick up the conversation in the table next to him as naturally as he does breathing. With the amount of times Zeff makes him wait tables instead of actually cooking in the kitchen, he's become skilled in the art of being a gossip. Tie him up in the middle of a marine base for admitting that, he doesn't care. There's only so much one can do to keep themselves entertained.

"We have to figure out a way to get inside the base."

"Luffy, I don't think that's a good idea–"

"It's not a good idea because I don't have a plan yet!"

"Well, what's your plan?"

"..."

"Luffy..."

"I'm getting there!"

Sanji chuckles. Whoever this Luffy kid is, he sure sounds interesting.

But before he could get another slice of their conversation, a commotion at the bar piques his interest even more. He uncrosses his legs, sitting up a little straighter, and watches as a blond man in a suit scolds a girl for running into him, calling her stupid and mocking her.

Sanji quirks an eyebrow at him. No matter what, no man should speak to a little girl that way.

"You dropped my food."

This time, a man with green hair catches his attention and with a quick glance, Sanji sees that there is smushed up rice balls on the floor by the blond's feet. Sanji sees red immediately. He's just about to go over there and give the guy a piece of his mind when the green haired man kneels down, grabs a glob of dirty riceball, and puts it into his mouth.

Sanji tunnel visions on the way his lips move, slowly chewing, savoring the otherwise spoiled riceball in his mouth like it's the most delectable piece of food he's ever eaten. The whole restaurant watches with bated breath, but none held tightly in his chest as much as Sanji's is. The man scrapes every grain of rice off of the floor, licking the remaining traces off his fingers.

He doesn't know it yet, but Sanji's heart has spilled out of his chest, and is now in the hands of a dirty green haired swordsman. With each bite he takes of the sullied riceball, the more Sanji's soul is sucked out of his body and placed into a state of near heavenly revelation.

Then the swordsman picks up the plate and offers the other riceball to the irritated blond man across from him.

"Now you eat one and apologize to the girl."

Sanji doesn't know what happens to his heart because the aching in his chest feels like he's out of breath. Maybe he's dying. It feels a lot like it because suddenly Sanji genuinely has forgotten how to breathe in this moment.

It gets even worse when the fight breaks out. The man barely even breaks a sweat. In any other circumstance where there is a fight, Sanji would go right in and make sure none of the dishes fall to the floor. But it seems that even then, Sanji's interference isn't needed.

Because the man's hits are calculated, careful despite the rough and tumble of the fight. He barely even gets his swords out. And he, Sanji notices with a bright smile, makes sure none of the tables get hit. He contains it all in the small space in front of the bar.

The final nail in the coffin is when he takes a giant swig out of his mug, shakes it a bit to see if there's any more drink inside, and casually chucks it at an oncoming marine and knocks him out cold.

Now Sanji is used to falling in love easily with beautiful women. All they have to do is smile at him and he'll be on his knees for them. He has experience in that department.

But what is Sanji supposed to do when a brutish man with a kind heart glances at him briefly before taking the other riceball in his hand and shoving it in his mouth?

Sanji thinks that this is how he falls in love with a man.

His plate is wiped clean before he hands it back to the little girl, who looks up at the man with stars in her eyes.

Sanji figures that maybe the way he's staring at the man isn't too far off from how she's looking at him.

Sanji comes back to the Baratie with no supplies and an earful from Zeff that doesn't register in his brain.

His mind instead is filled with just the memory of the green haired man, his lips pursing ever so slightly around the riceball in his mouth, and the smallest smile he gives the little girl as he thanks her for the food.

Sanji wonders if he'll ever see him again.

He learns how to make different kinds of rice balls in the meantime.

---

A/N: did somebody say sanji would fall in love with zoro if he saw him eat food off the floor? say no more !!

EDIT: part two, debt and doing dishes is up!

#zosan #one piece live action #opla #niki's fics: the riceball incident #WELL THE BRAINROT WAS REAL AND TUMBLR ACCIDENTALLY DELETED HALF OF THIS #pls let me know if yall want this continued bc brain go brrrr #roronoa zoro #vinsmoke sanji #sanji #one piece #roronoa zoro x vinsmoke sanji #zoro x sanji #fic series: it all started with a dirty rice ball

[mariposa-drowned]

Some purely indulgent period comfort bc I feel like death rn.

Abby x Fem!reader

Abby walked through the door to your shared home, a cozy house in the safe haven of Jackson. She eagerly toed of her boots and dropped her pack onto the floor, relief flooding her muscles as she relaxed for the first time today. Her brows furrowed, finding the atmosphere oddly quiet, normally you'd be in the kitchen trying a new recipe, or in the living room rewatching one of your many DVDs and VHS tapes that you had traded for over time.

Abby checked around the downstairs, calling out your name a few times, trying not to panic, but she knew for a fact that you were home today, as this morning you let her know that you felt as if you were coming down with something and politely asked if she could let Maria know that you'd be out today. Abby had offered to stay home aswell to look after you, but you stubbornly refused, assuring her that you'd be fine, and it was nothing major. She made her way upstairs letting out a sigh of relief when she found your normally closed door slightly open, your shared silent signal that one of you was home and welcome to come into the room. You had this odd system to communicate easily when one of you was feeling a bit too overwhelmed. If the door was closed, you didn't want to be bothered, and it was best to check back in another 15 minutes. If the door was open, it was a green light.

Abby slowly pushed the door the rest of the way open "Angel? You alright?" She spoke softer than normal, being cautious of a possible headache.

You grumbled, rolling over in your queen sized bed to look up at your beautiful girlfriend, her braid was a bit messy from patrol, the lightest sheen of sweat still remains on her skin.

Abby's eyes widened. That would definitely explain your recent feelings and attitude with her lately. You met her gaze, looking down to the bed and seeing a small bloodstain right where you were laying before you moved to see Abby.

"fuuuucckkk this is not what I needed today" you groaned out, hopping off the bed you started stripping the sheets off the bed, throwing the blankets and pillows aside.

Abby came up behind you gently peeling you hands off the sheets "how about you go start a bath for yourself and I'll take care of this hm? I'll join you in a bit if you'd like, just leave your clothes outside the door and I'll throw em in with the sheets."

You smiled at her kindness, "thank you my love but it's my blood, Im sure I can handle it" you gave her a peck on the cheek and reached back for the sheets, before you could get your hands back on them you felt an intense cramp bloom throughout your lower abdomen causing you to clutch your stomache and fold in on yourself to try and relieve the pain.

Abby quickly caught you before you could make it to the ground, she picked you up like a toddler, you holding on tightly to her front as you buried your face in her neck. "never said you couldn't handle it sugar, just said to go start your bath, bein all stubborn and sorts" she set you down on the bathroom counter, moving to the tub to start some water, throwing a small amount of your soap in there to create a sheen of bubbles.

Abby went back to standing in front of you, you leaned forward to give her a kiss, her hands coming to your hips and rubbing gently to try and soothe your pain. She pulled away first, knowing she had to go out the sheets in the wash before they were permanently stained, not that she'd mind, but she knew you would always feel terrible about it and she couldnt have that.

Your gaze drifted down to her pants where you saw a small red spot on her cargos, her eyes followed your line of sight, "I'm sorry" you muttered out dropping your gaze to the floor in shame.

Her hand moved to grab a hold of your chin, making you look to her "hey, none of that, s'not your fault, I'm the one who picked you up, I'll just throw em in with everything else, totally not a big deal. Speaking of which, let's get you into that bath"

Abby helped you strip your clothing, easily lifting you once again to the bath, causing you to mumble out "I have legs y'know."

Abby smiled, setting you down in the bath, "I'm aware grumpy, but I like carrying you, and I didn't feel much protest, so looks like your stuck with me."

Settling down into the bath, the water soothing your aches you stuck your tongue out at Abby, to which she quickly reciprocated before beginning to rid herself of her stained pants. She could feel your eyes on her, drinking in every detail, appreciating her muscular legs covered by her boxers.

"You keep staring like that there's gonna be more than a lil' stain on those sheets" You blushed at her comment, quickly hiding your face in your hands, even though you were sitting in the bath. Abby smirked at your reaction, quite pleased with herself that she could still do that to you even after years together.

She walked over to you, bending down to give you a loving kiss on your lips, pulling away before you could pull her back into you.

"I'm gonna go throw this stuff in the wash, I'll be back to check on you in a bit"

You gave a small nod, watching her leave the room and close the door behind her to trap the heat in, you sunk back down into the bath, focusing on how the warm water slowly soothed your cramps, helping your aching muscles. You closed your eyes, letting the time pass by as you drifted in and out of consciousness.

You were snapped out of your daze by a small knock on the door, followed by the creak the old door made as it opened.

"hey sweet girl, the water is probably getting a bit cold now yeah? You ready to get out?"

Not that you had really noticed, but now that you were activley thinking about it the water was getting colder.

"yeah I think I'm ready to get out, my stomache is starting to hurt again"

"alright you pull the drain for me, do you want some help out?"

A small silent nod was all you could muster

Abby gave you a sympathetic smile, knowing how easily embarrassed you got, and not the biggest fan of asking if asking for help unless it was absolutely necessary. She slowly helped you out of the bath, wrapping you in a fresh towel.

Giving a small peck on your head she left you to continue drying off, disappearing once again into your room.

She came back with a set of comfy clothes and a washed period cup that Maria had gifted to you and many others. Setting them down on the counter she looked back to you as you started to towel dry your hair.

"You want help changing as well? or do you want me to come check on you in a few minutes?" Abby said

"I think I'll be okay to do it myself, thank you abs. love you"

" 'course baby, anything for you. I'll come make sure you aren't dead in a few minutes alright? I love you too."

A few minutes had passed and just as Abby was getting up to come check on you, the bathroom door opened to reveal you in one of abbys oversized t-shirts and a pair of your own comfy underwear, her shirt practically looked like a dress on you so you didn't mind the lack of pants.

"Hi beautiful, you wanna come lay down?" abby asked as she pat your side of the bed next to her, the sheets changed and abbys attempt at making the bed.

"ugh please do not call me that right now. Im barley passing as human at the moment"

Abby snorts at your comment. "oh no! should we take you to get tested for cordycepts?!! If you go down I'm coming with your ass, you arent getting rid of me that easily"

Her comment causes you to let out a small laugh "haha very funny. I forgot to do the dishes last night and i need to finish them, so ill come lay down after."

You turn around to walk out of the room before baby could start protesting. You genuinely thought you had gotten aways with it too, reaching the top of the stairs before being tugged back into the solid chest you knew by heart.

"in what world do you think I'm going to let my ovulating girlfriend go do house chores when she almost collapsed earlier from her own cramps" Abby eyed you down as you tried to avoid her gaze.

She bent down a bit before tapping the back of your thighs, signaling you to jump. "Cmon sugar, no getting out of this one, lemme take care of you like you deserve."

You huffed, but jumped up regardless, Abby walking the both of you back to your room.

Abby set you down gently on your shared bed, situating the blankets over you til you were comfortable.

"Thank you for taking care of me" you smiled up at her

"always" abby returned the smile, leaning down to give you a kiss on the lips.

"Will you come cuddle and hold my stomach please"

"course i will. you want something to eat first though?"

"not right now, i think itll only upset my stomach more. maybe we could make soup together for dinner"

Abby slid in the bed behind you, her warm arm coming around your lower abdomen "That sounds great baby"

you hummed in content at her comforting embrace, letting out a deep breath as her warm hand helped soothe you cramps. "will you read to me? please?"

"you want me to read one of my medical books to you?"

"I dont care what you read as long as I get to listen to your voice"

"yeah I'll read to you"

#abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson fluff #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson #abby anderson fanfic #abby anderson tlou #abby anderson x reader comfort #period comfort #abby x reader #abby tlou #abby the last of us #abby anderson x you #abby tlou x reader #abby anderson tlou2 #the last of us part two #last of us #tlou abby #Abby anderson period comfort #Mariposa writes<3

[tremendum]

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

Mr. Miller’s Masterlist

(not my gif.) 

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

[series warnings (read individual for extra warnings): mean!Joel Miller x fem!reader, mentions of canon-typical injuries/violence/blood, consumption of alcohol and marijuana, age gap (implied 20+ years), rough smut (PiV, unprotected), sir kink, Jackson era, toxic reader and Joel tbh (mostly Joel), slapping (reader gets slapped and joel does too, all consensual), degradation kink, praise, dacryphilia, porn with SOME plot and feelings, possessive Joel. slow burn relationship - sort-of enemies to lovers.]

all parts contain smut.

i.   Mr. Miller

↬       ❝ six months before you ran yourself into any trouble with somebody - that’s no easy feat, considering your track record, so you like to call it a win anyways. but boy, talk about a rocky start with someone. Tommy’s goddamn brother, no less.❞

ii.  Mr. Miller’s House

↬        ❝ Joel Miller was a mean, mean man. and you eat it up like a woman starved for months.❞

iii.  Mr. Miller’s Girlfriend

↬        ❝ It’s delicious, this game you and Joel play. ❞

iv.  Mr. Miller’s Patrol

↬        ❝ you wonder, does he want a taste of the blissful relaxation that follows one inhale - or is the craving in his eyes for something else? ❞

v.  Sympathy for the Devil

↬      ❝your stomach drops at Joel’s words - where's the anger, the stubbornness? where's the cocky Joel, the one who would probably stiffly mutter he's sorry he offended you before slamming three fingers of the Bison's liquor and walking out with a glare?❞

vi.  Mr. Miller’s Show

↬      ❝'like how sweet you've been t'me, sugar," he mutters gently, head tilting, "why y'gonna go and fuck all that up now?'❞

vii.  Setting the Mood

↬      ❝Joel's warming up to you in the way that feral cats warm up to a box with blankets in winter - cautiously, with a rigid spine and many false alarms.❞

.

taglist for this fic is closed. please follow @tremendumnotifs for updates.

.

#joel x reader smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller the last of us #let's chat abt mr miller #tremendum navigate #navigation #the last of us smut #the last of us x reader #The Last of Us (HBO) #tlou fanfiction #tlou series #tlou hbo

[neuroprincess]

Law & Order: SVU - First Date + First Kiss (Preferences)

Classification: Fluff

Pairing: Alex Cabot, Casey Novak, Liz Donnelly, Olivia Benson and Rita Calhoun

Warnings: None

Word count: +1000

Alex Cabot

- The blonde quickly pulls herself together, trying to mask the confusion of feelings and the shock of seeing you after so many years without any contact, failing miserably. She feels a little lost, not knowing how to act, slightly out of it. And continues like this for the next few weeks, even showing up almost every day at the bakery until finally getting up the courage to ask you out to dinner. It's a fancy restaurant, at a table away from curious eyes and the atmosphere is pleasant, you talk about your lives so far, between laughs, wine and an occasional physical touch, like hands accidentally crossing, her touch on your back as you get up from the chair, pinky fingers so close as you walk along the sidewalk that one can feel the warmth of the other. Alex insists on taking you home, you stop in front of the apartment door and both smile nervously. "I missed you." She whispers, tucking a stubborn lock of hair behind your ear. "No more than I missed you." You stare at each other for a few seconds and ADA leans in, asking permission with her gaze to continue, then you nod, joining your lips in a gentle and needy kiss, full of emotion, longing. 

Casey Novak

- It was no surprise when, in the middle of dinner, Casey's phone rang and she was forced to run after some judge to get warrants, she had barely touched the food, nor had you, both immersed in a fun and spontaneous flirting. The following week she's waiting for you in the lobby of the precinct with a box of your favorite dessert, which was mentioned at dinner, and a mysterious proposal. She takes you for a apparently directionless walk until ending up at a softball practice cage, no one else there, all the equipment waiting. Her words are patient, hands soft around your waist, body warm and slightly sweaty behind yours as her fingers wander up the forearm to put hands together and teach you how to use the bat, it's almost too much, all the sensations and little things the ginger provokes without even realizing it. "Good shot, sugar." She celebrates happily when you hit one target, proud of the result of hard work, and lifts you, twirling in the air, faces coming closer and you kiss as if it were the right thing to do, it's deep and passionate, all the tension built up over weeks expressed in one act. 

Liz Donnelly

- Another night spent working late, it's become a kind of routine you've started to get used to. Long nights full of paperwork, words that start to blur together in a few hours and a dozen cups of coffee, sometimes energy drinks. The last folder has been checked and the notes reviewed, when the knock on the door wakes you up, surprised, as the building seemed empty except for the security team. "You know it's 1am, right?" Liz smiles, entering your office, a bottle of whisky and two glasses in hand "I thought you might need these." And offers one of them, a little fuller because she knows it's necessary. Hours pass without either of you noticing, the bottle is half full and you're both on the floor, high heels thrown on the carpet, messy hairstyles and trivial conversations. "So, Cabot and you...?" She asks suggestively. "Oh, no, no, actually... she's my sister." The woman is clearly surprised, you expect some kind of negativity, maybe a little suspicion, but she just smiles and approaches. "Great!" Closing the distance with a half-drunk, slow and sensual kiss. 

Olivia Benson  

- Board game days become a bi-weekly program between you, the two families start to meet often and a bond quickly forms, not unexpected considering how close your children are, like flesh and blood. The kids have fun in friendly competitions and eat snacks, sometimes preferring to play in the garden or watch random cartoons until they fall asleep. This time it's different, the pair went to a sleepover, you opened a bottle of wine, sipping it between relaxed conversations, a nice meal and close to midnight you're still awake. "Finally some time for the moms." She raises her glass and knocks on yours to toast the break, you both love your children, but they seem to be plugged in 24/7. "And without having to watch Trolls, I've memorized all the songs." You mumble, drinking the rest of the wine and snuggling up on the sofa, the woman unconsciously rests her arm on the headboard, touching your shoulder, both smile and try to pay attention to The Golden Girls. Almost impossible to do when long fingers wander over your bare skin, the genuine laughter and the magnetism that leads you to stare at her, enchanted. Eyes meet, breaths become heavy and you stop fighting the urge to finally kiss Olivia. 

Rita Calhoun

- Her presence is very pleasant, bringing some kind of comfort to your tiring work days and boring shifts, there are delightful conversations when the restaurant is almost empty, occasionally she even makes a witty joke. As a result, you've become good friends, despite all the differences, from personality, age to social class. Bonds are created in the small details, maybe in the kind and gentle way she treats you, how she pays attention to the almost insignificant things you've left hanging in the air during a conversation, proof of which is the limited edition of your favorite book she brings to one of the dinners. Inside is a card with an address, a time and telling you to meet her there. So you do, wearing one of your favorite outfits and silently praying to be appropriate, in the end it doesn't matter much, she has prepared a candlelit dinner in the botanical garden, just you two, the nature and the stars. "I really enjoyed our night, it was lovely." You whisper and play nervously with the hands. "And what about me?" Rita teases, stopping walking, and you blush nodding positively. She tries to say something more, but is interrupted by your lips on hers in a clumsy impulse, there's a doubt in the air, answered by her hands on your waist pulling you in to deepen the passionate kiss.

taglist: @scarr0713 @geekyandgay98 @heidss @loudchaoscoffee @quailbagutte @ctrlamira @milffilm @prentiss-theorem @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @grandtacoranchnickel @@multifandomlesbianic @janeyseymour @storiesofsvu

Junte-se à minha taglist aqui ^^

#law & order: special victims unit #law and order svu #alex cabot x reader #casey novak x reader #liz donnelly x reader #olivia benson x reader #rita calhoun x reader #preferences #female reader

[oneshotnewbie]

hi could you possibly do a maya and carina x reader where reader is maybe drunk and stubborn and it is them taking care of her and just complete fluff 🫶

ᕚ---ᕘ

You staggered around the room, completely losing your balance. You got drunk into oblivion on your best friend's birthday and your two girlfriends had to pick you up from the restaurant. As soon as Maya and Carina arrived, they quickly rushed to a private room at the other end of the building to come to your aid. "Bella, are you okay?" The brunette asked worriedly as they saw you leaning against a wall, your cheeks burning red and your eyes bloodshot and glassy.

Maya had immediately jumped to your side, hooking your arm over her shoulder so that she could catch your body and hold it upright before you stumbled and fell unhappily. "Sure thing, pretty. I'm awesome! I swear I can walk straight!" You muttered in an unintelligible slur and started to giggle, but all you got was serious faces, eyes looking at each other in incomprehension.

Using their combined efforts, they tried to gently lower your heavily intoxicated body onto one of the wooden chairs. “Y/n, darling, how much did you drink?” she requested, reaching out physically to lift your head and catch your gaze. You, however, looked back at your fingers, tried to count the shots on them, but failed miserably as they blurred and wavered in front of your eyes. "Um, I think a few more than I should? But hey, you suddenly have four eyes that I can look into, and all of them are beautiful!"

The blonde's hand fell to her forehead, trying to smooth out the wrinkles that had formed on it as she bit her lip. She looked up at Carina, who couldn't resist a gentle chuckle. Maya scuffled her hair and asked herself what you had gotten yourself into. Normally you were never the drinker. “Let’s get you home,” she sighed out loudly and rose from her kneeling position in front of you.

Both Carina and Maya helped you get up and carefully brought you into the car to take you home. During the journey it became quiet around the two of them. While Carina tried to keep the car straight and not swerve too much, it was Maya who turned around every minute to check on you. However, you were caught up in your own daydream, humming shrilly to the tune on the radio as you traced the tears of rain on the window. "Why didn't you call us and let us know? We could have picked you up beforehand. Then maybe you wouldn't have drank so much."

You looked at her with wide eyes, your pupils greatly dilated from drinking alcohol. You tried to remain serious, tried to think of a clever answer for your friend but failed and started laughing instead. "But then I would have denied you this wonderful trip!" This time, Maya and Carina couldn't help but laugh at your rambling, although they remained worried about your condition.

Both women were happy when they unlocked the door to their shared apartment and you were finally back in your own four walls. Up the stairs to the second floor with you in their luggage, the two of them were completely exhausted. While the blonde struggled to get you onto the couch, the brunette grabbed coffee and a blanket to help you get over the alcohol rush and keep you warm.

When she came back with the things, she also got salty crackers to balance your blood sugar levels and avoid side effects. Maya gratefully took the warm drink, handed it to you and supported the glass with one of her hands to avoid any accidents. "Here, drink some of this. It will help."

You nodded perfusively, pulled the glass closer to your face and sniffed it. You immediately wrinkled your nose, grimaced and pulled your head to the side to stop the smell from lingering in your nasal cavities. "That smells like burnt hope and Monday morning! Speaking of which, what kind of day is today?"

"Saturday morning," Carina laughed once more and moved back towards the kitchen while Maya stayed behind with you for a moment. When the Italian woman came with another glass, this time she put it to your lips and let you take a few sips. "This is water, maybe it will help you a little better."

"This tastes like the opposite and not as good as what I had before. Ugh!"

Maya shook her head miserably and began to take off the jacket she was still wearing, all the while standing next to you and making sure you didn't suddenly tip over to the side or fall forward onto the floor. "Maybe we should go easy on your taste buds? I think they've already experienced enough today."

You nodded in agreement, knowing she might be right. There was a short silence in which the two of them joined you on the couch. Carina took your legs on her lap and pulled them close to her middle, hoping that you would slowly relax and become calmer. But suddenly you started singing loudly, the words barely understandable, startling the two women who were tired and just waiting for you to fall asleep.

Shocked at the sudden noise and shrill tones that left your throat, they both looked at each other with wide eyes. The brunette held a hand over her mouth and looked away for a moment before she burst out laughing and couldn't stop herself. With this she also drew Maya under the pure spell of laughter. "Babe, is this your take on karaoke?" The blonde asked, holding her now aching stomach, but you didn't listen to her, got even louder and held your hand to your heart. You swayed on the couch, Carina holding your hand as you tried to sit straight on your shins and sang a tune that resembled the national anthem. "Bambina, I think you could make a new hit out of it if you sang the words a little more clearly!"

You laughed yourself at the incomprehensibility and the mood of the two women became increasingly relaxed. There was barely a shred of concern in their hearts, more happiness that you were doing well and that despite the poison in your blood, you generally made a good impression. "You know, you're probably the most entertaining drunk I know. And I've seen my entire fire team drunk."

Grinning widely, you bowed your upper body to her and punched your chest a few times before kissing the palm of your hand and holding it up in the air. "I take that as a compliment, my wonderful and beautiful Maya Bishop!"

The three of you sat together for a while until you noticed that you were getting more tired and slowly falling asleep. The blonde carefully covered you more tightly with the blanket and spoke to you gently to show you that you were cared for and safe. After the two were sure you had fallen into a deep sleep, they stayed close to you to continue to provide attention and support until you were stable again. Meanwhile, Maya and Carina kept exchanging amused looks.

"Hopefully she learns from this," Maya whispers in a gentle tone and squeezes herself next to Carina, wrapping her in a deep hug. The brunette leaned back, letting herself fall and trying to let the tiredness take its place. "Yes hopefully."

They stayed vigilant through the night to make sure you slept peacefully and didn't fall into a nightmare before deciding to seek some peace near you as well. They clearly deserved it.

#station 19 imagine #station 19 x reader #station 19 imagines #station 19 #station 19 fanfiction #maya bishop fanfiction #maya bishop x reader #maya bishop imagine #maya bishop #carina deluca fanfiction #carina deluca x reader #carina deluca #carina deluca imagine #fanfiction #imagine #oneshot #writeblr #fanfic #imagines #station 19 fanfic

[lucivinyl]

lovesick

pairing : lucifer x gn!reader

summary : you put a bandaid around lucifer’s ring finger (and his heart does a somersault)

note : inspired by the card chat ‘before the big day’

For a demon like Lucifer, a paper cut should be no more than an itch, something that shouldn’t even warrant a reaction. But when he felt the sharp edge glide across his finger, he still couldn’t help but let out a pained wince.

You poked your head up from behind the leather armchair where you’d been lolling in, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he frowned at the red forming around the thin line. “Actually, can you get me a tissue?”

“Sure,” you grabbed the tissue box and walked over, eyes widening when you spotted the cut. “You’d better get that bandaged.”

“It’s just a small cut.”

“A small cut that will sting like hell when it comes into contact with water,” You leaned against the desk, took his hand and started examining the wound. “And you could get an infection.”

An argument was already building on his tongue, but he decided to stay quiet as you moved on to dab the blood off, eyes narrowed in concentration, making sure you weren’t pressing too hard. A few strands of hair had fallen in front of your face, but your sole attention was on the cut.

It felt nice to be pampered once in a while.

Discarding the red-spotted paper, you placed your hand under the adjacent drawer to open it. Panic set in, and he scrambled to push it back. The wood slammed shut with a loud thud. 

“What?” You turned to him, startled. “I’m just trying to get you a bandaid!”

“I don’t have any in there.” The lie slipped out easily. “It’s really fine, it’ll heal soon.”

You gave the drawer and his guarding hand a pointed look, silent skepticism spreading across your features. Then you shook your head firmly, stubborn as always. “I’ll just go grab mine.”

His eyes followed as you walked out of the study, hand only lowering once you were out of sight. That was a threateningly close call. Had you seen what was inside the drawer, everything he’d been planning would've gone up in flames.

Just to double check. He opened a gap wide enough for him to peek inside. The warm light spilled in, revealing a red velvet box sitting serenely atop other miscellaneous objects. He drummed his finger against the wooden board and, giving in to his uncertainty, pulled out the box. The ring was still inside– the band a pale silver, twirling up to enclose a sapphire that was catching light on all sides. 

He sighed and returned it into the drawer, slamming it into the dark.

He'd bought the ring for a good while now, just about long enough for it to collect dust. While the purchase had been done on a whim, he confessed that the possibility of marriage had been stuck in his head like a rowdy tenant unwilling to move out.

And of course, you were the one who'd given rise to the idea. He could still remember how you'd woken up that day, dazed still by sleep, and upon recognizing him, pulled away and buried your face into the pillow almost in annoyance. He'd been offended, but after some insistent pestering, you finally explained that you'd dreamt of marrying him.

"It was such a sweet dream, and you had to go ahead and ruin it!" You'd complained, looking off to the side with a stubborn frown, but it didn't take a pair of keen eyes to notice the way your ears burned. To make it up to you, he'd vowed to make it a reality one day. It might've been a light-hearted promise at that time, but it would soon bloom into a question that lodged itself into his heart, making it hard to breathe without first getting it out.

He owned exactly three white suits and had to put them all away, because every time he opened the closet and caught sight of them in his periphery, his mind would just go haywire. White suit, wedding, flowers, rings, vows, promise of a lifetime . He would never admit it, but the mere imagination he conjured in his head was enough to make him giddy. He would put an unhealthy amount of sugar in his tea just so the sweetness would taste realer, would run into doors while still donning a tooth-rotting smile.

Simeon was worried that he was sick, but if it really was an illness, he didn't want to get rid of it. Not when you were both the cause and the remedy.

It wasn't always pleasant though. Dreaming was the easy part, but when it came to taking actions, he was in a bind. He wished to make the proposal as memorable as possible, but he had no idea how to. Either he accidentally let the perfect moment pass by or the time and place just didn't work. The world seemed to be against him this time, throwing curveball after curveball on his quest to pop the question. The only thing preventing him from giving up was the unbudging certainty that, yes , he did want to marry you and live out the rest of your lives together. That was enough to keep him going.

At the nearing footsteps, he reluctantly pulled himself out of his thoughts. You came back with a pack of bandaids decorated with pink hearts. 

"What?" You chuckled at the appalment dimming his eyes. 

"Couldn't you have gotten the less cutesy ones?" 

"They were the only ones lying around."

You were obviously lying, but he bit his tongue once again, watching as you peeled the backing. 

"Your hand, please."

He complied. You tilted your head to get a better angle and placed the soft cotton on the cut, the skin surrounding which had started to bloom red. Then his eyes trailed up, and realization dawned on him.

The paper had grazed his ring finger, which shouldn't have been a big deal, but his heart still jumped out of his throat. Suddenly he was hyper aware of your hand working around the wound, wrapping the sticky surface around the base of his finger. You didn't do it very well, but he couldn't bring himself to care as he watched the hearts adhere to his skin.

One day, it would be just like this, except he would be the one holding your hand like it was glass, and instead of a band aid, it would be a ring. He could already see it happening before his eyes– your finger slipping into the ring of perfect size, the happiness blooming on your face, then your hands fitting perfectly together.

It was only when he felt your touch on his face that he snapped out of the images, feeling the smile etched on his face. Softly you asked, "What are you thinking about?"

"How dumb this bandaid looks."

"That’s not what your face says," you mirrored his smile. "At least wait a few days before you peel it off, okay?"

Instead of answering, he turned to kiss the center of your palm, his smile growing wider. He knew that he wasn't taking it off any time soon.

#obey me x reader #lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer #obey me #elfwrites #obey me shall we date

[gtgbabie0]

Oh bloody hell

{James accidentally gives you a nose bleed}

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

James is a very spontaneous person, so when he asks you to bake a Victorian sponge cake with him at one in the morning because he’s ‘bored’ and can’t sleep, well who are you to deny him?

“You need some help with that?” You ask with a teasing smile as you watch him struggle to open the jam jar, you giggle at the way his eyebrows knit together, and his eyes crinkle slightly with frustration he lets out a huff.

“Nope, I got this,” he says popping the ‘p’ as he wipes his hands on his sweatpants before trying to open the jar again, you shake your head at his stubbornness.

You reach for the powdered sugar, leaning over to where James is, his elbow slightly elevated in the air as he tries to dramatically open the jar with a slight grunt. The next thing you know you hear a ‘pop’ and James’s elbow collides with your face, with force, making you stumble back slightly, and a string of ‘oh my fucking god, shit, I’m so fucking sorry’ escapes his mouth with frantic panic.

The jam is immediately discarded, and he rushes over to you his hands pushing yours away from your face as he looks for any injuries. He’s still apologizing, wincing when he notices the tiny cut on your top lip.

“Love, I’m so so sorry I didn’t even realize you were there” he sounds so guilty as he wipes the tears from your eyes with his thumb and he presses a gentle kiss to your cheek.

You notice an abnormal pressure building up behind your nose, almost as if a rubber band is about to snap, it’s an uncomfortable burning sensation and it causes you to go a little light-headed.

“No sweetheart it’s okay, I’m fine, I’m fine- it was just an accident” you smile trying your best to shake off the funny feeling in your nose, that is until you feel an awful rush, and suddenly hot blood is trickling it’s way out your nose, and James looks at you with a horrified expression, eyes wide, he looks like he’s going to be sick.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck” he panics, quickly grabbing a hand full kitchen roll, pressing it against your bloody nose as his hand supports the base of your neck tipping your head up slightly to look at the ceiling, his hands jittery with his panic.

“Are you okay?— Shit— stupid question, of course you’re not I’ve just elbowed you in the face—“ he freaks out hand resting on the small of your back while he gently guides you to the dining room chair “here sit down lovely” he watches as you pinch the bridge of your nose in hopes it’ll do something.

“I’m so sorry, I’m really really sorry lovely,” he says and you swear he hasn’t stopped apologizing since his elbow connected with your face.

“It’s alright James” you mumble, glancing over at him with a small smile.

You eventually pull the blood-soaked tissue from your face, and he lets out a sigh of relief as the blood slowly stops.

You look over at him, he’s holding his face in his hands in distress and his eyebrows are pulled together with worry, “Sweetheart I’m so sorry, I’m honestly so sorry” he mumbles guilt lacing through his tone, and his heart wobbles at the thought of you being in pain, you watch as tears build up in his eyes.

“It’s fine James, I promise you it’s fine,” you say trying to get your point across to the very concerned boy, who’s on the verge of tears, “I’m alright, wasn’t that much blood” you smile letting out a breathy giggle. He looks at you with an exasperated expression as if he can’t believe what you’re saying.

“What? no- any amount of blood is too much blood— I can’t believe I did that” he sighs looking down at the floor, wringing his hands, James refuses to look at you scared of the pain that might still linger in your eyes, the pain that he caused, and the stubborn guilt doesn’t budges from its place in his heart.

You stand up, your hand settling against his shoulder, “You can make it up to me with a hug?” You ask coyly watching the smile that wobbles on his lips as he tugs you into him, his head resting on your shoulder.

“I’m alright James, a little headache but I’m fine, I promise you,” you say with honesty as he squeezes you against him before pulling away from you, and your heart aches at the tears that collect on his eyelashes, you tut as you wipe them away with your sleeve.

You watch as he wets the kitchen towel under the sink, he walks over to you, his hand cupping your face carefully, fingers pressing against your warm cheeks as he starts to clean your blood-stained nose and chin, and he winces at the sight.

“Am I still pretty?” You giggle as he scoffs, shaking his head slightly before discarding the towel, he kisses the top of your nose, before studying your face for a moment.

“Yes, so so pretty, even when your nose is spewing blood because your dumb, overzealous boyfriend elbows you in your face”

And you can’t help that laughter that bubbles out from you, he can be so dramatic when he wants to be, and you sigh rolling your eyes, as his head goes back to resting against your shoulder with a huff.

“Well, my dumb, overzealous boyfriend needs to realize that it was just an accident” you chuckle and your fingers rake through his hair, as he nuzzles further against your neck.

He’s pressing apologetic kisses against your shoulder, “I love you” he whispers, hands settling against your hips, squeezing them lovingly, and you're grateful he's stopped apologizing.

“I love you too, now let’s go clean up the mess” you smile motioning to the cake batter that’s somehow splattered all over the kitchen counter, he nods, not leaving your side and you clean the kitchen with James practically glued to you.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

☾⋆AN/ based on that one time I was baking and got a killer nosebleed! Hope you enjoyed lovelies!! <3

#james potter fluff #james potter drabble #james potter one shot #james potter imagine #james potter fic #james potter fanfiction #james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter #the marauders #the marauders fluff #the marauders fanfiction #the marauders x reader #the marauders imagine #marauders fanfiction #marauders x reader #marauders x y/n #marauders x you #marauders fluff #marauders imagine #marauders fic #marauders drabble

[fire-emblem-drabbles]

Pairing: Astarion x reader (Tav)

Prompt: Astarion wants to repay you for all the blood you share with him!

Description: There was an undeniable attraction between the two of you; Astarion could taste it on your skin before he took a bite, see it in the way you couldn't meet his eyes when you spoke to him. Perhaps you just needed him to push you in the right direction. He did owe you, after all.

Rating: sfw (ikr)

Word Count: 1869

Content Warnings: fem reader (use of she/her), reader is mentioned to be a cleric of selune but it's just a liddle bit, the first part is dub conish until Astarion Realizes (there's nothing crazy, they only get as far as removing clothing), ask to tag!

Notes: Okay this was originally supposed to be not sfw. right. I had this whole dub con scene planned out and it was gonna be so GOOD but. then I remembered I can't write nsfw (at least I can't do it quickly lol) so I decided to make a version where Astarion makes the right choice instead. I still have plans to write the original (I imagine you can find the part in this where I decided to go another direction lol) because as much as we stan a man who grows. I am also here for a guy who doesn't learn at all and perpetuates his own hurt and grief on to other people (me). Also wow I need to get more screenshots of Astarion...

That night, not too long ago. When your blood singed louder to him than anything had before. When you laid gently before him, not even stirring. Trusting your allies. Trusting him. It was all so intoxicating-- so much so, that he couldn’t help but take a bite.

Perhaps it was luck, perhaps it was because you sensed him, or perhaps because something holy in you sensed something wretched in him. You awoke before Astarion could sink his teeth in you, before he could taste your sweet blood and feel your fleeting pulse under his fingertips.

He had expected a stake in a chest, the loss of this terrible life. What he hadn’t expected was your sympathy-- nor your understanding. No, when you invited him to dine on your blood (with such an adorable look on your face-- it’s a wonder he was the first to taste you), nearly let him kill you because you didn’t know how to tell him to stop-- it was a gift. One he truly hadn’t forgotten. Especially when, sweet as sugar, you invited him to drink of you again.

After all this, you deserved to be payed back! You had given him so much it was only fair Astarion share what he could with you. As it happened, the only currency he had was his body and you were being a little too stubborn to take his kindness.

“Astarion, really--” He had cornered you in your tent. Everyone else was asleep at this time of night, but not you, little adherent of the moon maiden. Your prayers had only just concluded as he invited himself in (a luxury he was sure to abuse now that he could).

“No darling, I insist.” He scoots in closer to you, chasing your warmth. “Let me make it up to you. I want you to feel as good as you make me feel.” His cool breath ghosts upon your skin, and he delights in the way your cheeks flare in the pale light of your candles.

“I’m just not sure about it.” You spare a glance at Astarion and have to quickly look away from him. He’s really putting on the charm tonight and if you continue to look his way, it might work.

“Well why not?” Astarion isn’t having it, cupping your cheek so you look to his face, to his wide red eyes. “I know you’re attracted to me. When you think I’m not looking you can’t keep your eyes off me, but as soon as I look your way…” Astarion takes a moment to appreciate the color on your cheeks, the way you seem to look for an escape a moment before giving in and looking into his eyes.

“It’s not that, trust me, I think you’re very nice to look at…” You close your eyes a moment, trying to gather yourself and your thoughts. You just, didn’t know how to breach the topic. You knew it wasn’t embarrassing, but to have to tell Astarion of all people that you were still a virgin… Well, it but a knot in your stomach.

“Well then what is it?” He urged, hand tracing down your cheek to rest on your neck, to the spot where he had tasted your sweet, sweet blood again and again.

“I’ve just. Never laid with anyone before!” You say the words quickly, closing your eyes lest you see his reaction to the truth.

“Really?” Astarion can’t deny the excitement that floods through him. This merely sweetens the pot for him. To have a precious little cleric share her virgin blood with him (Astarion can merely smirk at how mad that would make Cazador), to have her promise to take down that same wretched master, and now to induce in her in a way no one else ever had. Why, it’s as much a gift for him as it is for her! With that, Astarion cools his expression, tries to chill the desire suddenly running through him.

“Aww, a little cleric of Seluné, having never felt the touch of another?” Astarion can’t help but coo, his words smooth as he teases. Cliche, perhaps, but still enticing. “Saving yourself for someone special?” He laughs again. “Or perhaps saving yourself for me?”

“I didn’t say--” Astarion cuts you off with a soft ‘shh’, gently lowering you down on your bedroll.

“You didn’t have too, darling. I can see in you what you can’t speak aloud.” He moves atop you, leering over you with a devilish look in his eyes. “You want this just as bad as I do, you just do have the words to say it.” With that, he descends upon you, lips meeting in what you can only call a sweet kiss. Sweet enough, in fact, to lure you in; soft and kind for fleeting precious moments before his hunger wins over and you are devoured like the treat you are. He’s overwhelming; hands upon you, peeling away you camp clothing and craving your warmth. He barely parts from your mouth, just enough for a heady intake of you.

“How did I manage to hold back for so long?” His words are spoken with a large, savored sigh. “Just look at you, all needy and obedient under me. A perfect little pet.” His words have your whole body flushing. You could probably easily push him away-- you know you’re stronger than him and if your desperate you’ve a war hammer not even a meter away from where the two of you lay. But you aren’t sure you want to. Aren’t sure if you should.

When Astarion lifts the hem of your shirt, you lift your arms for him, so the fabric can be thrown away. So too does his shirt go. When his hands snake to your pants, and wiggle them past your hips, past your thighs to join you prayer book in the far corner, you do not stop him. Nor do you stop him from removing his own worn and threadbare pants; they join you other clothing in the small confines of your tent, until the two of you are left in your undergarments, looking at one another with wonder and lust and fear and everything that stands between.

You hadn’t noticed you were trembling until Astarion leaned in close to you again, taking your hand in his. “Sorry, I just,” The words tumble out of you before you can think to stop them. “Just, nervous.” You manage to get out, carefully tracing his features for any hint of teasing or remark.

“That’s alright,” Astarion pauses, because he can’t quite remember the last time someone looked as scared as he always felt. He stops and considers a moment if this was something you truly wanted-- but if it wasn’t you wouldn’t have let him get this far in the first place, would you? But then he sighs, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours with his eyes closed.

“This isn’t right, is it?” Astarion pauses a moment, opening his eyes to really take you in. You were still shaking like a leaf, eyes wide and fearful. It was like looking into a mirror for the first time in 200 years. How could he even think to force you into this when it was something he had tried to avoid the entirety of his undead life?

“It’s…” You sigh and shake your head no. “It was never that I didn’t like you, or find you attractive… I’m just not ready. But… I didn’t want to lose the chance to be with you, either.” You admit. “I should have stopped you but…” You pause as Astarion gently pulls off of you.

“No, I should have…” Astarion pauses as well, pushing air out through his nose. “I should have listened to you.” He sits, turned away from you, and you study the intricate runes on his back as you both take a long moment to speak.

“I… should leave.” Astarion moves to get his clothing together, and you sit up straight as well.

“Wait! Just because I don’t want to have sex, doesn’t mean I don’t like your company.” You pull on your own shirt as well, watching as he turns your way with a confused look on his face. “I still like spending time with you.” You admit, face just as pink as when you admitted you were a virgin.

“… You really do, don’t you?” Astarion settles a moment, watching your face as your bright eyes flash his way a moment. “Even if you did try to lie it would be easy to tell…” He retreats to his thoughts a moment, considering his next move. “If I do stay, what would you have us do?” He rests again as you sheepishly pull your pants back on under his watchful gaze.

“Well…” You look to him. “I liked being close to you, actually.” You admit. “It was nice to be held by you.” You seem shy all the sudden, but your request is rather tame compared to what Astarion was more than ready to do to you.

“You just want to cuddle?” Astarion is equal parts surprised and amused. It’s not as if he hadn’t but, well it had never been with anyone he dared to care about. You are different, in that sense. He’s put a lot of chips on you, no doubt… And though he wouldn’t dare to put a title to it, there is a certain sense of affection he held for you. One that, perhaps he can indulge for now. “Well… I suppose there’s no harm in that.”

You light up. “Really?” You smile at him, wide and unabashed. Astarion finds he likes that look much better than the fear you wore mere minutes earlier. It suits you much better. “You don’t mind?”

Astarion scoffs, perhaps to hide his own excitement at the prospect. “I said I pay you back, didn’t I? Who am I to complain how you decide to spend our time together?” He acts nonchalant but you can’t help but keep smiling. “Now, come here.” Astarion scoots in closer to you, holding his arms out and makes a little grabby motion with his hands. You can’t help but giggle but nonetheless comply, moving in closer to him and allowing him to encircle his arms around you. You circle an arm around his neck, and rest one on his chest, sighing in content.

“This is nice.” You hum out, eyes closed as you snuggle closer to him. Astarion can’t help but admire how serene you look.

“You’re still shaking…” He notes, even as he holds you close and tries to follow your lead. Isn’t this what you wanted?

“This time, it really is nerves.” You confirm, opening your eyes to look at his face. “I’m okay though, I promise.” You cuddle in closer to him, once again closing your eyes. It’s both quite alarming and fascinating how much you seem to trust Astarion but… This time, he won’t be that trust to shame.

The two of you would go at this (whatever this was, he noted; everything seemed strange and new) at your pace. Because maybe, just maybe… that was what Astarion needed too.

#Astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #here we go again boys #can you believe he's not even my fav #i just keep having these ideas

[lottiecrabie]

pray for my soul. part three – matty healy

even after all your prayers, you feel matty's presence linger in all parts of your life. in church, in class, in the knock on your window...

warnings: 18+, oral (f receiving), fingering, choking, roleplay, religious imagery, blasphemy, pfms typical desecration

part three of five

13683 words

You’ve been clenching your fingers too much, hands clutched together as you pray or smother a wave of smoldering emotions. Your heart ring digs into your middle finger; the blood cuts off, pain spreading up your knuckles. You’d find it divine if it didn’t leave some ugly, red rash. 

It makes your mother crazy at the sight, gasping as she spots the scarlet. She grabs your wrist, tugging you across the house. “Mom,” you whine, stumbling along. “It’s nothing.” Of course, she scoffs, pinching the bitten raw fingers and the chipped white nails to prove her point.  

Opening the bathroom door, she shoves your hand under the sink. Scalding hot water pours out. You flinch at the sensation. She’s unbothered, squeezing hyssop soap, scrubbing your hands under the burning heat. 

“You have to keep your hands clean,” your mother says, squirting some more soap. 

If she really knew how soiled they’d been… Dipping in impure places, reaching for sinful desires, memorizing the feel of scattered scars… White soap on reddened, raw skin, but still you know she’ll never make them clean. 

“Dirty girl,” she continues, shaking her head, scratching at the stubborn nail polish. “Don’t you know how to take care of your skin?” 

Your eyes water, but you don’t make a peep. Lingering in the doorframe, the somber presence of your father towers across the bathroom. “I think it’s fine, honey,” he says, but she doesn’t hear, scraping away. 

“I don’t know where this side of her comes from,” your mother mumbles to herself. Water pours and pours, drowning out your pained moans. “Certainly not me.” 

Your father frowns, scoffing. “Well, not me either.” You throw him a pleading look, but he seems just as overrun. 

“I’ve raised a clean girl.” Your mother scrubs your palm, muttering more than anything coherent. “Not this, not this…” 

But she did. She can scrub all she wants, but she can’t wash away the stain of him. You’ve been touched, rotting under the skin. She can cut it off and you’d still remember the feel of Matty Healy. 

Scorching flames lick up your arms. Your hands burn, barely bones anymore. You clench them, frowning at the sight of them. How funny that water doesn’t cool. That soap doesn’t clean. That your mother tries to control you, and all she does is teach you that fire doesn’t kill. 

—

Your youth leader, Betty, offers you the bag of gummy bears, shimmying it in front of your face in appeal. You blush, more from the special attention than shyness, and dig for a red one. You bite the head off first, letting the colored sugar melt on your tongue for a few seconds. Still, as you swallow it, you can’t help but feel that pit of guilt grow inside your belly. You know your mother doesn’t want you eating candy. 

Betty smiles benevolently at you, like she could read the thoughts on your forehead. You hate that. If people are capable of digging inside your brain— Gosh, the filthy things they could see. 

Do you have that same guilty, hungry look when looking at Matty Healy? Can everyone see? 

Betty winks, popping a gummy bear inside her mouth. “I won’t tell,” she says. 

She’s a good person, capable of teetering that line between devotion and relatability. She looks out for you in Youth Group, asking questions when you grow quiet and fade into the background. She calls you little mouse and you pretend to find it funny. 

“Thanks,” you whisper. Your mouth is coated in sugar. The taste won’t leave your tongue; it nevers does. 

Later, with everyone high off fruit punch and chocolate, when the younger kids are playing with an old PlayStation in the basement, Betty looks at the five teenagers left and says with a trickster smile, “Today, I want to talk about sex.” 

A chortle reverberates through the group. Your stomach drops, some unquenchable void spreading through your muscles. Oh, shit. 

Betty grins, laughing too. She even encourages some more chuckle, drawing them out with her hands. Glancing to the sides, you manage to fake some small, nervous giggle. “I know, I know,” she says playfully. “It’s hard not to laugh. It’s this big, taboo thing no one can mention, right?” Betty doesn’t wait for an answer, but the group settles down nonetheless, paying attention. 

You look around. Are they intrigued? How much do they think about sex? Do they know the burning feel of pleasure, waving through tense muscles with relieving fingers? Have they— Have they seen someone’s face break into ecstasy, rough hand passing on a hard, leaking cock, swollen lips whispering the filthiest promises, cum spilling—

You shake your head to chase the thoughts away. You can’t seem to escape it these days, passing that fateful day at the confessional to the fine comb. Heavy breaths, tingling hands, throbbing cunt; it takes everything in you not to tease a finger over your growing need, starting small like he taught you. 

“But it’s important to talk about it. At your age, the world gets confusing,” Betty starts, suddenly serious. “There’s all these temptations, and these hormones, and it’s normal to think about it. To want.” 

Your heart smashes against your ribs. You’re afraid everyone can hear. Yes, you practically want to scream. I want. I want.

“But,” Betty continues, and once again she offers this warm grin, spreading over her face like she is trying to coax people into this sense of safety, “It’s important not to act on them. Peter 2:11. Dear friends, I urge you, as foreigners and exiles, to abstain from sinful desires, which wage war against your soul. The war is human, but abstaining is the godly thing to do. As tempting as it might be, there will never be anything as satisfying as following God’s path.” 

But has Betty felt the burning lips of Matty Healy stealing secrets from her mouth, coaxing an insatiable appetite out of her tongue? Has she felt his callused fingers on her breast, pinching a sensitive nipple? Did he ask her to get on her knees, panting in the hot air? See if she manages to say no. 

Betty doesn't know how much temptation can satisfy. You cross your arms, falling back on your chair. It’s clear now that no one here has grazed the fingertips of damnation. 

“Timothy 2:22. Flee also youthful lusts; but pursue righteousness, faith, love, peace with those who call on the Lord out of a pure heart. The Lord tries us all in different ways, but listening to his preachings and surrounding yourself with fellow followers is the only way to go. I promise that whatever desire you think you want will never make you feel anything other than dirty and guilty, whereas abstinence, although maybe harder and less tempting, will leave you proud and realized.” 

Dirty. Guilty. Forsaken. Disgusting. Stained. Rotten. It spins in your head. You’re merely the idea of a girl; inside, you’re nothing but darkness, coursing fire smothered under the ashes. 

Maybe she’s right. 

Of course, Betty is right. But there’s this constant ache between your thighs, begging, pleading. Would the depths of hell at least take you out of your misery? You’d drown in its murky waters, surely, lost to the voice of God and His merciful hand. 

But at least you wouldn’t burn anymore. 

“Does someone have a question? This is a safe place: feel free to be honest.”

Samantha, a detestable try-hard with pursed lips and a haughty nose, raises her hand. Betty nods towards her. “I don’t have a question, but I would just remind everyone of Corinthians 6:19. You surely know that your body is a temple where the Holy Spirit lives. The Spirit is in you and is a gift from God. You are no longer your own. It’s important not only to abstain from impure relations with other people, but also yourself.”

You hold back a roll of your eyes.

“Great point, Samantha,” Betty says, and of course Samantha practically beams from her corner of the sofa. “You must treat yourself and your God with respect.” 

Your nails dig into your upper arms, faintly scowling. No one here has ever touched themselves. They don’t know. 

They just don’t fucking know. 

—

Matty is in your history class. He scribbles in black sharpie on his desk — three spots to the left and two back from you. You feel his presence, some sort of magnetic pull you can’t explain. 

Indulgently, you wander a guilty eye over to him. He’s beautiful, face pulled down, slight frown as he concentrates on some desecrating piece of art. One single curl falls on his forehead. You wonder if it tickles him. You remember the feel of the loose, dark mess between your hungry fingers. Your stomach clenches; you’re starved. 

You look at him and he doesn’t look back. His lack of heavy stares feel purposeful, thick in the tense space between you. You’re a ghost to him, a stranger. Sometimes, you daydream of standing up and doing something outlandish. Dance, flip off a teacher, slap his desk, get completely naked. Just to get his attention. Just to make him acknowledge that you’re there. 

It’s silly. It’s wrong, even. You’ve sworn to stay away from Matty Healy in all your evening prayers since that fateful day in church. You mean it—echoes of needy groans and wet skin and she’s coming, she’s right there—most of the time. 

You’ve been touched by the mark of Satan. You fester from the inside, rotting around your bones. You can feel it. 

You turn back to the teacher, penning down the new dates on the blackboard in your pink notebook. You bite the end of your stylo when you’re done, crossing your legs, kicking one just to feel that faint, tantalizing rippling up your thighs. 

It’s part of you. You can’t unroot it without killing everything else. 

—

A pink, fluffy towel wraps around your body. You sit at your vanity, brushing your wet hair, staring in the mirror. The girl stares back at you. 

You frown a little, arm dropping down. Cocking your head, you pass a hand over your right cheek, watching it grow red under your fingers. You press at your collarbone next; handprints of bright white on your skin, then nothing at all. 

You stand from the bench; not a chair, your mother says it ruins a posture. Facing your mirror, you drop the towel. 

There’s a naked body in front of you. Inches of silky skin. Red-toed feet wiggling in the carpet. Legs licking up to hips. A stomach, clenching and unclenching. Peaked breasts. You take your hand— and it is your hand— and spread it over your belly. 

You climb up to your breasts, cupping them. You descend them back down your ribs, dancing on the bone. Your waist expands to your hips. You press into them, into the curve of your ass. 

Finally, you cover the apex of your thighs. The hair tickles your palm; the heel of your hand presses into your clit. You try to ignore the strike of pleasure, although you can’t stop yourself from biting your lip. 

With a single finger, you dip into your pussy. Not even to be impure with yourself. Just to feel the warm entrance, growing faintly wet under your grazing touch. 

It’s my body, you tell yourself. You take your finger out, sucking on it. It’s my body.  

—

You find Matty Healy smoking behind the bleachers. There’s a football practice faintly happening beyond it, balls being kicked around on the fluorescent green grass. You ignore the coach’s metric whistle and the resounding cheers from lovestruck girls. You approach him carefully, hands shyly tucked behind your back. 

You forget what to say. You forget the mere existence of bisyllabic words standing in front of him, a lazy cigarette between his ringed fingers. “Hi,” is the only thing you manage. Matty jumps in surprise, raising his eyes from his dirty sneakers and settling them on you for the very first time in weeks. 

Dark brown, nearly black things. They don’t warm at the sight of you. You didn’t even know they could be so frigid, meant to cut apart— or at the very least bleed. All your nerve endings are aware of him. You gulp, blinking away his knifing glare. 

Finally, he blows a cloud of smoke out of his mouth. “Hey.” Monosyllabic too. At least you feel a little less silly. “What are you doing here?”

What are you doing here? You don’t even know, spotting his dirty frame in the corner of your eyes and feeling your feet moving before you could think anything else. You’re there now, with barely your wits about you, and you can’t help that sinking feeling that you’re about to be eaten alive. 

Why would you ever think you’d be anything but prey to Matty’s biting teeth? 

“I wanted to talk,” you say, because that feels the most safe. 

Still, Matty scoffs, taking a new drag of his cigarette. You wonder if your meat catches between his teeth. If he picks your flesh out of the gaps when he’s done tearing through you. 

“Don’t talk for too long. I could bring you down to hell with me, isn’t that right? Ruin you?” Bitter words spat in your face. Your eyebrows rise. 

For the first time, you’re hit with the fact that Matty Healy might actually be hurt. By you. That he’s a boy, a confused teenager kissing a girl, and not some horned serpent luring you to your doom. It demystifies him. Drenches him in normalcy. 

You clutch your cross, softening your stare. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” 

“Whatever,” he rolls his eyes. “Big bad atheist is forsaking you. Bo-ring.” It’s mean. Cruel and careless. Still, it’s easy to see through him. 

You take the lashing out, smirking at the hit. It’s obvious to you now how open he is, how clear the emotions read across his forehead. How could you have ever wondered what he was thinking? It’s right there, to pick and cherish, to hold between your palms. 

It would mix with the stain of you. Your dirty hands would be indistinguishable from his dirty thoughts. Two spirits catching at the edges, blending into some messy art, wrong and off-putting and yet undeniably beautiful. 

You want to hold him. 

You’re afraid he’d pass through the crack of your fingers like water. Gone before you could bend and sip an indulgent mouthful. Gone before you could let the taste linger in your mouth. Gone before you could swallow him and stick him in your throat. 

Would he leave? You cock your head, considering him. Where would he go?

You feel the ground shift beneath your very feet. The Earth must spin dusty seconds slower. Oxygen must be lighter, dangling your head just slightly over your neck. That’s right, you must be entirely headless. 

“Matty,” you sing with your own saccharine smile, taking a slithering step towards him. 

His jaw ticks, watching you carefully. You stop barely a few breaths away from him, staring him straight in the eyes, unflappable. How good to look at him without shame, without manually blinking between the seconds. 

“You’re not ruining me.” You smile some more, teasing and playful and perhaps just a little bit seductive, if you can manage that at all. Leaning into him some more, you whisper conspiratorially, “I can do that myself.” 

Matty looks away, shaking his head. You spot some faint blush spreading across his cheeks. You bite back a giggle, something overjoyed and overpowered striking through you at the very sight. 

Your hand, ring-free but still sporting that splash of damning scarlet, reaches out for his. You trail two fingers over his, grazing the metal of his index. His eyes snap to the spectacle, engrossed by just the tips of you. You smile victoriously, kidnapping his cigarette. 

With a vague gesture of your hand, you say in a botched raspy tone, “You know, we're all really alone in life, and religion can't save you, and God is a huge dick.” You end your grandiose declaration with a drag of cigarette, blowing the smoke out in his face. You smile proudly as he laughs at your antics. 

The gray disperses around you, finally revealing him. He’s grinning warmly down at you. “Is that supposed to be me?” 

“Nah. Just generally a big bad atheist.” You make sure to coat his words with cheeky taunting which he rolls his eyes at. 

“You’re not funny.” 

“You laughed.” 

Stuck, Matty quickly changes subject, leaning back on the metal structure to peer at you from above. He crosses his arms. “I’m surprised you didn’t cough.” 

You shrug, staring down at the burning cigarette between your fingers. “Maybe it’s not my first cig.” 

When you look back at him, his eyes have grown dark, burning again with that fire that’s become indistinguishable from him. How good to see it again. You feel it seeping under your white sweater, tickling your ribs. You want him there, tearing the bones from you. 

Matty cocks his head. “Is it?” Again, you just raise your shoulders with an air of mystery. He smirks, something dangerous to the edges. Here’s not the boy, but the animal, flashing his teeth like he could sink them in your throat. “What would your God say about that?” 

You hum, refusing to look away from his tense stare. There’s much less teasing when you say, “Probably something disapproving. But then, we all have our vices.” It’s not your fault. Your breath’s caught in your throat. Your head spins, warning bells you delightfully ignore in a back corner of your brain. 

To distract the slight tremble in your hand, you bring the cigarette back to your pouty lips. You take a drag, but it goes badly down your throat, and you cough in the elbow of your other arm. Your cheeks blaze. You peer at him tentatively to find him smirking at you, condescending and smug, clearly having found the answer you so craftily avoided before. 

You scowl, mostly in warning, but that does not stop him from opening his mouth. “Gotta suck it like a straw,” he taunts. His smirk grows wider, more like a grin, “Or a c—” 

“Okay,” you blush further. Images of his— and you on your knees, finally obeying his request, praying real real hard for— You twirl the cigarette in your fingers, feeling the red spread across your face. You mumble, “Don’t be crass.” 

“I thought you liked that.” Must he be so cocky, so detestable. Must he make every cell of yours aware of him, every inch begging for his skin, must he raise your temperature to a feverish degree? Matty seems to read right through you. Perhaps he, too, sees the emotion written across your forehead. “Yes, if I recall correctly, you really, really love when I’m crass. Almost made you com—” 

Your eyes snap to his, daggering him with a glare you don’t mean. You have to stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together, chase that sinfully good reverb to your wet pussy. Triumphant, Matty leans into your ear, breath grazing the sensitive skin as he whispers, “I didn’t even scratch a tenth of the things I want to do to you.” His hand lingers over yours.

In an instant, he’s snapping away from you, stolen cigarette between his fingers. Matty takes an easy drag, pouring the gray cloud over your face in retaliation. A shit-eating grin reigns over his lips.

He’s beautiful. Your insides melt like syrup. He’d try to grab your hips and he’d soak through, sugar sticking on his palms. 

“Save it,” you say finally, taking one step away. You smile. “I like a surprise.” 

He snorts. “I thought I was disgusting.” 

“No,” you shake your head, rolling your eyes like he was very silly, “I said I was.” Giving him a purposeful onceover, you smirk. “Or at least I could be.” 

—

You rub the ringless knuckle with two fingers, still feeling the memory of a ghost on your skin. Kneeling at the end of your bed, you pick at your nails. You think of what to say, of prayers to mouth in the evening. You’ve been sinning, you know this. Forming an hubris, leaning into desires, smoking— smoking with a boy who smirks and pours gray clouds out of his lips and looks you up and down like he could swallow you whole. A boy who’s Matty Healy, a proud sinner, a reckless atheist. 

Still, you kneel at your bed and you find most of your head empty. Your bedroom door is cracked, letting a shine of light pass through. Your father walks; you hear the monotonous steps, loud and heavy and regular. Instinctively, you close your eyes, muttering nothing to yourself. 

“Goodnight, sweetie,” your father says, peeking his head through. You open your eyes in false surprise. 

“Oh, goodnight, Dad.” 

“Sleep well,” he says, and you nod curtly. You’ll dream of filthy things. Scandalous mirages. You’ll imagine skin and hips and breasts; fingers and lips and cock. Licking and biting and devouring. He can’t stop you. 

You grin, bright and wide. “Thanks. You too.” 

Your father keeps the door ajar as he leaves. The hallway light is still on. Your mother is downstairs, busying herself with the dishes. You hear the soothing sound of the running water, a faint hum of a song. 

Beside you, someone knocks at your window. You frown, twisting around, coming face to face with Matty Healy’s scrunched body as he peers through the glass, a smirk on his lips. Your eyes widen. You jump to your feet, heart beating in your chest, looking around like your father would pop through the door at any moment. 

Grabbing the handles, you slam the window up. Matty grins lazily at you, unworried in the face of your clear stress. “What are you doing here?” You whisper-yell to him. 

“Wanted to say hey,” he shrugs easily. 

You blink at him. “At ten PM?”

“You know, it’s still pretty early for us deviants.” He pointedly peers past the window frame, coming back to you with an arched eyebrow. “Can I come in?” 

You bite your lip, flipping back to your half-opened door, to the floating sound of your mother’s song. You should say no. Nothing good can come out of seeing Matty Healy, especially at this hour. 

But a low hum of thrill rings in your belly. Your heart slams in your chest, singing, alive for the first time in too long. You’re electrified, hyperaware. You’re never catching sleep now. 

Fuck it, you think, because you can swear in the sanctity of your own mind. You tiptoe to the door, slowly shutting it. You’re diligent, twisting the doorknob to make sure not a single sound travels back to the kitchen. When your mission is done, you turn back to Matty, a proud, victorious smile on your lips. He grins back easily, already standing in your room, dirty sneakers on your carpet. 

“Hey,” Matty says. 

“Hi,” you answer, hands twisting behind your back. It is impossibly teenage-like. You almost feel like a caricature of yourself. 

“So this is your room?” He continues, speaking softly as to not alert your parents. You half-believe your mother really could magically sense the presence of a teenage atheist boy in her house. Some sharpened instinct for sin. 

“It would appear so.” 

Matty walks in your room, faintly tentative in his steps. He looks around, taking in your vanity holding scattered bottles of perfume and lotion, your gold full-length mirror, the glued flowers to your walls, the fluffy carpet dirtied by his sneakers. The twin bed with pink sheets. The bible on the nightstand. The crucifix watching over you. You flush, looking away embarrassed. 

“Cute,” Matty says. It feels almost derogatory. Cute, like a little girl, someone you coo at and pat the head of fondly. Someone that’s empty brained, not smart enough to follow his wild wordvomit, the boundless theories haunting his mind. You scowl. He seems to see through you, chuckling easily. “I like it,” he insists. 

“No, you don’t.” 

“Well,” he grins. “It’s a little pink for me.” 

“Shut up.” You shake your head, huffing a laugh. 

Matty takes off his shoes, sitting down on your bed. He scoops himself up, resting his back against the wall. A spike of nerves strikes your stomach, but it spreads nicely through your limbs. Between your thighs most of all, clenching around nothing. 

A boy in your bed. How strange. 

“What were you doing?” 

“Praying,” you answer in habit. 

He arches an eyebrow, grabbing your bible. He flips through the pages, half-curious and half-sneering. A small defensive thing beats in your heart. You frown at him. “What were you praying about?” 

“Just—” Now you’re caught off-guard. There’s much valid answers spinning in your head. Peace, health, family. But there’s an insatiable need in you to knock him off his pretentious pedestal. Shake him to his core, just so he knows the ripples passing through your soul whenever he decides to smash into your world. “Sex.”

This definitely shakes him. His hands freeze around the bible, eyes snapping back to you. There’s no shock, per say, but something darker. It calls to you, climbing up your spine. “Oh?” 

You smile. You barely register the step you take towards the bed. “Yes. I’ve been really bad, getting all mixed-up in my impure thoughts. I just had to pray the lust away.”  

Matty inhales slowly, watching you like he could eat through your flesh. You see his chest rise in quick successions. A devilish smirk teases at your lips. “Does it work?” His voice is surprisingly even. 

You sigh. “Does it ever work?” 

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly. God, he’s so easy. “Why don’t you show me?” 

A playful look through your eyelashes. “Yes, Father.” His breath hitches in his throat. Matty grips the bible like a lifebuoy, and, oh, isn’t that just deliciously ironic?

You fall to your knees under his mesmerized stare, elbows resting at the end of your bed, fingers interlocking together. Spine comically straight, eyes innocently closed, you’re a caricature of a devotee. 

You hum, licking your lips. “Lord, I’m sorry I thought about that boy again.” You relish in the breath of air choking from his lips, half a gasp and half a groan. Your eyelids tingle, begging to take a peek at his reaction, but you know your little act requires your eyes closed.

With a fake frown of guilt, you continue, “I shouldn’t have thought of him bending me over my desk in the middle of history class. I shouldn’t have thought of everyone watching us as he flipped my skirt up.” Definitely a groan, low and gravelly from his sinful lips. “Should definitely not have thought of him fucking me in front of all these students— and the teacher, of course— until I’m cockdrunk and drooling on my desk.” Another muffled sound. Rustling of jeans and sheets. You smirk, incapable of keeping the innocent schoolgirl act, devious as you say, “Lord, I’m so sorry I considered touching myself in class thinking of—”

Matty caresses your hair, following the curve of your jaw, gripping your chin between his fingers. You snap your eyes open, breath stolen from your throat. He towers over you, godly, knees siding your elbows. It’s suddenly not funny at all. 

“I forgive you.” 

And then, all of a sudden, you know what it’s like to be clean. Your soul frees of the soil; of the dirt and grime and mud tacking your bones. Your fingertips buzz, carpet-burnt knees forgetting the pain. 

Your head nuzzles in his hand, grinning. Matty’s thumb grazes your lower lip. Instinctively, your mouth slips open, practically inviting him in. 

His thumb dips inside, pressing meanly on your tongue. You suck on his finger, staring up at him through your eyelashes. His ring tastes like metal in your mouth. Something in you loves it; craves the aftertaste of blood. 

Matty breathes heavily, lips parting. Dark eyes discombobulating you. Your head feels slack on your neck. He slips away from your mouth. Drool coats his skin. It dries on your cheek, thumb rubbing it tenderly, hand spreading on your jaw. 

Your eyes are locked with his, almost mesmerized by the dark pupils. You want to drown in the murky waters. That must be where hell lies, alive and rustling. 

Where you want to dive, lose yourself in the intangible. 

Matty smirks down at you. Like he knows. Like he reads the thoughts on your forehead. Little mouse practically screaming your filthy thoughts. 

“You’re quiet,” he says almost matter-of-factly, like an observation he just realized. The smirk betrays him, broadcasting the gleeful cruelty in the words. I’ve shut you up is unsaid, but much felt. 

You resent it. You want to scream, to be heard, to crash into his ribs and burst the bone. Of course, it’s when your thoughts roar the loudest that your tongue curdles, useless in your mouth. Words escape from you, mind spinning with wantwantwantwantwant without needed direction. You’re a mess of a girl, more a tactless binding of contradictions than anything real— yarn and clusters and knots tying staggering opposites under skin. 

But you want, and isn’t it just great to allow yourself to? To desire, to hunger.

Words loose in your throat, you push yourself up from the ground with two hands spreading over his knees. He follows your biblical rise like an avid follower until you loom over him. He has to tip his chin to look you in the eyes. There is something inexplicably thrilling about it. Power surges up your spine. 

Your hands settle on his shoulders. Slowly; time is yours. Matty skips a breath. His fingers find the back of your thighs, a second nature, more a thoughtless impulse than any type of decision. His digging stare is still locked with yours. You wonder if he’s even realized he’s grazing your legs, dancing fingertips on the skin. 

Your eyes trail to his lips. Parted, gasping an irregular pattern, waiting for you. Red like he’s licked the blood off, trying to catch the last trace of you as he tears through your heart.

“I don’t want to be good,” you whisper, because he has to know. Because it has to be said. Because you don’t, and more importantly, you don’t have to. 

Matty smiles. His fingers hook behind your knees— whiplash from how present he suddenly is spreading from the still hot handprints. He tugs you into him, making you land squarely on his lap. You gasp as you settle, gripping his shoulders, digging in the cotton of his washed-out shirt. 

“I don’t want you to be good either,” he says, bending his head towards you conspiratorially, like telling you a secret. Your heart slams against your ribs, calling for him, for his lingering touch, burning even when he’s gone. I want you, I want you. 

You try to catch your breath, to grab onto your heart with two hands and tell it to settle down, but it’s not enough. He’s seeped under the cracks, loosened the knots. You’re embarrassingly wet, dripping for him even if he’s barely given you more than a brush. 

“It’s settled then,” you say with much bravado, traveling your begging hands to his nape, scooping your hips to sit closer to him. You smile playfully, leaning into him. “I’ll be very disgusting.” 

Matty cringes, letting go of your scraped knees. Fear grips you— you act on instinct, taking his wrist and puppeteering him to your waist, wrapping him around you, interlacing him before he can slip away from your fingers. “I want you,” you say, crystal clear. 

Matty considers you, perfectly controlled if it wasn’t for the betraying blush pinking his cheeks. Two fingers dip under the hem of your pajamas, thumb rubbing at your rib, pinky resting on your hip annoyingly still. It ripples in your body, toes curling like some prophetic foreteller. You throb around nothing, biting your lip. 

His other hand ghosts over your collarbone. The non-touch is still enough to race your poor heart, drunk on the presence of him. He watches your breath quicken, chest rising and falling, then flips to your eyes. “Do you really mean that?” He asks, unsettlingly serious. You nod, once again lost for words. His fingers skislope down the bone. 

He lands on the cross dangling from your neck, sitting perfectly straight on your chest, the crowning ornament of a paper girl. Your breath catches; the world stops. He arches an eyebrow at you, hooking into the gold chain. “Do you really mean that?” 

Turning points, life forking in two like the tongue of a snake. Possibilities on the tip of your teeth, so close you can taste it. 

“I want you—” Catching the chain, he tugs you to his lips, siren to your sailor. Your mouths lock, frenzied delight spinning around your neck, scrambling any remaining wit. Yes, you think, parting your lips, finally.  

You sigh into his mouth, from relief or pleasure or perhaps the vertiginous feeling of standing on the cliff of the unknown, unstable ground rippling under your feet. But Matty is solid under you— your hands rack through his curls, softer than you remember them, gripping the tangible, the steady. 

His hand at your side digs into your hip, drawing you square on his hard cock. You gasp, rolling your head, lingering in the first electroshocks of bliss biting into your limbs. Like jumping into cold waters on the hottest day of summer— shocked from the contrast, giddy from the refreshing cool. You grind into him again, a happy laugh spilling from you. 

Matty doesn’t waste opportunities. He finds your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your pulse. He climbs up to your jaw, biting then licking away the ache. You shiver, trapped between his arms.

The cross rests in the center of his palm still, pretty and cool. He could tear it apart if he wished. Tear you straight to the bone. Instead, he runs a thumb over the metal, over the bloody edges of you. You drip on him, wax candle melting from his flame, but you can trust he’ll lick it clean. 

You take him by the cheeks, drawing him back to your lips. You’re already panting. The room blurs around you; your hip exists because he touches it, because it’s him that does it. You roll them against his, reveling in the choked groans from deep in his throat. 

Matty lets go of the cross, finding your breast instead. He pushes down your camisole, revealing your peaked nipples. The back of your mind half-thinks of being self-conscious, but he pinches one, rubbing it, making you moan, and suddenly there’s no thoughts at all but his name. His mouth rips from yours. He bends down, licking a nipple with an expert tongue. A strike of pure ecstasy waves through you. Your fingers twist into his mane, encouraging him, furiously humping his lap. 

Matty can’t make his mind up— he vacillates between wanting to devour your tits, biting the underboob meanly, kissing it better; between watching your face as you whimper, frown digging in your eyebrows as you concentrate on not making much sound; between kissing you, tongue slipping through your lips; between wrinkling his face close, letting himself get washed in the euphoria. 

In the end, he twists you, laying you down on the bed, him over you. It’s a practiced maneuver— you want to scowl, but he settles deliciously between your thighs and now you’re too busy rolling your eyes into your skull. 

“Beautiful,” he says, short-winded, flicking between your face and your untidy body, pajamas barely covering any flushed skin. You redden, chin dipping shyly. 

Matty burrows underneath your tank top, uncovering your skin inch by inch as he slowly climbs up your waist. His calluses dance on your ribs, branding iron to your vestal body, something to linger when he’s gone. You breathe harshly, staring up at the ceiling, trying to stay very still. 

He passes the shirt beyond your head, hair falling through the neck. He throws it over the bed carelessly, like it didn’t exist now that you weren’t wearing it. 

It’s not like it was occupying its function as a shirt before, more a bunched belt around your waist than anything. Still, you feel self-conscious, uncovered like this in front of him. Topless. Naked. You have the impulse to cover your breasts, hide away from his baring stare. It tickles at the back of your mind. 

“I wanna hear you,” Matty whispers, ghosting up your stomach, eyes following his hand religiously. “You had so much to say before.” 

You wrinkle your nose, shaking your head. It’s all impossibly real. You don’t know how to do any of this. 

Matty smiles reassuringly. “What do you want?” He spurs you on, thumb finding your nipple and circling it. You moan, arching into his palm. 

You don’t know what you want, you just do. Everything. Anything. As long as it’s sinful; as long as it’s worth the damnation. 

“Angel, what do you want?” He whispers in your ear, biting your lobe, unwilling to let it go. You try to contain a shiver, but your legs still part instinctively for him. He smiles at that, something crooked to it, something raw. 

“I’m not an angel,” you say petulantly. 

He’s hard between your sticky thighs. An atheist is kissing your neck where the chain meets the skin. You’re— You’re in your goddamn childhood bed, on the fluffy pink sheets you got for your ninth birthday for Christ’s sake. Nothing about you is innocent, or pure, or angelic. 

You’re poisonous, and dirty, and hungry.  

Of course, Matty doesn’t seem to agree. He pouts condescendingly at you, trailing the tip of his fingers—callused and hard worked and meant to burn, but oh so gentle on your belly — lower, near the waist of your pajama shorts. 

“Is that so?” He says, overly cocky and teasing, practically mocking the very words out of your mouth. Still, you nod. At that, he smiles wider, shadows catching his teeth. “Well, prove it.” 

His hand meets the band of your underwear. You stop your eyes from rolling inside your skull, from scrunching your face in pure delight. You want to see him. See him as he watches you, licking his lips, following every rising chest and huffing lips and trembling thighs. See him as he takes you in, as he stares like he wishes to memorize the very edges of you, like he wants to swallow you whole. 

God, you want to be consumed. 

Your nails dig into his shoulders. You push. “I’ve done my evening prayers,” you say with a moan. “Your turn.” Matty laughs, but he’s going down your body obligingly. 

His lips graze your skin with head-swooning attention. He kisses down your neck, pressing a demure peck on your cross, like handshaking the Lord. A blush reddens your cheeks. 

Your chest heaves, trying to quiet down your screaming heart, the overwhelming anticipation spreading through your body. Every particle of you is aware of him, of what’s coming, and you sense an incriminating flutter invading you. Your thighs close around his waist, softly grinding onto him, biting your lower lip. 

Matty kisses the top of your breasts, gently biting your nipples. He’s diligent on this part of your body, lingering there happily. You can’t seem to swallow down the striking pleasure, quietly whining as he sucks and licks and twists. 

Your mother must be downstairs still. Your father is only a few rooms over.  They could hear, or worse walk in, find you half naked with a boy between your thighs. What would they think? What would they say? What would they do? Scrub your skin off under the burning shower, scrape and scrape until you’re raw, as though you could ever forget the memory of his lips on you? A furrow dents your eyebrows harshly. You bite your lip, relishing in the pain spreading down your chin. 

You can be depraved as long as you’re punished for it. A taste of sin if it slashes down your throat. 

You’ve barely grown accustomed to him that he’s gone already, moving down your waist, ribs a xylophone to his tongue. A small line of hair scatters over your belly. He follows the path, lips floating over your skin. You flex under him, excited and nervous and impossibly hot. 

Matty kisses just above the hem of your pajamas, hand digging into your hip. He looks up at you and inexplicable pleasure grips you. He’s— He’s majestic. Better than some God; prettier, too. 

Dark eyes, red lips, frenzied hair. You rack through the mess of curls, tugging as encouragement. He’ll make doom worth something. A dust of a moment traded for eternity feels awfully fair when he’s looking at you like this. 

Matty’s fingers hook into the shorts. He pulls them down your legs, scratching the silky skin as he goes. Once again, the scrap of fabric is thoughtlessly discarded as soon as it slips out of your feet. 

You’re in your underwear. In front of Matty Healy. You take a few seconds to attempt to wrap your head around the fact, but it’s nearly impossible with his tough fingers climbing back up your shaking legs, approaching your thighs. 

Need throbs inside of you. You crave him. 

“Is this what you wanted?” He says, approaching the apex of your thighs. 

You moan, face clenching, toes curling in the idea of what is coming. Your body holds its breath, anticipation running down its veins. Something about this moment is inherent; your mind barely understands the implications, but your legs retain the memory of a pleasure you’ve never had. Remaining sins from Eve herself. This is millions of years in the making. 

“Love, is this what you want?” 

You huff, resting on your elbows to look at him. “No,” you bite. “I want more.”

Matty laughs, kissing your hip bone just above your underwear. You choke on a breath, shiver dancing up your spine. “Like this?” He whispers, cheeky and teasing because he knows it’s not. 

Your hips rise towards him, falling back uselessly. “No.”

He hums, finding the twin bone, giving it a sweet mirror kiss. You whine, head rolling in frustration. “How about this?” He’s so proud. 

“I want—” You sigh, words fleeing down your throat in a cruel game of hide and seek. The chasm of the unknown reels under your toes. You frown. “I want—” 

“Yes?” Matty bites your hip, smiling knowingly at you as he licks it clean. 

You stare at his dancing eyes, at that damn curl of his falling across his forehead like lightning, at his tongue, pink and soft and— “I want you to lick me.” You’re too proud to be embarrassed at the dirty words. The idea already calls to you, spinning deliciously in your head. Matty grins at you. You push his head, hand still firmly tucked in his hair, lining him up to your center. “Just—” You moan as his chin bumps your ignored clit, “ruin me.”

Matty doesn’t need to be told twice— thank God. He slips your underwear off your legs. You have no time to grow shy at being completely, entirely exposed because he’s pushing your thighs open the next second, licking your clit. 

Your hips jump. A cry slips your lips. You slap a hand over your mouth, heart racing. Again, you can barely finish wondering if your mother heard that Matty is sucking on your bud. Thankfully your palm catches the moans freefalling thoughtlessly from your mouth. You can’t seem to hold them back— it’s beyond reason, beyond you. It listens to the heated bliss soaring through your limbs and nothing else. 

You’re the apple and the snake and the first woman. You’re multitudes stretching under your skin. You’ve got a man between your thighs, eating you. The thought doesn’t seem real, although his tongue proves otherwise, languid and sure and flicking. 

You can tell he’s following the same rhythm he ordered in the dark box of the confessional, ironically close to a priest prescribing penance for mortal sins. Slow and gentle and teasing; meant to boil your blood, get you begging. 

As though you’re not dripping on the sheets for him. As though you’re not dizzy with want. As though you’re not holding back screams. 

Still, he licks and sucks at your clit, swiping and circling on the nerves. He cruelly ignores your entrance clenching around nothing, practically weeping for him. His nails dig into the meat of your thigh like he wants to, though. Like he has to stop himself from doing so. 

You’ve never had more than a lick of sacramental wine, but you feel drunk already. The bed is your island, spreading across the world. Sweat sticks your hair to your forehead. You grind into him desperately, chasing that syrupy ecstasy coaxing through your veins. What is the point of blood? You’d rather live off the sweetness. 

You rack your fingers through Matty’s mane, brushing it back from his forehead as though he needed to see to best work. “Matty,” you say, high-pitched and desperate, “please.” 

“You just had to say, pet,” he whispers, coming out of your thighs out of breath, slick coating his chin. You flush, thinking of why. Devoted, he throws one of your legs over your shoulder, diving back for more. 

Thumb rubbing at your clit, he runs his tongue over your folds. “Fuck, Matty—” You bite into your lip, face scrunching to keep in the visceral words screaming in your mind. 

This is what people have been hiding, keeping firmly locked behind rings and hushed whispers, spelling it out so you wouldn’t put the letters together. Endless euphoria waving, razing, ravaging. You get it now. 

It’s too much power to give to a girl. Because that’s what you are, in the end. Just a girl. 

Matty laps at you, burning tongue finding the apex of all your desires and rubbing a frantic rhythm against it. He moves purposefully, knowingly, as though he already learnt all the secrets even you haven’t discovered. 

Your head rolls back. You bite your hand, tearing through the palm lines, crushing under your teeth whatever future a fortune teller would’ve read in the fated dents. The path bursts; you’re soaring through the sky— or perhaps freefalling. The two feel awfully the same, heaven and hell intertwined until you can’t distinguish which cardinal point you’re following.

Pornographic, sopping sounds ring through the room. He groans against you, reverberating in your cunt. You clench around his tongue, hips flapping wildly. Pressure builds in your belly. Your limbs tense, electricity coursing through the lines. “Matty, I—”

Who are you to wreck God’s perfectly curated plan? Still, you tug at Matty’s curls, grinding into his face, heel digging into his back. Ecstasy wipes your mind clean.

“I know, angel,” Matty moans. He ducks back single-minded, licking into you with a frenzied passion. Quick and strong, thumb pressing on your clit meanly; he devours you. You feel feverish. You feel sick. 

You’re on fire. 

Let you burn down. Catch the sheets, the fuzzy carpet, the whole goddamn house. You’re tired of smothering fire, like a fickle flicker of flame wouldn’t bring it back in an instant. You want to blaze. You want to melt. 

Infinity smears your tongue. You are but a body, and it breaks apart. 

You bite your palm raw holding back a scream. Euphoria erupts under your skin. The yarn rips; you fall apart on his tongue, scattered sins bursting around the room. You tug at his hair cruelly, the last remaining hold on reality as your vision blurs. 

How good. That is all you think for a blink of a moment. How good. 

The debris settles around you. You lay in ruins, catching your breath, laughing softly. This is a fucking orgasm. 

All those talks of sin, of flesh, of ashes. Of apples and girls and flames. All those prayers you’ve done, fingers intertwined as you mouthed false promises. All the guilt you’ve carried with you. For existing, for wanting, for being a girl with a body. 

You should feel dirty. Matty Healy has just eaten you out until your brain leaked out of your ears. You should be disgusting. 

Instead, you feel oddly free. 

Matty peeks out of your legs, face wet and dripping with you. He wipes at it. You finally let go of your tyrannical hold on his hair, brushing away the strands as an apology. He frowns, asking worriedly, “Are you crying?” 

You pat at your cheeks, finding the telltale tears. “Oh,” you say, somehow surprised. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess.” You wipe at them furiously, flushing under his baring stare. How embarrassing. 

He settles beside you, tucking your side onto him with a lazy hand on your waist. The contact is reassuring, somehow. You nestle into him closer. “Why?” He says, trailing a finger on your skin. 

“Just—” You blush harder, looking away abashed. “I don’t know.” 

“Did I…” His eyebrows furrow further. Your heart jumps. 

“No,” you say, wide-eyed. “You were great. It was—” You wrinkle your nose, suddenly ashamed to be talking about all this. Like he wasn’t buried between your thighs just a few seconds ago. “It was really good.” God, you just don’t know what to say. “Thank you,” you add, unsure. 

Matty laughs. “You’re welcome, love.” He runs a hand through your hair, tucking a strand behind your flushed ear. “What is it, then?” 

“I guess—” You bite your lip, trying to find words for something instinctive, thoughtless. “I was just really happy. And free. Like I’d broken through something.” You shake your head. “I don’t know. It was my first time, obviously. It’s… new.” 

“Good new?” 

You smile at his tentative words clearly searching for validation. It makes you a little glad. That it’s not just another day for him, certain and cool and all knowing. That there’s doubts just like you, some pubescent anxiety. 

You nod. “Good new.” 

Although you mean it, something in you still spins with nervosity. It’s new; freeing and hot and fresh. But it’s also new; strange and different and unknown. Now your thoughts are filled with questions. If he liked it too. If you were too loud. If you weren’t enough. If you tasted bad. If you looked good. If you should have done more. If he expects more. If he likes you. 

If it’s it, then. If you’re forsaken. If there’s no going back now. If you should feel guiltier. If you should care less. 

There’s no wrong way to feel, yet it seems you can’t find the right one either. Your brain goes through gymnastics, finding a new worry to latch onto, volleying between contradictions. 

You are free. You are guilty. You don’t know how to reckon with either. 

Matty seems to sense the overthinking smoking out of your ears. His fingers graze down to your naked hip, drawing a slow pattern on the skin. “What?” He breathes in your ear. 

“Nothing,” you shake your head. 

That’s what you want to feel. Nothing. His calluses press on your skin. You feel your walls flutter, already awoken by his ghosting touch. 

You know a way to get there: mind wiped blissfully clean. With a purpose, you hook a hand behind his neck, tugging him back to your mouth. Matty sees you coming, lips parted in readiness, tongue slipping in hotly.��

You moan against him, already feeling yourself boiling under your skin. It’s an instinctive reaction. He’s barely licking into your mouth that you’re already in a frenzy, heart slamming against your ribs for more. 

You comb a hand through his unruly curls, scratching at his scalp. He shivers against you, letting go to breathe a relieved groan before finding your lips with renewed fervor. You like the power it gives you. You repeat the movement over and over, relishing in the smallest reactions you can coax out of him. Not a marble man; he crinkles just like you. 

He spreads his hand under your back, drawing you to your side, titling his head to kiss you better. His fingers dance on your spine, unshy and learning. You feel awfully naked, all of sudden. Laying in your childhood bed, bare other than the cross still dangling from your neck, now tangled somewhere in your hair far from sight. With a boy who’s very much dressed. 

Attempting to rectify the situation instead of having another spout of anxiety, you sneak your fingers under the hem of his shirt. He’s warm and familiar. You’ve somehow learnt the shape of him in the one time you indulgently held him— or perhaps it’s been all those dreams you’ve replayed over and over. 

Still, you’re excited to stop touching blindly and see. Climbing up his chest, you raise the band tee, feeble and immaterial in your greedy hands. Matty leaves your lips, shortwinded as he reaches behind him and tugs the shirt off. It falls in the sea rumbling beneath your bed, lulling you softly. 

He tries to bend back to kiss you again, but you halt him with a hand on his shoulder. Your stare rakes across his chest; skinny and lanky; faint, forgotten scars you know the feel of by heart; a delicious trail of hair feathering down his stomach; a tattoo kissing his skin. Your heart squeezes in your chest. He’s magnificent. Your lips burn, needing to touch him, to lick down his belly and feel him tense and flex for you. 

Your eyes snap back to his. He’s grown almost self-conscious, blushing under your gluttonous peer. You relish in the sight, licking your bloody teeth. You want him, through the flesh and bones. 

“You’re pretty,” you say finally. 

Matty shakes his head, chuckling. “You can’t call a man that.” 

You pout meanly at him. “Big bad atheist can’t be pretty?” 

With an exasperated roll of his eyes, Matty bends to your neck, kissing just under the jaw. His hair tickles your temple. You giggle cheerfully, letting him push you back into the bed. “Will you ever let me live it down?” He whispers, hot breath blowing on your electrified skin. You shiver, growing wetter just at that low tone of his. He knows this, smirking as he leaves a burning path down the curve. 

You hum, trying to gather some sort of wit. “Depends,” you say, but it already falls short, considering how out of breath you sound, practically purring. “Are you gonna start believing in God?” 

Matty snaps away from your neck, propping himself on his elbow as he watches you with affront. You can’t help laughing, wrinkling your nose as the sheer offense on his face. “I’ve got some great quotes underlined if you want,” you add playfully, pointedly looking at the bible resting on the bedside table. Quite precariously too, half of it hanging in mid-air from Matty’s careless throw. 

Matty gets on his knees, staring down at you unflinchingly. Like this, towering over your still laying body, he almost looks godly. “Yeah?” He says, grabbing the bible, cracking it open. “Should we read some right now?” 

You would usually love a chance to rip apart Matty’s skull. Find the unhealed wounds. Teach him words to plaster over. But he’s shirtless, and pretty— to hell what you can call a man, and you’re naked and wet. 

This is not the time for bible reading. You want his mouth busy with something else. 

Of course, Matty is already squinting at the pages. “Your breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle.” His voice was made for music; it comes melodic out of his mouth, like a tempo, like a harmony, like a poem. He looks up from the pages, staring down at you with an arched eyebrow. 

You blush, suddenly hyperaware of your peaked breasts lying openly for him. “Of course you would fall on Song of Solomon on your first try,” you mutter. It’s like sin calls to him, some singing on his fingertips when he runs through the pages. 

He snorts. One hand leaves the weathered hardcover, instead grazing up your thigh. You can’t stop a shiver, feeling the hair rise where he touches. Instinctively, you spread them— just slightly, an unconscious reaction reverberating to your legs. Still, Matty smirks, proud and knowing. 

“You know, you might be onto something. This sounds like my kind of book.” And then, to prove his point, he recites, “Blow on my garden, that its fragrance may spread abroad. Let my lover come into his garden and taste its choice fruits.” How dirty pious words sound from his profane mouth. How he twists the shape of them, warps their meaning. Matty, again, looks up to your reaction, shit-eating grin cracking his face. “I think we just got done with that.” 

You flush even harder. Your head spins with memories— not daydreams, not fantasies, not vestiges from your slumber, but memories, real and undeniable. His head between your thighs, licking into your cunt, starved and gluttonous. You throb uselessly, dripping on the sheets. “It’s not—” 

Matty’s climbing fingers find your cunt, and suddenly you have no words to say. You gnaw on your lip, whining through the shocking wave of bliss hitting you. He gathers your telltale wetness, as though to prove some sick knowledge that you’re enjoying this. That he’s tearing through your beliefs with nails and teeth. 

That you won’t ever look at those pages the same again, just like you can’t catch a peripheral peek of the confessional without straightening in your seat. 

An opportunist, Matty spreads the slick to your clit, rubbing the tender thing slowly. You moan, throwing your head back, dropping your thighs completely open for him. His calluses, rough and mean, are heavenly on your bundle of nerves. 

“Do you want more?” 

You’re not sure he means fingers or passages, but still, you open your eyes, whining, “Yes.” You raise your hips to his palm, falling back on the sheets with a pout. “Please.” 

Matty stops. You clench around nothing, unsatisfied. He flips through the pages, slick fingers drying on the bible’s hardcover. You want to look away— it’s filthy. But they’re so long, spindly and wide-knuckled, and you can’t stop staring. 

Matty finds a page, balancing the bible on his forearm as he finds your upper thighs again. “Now the serpent was more crafty than any other animal that the Lord God had made.”

You almost want to roll your eyes. How cliche. But Matty is teasing a finger against your wet entrance, and you’re rolling your eyes for a much different reason. 

Matty lingers in this moment, circling your clit with his thumb. He watches the spectacle, following his hands, your cunt, your breasts, your face religiously. 

Swallowing harshly, he continues, “He said to the woman, ‘Did God say, ‘You shall not eat from any tree in the garden?’” 

You nod, encouraging him on. For further argument, you wrap your own hand around his wrist, grinding softly into his fingers. Matty licks his lips, distracted again. 

One finger enters you. Slow, to make sure you get used to the feel. Your face scrunches close to hold the cries in. Your cunt flutters with pleasure, begging for him, for more. He’s much longer than your own, but there’s barely any resistance. It’s still not enough to completely splinter you, unravel you to sweet nonexistence. 

Slithering around his wrist in a vice-like grip, you feel the need to tell him, “I want more. Please, Matty.” 

He thrusts in and out of you languidly, sopping sounds resonating in the quiet room. Your neck goes slack. He doesn’t seem to get the crux of the request, however, because he bends back to the book, “The woman said to the serpent, ‘We may eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden; but God said ‘you shall not eat of the fruit of the tree that is in the middle of the garden, nor shall you touch it, or you shall die.’” 

You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree. You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree. You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree. You shall not— But it’s too late for you, isn’t it? 

You’re famished. 

You press his hand into you, locking with his dark eyes. “More.”

Finally understanding, Matty dips a second finger into you. This time, the stretch is uncomfortable, wider than you’ve ever known. You frown at the new feel, trying to clench and unclench to get used to him. He’s patient, waiting, rubbing a delicious pattern on your bundle of nerves to loosen you up. 

“You’re so good for me,” he whispers, and your lips grow slack with a proud smile. 

When you finally feel ready, you grind into his palm. Matty thrusts his fingers, curling them just so. You’re losing your mind, organs pushing against your skin to make place for the invading ecstasy. It’s poisonous, eating through your veins, but you must bottle it up. Being quiet is the most sadistic torture you’ve ever know. 

“But the serpent said to the woman,” Matty’s rhythm falters as he focuses on the words again, “‘You will not die; for God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.’” 

Your legs kick wildly on the sheets. Matty is unwavering, steady and consistent, fingers fucking into you. Your free hand, not knowing whether to grip the sheets or rack through your sweaty hair, finds his knee instead. Your nails dig into the jeans, like he deserved punishment for making you feel like this. Good and evil. 

“So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food,” Matty’s breathing is hitched, stuck somewhere in the back of his throat. Words come out rough from his lips, yet still just as poetic, just as holy, “and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise.” He smirks at his emphasized words. 

Like you don’t agree with a full heart and a full mind. Like you don’t crave to take a bite of him. 

Like you don’t want to consume him and be consumed by him. 

Like you’re not letting him defile you with the Lord’s words coating his tongue. Like you’re not needing that very tongue. 

Licking his teeth, Matty stares at you. Can he see the thoughts spinning through your mind? Can he see you? “She took all of its fruit and ate.” And you did.

God, you did. 

You can’t take it anymore. You reach for him, dragging him back to your pleading lips. Again, Matty throws the bible beyond the bed, uncaring for even holy texts. How easy for him. To make religion stop existing— something for the rest of the world, but not these sheets, not you. 

He lets go of your mouth, panting above you. Faster, not to chase some quicker end but to watch your face break apart for him, he thrusts in and out of you. It’s sinfully good. You claw at his bare shoulders, glad to have some skin to sink your nails in. 

You want to leave him permanently changed. Scarred. Because you will be. God, you will be. 

Moaning against his lips, heart beating to the rhythm he fingers into you, brain surely melting out of your ears, you hear a knock at your door. 

You gasp. Eyes comically wide, you freeze in the bed. Matty goes still inside of you. 

“Honey?” Your mother calls, sounding worried. 

Your eyes flip to Matty, sending him an alarm call. He looks pointedly to the door, nudging his chin towards you. You miraculously understand. Racking your throat, you say, “Yes?” It comes choked out of you, clearly out of breath, and you cringe at the fact. At least it’s an answer. 

“Are you okay?” She continues. “I heard a thud.” 

Your face wrinkles in annoyance. Matty sighs above you. That fucking bible. How comical that it’s this and not Matty’s literal tongue between your thighs that will bring your downfall. 

“I’m fine,” you say. “I just— knocked something over.” 

After a torturous moment of silence, time and destiny hanging in the air waiting for the final blow, your mother finally answers, “Okay.” 

God is real. Some higher above is watching over you if, for the first time in your life, your nosy mother chose to drop a line of questioning instead of following it to its fatal end. Your eyes find Matty, grinning in surprise. You have to stop yourself from giggling giddily. He smiles back, nosing your neck. 

He moves between your legs again, a slower rhythm, building back to what once was. Pleasant tingles spread up your belly. You frown, biting down a wait or a moan. Your mother can’t be gone yet. She pesters incessantly. Although, if you were to make a noise, she would definitely burst into the room, nose sniffing sin. 

You’re right. “Well, go to sleep soon. It’s late.” You dagger Matty with a stare, trying to send him a telepathic message. She’s there. She’s right there. 

But Matty just smirks against your jaw, curling his fingers perfectly. You arch your back, slapping a hand over your mouth. Fire courses through you, pleasant and all-consuming. 

“Uh-huh,” you manage, spit out between two smothered groans. 

“You need your beauty sleep,” she continues on, always one to martel a point home. “Remember those dreadful eyebags you had a week ago? We don’t want a repeat of that.” 

You were studying for a test, but that reply is too lengthy to come out of your trembling lips. Matty is now shamelessly thrusting into you. He’s risen to his elbow to properly see you struggle through monosyllabic words, like watching you tortured was a personal pleasure. 

Stress and pleasure coaxes through your body with this twisted excitement. Something sick in you likes the idea that your mother is right there, one door away. That if she found you in bed, getting fingered by a filthy boy who laughs in church, she’d faint on the spot. That you’re spitting in her face and she doesn’t even know it. 

You won’t have a wink of sleep. You’ll sport the eyebags proudly. 

Smiling, your legs close around Matty’s hand, trapping him there. He’s so fucking smug and proud, bending down to suck at your nipples. You want to scream. You need to. He’s so— so perfect. If God is real, he made him for you. Built him out of your rib. 

“Yes,” you manage out difficultly, sticky and ill-fitting out of your mouth. 

“I put some spoons in the freezer to help with the puffiness. Of course, nothing is better than prevention.” You can practically hear your mother nod to herself, snobbish and all-knowing. “Good night’s sleep is the best makeup, that’s what I’ve always said.” 

Matty smiles up at you as he bites on your nipple. You roll your eyes, holding back a laugh. “Yes.” Your eyes dig into his dark stare. Yes, yes, yes, yes! is what you mean. 

“Well, I will leave you to it then.” Your mother finally declares. “Goodnight, sweetie. Sweet dreams.” 

Matty’s thumb swipes at your clit in a frenzy. “Night!” High-pitched, transforming into a cry you cruelly kill behind your palm. 

When you hear the steps diminishing in the hallway, you slap Matty’s shoulders. “Asshole,” you bite, but the insult loses all meaning when you’re laughing, rolling your hips into his hand. 

“D’you reckon she knows the ‘sweet dreams’ will be of me?” 

You up your nose. “That’s awfully presumptuous of you.” 

Matty laughs, rolling the both of you. He lays on his back as you straddle him, fingers still firmly buried to the knuckles inside of you, hand practically sprouting from his jeans. It’s— It’s phallic, sort of. You blush at the new position, at the feel of his actual hard cock pressing into you, too.

To get you going, Matty’s free hands dig into your ass, puppeteering you to grind into his fingers. You roll your shoulders, shiver dancing down your spine. White heat coils in your belly. 

“Am I wrong?” 

And he’s not, of course. But you don’t want to just let him win. 

Hips rolling on his palm, clit deliciously hitting his wrist, you hold yourself up with two hands on his chest. “There’s a lot of profane men out there.” 

A displeased groan leaves his lips. He wipes his face clean of telltale emotions, cocking his head at your far too proud grin. “Is there?” He whispers dangerously, eyes twinkling. Your belly flexes, some sick thrill at the sight of him, of what he could do. 

To egg him on, you nod eagerly. “Tons. Enough to make my head spin.” 

Matty reaches up, hooking his fingers into the cross tangled in your messy hair. He frees it, letting it dangle between your collarbones, dancing to the sinful rhythm of your hips. He watches the show for a second, enthralled by the necklace, breasts bouncing as you— you ride him. 

Because that’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? Fucking yourself into his fingers, chasing some new mind-wiping orgasm. Peering down at him through your eyelashes, with his swollen lips and his unruly halo and his dark eyes; some fallen angel orchestrating your dive. 

“D’you think about them a lot?” You can feel him set the trap, dropping pomegranate seeds for you to follow between each word.

“Oh, all the time,” you lie, smile loose and languid on your flushed face. 

Matty’s smirk cuts through his face. “And do they make you wet like this?” He lingers in a quiet moment to prove his point, the sopping sounds of your cunt ringing through the room, heavy breaths harmonizing. You have some leftover decency to blush. “Do they have you purring and dripping on their hands? Moaning so sweetly for them?” Your throat closes on itself, attacked by waves of dirty pleasure. You clench around him, shamelessly scorching for him. Robbed of words, you manage a nod. “Yes?” Matty repeats. Smaller, distracted by the resonating bliss throbbing inside of you, you nod again. 

His voice goes low, rough but implacable. Meant to be listened to, to be obeyed. “Well, that’s not very pious of you, is it?” 

A rush of euphoria. You shake your head fervently, still thrusting into him. “No, Father,” you whimper.  

He cocks his head. “What shall I do with an impure girl like you?” Your eyes close, letting a wave of rapture swim through you. How good he makes the words sound— not mean, not real. 

You hit your hand beside his face, bending over him. It hits a new spot inside of you, sweet moans falling through shamelessly. You grab his free hand, spreading it across your bare throat. 

Matty groans at that. His fingertips dance on your skin, repositioning correctly over your arteries. “You sure?” He pants. 

Again, you nod eagerly. “I want you to.” To unexist. To unmake. To unravel. To unlearn. 

Matty digs his fingers into your neck, pressing meanly. Headrush, pure and saccharine. Your lips part in bliss, eyes rolling in your skull, hips rolling into him. The world swims around you, soupy, lazy. The tips of you burn. You want his handprints on your collar like some branding iron. Want to be his, want to be known.

Matty lets go of you. The world snaps back to reality all at once. You've never been high either, but this must be awfully close to it. Everything is frenzied, electrified and crazed. Exhilaration strikes through you. You laugh at the contrast. You flutter around his fingers; he curls them into you, like an unsaid good girl, some physical sort of praise. 

“How many guys could do this to you?” His hand still ghosts around your neck. 

“Only you,” you say, revering. “It’s only ever you.” 

A flash of elated grin splashes across his face, but it’s wiped clean for a cruel pout. “Oh, poor little girl,” he tsks. “You lied to me?” 

“I’m sorry,” you say, taking his hand and trailing it up your lips. Staring down at him, unflinching, unwilling to blink, you suck him into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around his fingers. He groans, head falling back tortured. 

“What shall I do with you?” He says roughly. It seems like a genuine question, like he doesn’t quite know. You giggle, laugh choked by his digits. You revel in the fact. To overwhelm Matty Healy himself. To be too much girl, too much hands and skin and hips. To wrap around him. 

Freeing him with a ‘pop’ sound, spit sticking between your tongue and his fingers, you bring them between your thighs, joining its hardworking twins. Wet and crowded, he rubs at your clit instinctively. 

“That’s not quite a punishment now, is it?” He smiles at that. Your free hand presses against his shoulder again, straightening your spine. He’s at a very focused spot between your legs, but you still feel him everywhere. On your stomach, your breasts, your neck. Under your very skin. Everywhere he’s touched, everywhere he’s merely grazed— hell, sometimes you almost believe he’s lodged himself under your lungs, breathing with you.

You shake your head. Feverish elation spreads through you. “Don’t want to be punished.” 

Matty softens at that, toffee eyes growing warm. You could sink into them. “No?” 

You don’t. And, better, you don’t even know why you should be. Why be punished for wanting? You might be a poor collection of sins stretching under a girl, but the names of them fade from your mind as quickly as his thumb swipes at you. Faceless monsters. Unfanged. Uncovered. 

You can have everything you want. You deserve to. 

Staring at him, you grin shamelessly. “Can you eat me again?” 

Matty has never seemed happier than to do anything. For a profoundly rebellious person, he smiles at your demand, boyish and eager to please. You expect him to roll you over, but he takes you by the thighs instead, pulling you over his face. 

You kneel above him, hovering awkwardly, unsure of where to rest. What if you break him? 

You tell him as much, to which he answers, “Well, what a way to die.” 

You roll your eyes. “I’m serious.” 

“Don’t worry, love,” Matty smirks, although you can’t really see it when your cunt is blocking the vision. “I’ll haunt you afterwards. Let you know which one of us is right.” Something in you secretly likes that. That he’d linger for you, seep into your routine. 

It hits you almost in surprise. That some part of you might actually like him. Beyond what he makes you feel, beyond the taboo, beyond the serpent smile. 

You don’t have time to meditate on that. He distracts you instantly, peering at you as he whispers, “My choice fruits.” He turns his head at that, kissing your thigh. 

You laugh, a small shiver grazing your spine at his tender lips. “Shut up,” you say, amused, still chuckling. 

Soft and chaste turn into open-mouthed kisses, wet from his tongue, which turn into a bite, sucking at your skin, licking it better afterwards. Your breathing quickens. Excitement drips down your ribs. (Although that might be your heart. You barely can feel it anymore, a small miracle considering how fast it’s racing.)

Your eyes roll back. Something catches your stare— it snaps to the crucifix hanging above your bed. Jesus Christ himself, nailed to his cross, nailed to the wall. Your savior, all-knowing, all-loving. He died for your sins, and this is how you thank him. You swallow thickly. “He’s watching us,” you whisper.  

Matty’s eyes rise to the cross. “Good,” he answers, careless, impossibly nonchalant. You’re glad for him. For ease. “Give him a show.” 

Matty’s hands pull you down to him. You fall on his mouth, moan ripped out of you as you collide with his burning tongue. It’s already working at you, singleminded, passionate. You’ve been teased for long enough— you know it’s a short matter of time before your end, especially with the fervor Matty licks into you. 

Legs spread around his face, he’s swallowing you whole. His hands dig into the flesh of your thighs, blunt claws leaving crescent moons on your skin as a starved groan graces his hungry lips. Your head rolls back, stomach flexing with need. 

Your hands rack through his hair, grabbing a fistful just to tug on it. Your hold is fierce; you soothe the burn away with a thumb, rubbing at his forehead as your fingers wreck ravage on his curls. 

Breathless, scattered moans fall from your lips. The strangled cries, stifled to the best of your abilities, make him buck against nothing. You would feel guilty at that, at taking and taking and giving him nothing in return. Unfortunately, your brain is working overdrive just to remember your own name.

You rock carelessly against his face. You’re unafraid of breaking his neck, chasing your promised release with acute precision. Your clit rolls against the tip of his nose, strikes of euphoria licking up your spine every time you find just the right angle. His tongue laps at your entrance, thrusting inside. 

This is heaven. You do not rest on some material cloud, do not grow feathered wings and shiny halo. You sit on a man’s face and you whine oh, my God. You make it sound sacred. 

God cannot blame you for your blasphemy; if he made this tongue, he understands. 

Your eyes flick to the crucifix. You could say sorry. You should say sorry. 

Instead, they fall back on Matty. Locked with his dark gaze, you rub against him, chanting his name. “I’m— I’m right there—” 

Gently, he bites on your clit. Slash of ecstasy tears through your stomach. It ripples down your limbs, biting through the flesh, leaving you bloody and scarred and, oh, fuck, you’re coming. 

Gripping his curls vengefully, slapping a hand over your mouth, you scream. Your head loosens from your neck, parts of you discombobulating and reattaching in under a second. You break on his tongue. The proverbs were right— it’s a poet’s greatest weapon. 

Once again, you float a moment into the sheer idea that you can. That you did.

Breathing heavily, you unmount him, laughing to yourself. He takes a gasp of air, but he’s just as languidly satisfied as you. Sticky chin shines with the moonlight. 

“That was—” You shake your head, lost for words, falling on the bed beside him. 

“You’re welcome,” he says smugly. You push his shoulder, shaking your head. 

Suddenly, you realize you haven’t— he hasn’t— It cuts through the daze. You blush, a little embarrassed, a little unsure, a little nervous. You rack your throat, frowning. “Do you want me to…” Your eyebrows rise meaningfully. 

“Oh,” Matty exhales. He blushes, too. “Um, no. I’m… taken care of.” 

You can’t control your eyes dipping to his jeans curiously. There it is— wet patch on the front, no trace of his hard cock. Your cheeks redden further, but something in you is unbelievably proud. 

You’ve made Matty Healy come in his pants. Can you add that to your list of accomplishments? 

You roll to your back, trying to hide the self-satisfied grin. You rest your head against his shoulder. “You know, in second grade, they told us the white marks on our fingernails were signs we had committed mortal sins.” You don’t know why you say it. It bubbles out of you, beyond your usual tyrannical filter. 

Matty sighs, racking a hand through the sweaty locks. “Jesus Christ.” 

“Yes, it was he.” He snorts at that. 

His shoulder pushes your head up. “Well, let’s see them, then. How many sins have you got?” 

You flaunt your nails, raising your arms over your heads. Matty narrows his eyes, inspecting the handful of white marks dusting your fingertips. He takes one hand, interlocking his fingers with yours, bringing it down for a closer analysis. The flutter spreading through your stomach is different than usual. 

You watch his side profile, suddenly desperate to memorize all angles of him. He throws you a playful glance, teasing, “How many of those are about me?”

You scoff, ripping your hand away as he laughs. “You’re a child.”

“No, no. I’m truly impressed.” He grins. “You got more than me.” He shows off his hands in turn. Blunt nails, cut too short, roughened by guitar strings, but practically spotless.

“Well, maybe I’ll be the one corrupting you.” 

Matty rolls over you, pressing a kiss on your lips. “I’ll take it with open arms,” he whispers, then leaves another one, just a little longer, a bit more wistful. Against your mouth, he says, “Forsake me, angel.” 

You shake your head, nose wrinkling. “That’s an oxymoron.” 

Matty rolls his eyes, nearing your lips again. “Stop talking.”

You gasp, cheerfully crying, “The roles really have reversed!”

But he seemed to mean it when he said stop talking, because he doesn’t bother with an answer. His mouth finds yours, hand holding onto your jaw as he draws secrets out of your wanton lips. It’s slow, devoid of the frenzied rush you’ve spent the night in. It leaves you floating, dazing, thoughts incoherently blurring away. 

“I should go,” Matty declares, breaking away from you. Your heart pinches. 

“Yeah,” you nod along, more to convince yourself than him. “I should get some sleep or my mom will freak about eyebags.”

Matty laughs, then surprises you with a kiss on your forehead. Of all the places his mouth has been, this is where you feel him burning the most. “Goodnight, angel.” 

He rolls out of bed, catching his discarded shirt and pulling it back on, slipping into his sneakers next. You're sad to see him like this; put-together, balanced. Throwing the window open, he sneaks out, leaving you with only one last heated look. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, you think once he’s gone and the room still smells like him. Your thighs are sticky with your drying juices and sport— you look down at them to make sure and, yes— a purple hickey with the shape of his lips. You're naked, ravaged, undone. And he's walking the streets right now with the taste of you still on his tongue.

Your eyes fall on the crucifix still towering over your bed. There’s really no going back, is there?

#this is.... yeah. #take a shot everytime 'you want him' shows up #religious traumatized girlies will have a field trip with this one! #matty healy #matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #matty healy imagine #the 1975 #the 1975 smut #smut #writing #imagine #pray for my soul

[peachesofteal]

Cupcakes

Maybe this will be a thing. Or maybe not. Either way, I've got the Pedro brain rot.

Joel Miller/female reader One shot - 1.1k words - AO3 Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, mentions of blood, violence, gore. Joel is bad at feelings. Descriptions of explicit sex. Joel doesn't understand you.

He doesn’t understand you. You smile. With your mouth, your pink lips curling above a deep scar on your chin. 

“It’s my trophy.” You told him one night. “I got it from a crazy fucker who had a barn fulla clickers.” He’s not sure why any person would be penning up a bunch of those things, but you did say he was crazy. “Killed him though. Was one of my first ones.” He watches your face go dark with the memory, and he tries to imagine what you were like before all this. Soft, sweet. Probably someone’s wife. Maybe you stayed at home. Made dinner, made breakfast. Maybe you were the type that made cupcakes, real ones from scratch, with sweet spun sugar icing. Maybe you took care of someone. 

He doesn’t understand the way you think. You’re always telling him to take it slow, take it easy, take his time. He can’t. He doesn’t know how. He has to move fast, quick, easy on his feet. He cannot slow down. You have no problem making pace, but it doesn’t keep you from voicing your opinion. 

“You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack. Don’t the doctors usually start old men on baby aspirin at your age?” He’s not that old, for christ’s sake. He’s not even forty-five yet, he thinks. When you laugh at your own jab, it feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. 

He doesn’t understand the way you fight. You creep around like a god damn cat, brandishing a knife in your hand, another two slipped in your boots. You liked surprise, and you hated guns. The first time he had watched you put a blade in someone’s clavicle, he thought he was going to be sick. He didn’t like you having to get so close, no matter how many times you tried to assure him you were fine. And he hates how his head spins when he watches you put that same knife in the side of a clicker’s head, twisting it for good measure, before you’re shoving off of them and bashing their skull in. 

“Can’t aim worth a shit.” You complained the day he took you out for practice. You couldn’t hit a single bottle, and he couldn’t fight the grimace that graced his face. When you saw it, your cheeks turned a different color, and guilt burned inside him. 

He doesn’t understand why you’re so fucking stubborn. Why you don’t listen when he tells you to do something, when you blatantly ignore him when he tells you not to follow the crying little kid that’s begging for help. 

“It’s not like it was life or death.” He turned on you so fast he watched your eyes go wide, his arms pulling your shoulders towards his chest. “It is life or death!” He had yelled. You had run into that building without a care after that kid, and he could hardly keep up. Turns out, the kid’s mom was already infected, and he didn’t understand. He was only five. You covered his eyes while Joel put her down. You had carried him all the way back to camp, even after Joel had offered to take him, arms wrapped tight around his back as he cried. So stubborn. But you let Joel hold you that night, for the first time. In the dark, your hand running up and down his spine, your whispered words repeating over and over. “I’m fine. I’m fine, Joel.”

He doesn’t understand your feelings. The way they shift from one day to the next. He doesn’t like how it feels when he catches you crying, drop of tears webbed in your pillowy lashes. 

“What is it?” the words are gruff, and he wishes he was softer for a split second. You sniffle and shake your head. “It’s my dad’s birthday. Or would’ve been.” He gets it, he does. But he doesn’t know how to show you, so he just sits down on the step, his shoulder against yours. You wrap your hand around his knee after you’ve dried your tears, and he holds his breath while you turn your tear-stained face up towards him. “Thanks, Joel.” His name on your lips makes his blood sing. 

He doesn’t understand the way you talk to people either. The way you make everyone feel like they’re some ray of sunshine in your life. Like they matter to you. You give everyone your smile, and your eyes, and your touch. You rub Rita on her back when she throws up every second week of the month, like clockwork. You braid the Marshall girl’s hair when her mom isn’t around to do it. You try to arm wrestle John when you both get a free moment, and he can hear your laugh clear across the yard when he lets you win. 

“He gets a kick out of it.” You tell him one night. “Makes him feel good. Shitty world we live in, you know?” 

He knows. 

He wants to make you feel good.

He hasn’t had a woman under him in years. He’s all rough sandpaper, and he can’t imagine that scraping against your porcelain skin. But, that doesn’t stop him from thinking about it. He dreams about bending you back on one of those shitty mattresses, your skin rippling in goosebumps under the tips of his fingers. He imagines the way your mouth tastes, how your hand would feel wrapped around his cock. He thinks about how you’d sound, with his mouth on your cunt, his tongue licking up inside you, pulling an orgasm through your gritted teeth. He’d hold your hip in one hand and fuck his fingers into you with the other, feeling the way the walls of your cunt clenched down around him. He thinks about how he’d push your hips down onto his cock, your back arched in his arms, your mouth pressing into his shoulder as you moan. “Joel.” you’d whine, tongue darting out to lick your lips, hand gripping his forearm. “Fuck, Joel. Please.” He’d bite the skin of your neck, bringing it between his teeth, pulling the blood to the surface to brand you. You’d be his. 

These things he wants, they’re just a fantasy. A gentle dream, like the memory of the world before. He knows that, he does. But it doesn’t stop him from wanting. From watching you when you’re on guard, hips swaying with every step you take. Doesn’t stop him from taking himself in his hand when he thinks about the curve of your waist, the prominent dips in your hips, the soft crease where your thigh bends when you sit, legs folded against each other. He wants to pin you beneath him until you’re shaking, wants to hold you to his chest while you sleep. He wants the sweet, soft spun sugar that melts in his mouth, the feeling of you in his arms. He wants the cupcakes, the real ones. 

He wants it all. But it’s only a fantasy. 

#joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #Joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou hbo #joel tlou #joel miller x oc #peaches writes #female reader #tlou fanfiction #Joel Miller

[nanamimizz]

thoughts on kishibe and squirting? 😵‍💫

tags: established relationship, fem reader, fingering, squirting, gagging, car sex, overstimulation, dacryphilia, getting back to my writing juices

synopsis: kishibe can't help himself as is but when he has a motive. this mad dog is still as tenacious as ever, isn't he?

 Kishibe has half a mind you do this on purpose - this is the third time he takes you in the back of his car, your office pants tugged off somewhere to the side and your shirt unbuttoned and wrinkled to ruin. Your tie hangs somewhere on the backs of the headrests and he has his balled up in your mouth to keep anyone from finding out what is transpiring from behind his tinted windows as if the soon-to-come rocking of his car won’t reveal what nefarious activities will occur in the vehicle. The first time was a brief stint on a reserved dinner date you two had been looking forward to for months, the 2nd on a long drive when neither of you could sleep, and now on the way to one of the few times Public Safety throws a New Years party after patrols.

Your lips are slick with spit, yours and his, bottom lip puffy from how he likes to bite them bloody. He had told you the iron of your blood was as sweet as you and you had made sure to get him checked out. It’s less funny now that his mind is hazy with thoughts, sights, and sounds of lust you provide him with - his car reeks of your cunt, and he finds himself wetting his lips at how the trimmed curls on your pubic bone glisten with your slick. Your tits heave with each breath, his hands never parting from the soft flesh for longer than he has to; he traces the indents of his teeth reverently as he makes his way down to your exposed cunt.

“Still so sensitive - whatever to do with you?” He mutters into the car's hot air and watches with careful eyes how the windows fog with condensation. You whimper, face hot with embarrassment at how his eyes greedily take in how easily you bear yourself to him, all grit and stubbornness dissipate like sugar in water and he grins at how the marrow of your backbone tastes on his tongue. You managed to take the gag out for a brief second and your mouth opens to complain (the third thing it’s good for).

“S-shut up - stop wasting so much time we can’t be late again.” You hiss, words heavy with your desire, and Kishibe lets out an amused huff - you have no place to be demanding he tells you and you respond with eyes so soft and soulful he gives in faster than he’s ever done before. His fingers make their way to your cunt with adept precision, curling past the slick silk of your walls in a way that leaves you shaking and a calloused thumb keeping at the pearl of your clit. The heat is so palpable it grows hotter and the leather upholstery squeaks under the two of you - a falsetto in the symphony of lewd noises that are born from the intertwining company in the car. You don’t even notice that the damp fabric of his tie makes its way back to your mouth until your cresting whines are met with the taste of fabric.

Something feels different - it’s too smoldering, too heavy in your gut and you almost lose it when he begins to kiss and nip at the tight buds of your nipples - alternating after each kiss of teeth at a pace you can’t keep up with. You are helpless to it, pleasure curls into your spine from your cunt, and the way his index finger hooks and rubs into the spongey nerves on your inner walls makes you feel so good it aches into the very red blood cells of your being - you haven’t even realized you’ve started to cry. A wad of drool has made its way past the seem of your lip and he watches, eye glittering like a snake’s from his place at your chest using your easily frazzled nerves against you.

Kishibe loves you but the defeat looks so pretty on you, he can’t help but ruin you each chance he gets.

All sounds you make are muffled and fall on deaf ears - Kishibe can barely make out the syllables of his name, a pity he can’t almost bear. The characters of his name have only sounded as sweet when you pass them through your honeyed tongued. And it seems your mouth isn’t the only place on you that honey comes from. SIick leaks down his palm and to his wrist, staining the cuff of his work shirt; if his mouth wasn’t busy tugging at your pebbled nipples he’d be making some sort of crass comment on your liquid lust that seems determined to get as far away from you as it can get.

It sloshes and sticks, tacky sounds as his fingers pluck more and more from your cunt and he pulls back to watch with a knowing grin as you convulse right here in the back of your car. He’s half tempted to pull back the gag of his tie, but there is joy in your deafened squeals as your thighs tremble beneath his bigger form. Releasing your nipple with a pop he leans to press a kiss to your temple as he lets his fingers prod, hooking, and fucking your cunt until you break.

You cum with your back bent into a bow and Kishibe huffs at how your cunt gushes around his long, bone-knuckled fingers - a stream of your cum landing on the part of his sleeve that covers his forearm. You breathe heavily and you heave as he tags the tie - not wet and damp from the moisture of your drool and you whine when you can still feel his fingers working at your poor wrung-out cunt. A stray tear makes its way down your cheek and you jump at how his tongue is there to lick it away, your cunt twitches, and you shudder as more cum leaks out from you.

“S-stop, Oh fuck, fuck - I can’t cum again please-” Your pleas are cut short by the deep rumbling baritone next to your ear that replaces your “you can’t”s with “you can.”.Fingers pull out - wet and tacky and the scent of your poor pussy heavy on them, you think it’s a reprieve only to jump when knuckles run through the wet folds of your cunt. You moan out his name, defeated and pretty and he chuckles into your sweaty hairline.

His fingers are inside and they are relentless and ever, no soreness or fatigue present as your next orgasm follows your last with necking-breaking speed. This time you splash up to his elbow and your whines are high-strung and free to float in the air that reeks of sex.

Kishibe doesn’t stop. Defeat is lovely on you - almost as sweet as the honey that spills from your cunt, lips, and heart; why on earth would he deny you pleasure when it tastes as sweet as your love for him.

You cum a third time - a trembling squeeze of your walls around his fingers and your clit burns from sensitivity. Kishibe flat-out grins and presses a kiss to your chest as every part of you trembles before him - the foundation of your being torn asunder by pleasure only. How lovely, as beautiful as the gardens of Babylon is the way you gaze at him pleasure soaked eyes tell him all he needs to know about where your mind is. Without turning over, and without breaking your gaze he grabs his coak he left at his seat and drapes you in it. He almost smiles at how you curl up under its weight. His hand soothes your hair and you almost purr, making his woman cum so hard she soaks him and gets to head straight home? It’s been hell but maybe his life isn’t as shitty as he thought it to be.

#lamb.writes #kishibe smut #kishibe x reader #chainsaw man x reader #chainsaw man smut #csm x reader #csm smut

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Part 22 Straw Hats go to Dressrosa to stop Doflamingo! (Who has big plans for Reader)

You already have plans but I think it would be cool to see these things happen

Reader joins Luffy and Ace in the Area (Because she was stubborn)

When she was the walking and talking toys she actually felt very uncomfortable and that something is very wrong

They learning that the Area Prize is the Flame Flame Fruit! (Because when Reader brought Ace back to life she brought him back to life with his powers)

Reader meeting Sabo with Ace and Luffy and is in awe meeting her new brother (She’s sparkly eyed learning about her newest big brother)

When Robin was turned into a toy, what if Reader’s power was activated on her mind to prevent her memory of Robin from being ‘Erased’ and she’s just confused as to why everyone doesn’t remember ‘Mama’ (When Robin and everyone turned back to normal her horn stoped flaring)

I think it would be interesting since Sugar’s power affects memory when she turns people into toys, however if it’s someone that Reader knows then her power is activated on her own mind, preventing her memory from being wiped

Doflamingo intends to make Reader join his ‘Family’ as the Heart Suit (As her ability will be useful to him) as he learned what Caesar found out about her blood and wants her power

She brings Scarlet and Corazon back

Reader’s in awe seeing the little Tontattas and find them cute

Reader meets Bartolomeo (Or ‘Big Brother Barto’) and he swears to keep her safe

So much happens in Dressrosa I can’t keep track! 😭

-Arriving in Dressrosa was incredible for everyone! The city was massive, and it had been a long while since you had all been to such a large city.

-Despite everyone wanting to go out and have fun, Law had to be the bearer of bad news, warning and reminding everyone that Doflamingo was in charge here, and he had people everywhere.

-Nami was hesitant on letting you go onto the island, even in your disguise, as they didn’t want to risk your safety, but after you, unknowingly, giving her big pleading eyes, as you wanted to explore, she relented, allowing you to go with the group.

-Robin gave you a hat much like her own, only dark blue, and a large pair of heart shaped dark purple sunglasses that covered a good portion of your face. The two of you were matching, something you couldn’t help but beam at and Robin thought was adorable as everyone was wearing disguises, something Law insisted on, despite some of them being very bad.

-When a massive tournament was announced with a wonderful prize, none of your family was anticipating seeing your face on the poster, offering you as the grand prize for the tournament at the colosseum.

-Ace and Luffy were furious, wanting to immediately throw hands as you were hugging Usopp, who had immediately kneeled, panicking.

-Law realized that this was a ploy to capture you, “They must realize we’re here already. This is a trap so we should- OI YOU IDIOTS!!” He was quickly yelling at Ace and Luffy, who had grabbed you, running off to the colosseum so one of the two of them could win, to ensure your safety, but not before Luffy grabbed you and ran off with you!

-The others ran after them, but once inside the colosseum, there was no way out for the fighters. Luffy explained his genius plan, that if this was a trap to kidnap you, the safest place for you would be at the colosseum!

-Robin agreed, thinking that would be a smart choice, before her group agreed to research more of the other strange reports, like marines, government officials, other pirates, and other nobles from other kingdoms going missing.

-Robin showed her rare scary side, as she stared down both Ace and Luffy with a sweet smile on her face, “You promise to keep Y/N safe, right?” all four men, Ace, Luffy, Usopp, and Law, were all quickly intimidated by Robin, but they promised and you beamed brightly, “We’ll be back soon Mama!”

-She smiled at you, giving a small nod and everyone went their separate ways. However, it was amusing when your brother’s signed up, because they couldn’t use their actual names, so Luffy became Lucy, and Ace became Anne, which you thought was kind of funny, before they gave you the nickname Eri, which you loved as you got to match with them with new nicknames! Despite not fully knowing the reasoning behind it.

-Your big brothers wound up being in different rounds, so they wouldn’t be fighting against each other, which did work out so one of them could stay with you during the different rounds.

-Rebecca was so pretty, and she let you inspect her helmet after she bought Luffy and Ace each a lunch box, and you beamed, “It’s so shiny!” she couldn’t help but smile softly down at you, worried about you, seeing a child there, but Ace just gave her a firm nod, “She’s the safest with us right now.”

-Rebecca didn’t know the situation, but she didn’t question it as your brothers commented a lot on the different fighters, seeing so many strong ones. Ace cracked his knuckles, seeing Burgess there. Ace told you, as he walked away so he wouldn’t attack the taller man, that he was part of Blackbeard’s crew, who was the one who almost got Ace killed.

-Three men approached as you were watching the first round with Luffy, as Ace was in the first round, something he enjoyed, as you got to see him fighting without his Devil Fruit ability, as that would have given his identity away.

-The tallest of the men spoke to Luffy, revealing he knew exactly who he was, despite the disguise, explaining that he fought Garp many years ago, and Garp ruined his life, and now he and his grandchildren were going to take their anger out on Luffy!

-You had been on a bench when they started to attack, with other fighters yelling at them, as Luffy was doing his best to dodge the attacks, telling him to knock it off, and that he was the wrong person.

-You gasped, seeing your big brother being attacked, and as Chinjao charged, you called out, running into the way as shouts filled the air, seeing a child, “Please don’t hurt my big brother!”

-Your glasses were folded and down the front of your shirt, as you were having issues seeing inside, as it was a bit too dark for you, so your face was revealed as your large tear-filled eyes were looking up at him, silently pleading with him, Sai, and Boo to not hurt Luffy.

-They froze, seeing this tiny child willing to defend her big brother, and as the first tear fell, instantly they were all on their knees, trying to console you, apologizing, their vibe instantly going from scary to soft as you sniffled softly, trying to stop your tears. At least Chinjao knew who you were, but he kept it quiet, not wanting anyone else to know so you wouldn’t be at risk.

-It was amusing when Ace arrived back, winning his match, seeing a room full of rough looking fighters all acting goofy, trying to make you smile as you were in Luffy’s arms.

-You were learning what Garp had done as you were holding onto Chinjao’s hand, or at least one of his fingers, “So grandpa made you sad?” your cheeks immediately puffed up in a pout, glaring lightly, angry for him which instantly caused heart related issues as people all over the room collapsed from cuteness.

-You told Chinjao, “I’ll call grandpa and I’ll ask him to apologize. Everyone should apologize when they do something wrong, right?” As you asked this, you looked at Luffy who beamed brightly, telling you that was correct.

-After Luffy fought, winning his match, returning Chinjao’s head to normal, which looked pointy and made him even taller, you got to meet two new people after Luffy made it back to you both.

-The first was a man who looked like a chicken, with a bright green mohawk, who called you Y/N-senpai, knowing exactly who you were.

-His name was Bartolomeo and he beamed, getting to meet his idols, as he told Luffy that he joined because when he saw you were the prize, he had to win so he could save you and return to your family, unaware that it was a ruse by Doflamingo, but Luffy could tell that he was a good person as you were holding onto his hand, looking at his painted nails while he was gushing that you were holding his hand.

-The second man was someone that Ace and Luffy both knew, and you were wide-eyed as they rushed to him, embracing him while ugly crying. Sabo was so warm and kind, hugging both of them, so happy to see them again.

-You were a little shy as Sabo kneeled, removing his hat, “And who is this?” Luffy beamed brightly kneeling beside you, “This is our little sister- Y/N!” If he was more surprised he didn’t show it as he gave you a warm smile as Ace spoke, “And Y/N, this is Sabo, he’s our third brother!”

-Your eyes went huge, immediately sparkling as Sabo quickly fell, clutching at his chest, “Really? I have another big brother?” and Koala didn’t hesitate to take blackmail pictures, thinking it was adorable.

-It was about a half hour later and you were crying, your hands clutching at the end of your dress as a super tall man walked into the room you had been put, after all the fighters were being attacked, pulled in by a sticky man that made your skin crawl, Trebol.

-You didn’t know where any of your big brothers were, as you had been ripped from Luffy’s arms, screaming out for him.

-This new man was very tall, wearing glasses over his eyes and had a huge fluffy pink coat. He introduced himself as Donquixote Doflamingo, and you knew the name, as Law had been saying this was a dangerous person.

-Doflamingo had smiled wickedly, seeing you there, as he knew from Caesar what you were able to do, not only naturally, with your unusual ability, but also your blood.

-After Law had destroyed the lab, making sure every piece of research that had been collected, including the blood vials, had been destroyed, Doflamingo was furious, until he realized that you and the rest of the Straw Hats would be coming to Dressrosa.

-He knew that your family would take the bait on offering you as a prize in the tournament, as it would make them not think clearly, and he had been proven right, as your brothers had basically delivered you right to him.

-He picked you up by the back of your dress, letting you dangle as he laughed, “You are quite the surprise, Y/N.” you sniffled softly, your eyes piercing into his own, despite being hidden by glasses, “Mister Dof-Dof…Mister Flamingo, where’s my big brothers?”

-Doflamingo was stunned stiff, seeing your tears, hearing your words, mainly only what you had called him, as he had a sudden flashback of Corazaon, who would always call him big brother.

-Only moments later, Doflamingo had you in his arms, holding you carefully, properly as he smiled down at you, “You’re going to join my family Y/N. Let’s see- you’re cute so how about the Heart Suite!”

-You were a little confused, holding onto his fluffy coat as he held you like a little doll, “But… I have a family, my big brothers and sisters, and mama!” He just ignored your words, choosing only what he wanted to hear, “You can call me big brother! And I’ll introduce you to everyone else!”

-Your instincts were telling you that he was dangerous, so you behaved, not wanting to do anything to upset him as he took you into a large room where lots of other people were, introducing you as the newest member of the family!

-You saw Law, but he was hurt as your eyes went wide, but he caught your eyes, silently telling you to be quiet, which you did. Doflamingo sat you down on his own chair so the others could greet you, many of them commenting on how tiny and cute you were, including Sugar who was elated to have someone her own size now.

-She had to leave not long after, to go back to work as Doflamingo lounged around, as he wanted your family to come to try to save you, so he could take them out so you would have no choice but to join his family!

-When Luffy and Ace arrived, shouting at Doflamingo to let you and Law go, your horn surprised everyone by suddenly growing, being covered by the aura as you looked confused, reaching a hand up to touch it.

-Doflamingo chose to ignore it for the moment as he chuckled, “Your plan to take out Sugar failed, Nico Robin is a toy now!” You froze, hearing this but tears welled as you saw everyone’s confusion as Luffy spoke, “Who’s Robin?”

-Law spoke to you while Viola ran over, holding a key to Law’s cuffs, telling you that Sugar had the ability to change others into sentient toys, but when they get changed, the memories of those changed are lost to others. You could remember her no problem as he theorized your ability activated when you realized that she was in danger, so you were able to remember whoever Doflamingo was talking about, while they didn’t.

-Ace and Luffy managed to throw Doflamingo out, who strategically retreated to call upon the family, as he watched in horror, seeing toys returning to normal, your horn also returning to normal, showing that Sugar had been taken out!

-After you unlocked Law’s shackles, being the only one there without a Devil Fruit ability, seeing the Sea Stone cuffs, Ace glared slightly, knowing that they needed to take Doflamingo out and Luffy agreed.

-The plan was for them to meet in a specific place, and Luffy trusted Viola with getting you to Robin, as she knew the back streets, which she agreed to. You didn’t want to be apart from them again, hugging Viola tightly, but she did her best to keep you calm.

-She told you of Scarlett, and what had happened to Dressrosa all those years ago, including what happened to Rebecca’s mother Scarlett, who was Viola’s younger sister. Your eyes were big and sparkly as she hid around a corner, trying to get you to the flower fields, after you both saw Robin flying overhead, “Are you and Rebecca princesses then?” She couldn’t help but giggle, thinking you were cute, as she told you that they could be, but they had to take care of Doflamingo first.

-At the flower fields, you were reunited with Robin and a man who was dressed like a prince and Bartolomeo as your eyes were sparkly, “It’s a prince! Mama it’s a real prince!!” Cavendish adored your praise, posing for you as you squealed happily.

-When the group was attacked again, Robin put herself in front of you, glaring hard at the opponent who blew his hat off, you didn’t know his name, before she spoke to Bartolomeo, “Will you take Y/N and get her to safety?”

-He seemed stunned by her request before he immediately grinned, creating a staircase out of barriers with his ability, as he and Cavendish stood in front of her, the two easily blowing the unknown man back, “Take Y/N and run, Robin-senpai!” she picked you up and ran with Viola, sending him a wink as you waved, “Bye-bye big brother Barty! Bye-bye Prince Cabbage!”

-While Cavendish was in anguish over his name, as you had trouble saying it, Bartolomeo had fallen to his knees, large tears flowing from his cheeks as light shined down upon him, as if he had done everything in his life worth doing, being your big brother!

-Robin did her best to protect you, as more members of the family appeared with the intent on taking you from her, and when she was trapped, Leo, who appeared, “Take Y/N and run!”

-You looked back, scared for Robin, who gave you a firm nod as you followed Leo, running. You learned that he was a Tontatta, a race that you could only describe as fairies, which you adored, holding Leo in your hands as he guided you through a forest to safety.

-Leo told you to stop and you gasped, seeing Law hurt, one of his arms off, while he was trying to stand, as Luffy and Ace were fighting against Doflamingo, all of them hurt.

-Leo took to the skies, looking for a safe way away from the area before he gasped as you ran for Law, “Big brother!” Ace and Luffy froze, hearing you there as Law turned, looking panicked, telling you to run.

-Law lunged, sensing Doflamingo charging to grab you, and he took a hard hit to the back as he covered you, keeping Doflamingo from grabbing you, who was sneering down, “You’re just like Corazon- weak!” You were in shock, your eyes wide as your brothers charged, getting him away from you as you hugged Law’s head.

-Law told you about Corazon, who was Doflamingo’s younger brother, who was killed protecting Law so many years ago. You felt so sad for Law, hearing how this man, Corazon, had died to protect him, just like how he had protected you just now.

-The first sob ripped from your throat as you hugged Law and he felt the wave of energy flow through him as you healed him, reattaching his arm and healing his wounds before they all froze, seeing two figures reforming from nothing.

-Corazon kneeled beside Law, who was stunned, seeing him there as tears welled as Scarlette gasped as you swooned, catching you as you developed a fever and fainted.

-Luffy and Ace were both now furious, seeing that you had been pushed so hard to not only heal Law but bring two people back from the dead.

-Scarlette took you and ran after Law and Corazon turned to face Doflamingo alongside Luffy and Ace, as he was now furious, looking almost unhinged.

-Scarlette was stunned to find not only Kyros, but Rebecca and Viola as well, all of them banged up, but safe and sound, as they all gaped, seeing her there, seeing her alive again! With you included (despite being unconscious), as they shared a family hug, all of them crying, being reunited at last.

-After discussing your condition, Viola told them how she knew of your ability to heal others, but there had been a rumor, after you had revived Ace and Whitebeard, that you could bring others back from the dead, and many were trying to stop that rumor, not wanting it to spread.

-A new voice spoke up, “You’re right.” They turned, seeing Sanji there, who looked beat up, smoking quietly as he looked relieved, seeing you there, knowing that you must have done something reckless again as Scarlette passed you to your brother after Viola vouched for him.

-Sanji told them to get to safety, as something big was coming, sensing Luffy and Ace’s power, and he took off towards the ship after getting word from Robin that he needed to take Nami and the others on the ship and they would meet up on Zou.

-Chopper and Nami took care of you while you were recovering, finding out what had happened between Sanji and you, once you were awake, and they were amazed so much had happened, but they were glad to hear that you hadn’t been hurt, just kidnapped and scared, and overdoing it with your ability again, but they didn’t scold you, just making you rest instead.

-You thought about all the new fun people you had met on Dressrosa, you wished that you had been able to say goodbye to all of them, as they had been helping everyone.

-As you sat on Sanji’s lap as you ate, holding up an apple slice to him, Brook was sitting next to you, telling you of the next destination, Zou, which was a giant walking elephant, which made your eyes sparkle brightly!

-When you asked about Luffy and the others, Nami told you not to worry about them, as they were going to meet your group on Zou, so you all would wait there for them, and you nodded, hoping they wouldn’t take too long.

#eri reader #one piece #luffy #sanji #zoro #usopp #nami #robin #chopper #brook #franky #tralfagar law #portgas d ace #one piece sabo

[l0starl]

⊹ ‧₊˚ Lost soul ⊹ ‧₊˚ ｡

☠️ Ingredients : Sugar, spice, lemon, and a lot bit of salt

Summary : Reader was murdered a few years ago, body was never discovered, few years later miles comes across a sketchy neighbor, looks like he’s in for a surprise… :)

Ghost reader x miles 42

★ Warnings : Mentions of guns, violence, reader is dead, Angst??

🪦 Participants : Miles!(42)

🎧 Song : Mercedes

🌱 W/c : 1.5k

🌿 Reader is black 🌚

”You promise you won’t leave me here?”

“Of course not ma, till death do us part”

The day you died was the most excruciating pain you’ve ever felt, not a day goes by where your not reminded of the agonizing pain and screams of horror you had to suffer…what did you do to deserve such a terrible death? You have no clue yourself..But now all you seek is….

Vengeance

You can’t exactly remember the faces of those who were apart of your murder, but you remember their voices.

You were walking home from school, you always took the shortcut home but today there was construction nearby, So that path wasn’t an option. You had to take the long way though the sketchy part of town….Yikes…

Little did you know, this decision would haunt you for the rest of your life…

The sketchy part of town was a bit run down, houses with graffiti, trash lying around, the smell of weed. You would avoid this path at all cost but today wasn’t an option…

You walked down the path, you felt uneasy, as if something or someone was watching you, as you quicken the pace, Your mind was screaming for you to turn around and find another way home, but you were too stubborn…

BAM….BAM

gunshots are shots right near your direction, the gunshots blew out your eardrums, you ears ring rapidly, you can’t hear anything at all, so you do the most logical thing….

RUN

You sprinted through the streets, your ears rung swiftly, gunshots continued blaring out close to your direction, adrenaline rushed throughout your body, up ahead you see your house in the distance, maybe about 25 feet away.

You were running as fast as you can, you didn’t want whoever was following you to know where you lived right?? You quickly changed your route, sprinting like your life depends on it…literally…

BAM

You abruptly stop, your leg feels numb as you tumbled down onto the pavement, you tremble, urging yourself not to scream to alert the person holding the gun. You look down at your leg, blood is gushing out, you don’t have much time…

You start crawling, your not sure where your going but you gotta just keep it pushing, you leave a trail of crimson red on the concrete.

Surely you’re gonna make it out alive right? You’ll be just fine

BAM

You screamed in agony, alerting the person with a gun, the bullet hit your shoulder, tears fell down your face as you here multiple footsteps approaching…

There was more than one person..?!

There was no use crawling, you were in too much pain to move at all, you layed there as your life flashed before your life….No…you still have a chance at living, maybe just-

“MUMFH” you muffled as you felt a cloth cover your mouth and nose, you could barely breath, maybe there was a drug on the cloth?

you tried removing the cloth but it was no use, the person has a strong grip….You were about to black out, you blinked a few times as tears rolled down your eyes….

“Shh, it’s time for you to go to sleep” the person whispered, giving you a little pat on the back in a mocking way..

You woke up in a room with the lights dimmed down, you were tied down to a chair and your mouth was closed shut with duct tape..

You looked around your surroundings for anything that can help you, it was no use…. Your vision was hazy, so you couldn’t hear that well temporarily.. The door to the room burst wide open, a group of people surrounding you, holding various weapons….

“Hm if it isn’t you, thought your ass would be dead by now by the amount of blood you lost” one of the men spoke

“Who the hell are you?!” You hissed annoyed

The man comes into light view, you were taken aback by who was standing right in front of you

“James?!?!” You spoke shocked

“Surprised to see me? Oh how much I’ve always wanted you dead, you still don’t know your place do you” he spoke mockingly

You were still in a state of shock from this new info, James goes to the same high school as you, he took pleasure in making your life a living hell, you always went home at least with a few couple bruises, apparently the only reason he does this since he has a grudge on your dad, reason why? Putting his dad out of business and losing his job….

“So, your really gonna kill me huh?!” You shout angrily

He puts a gun to your head, as soon as the gun makes contact with your head you freeze

“This little chit chat is over, too bad it had to end like this” he responded mockingly

“Hey wai-“

BAM….

“get rid of the body…”

It’s been a year since your death, I guess you would be considered a lost soul to modern standards, you don’t look like your average ghost, guess the stereotypes go a bit overboard… as a ghost you don’t look any different at all, your just see through and could go through walls….

You basically live in this sketchy neighborhood, the smell of weed still reeks through the neighborhood, your scarlet blood still stains the pavement, leaving the train of blood where you crawled…

In the distance you heard voices, people were coming this way, panicked you kept yourself hidden, observing from afar, it’s not common to see people walk pass here

As the voices come closer you see a particular interesting person, a boy with braids that reach to his shoulders and a cold expression, one person you recognize in the group, you suddenly feel angry, the audacity this man has…

“James, this shit is stupid why the hell you bring us all the way out here” miles hissed

The others bickered and protested but James quickly silenced them

“cause we’re here to see if the rumors were true about them” James retorted playing it off

“Who’s them?” Miles responded confused

“the person who was killed here, no one knows what happened to em” James replied

Miles scoffed as he walked towards the sketchy buildings, examining them, he was almost close to where you were, but you didn’t want to alert them, so you stayed put…

He approached close to where you were, not wanting to be discovered you turned around and quickly left, before you could do so, you tripped over and fell, so much for being “able to go through things”

He turned to your direction, he was taken aback from your appearance, you were slightly see through, you wounds that never healed, and a saddened expression that never changed..

“Your them, aren’t you?” He spoke as he walked closer slowly to not startle you.

You nodded, lifting yourself off

“Why are you with James, you don’t know what he’s done to me” you responded with anger

“What did he do?” Miles replied

“He murdered me! All my screams of agonizing pain no one heard! No one saved me! I died cold and alone and scared!” You shouted

He clenched his fist in anger

“Goddamn it, I knew something was up with him” he hissed “Whatcha want me to do about it”

“We turn him in!” He replied

“You need evidence, and I’m pretty sure-“

“We’ll worry about that later let’s go…” you paused

“It’s miles alright”

“Then let’s go miles, I won’t let him get away with this”

For a few weeks their connection grew, they found common interest in stuff they enjoyed, miles felt a special connection with you, he doesn’t just opened up to anyone randomly… Maybe he had grown a soft spot for you, feelings for a ghost didn’t sound very usual, so he went into denial about them. He was willing to make James face his consequences….it only he knew he wouldn’t see another day again…

“James I know you killed them” miles spat angrily

“Miles what you talkin abou-“

“Don’t give me that bullshit James, I know you did it” he hissed

James reached for his back pocket and stared at miles with a sinister smile

“You’ll be joining her in the afterlife very soon yk?” James laughed mockingly as shots fired

Miles collapsed on the floor, clenching his chest, he’s dying, and he knows it. James snickered at the sight as he walked away with no remorse.

You came soon after you heard rounds of gunshots go off, you hurried over beside miles, tears rolled down your face

“Miles! I’m so sorry! I should’ve kept you outta this situation” you sniffled

“It’s alright, at least I’ll be able to be with you right? I won’t leave you here” he responded

”You promise you won’t leave me here?”

“Of course not ma, till death do us part”

After he spoke his final words his body went cold, his expression lifeless as blood is all over on the concrete floor, James was caught a decade later and charged for 1st degree murder, you on the other hand couldn’t get over the fact he was gone.

But you’ll always carry a piece of him with you, no matter where you are….💗

#black!fem!reader #black!y/n #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales x black!reader #prowler miles #miles g morales #miles gonzalo morales #atsv miles #miles 42 #miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles g #miles molares #42 miles morales #miles morales prowler #atsv #angst #Astv angst #Miles 42 angst #e 42 miles morales x reader #miles morales x reader #miles morales x y/n #miles g morales x reader #miles morales x you #miles g morales x you #miles morales x black!reader #miles g morales x black!reader #black fem reader #spiderverse fic #itsv