#[ they call you angel and devil in the same breath

[spider-stark]

SAME SIN

pairing | frank castle x reader

summary | in your darkest hour, matt doesn't answer the phone. but frank does.

warnings | blood, death, violence, attempted robbery, religious trauma, possible infidelity, matt's lowkey kind of a bitch in this but that's ok, probably deviates from canon at times but fuck it we ball, MDNI 18+

word count | 3.5k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

Blood wept from your fingertips, dripping onto the asphalt.

It had soaked through the man’s shirt. Oozed from the scattered holes in his chest, pooling around his torso. His lungs breathed no air. His eyes didn’t blink, gazing sightless up towards the Heavens. 

Sickness hit in a crushing wave. 

You doubled over, clutching your stomach as bile surged up your throat, burning over your tongue. The gagging continued long after there was nothing left, saliva dribbling from your bottom lip. 

Then there was stillness. 

Not the stillness of calm, or peace. But punishment. Sentencing. The solemn gaze of an all-forgiving Father as he stands before you, stone in-hand.

[To kill is a violation of Faith—] 

{—You or them?} 

The gun had still been smoking when it’d clattered at your feet. 

Regret felt like a wet blanket on your shoulders, suffocating in its weight. You couldn’t stand it.

Couldn’t stand.

Asphalt dug into your knees, crumpling at the man's side. Your hands had been shaking as you grabbed his wrist, searching for a pulse, praying for it in the way a sinner prays for absolution.

You found none. 

No pulse. No absolution. 

Still, you tried. Locked your fingers over his chest—pressing and pressing, trying and trying. Until thick ribs cracked and caved, until your palms were drenched in warmth and death and–

Rain. 

It was raining. 

Little drops, softly pattering all throughout the alleyway. You watched, dazed, as they slid down the lit-up screen in your hands. 

You didn’t remember pulling out your phone, but you remembered making the call. 

Calls. 

In the Bible, the number seven is considered sacred. Symbolic of divine oaths and promises, of perfection in the purest, most angelic sense. 

Seven times you called the Devil. 

Seven times he didn’t answer. 

You tilted your head back. The rain fell faster, cool drops steady rolling down your cheeks. The sky was a yawning, starless expanse. In the past, you’d always said that’s why you hated the city. The lack of stars—veiled by pollution and human selfishness, replaced by a twinkling skyline made of artificial hope. 

But tonight was different. Tonight, you were glad for their absence. 

At least the stars hadn’t seen what you’d done. 

Blood smeared across the phone screen as you dialed your eighth call. A different tone than before; a number not saved but remembered. 

A number you’d promised Matt you’d never call again. 

{In case you ever need it—} 

[—I don’t trust him.] 

What is trust? 

Once, it felt like the comfort of sunlight pouring through stained glass windows. Sitting amidst the oaken pews with a man at your side—a soft man dressed in a sharp suit, his glasses tinted red and his heart pure gold. 

Now, trust felt like the relief of a call that rang only once. Of cold fear melting into the gruff warmth of another’s voice, heavy with concern as they answered: “You alright?” 

You almost laughed. 

No. Of course not—because why would you call Frank Castle if you were anything other than desperate? 

“Are you busy?” you asked, awkward and hesitant. 

In hindsight, the question felt stupid. There was a body lying in front of you, and certainly no amount of busyness took precedence over that. But then, Matt must’ve been busy. Playing dutiful layer or God’s lone soldier. That’s why he hadn’t answered. 

Unless… 

[Elektra’s just a friend—] 

{—That what we are?} 

On the other end of the line, Frank urged, “C’mon now, doll, you gotta answer me, alright?” Had he asked something? You hadn’t noticed. “Where’re you at?” 

“An alley.” 

A rough, humorless chuckle. “Little more specific, sweetheart.” 

Five blocks from Matt’s apartment, you thought. 

“Off West 51st,” you said. 

“Don’t move.” There was the sound of a door slamming, of boots pounding down a flight of stairs. “I’m on my way.” 

Panic thrashed in your veins, anticipating the sharp click of a call gone dead. “Wait!” A cry, a plea—but for what? You had no clue what to say next. 

You hadn’t told him about the man, or the gun, or the sin. 

And Frank hadn’t asked. You knew this was because the Why? for your call hadn’t mattered to him. 

Only that you had. 

{You call, I come—} 

[—Frank Castle is a murderer.] 

Your eyes squeezed shut. You went to rub them, then remembered the blood dripping from your hands. 

So am I, you thought. So am I. 

Frank said your name. Once, twice. 

Quietly, you asked, “Will you stay on the phone?” 

The sound of another door pushing open, a great whoosh! of air as the city unfolded around him: sirens screaming, traffic blaring. With your eyes closed, you could almost see—shoving from his apartment building, marching down darkened sidewalks with a determined clench in his jaw. 

It wasn’t a man coming to save you, nor a vigilante. 

It was a soldier. 

After drawing in a breath, Frank uttered, “‘Course.” 

Time dragged. 

Hell’s Kitchen droned around you. Occasionally, Frank would ask: You good? to which you replied: How far are you? At some point, you drifted further from the man’s body. Ended up sitting on the ground, your back pressed to a brick wall. 

Your emotions were still fuzzy, as dull as the blunt edge of a knife. But your nerves… those were razor sharp. 

You watched both ends of the alleyway. Vigilant, afraid. Your muscles tensed whenever a car door shut too loud, whenever a stranger passed beneath the distant, buzzing streetlights. 

What if someone noticed? 

Gunshots weren’t such a strange thing in the Kitchen. The Devil couldn’t be everywhere at once, and the cops were either too busy or too lazy to investigate every bang! in the night. 

But if someone noticed you like this—curled on the ground, a dead man at your feet and violent red on your skin… 

He started it, you reminded yourself. Self-defense is absolvable. 

[To a judge? Or to God?—] 

God doesn’t matter. 

[—Why didn’t you call 9-1-1?] 

Why didn’t you answer? 

Your grip tightened around the phone. “How far now?” 

“Check your nine.” In the second it took for you to envision a clock, Frank had already amended, “Left, sweetheart.” There was the barest hint of a smile in his voice. “Look left.” 

You did. 

Frank was little more than a formless figure approaching. He was dressed in all black, his hood up against the rain. You couldn’t see his face, but you didn’t need to. His presence was enough to ease the frantic beat of your pulse. 

When he was close enough to hear, you hung up the phone. Wiped your nose on your sleeve and sniffed, “Took you long enough.” 

Cool and calculating—two descriptors that fit Frank best as he scanned the scene. He took note of the discarded gun, the puddle of watered down blood, the man with three bullets in his chest. 

You were the last thing he noted, and the only one to put a crack in his stern exterior. 

“Smart enough to practice law,” Frank lightly joked, “but not to read a goddamn clock, huh?” 

A laugh sputtered past your lips, melding into a broken sob. 

“Paralegals don’t practice,” you argued, ignoring the tears wetting your cheeks. “And I can read a clock just fine, asshole.” 

There was a softness to his face, one brow raising. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” So long as it’s in front of you, and you’re telling time and not direction. 

Frank hummed, his knees popping as he crouched down beside you. “Well I ain’t got a watch,” he said, “so I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.” 

Another weak laugh faded into quiet. 

Then, more hesitant than you’d ever heard him before, Frank asked, “You wanna tell me what happened?” 

Something about the way he said it struck you as odd. Like it was a choice—that you didn’t have to explain. If you wanted, the secrets of tonight could remain just that: Secrets, known only by you and a man who had no voice to share them. 

[Do you remember Psalm 80:9?—] 

Even secret sins are exposed in His light. 

{—How do you deal with it? All Red’s Catholic bullshit?} 

By believing in it. 

Frank took your silence for an answer. Shifted as if he might reach out, offer comfort. Instead, his fingers curled into loose fists. 

“How ‘bout you go wait around the corner,” he offered, “and let me take care of all this?” 

You weren’t sure what Frank’s version of ‘taking care of this’ entailed, but you knew you were comfortable with never finding out. 

Frank followed suit as you pushed off the ground. His movements were precise and easy, while yours were graceless and weighted. Standing, the world seemed to shift beneath your feet. Your mind was still hazy, your bones tired. 

Existence had become an arduous task. 

“When you’re… done,” you managed, your arms curled tight around your waist, “what then?” 

You didn’t want to go home—or to Matt’s. 

You didn’t want to feel alone. 

As if he understood this, Frank simply answered, “I’ll take you back to my place. Get you cleaned up, let you rest awhile.” His head tilted slightly. “You like pizza?” 

The world was ending. 

And yet here stood Frank—no Bible quotes or Hail Mary’s, no judgement for the sin you’d committed or the mess he had to clean. He offered only calm, only patience—and pizza of all things. 

[What do you see in him?—] 

{—Let me take care of all this.} 

You nodded. 

Frank’s apartment was bleak. 

One room total—unless you counted the cramped shoebox of a bathroom, which you did not. The front door opened into a shoddy kitchenette, connected to a living room that clearly doubled as his bedroom. 

He owned minimal furnishings. There was a lumpy couch, a small table with one chair, an old doormat that read Stay Awhile! except the Awhile had been all but completely rubbed off. You assumed that’s why it was inside instead of out—because even indirectly, Frank Castle wasn’t the type to ask anyone to Stay. 

Behind you, Frank grunted as he kicked his boots off onto the mat. You wondered if you should do the same, but didn’t. 

It felt strange to be in Frank’s apartment. Not because it made you uncomfortable, but because it didn’t. You felt fine. Still shaken, still a little sick—but safe. 

Would Matt be able to tell? Would he smell the gunpowder and Old Spice clinging to your skin and know that you’d been with Frank? 

That’s how you knew when he’d been with Elektra. You didn’t need super senses to smell her perfume—a heady mix of cloves and something citrus, lingering on his shirts as plain as if it were lipstick on the collar. 

Unthinking, you said, “You should get a bird.” 

Frank chuckled. “Yeah? And why’s that?” 

You weren’t sure. It was just the first thing that had come to mind, a means of evicting Elektra from your thoughts. 

“It could liven the place up,” you suggested. Though, after taking another glance around, you realized that might be asking too much of one little bird. 

He’d need a flock. 

Frank slipped past you, warmth crawling up your spine at the slight brush of his hand against your back. You told yourself it was unintentional—no more intimate than someone scooting past you in a crowded bar or a grocery store aisle. 

Still, the warmth lingered. 

“Don’t think I’m much of a bird guy,” Frank admitted from the kitchenette. Then, nodding towards the couch, he added, “Sit.” 

You drifted that way and sank into the cushions. The springs were practically nonexistent, and the brown leather peeled like a bad sunburn—impossible not to pick at. 

“What kind of guy are you, then?” you asked, more interested in a distraction than his answer. 

Frank dug around in the cabinets, grabbed a plastic mixing bowl, and went to the sink. “I like dogs,” he told you, loud enough to be heard over the running water filling the bowl. 

You pretended not to hear him anyway. 

After starting at Nelson & Murdock, you’d planned to get a dog. It seemed like the right time. You had your own place, your own income—and you knew Foggy would love having something cute and furry around the office. But then you got closer to Matt, and the dream died before it ever began. 

Dogs were too much for Matt. Too many smells, too many sounds, too many textures. Back then, you’d thought it was a reasonable sacrifice. No dog in exchange for an incredible boyfriend. 

You knew better now. 

You should’ve picked the dog. 

Dragging the lone chair from the table, Frank settled in front of you with the bowl of steaming water and a thin cloth. His eyes went straight to your hand. You assumed it was because of the dried blood until he said, “You’re fucking up my couch.” 

You stopped picking, dusting the flakes of leather onto the floor. “It was already fucked,” you defended. 

“So you gotta make it worse?” 

You fixed him with a blank stare. “Nothing could make this couch worse.” Short of setting it on fire, that is. 

“That how we’re gonna play this?” Frank looked like he was holding in a laugh. “I let you in, offer you food—and you pay me back by talkin’ shit about my couch?” 

“It’s not just the couch,” you stated plainly. “It’s the whole apartment.” 

It reminded you of prison—a place that you, Foggy, and Matt had worked hard to keep Frank out of. Even if the trial hadn’t gone as expected, you hated the idea that all that fight had been for this: A peeling couch, a faded doormat, a lonely little chair. 

Frank deserved better than that. 

[Have you forgotten?—] 

[Castle was charged with 37 counts of murder] 

[—Why are you so attached to this case?] 

With the bowl balanced on top of his legs, Frank dipped the cloth in and wrung it out as he joked, “Guess I need that bird.” 

Your lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. 

“Guess so.” 

Frank held out an open palm. Without thinking, you laid your hand against his. 

The water was too hot. Not quite burning, but still uncomfortable as he pressed the cloth to your wrist. But you didn’t flinch, utterly motionless as he wiped in slow, circular motions. 

His touch was far lighter than you’d imagined. 

Not that you ever had imagined it. 

As the cloth moved down to your fingers, Frank’s focus grew more intent. He was meticulous in cleaning every line of your knuckles, the dried blood caked under your nails. 

Only when the water in the bowl had turned the color of rust, the cloth stained and your skin spotless, did Frank trade one of your hands for the other. 

Only then did you confess. 

“He had a knife.” 

Half a second—that’s how long Frank’s movements faltered before he kept on cleaning. You were thankful he didn’t try to look you in the eye. That he didn’t have to for you to know he was listening. 

“Foggy has a deposition in the morning,” you continued shakily. “He always forgets to print his motion, so I stopped by the office to do it for him and… I don’t know. On the way back home, I could just feel it, you know? That someone was there. That they were following me.” 

An understanding nod as Frank moved the cloth to your index finger. 

“I know it’s stupid,” you told him. “But I thought if I cut through the alley, got closer to Matt’s, then–” 

He’d hear it, if the worst happened. The Devil would come. Your boyfriend—if you could even still call him that—would save you. 

But that had been a stupid, childish thought. 

“I figured I could lose him,” you said instead. “That I could turn the corner and just run in circles until he gave up. But he was fast. I wasn’t even halfway down the alley when he ran up behind me, when grabbed my shoulder and–” 

Your breath caught. Frank’s touch moved slower, gentler—a feat you wouldn’t have thought possible. His eyes caught yours in a concerned glance. Only then did you remember how to breathe. 

“It was just a knife, Frank. A knife—and I pulled out a gun!” A short, hollow laugh. “I should have let him rob me,” you rationalized. “At least a wallet can be replaced. But him, his life–” 

Frank cut you off. “How do you know?” 

Your brows furrowed in answer. 

His hand went still against yours, holding the cloth wrapped around your ring finger. “That that’s all he wanted,” Frank gruffly clarified. “To rob you.” 

“I don’t, but–” 

“You remember what I told you? When I taught you how to shoot?” 

{You or them?—}

Frustrated, you insisted, “It’s not that easy, Frank. It’s not my choice!” 

[—It’s up to God, who lives and who dies.] 

Frank shook his head. “That’s the Catholic in you,” he argued. 

“I’m not Catholic,” you snapped, low but harsh. Frank looked confused, and you fought to keep the shame from your voice as you muttered, “Not anymore.” 

Religion, you’ve learned, is a funny sort of thing. Even when you stop believing, it never truly goes away. God becomes a ghost under your skin, a divine haunting that borders on insanity. You will always think in terms of Sinners and Saints. You will always know that no amount of repentance will ever mold your soul into something more like the latter. 

Frank wasn’t the type to pry any further. 

Instead, he adjusted your hand. Carefully dragged the cloth along the curve of your fingernail. The water had cooled, now too cold where it was once too hot. 

“It doesn’t matter what he was going to do,” you decided. “It only matters that I killed him.” 

This time, it was Frank’s breath that hitched. 

“No you didn’t,” he said, and you had never heard someone tell a lie so matter-of-fact. 

“I did–” 

He looked up. A muscle feathered in his jaw, and when he spoke, it was with the steely resolve of a Marine.  

“No. I did.” 

You blinked at him. 

“I gave you that gun,” he continued. “Gave you that goddamn advice, too. That no matter what, you always gotta pick you. And see, I don’t regret that shit either because all that? It kept you alive. Kept you breathing. And if some no-good prick’s gotta so you get to live? Fine. Good.” 

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but stare at him. 

“But if someone’s gotta bear the weight of that guy’s miserable life,” Frank told you, “then let it be me, alright?” His gaze fell, lingering on your lips a moment too long before he uttered, “‘Cause I ain’t gonna let it be you.” 

[You care about him—]

[—Don’t you?] 

Do you care about her? 

[Elektra’s just a friend—] 

… 

[—Can you say the same about Frank?] 

You studied the man before you. 

Frank Castle. The Punisher. 

The one you shouldn’t call, shouldn’t trust. A murderer and a felon, a crack in your already crumbling relationship. Someone you tried to stay away from, tried to forget. 

A number not saved, but remembered. 

No, you thought, and wondered if Matt already knew. I can’t. 

Swallowing, you looked down at your joined hands. The blood was almost all gone now, washed away by someone far more damned than you. 

“Okay,” you said. There was no need to say anything else, no need to keep bearing the crushing weight of your newly acquired sin—not when God was a ghost and the Devil had abandoned you, not when a Soldier was so willing to bear it for you. 

“You know,” you said, deftly changing the subject, “my brain’s a little hazy, but I’m pretty sure you promised me pizza.” 

Frank fought the subtle curve of his lips. “Did I?” 

You nodded, and he chuckled. 

“Fine–” he refocused, back to cleaning off the last of the blood–“but you’re placin’ the order.” 

You mocked him, Fine!, while sliding your phone from your pocket. The screen lit up with two missed calls and one text. 

Matthew: Sorry, got caught up with something. Everything OK? 

Your thumb hovered over the message. 

In the Bible, the number eight is symbolic of many things. Resurrection is one of them; something dead brought back into eternal life. Once, you would’ve seen Matt’s text—a string of eight words—and wondered if that meant something. If maybe there was something left of your love to be resurrected. 

Now, you stole a glance at Frank—your eighth call—and thought of new beginnings. Of choosing your own path. 

You cleared Matt’s message. 

Tapped on the Safari icon and asked, “Do you want somewhere specific?” 

“Ever been to Lombardi’s?” suggested Frank. 

You shook your head. “Is it good?” 

Frank cut you a look. “‘Course it’s good. But knowin’ you, you’ll probably shit talk it the same way you did my couch.” 

A smile tugged at your lips. “Keep it up,” you teased, already typing the restaurant into the search, “and your only company’s gonna be the couch and the bird.” 

He chuckled. “I ain’t gettin’ a bird.” 

You'd just pressed the phone to your ear, already listening to it ring when you built up the nerve to ask, "What about a dog?"

Frank set the cloth in the bowl. Gave your hand a gentle squeeze. 

“Maybe a dog.”

a/n - this has been sitting in my drafts literally since january. i can't decide if i like it or hate it, but i've gotten into too much of a habit of writing, overthinking, and then never posting---so, here it is! thank you to anyone who takes the time to read it <3

[pretty-little-mind33]

Pietro Maximoff x mutant fem!reader

Summary: You hate Pietro for how he treats you, or at least you do until you're stuck in an elevator with him.

Genre: hurt and comfort, enemies to lovers (only they aren't "enemies") <3

Warnings: Pietro is a dick in the beginning, panic attacks, claustrophobia, swearing, i use Czech to represent Sokovian (probably shitty translation)

~ thank you for requesting @princesssunderworld! loved this prompt sm! i wrote this for Pietro because we need more Pietro content asap and i have so many wips for Tangerine already! I hope you like this! ~

PIETRO MAXIMOFF MASTERLIST

Pietro Maximoff is quite possibly your worst nightmare. 

While he does have the face of an angel, all doe-eyed and charming smile, he somehow manages to make your life a living hell. He's like some beautiful, insufferable, devil that constantly insists on sitting promptly on your shoulder. 

Mostly, he spends his days finding any excuse to either argue with you or undermine you. During training, he constantly makes snarky comments on your form and purposefully speeds by you to knock you on your ass. He'll always wear the same smirk when you chew him out, almost like he's amused and you despise it.

You hate him. 

And most of all, you hate how it makes you feel. How he makes your cheeks feel warmer and that unfamiliar feeling bubble in your stomach. 

Wanda tries to convince you he has a school-boy crush on you—like some little boy who likes pulling little girls' hair on the playground. You don't want to hear it. He's a grown man now, not a boy anymore. If he has a crush, he should deal with it like an adult. 

One afternoon, Pietro had just pulled one of his so-called pranks on you, causing you to walk under a bucket of cold water and successfully drenching you and rendering the flames that usually spark from your hands from your anger into smoke.

The Avengers in the room training grow silent as Pietro, sitting on the weightlifting bench, bursts into laughter. 

"Pietro!" Wanda shrieks, immediately rushing to you from where she'd been talking to Vision but you shake your head, frustrated tears threatening to brim in your eyes.

You send Pietro a glare and storm out of the room, shaking your wet sleeves. 

You're too busy mumbling curses under your breath to hear Wanda shout at her twin brother as you furiously press the elevator button. When the doors opens you do hear his voice, however, "Y/n! Princezna (Princess)!" 

You rush into the elevator and spin around, pressing the close button as fast as you can but obviously, Pietro is much faster.

He reaches you before the doors close, almost slamming into you as his body vibrates from the aftermath of his powers. His hand comes up behind your head instinctively so you don't hit your head against the wall and he glances down at you, his blue eyes piercing into yours. 

You push him away just as the elevator wobbles and the sound of something snapping is heard. Pietro's speed must have somehow messed up the elevator system because the elevator starts to fall. 

You gasp, reaching for the only other person in the elevator,  and Pietro is by your side in an instant, crouching you both into one corner, his arms tightening around your waist as the elevator falls three stories and then halts with a loud screech.

Your mutation sometimes manifests when you're stressed, so you barely even register that you've set a part of Pietro's sleeve on fire from where you're clutching his arm until the sprinkler in the elevator turns on, soaking you both. 

"Hey, miláček (darling)," Pietro holds one of your cheeks in his hand, his voice uncharacteristically soft as he sees the white cloud in your eyes disappear and you blink. "You're okay." You're breathing heavily now, staring at him until you snap and push him away, curling your arms around your knees.

You look at the elevator panel only to see it's broken. Pietro is trying his hardest to pry the doors open, but even with his speed, they remain shut.

"Fuck Tony Stark," Pietro groans and slumps to the ground in front of you, running a hand in his silver hair as he sends you a lopsided grin. "You okay, princezna (princess)?" 

You glare at him. 

Pietro lifts his arms in surrender. 

You check your watch. The team should realize something went wrong and rescue you at any moment. You'll be fine, you try reminding yourself but the walls seem to be pressing in faster and faster. You feel dizzy as tears blur your vision and you haven't realized that you've started hyperventilating until Pietro touches your arm. 

You gasp again and look up at him, frightened. His expression softens as he kneels in front of you, looking you over. He looks concerned, which is a first.

"I- I can't breathe," you manage to croak out, your voice strained. As much as you don't want to turn to Pietro for help, you need him. 

Pietro nods, understanding your panic now. He soothes you and holds out his palm. "Breathe. It's okay. You're safe," he says and shakes his palm a little. He wants you to hold his hand. 

You sniffle, still having trouble breathing correctly as your fingers stroke against Pietro's palm and he smiles. His skin is warm and the shock centers you for a moment.

"There. I'm right here, miláček (darling)," he pauses and his hand vibrates a little, controlling his powers just enough so that he can show you he's here. 

The sensation elicits a laugh from you as you look up at him, matching the breathing he's showing you. Pietro's smile widens, his heart only half-breaking from the tears brimming in your eyes and he resists the urge to wipe your cheeks. 

"Shhh, there you go. Breathe. Dýchej, anděli, dýchej (Breathe, angel, breathe)."

Minutes later, Wanda is fussing over you as you sit in the lounge room after Tony rescued you and Pietro. She wraps a towel around your shoulders.

"Are you okay?" She keeps repeating as she ignores her equally wrecked-looking brother standing in the corner as Clint and Steve talk to him. You nod, eyes round from the entire ordeal. 

"Did he make it worse? Because I'll kill him—"

You shake your head, glancing at Pietro. Your cheeks burn hot when you catch his gaze and you snap your head back to Wanda, who just looks confused. 

"No– he helped me," you whisper, watching realization sparkle in her eyes. 

Still, she doesn't say anything.  

* * *

Pietro isn't awful to you anymore. He's the opposite. 

He's sweet. 

You find the shift weird so you avoid him. You avoid him until you physically can't anymore because he's blocking the door to the kitchen as you stand in the refrigerator light, a spoon stuck in your ice cream tub.

Your eyes widen as you look at him. He's wearing his pajamas as they hang just under his v-line, his hair a mess as he yawns. 

"What are you doing up, princezna (princess)?" he asks and walks over, grabbing another spoon and leaning against the counter, and shakes the spoon for you to share the ice cream. You hand him the tub, staring at him intensely.

"What?" Pietro smirks, his mouth full as he winces. "Sakra, je zima (Damn, it's cold)." 

"Thank you," you blurt out. You're a week late but you don't care.

Pietro raises an eyebrow. "For?"

"Helping me in the elevator. It meant a lot," you say, shifting nervously.

Pietro's smile softens and he sets the ice cream down, licking his lips. He walks over, cornering you into the counter but you don't feel threatened. You feel safe. He lifts his hand and hesitates at your cheek.

"Y'know, I'd be quite an asshole to let you suffer like that," he says in a whisper, his Sokovian accent thick as he chuckles. His fingers touch your skin and you shiver, your eyes widening. 

"Didn't stop you before," you mutter.

Pietro frowns. 

"Listen, anděl (angel), I know I haven't been the nicest to you but it's all been in good fun—it's nothing serious," he looks away a moment, searching for his words as he pauses. "I never meant to ever truly hurt you. I- I like you, Y/n. I just didn't know how to tell you so the teasing was easier for me."

You tilt your head, taking in his words. "What was your plan then, Pietro? Make me dislike you so somehow I'd turn around and like you after? That doesn't make any fucking sense. You could have just been sweet like you're being now!"

Pietro looks at you again, his arms caging you in now as his hands flex around the counter. "My feelings for you make no fucking sense," he argues, his eyes locked on yours. "I hate them. I hate how they make me act like a fool when all I want to do is kiss you and hold you close. Vše, co chci, je milovat tě (All I want to do is love you)."

You never wanted to admit it but you love it when he speaks Sokovian and you calm your breathing as your eyes shut. Pietro leans in, his breath ghosting yours. "One word. Say the word and I'll stop. I'll stop everything. I'll leave you alone."

You open your mouth, your eyes following, and you whisper. "Kiss me."

Pietro wastes no time in kissing you, claiming your lips as his own as his hand tightens around your waist. He's pulling you in closer, your body warms so hard as your hands find his cheeks that you're afraid you'll burn him and you try pulling away from him. 

"You won't hurt me," Pietro whispers through his kisses as he refuses to let you go. "I can take it."

You gasp into his mouth as your hands find his hair, pulling on the strands. This feels so unfamiliar and yet, you've never kissed anyone like this. 

Finally, Pietro pulls away and he leans his head on your warm forehead as you catch your breath. 

"Wanda mi dluží dvacet babek (Wanda owes me twenty bucks)," he whispers, mostly to himself as a lovesick smile graces his features. "Moje. Jsi můj. (Mine. You're mine)."

"What are you saying?" you ask, looking into his icy blue eyes you once 'hated' so much.

Pietro smiles and kisses your lips. He doesn't tell you what he means or how he feels. 

Not yet.

[lovelytsunoda]

boundaries & nicknames | oscar piastri

pairing: oscar piastri x girlfriend! reader

warnings: semi nsfw (sexual concepts discussed but no sex), talks of boundaries and likes/dislikes in the bedroom. this one is for my softer girlies who aren’t into degradation <3 (because literally same! I just want to be told how much you adore me thanks)

he doesn’t know what he’s done wrong at first, when she shouts his name and tries to push him away. but it has her rattled, makes her close in on herself.

“sweet girl?” he keeps his voice steady, his touch light. “talk to me, darling.”

she cursed under her breath. “it’s stupid.”

“it’s not stupid if it’s how you feel, love. your feelings are important. please tell me what’s wrong.”

she sighs, sitting back against the headboard. her stomach is turning, and she finds that she’s more nervous over how he’s going to react to what she tells him than she was upset over what he had said.

even though she knew he hadn’t meant it as more than a lust filled remark that many women found sexy in the bedroom, it had still cut her deep, and hurt her feelings.

“you called me a slut, and even though I know you didn’t mean it…I don’t know, maybe I’m just sensitive? so many women like it but it just makes me feel kind of used.”

oscars face fell. “oh, baby love.” he cooed, reaching for her hand. “I’m so sorry if I made you feel unsafe. there’s nothing wrong with not being into degradation. thank you for telling me.”

when she looked over at him, she saw nothing but pure adoration in oscar’s eyes.

“let’s brainstorm some nicknames you might like, alright angel? ooh, I’ve got one. how do we feel about ‘sexy little devil’?”

she laughed, a giddy feeling in her chest. “that’s a fun one. feels kind of powerful, actually.”

oscar grinned slyly, thumb still caressing her knuckles. “powerful? that’s just what I was going for. I want you to feel sexy and powerful, but more than that, I want you to feel treasured and cherished.”

they went on for almost half an hour, trading nicknames and keeping the conversation lighthearted. the air filled with giggles and soft kisses, and yn had to admit that nobody had ever done this for her before, taken the time to understand that she wasn’t into rough sex.

“how about ‘minx’. ooh, or maybe ‘temptress’? that one’s powerful as fuck.”

“ooh, I like that.” she beamed, leaning in to kiss him.

“good to know.” Oscar smiled back lazily, bringing her knuckles up to his chapped lips, pressing a delicate kiss against her skin

“and I reaally liked that.” she purred, feeling the tingling in her skin right down to her toes.

she was a romantic, what else could she say.

“come here, Prince Charming.”

“now you’ve got me going!”

[moraxine]

Haii I loveeeeed that dante fiction and I was that you want requests abt him :3c may I pretty please request a dante x angel reader that he admires from afair and kinda possessive about🤭

Divine Intervention [Dante]

pairing: dante x angel!reader

words: 500ish

Dante should’ve died that day.

He was bleeding out in the ruins of a cathedral, demons closing in fast, Rebellion cracked and too far to reach. He’d accepted the ending—gritted his teeth, ready to go down swinging like always.

Then you dropped from the sky.

A shock of light, heat, and feathers. Not just bright. Utterly blinding. You moved through them like a song made of blades, both holy and deadly. Needless to say the demons didn’t stand a chance.

Dante barely breathed as the last body fell. You stood there in the sunlit rubble, halo flickering like a heartbeat. You looked at him—really looked—and offered a hand.

“Get up, devil hunter.”

He did.

Mostly to follow you.

⸻

After that, he always happened to be near.

You didn’t invite him along on missions. He just… showed up. Said he was “tracking the same lead,” but never really looked surprised to find you there. He also watched the way you fought—graceful, precise. Watched the way you felt things, with every soul you couldn’t save stuck to you like sand.

And you never said no when he lingered. Never told him to go home.

So he didn’t.

⸻

Dante wasn’t sure when it started.

Maybe the third time you got hurt and said, “I’m fine,” with blood on your robes and a soft smile that almost killed him. Or maybe the night you fell asleep in his truck, head against the window, moonlight tangled in your lashes.

He didn’t touch you. Didn’t say a word.

But God help anyone else who tried.

⸻

It happened during a nest raid.

A demon slipped past him. Fast, sly, smart enough to aim for the light. It grabbed your wrist with its filthy claws and yanked you back. Dante snapped.

Rebellion was in his hands before he could think. One clean strike, and the demon hit the ground in two twitching halves. He was breathing hard, standing between you and the world like a wall.

That was close…

You blinked, wide-eyed. “Dante…”

He didn’t move.

“Are you okay?” he asked roughly.

You nodded, confused. “It didn’t even hurt—”

“I don’t care.” His voice was too low. “You don’t let anything touch you. Not like that.”

Pause.

You stared at him, lips parting, soft and stunned. “It wasn’t a big deal—”

“It is to me.”

The words hung there, heavy. He looked at your wrist like it had betrayed him. His hand lifted—stopped—then dropped to his side in a clenched fist.

“You’re mine out here,” he muttered, eyes flicking away. “When we’re fighting. Got it?”

Your lips twitched. “Is that your version of asking if I’m okay?”

“Don’t push it, angel.”

You smiled anyway, and behind all the smoke and blood and broken rules of heaven, Dante swore he saw the light again.

And this time, it didn’t blind him.

It called to him.

[bones4thecats]

Whoops! I forgot to add an emoji, sorry!

I'm the anon who made the Record of Ragnarok request regarding a goddess of fortune and luck s/o. I'd like to be called 🐢 anon, please.

RoR w/ Goddess of Fortune + Luck! S/O

Characters: Poseidon, Qin Shi Huang, and Hades Requester: 🐢Anon A/N: This was a nice thing to write, each of them have their own story, which basically never happens anymore, lol. Anyways, hope you like this! And have a sparkling rest of your days/nights! ⚠️ Spoilers/Trigger Warnings for: Mentions of death, insinuated assault, SWEARING in Poseidon's part, murder, blood, and slight description of death (tiny gore warning) ⚠️

Disclaimer: The Reader is a FEMALE and based on Yaoshi (HSR)

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Poseidon ══════════════════════════════╝

🔱 You were his beauty to his beast. While that might not be physical on his behalf, his emotionless and cold demeanor made everyone, including his own family, believe him to be a devil in an angel's skin

🔱 On average, you would visit your believers in your temple, waving each ahead before gifting them with luck and a small fortune every time. But, as your reputation grew, so did your follower's egos

🔱 Poseidon was pissed when he found out one of your long-time followers had a son whom was trying to get into your pants so you would gift him with an unbelievable fortune and unbelieving amounts of luck just for being 'yours'

🔱 He decided to visit your temple one day, stabbing his trident into the stone flooring as he walked, alerting all that surrounded the area, and making them bow in respect to the God of the Sea. Poseidon just scoffed and kept walking, not giving any human any glance, they, in his eyes, did not deserve a perfect being like himself's attention

🔱 As he strode through, he found Aphrodite and Heracles outside of your temple, watching over the many children in the surrounding garden. They smiled as they caught Poseidon walking, as he just asked for your location

"Y/N went to her chambers with this guy... I think he said his name was... Dolion?"

"Yes, that was his name Heracles. They've been gone for about 10 minutes, I was about to send Heracles to check on them, but since you're here!"

🔱 Poseidon nodded and walked to your chambers, his trident making the same clack noise as he heard a man yelling at someone, which made your husband furrow his brows slightly as he listened in

"Get out of here, Dolion."

"Oh go fuck yourself, you whore! Just manipulating my emotions like that?! Making me feel such a strong connection just for you to take it away because you're married to that bastard, Poseidon?! How could you?!"

"Dolion. I will not tell you again. Get the fuck out."

"Don't tell me you never felt the connection with me, Goddess of Fortune and Luck? Come on, Y/N."

"You have no right to call me by that name. Do not make me kill you where you stand."

🔱 The sound of you screaming made Poseidon burst in the room, his trident pushing against the male's neck as you fell to the ground, your long hair pooling around your small frame on the ground

"You have five second to apologize, worm."

"Who the fuck are you?!"

"Five."

"Seriously, man! Who are you?!"

"Four."

"Oh for the love of Olympus. Answer me!"

"One."

🔱 You closed your eyes as Poseidon stabbed the man's neck, plunging his trident's three tips into the stone wall and causing blood to begin drip down the body of the now-deceased young male

🔱 Standing up and listening to your chain-wrapped foot hit the ground as you hugged Poseidon from behind, your grip tightening around his stomach, making him look back at you and breath out, providing your ears with the familiar echo of his breathing. He then grabbed your arm and wrapped his own around your midsection, keeping you in a protective grasp

"Thank you, 'Seidon."

"Hmm."

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Qin Shi Huang ═══════════════════════════╝

👑 Qin Shi Huang knew that you and him being in a relationship was bound to start some kind of controversy within the Einherjar, as they distrusted pretty much any God they came across. Yep, that means they distrusted Buddha for quite a while

👑 You merely sat up with the rest of the fighters as Qin fought, and you smiled gently as Hades walked in, causing Leonidas to look at you with narrowed eyes

"What are you smiling at, Goddess?"

👑 Chuckling at his animosity, you reached outwards, pointing towards the tall, white-haired God of the Dead before speaking up again

"That man caused many issues between me and my old human friend, Tamaki. Honestly, seeing such an enemy fight against my husband is a fight I cannot tear my eyes from for a second."

👑 Kojiro smiled as you spoke, looking back down at the Emperor. He then looked at you and asked you how you had met the royal and gotten into a relationship, after all, being a Goddess of such a high-caliber in the Shinto Pantheon must have been hard to deal with a human

"It's quite the detailed story. But if you wish to know so badly, Sasaki, I shall tell you the shortened version."

👑 The others adjusted their positions to listen to you, curiosity spread through their tough and chiseled forms as you began to speak, recanting your love story with your husband

"One night, I had decided to take a walk through a garden, but this garden was owned by the Emperor's family. It was there that I noticed a young man walking around, a blindfold over his eyes, much to my confusion at the time. I walked to the man and asked him if he could see and needed assistance, the man, whom I later learned to be Qin Shi Huang, had merely waved me off with a smile before asking if I needed help since he never saw me around the building."

"Wait- he can see through that thing?" Buddha asked.

"Correct, Buddha. But, after I left, I had given him a peony and a orchid. The peony, in Chinese culture, stands for good fortune, while the orchid stands for wealth and fortune. I began to come by nearly weekly, which allowed us to grow closely before he proposed and we married. I revealed my identity as a divine being a mere few days before he proposed, so imagine my shock when he asked for my hand in marriage!"

👑 The others chuckled as you finished your story, allowing you to look back down as your husband readied his form for the fight. You allowed a single tear to fall down from your eye, but before it hit the ground, you picked it up and tossed it onto the ground, making a four-leaf clover pop up from the flooring. Grabbing it, you blew it to your husband, in your own, silent way to wish him luck in the battle for Humanity's safety

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Hades ════════════════════════════════╝

💀 As you pat the young deity's head, your husband watched from a distance. You had been bonding with Zeus' family a lot more after the birth of Ares, his youngest brother's oldest son, and after Hermes' birth, you had just doubled down on your Auntie-responsibilities, even as the two aged

💀 Hades smiled as you looked at the middle of Zeus' boys, using your magic to tie tiny golden fabric-strands onto his body, around the arm like a bow for Hermes, he lightly adjusted it to his style while you smiled and pat his head lightly

💀 Laughing as you saw Ares began to mess around with his father, Zeus, as he tried making a speech as if he was going to lead another army to battle, you gave one of the most beautiful smiles in Olympus

💀 Hermes then told you he needed to go visit with his mother, you nodded and allowed him to go speak to Hera. You then clasped your hands in front of your hips and walked towards your husband, stopping by his side and laying your head on his shoulder

"Good afternoon, my love."

"Good afternoon, my King of the Netherworld."

💀 Chuckling and laying his head on your own, Hades smiled gently. He could feel your welcoming and warm aura pulse through his own cold and noble one, and it was a feeling he didn't want to let go of anytime soon

"Aunt Y/N, Uncle Hades! It's good to see you both!" A voice rung out, snapping both you and Hades out of your peaceful moment.

💀 Looking back up, you saw two of your three nephews. Heracles and Ares walked up and shook their Uncle's hand while they hugged you delicately, making sure they didn't accidentally damage any of the golden accessories that dawned your figure

"It's good to see you both as well. How has training been?" Hades asked.

"Alright. Dad almost destroyed the arena last week, though." Ares answered while Heracles nodded with a tired expression.

"Well that sounds like fun, calming your father down and all." You teased, making the three guys smile and chuckle at the thought of Zeus acting like a child in need of discipline from his parents.

"Y/N!" Aphrodite yelled out, waving you over to her and her nymphs.

💀 You peered back at your husband, who just nodded and kissed your forehead, allowing you to walk over to your old friend. Aphrodite was excited about something, and he knew you were naturally a curious being

"You really love her, don't you, Uncle?" Heracles asked.

"That I do. That I do..."

[cowboyschumi]

ANGEL

Summary: Who was Max Verstappen when the cameras were off? A mystery to everyone but a reality for you. A four-time champion is more than just a mentality, and luckily, you went through all those layers to finally reach who he really is.

Author's note: First time writing for Max, so bear with me as I try to portray a realistic personality for him! Flashbacks are aligned differently for clarity and easier reading. As is typical of me, there's a song inspiration for every fic. Not my finest work. English is not my first language sorry for any typos.

Warning: Slight mentions of cursing, mental health, drinking; jealousy and intercourse.

————————————————————————

COWBOYSCHUMI | 2025 All rights reserved. Do not copy, translate, or upload on other platforms.

————————————————————————

No one knew how on earth you pulled Max. Not because of his status or wealth, but because you somehow ended up dating the man who was the devil reincarnated on track.

The answer was simple and it was the number one rule in your relationship: what happens on the track stays on the track. No rage, no outbursts, no carrying emotions home. Managing feelings. Was it easy at first? Absolutely not.

"Breathe in, breathe out." Those stupid breathing exercises of yours, that’s what he used to call them. And now, they were one of his top habits, something he did every morning and before bed. He was a new man with you, no doubt about it. Max sat on the edge of the bed, the one permanently covered in cat hair, while you knelt behind him. Connected by body contact, by the rhythm of your synchronized heartbeats and breathing. Your torso pressed against his back, one arm wrapped over his shoulders, and your free hand resting gently on the center of his chest, rising and falling with each of his now-steady breaths.

Managing emotions wasn’t for everyone. You had to know when to react, how to handle things. Anyone else might have freaked out at Max’s outbursts, but not you.

He definitely wasn’t a verbal guy. Occasionally, he made exceptions, but his love language was acts of service and quality time—an action-based way of showing how grateful he was for your patience and love. Sometimes, he outdid himself, crossing the line into extravagance.

"I mean… they didn’t look that big in the photo, I swear." His thick Dutch accent always became more noticeable when he was nervous. That was an indoors thing though, because there was no way Max Verstappen would ever let nerves show in front of the press. But around you? He was a mess. He had bought you flowers. Not just a bouquet, a whole bed-sized arrangement, so massive it nearly swallowed the room. There was no reason behind it, no special occasion. Just a sudden, over-the-top surprise.

Sometimes, Max felt like he owed you something, or like too much time had passed since he last gave you a gift. And when that happened, he’d show up out of nowhere with the most ridiculous, oversized boxes imaginable.

There were nights when he fell asleep first, and you stayed awake, watching him—running your fingers through his still-damp shower hair—wondering how you even ended up by his side. If you hadn't taken the time to get to know him, you probably would have run away at first glance, judging by how awful his first impression was: a man who didn’t seem to care about much of anything.

But as time passed, you realized the two of you weren’t so different. It was the little things that brought you together—sharing the same interests, enjoying the same comforts. There was a quiet peace in the home you shared, despite the occasional chaos of his late-night gaming sessions. He napped with the cats while you baked, or you’d both sit in the living room—paddle tennis playing in the background—while you lost yourself in a book. Everything was perfectly balanced, respecting each other’s schedules and space without overstepping. That’s why spending all day together never felt suffocating. Living together, coexisting, wasn’t a burden the way it ended up being for so many other couples.

Cracking him open took months, maybe even a solid year. There were dates where he barely spoke, post-race weekends where he completely shut down, and times when he disappeared without a word. It took you a while to understand that every person, every emotion, is its own world. You couldn’t be behind him constantly, checking in like some obsessed detective. Everything had its time. He would open up when he was ready.

You certainly didn’t expect him to open up on a Monday at midnight, after winning a race.

"He drank—just a little bit," Daniel Ricciardo grinned widely, as always, helping you carry Max into his apartment. No shit, Sherlock. The younger driver could barely stand, stumbling over his own steps. After Daniel overexplained for the millionth time—without bothering to hide his amusement—that Max always drank this much at parties, you shoved him out through the front door. Oh, how you wished you could share his optimism. And there you were, alone with the drunken enemy. Though, not much of an enemy now, considering he was about to pass out in his party clothes, sprawled across the couch. Arms crossed, a jokingly disapproving look on your face, you stared at him from across the room. "Bet you even drank from the flower vases." "Don’t make me say a word, or I’ll throw up any second," He shot back, his usual sarcastic and sharp tone. The cameras knew him for this side of his personality. You were already used to it. Once again, you guided him to bed, making sure he lay on his back so the dizziness wouldn’t hit as hard. More than a few times, he complained that the ceiling was spinning. "Hold me," He murmured, not demanding, just needy. You stood frozen beside him, and he had to say it twice before you snapped out of your daze. His head rested on your lap now, the sound of the ceiling fan filling the quiet room with a soft hum. The dim, warm glow from the bedside lamp cast shadows on his face, highlighting the sheen of sweat from the party still dripping down his skin. Curled up beneath you, ready to sleep for the next eight hours, he hadn’t even registered that you hadn’t congratulated him yet. "I’m proud of you," You sighed, running your fingers along his back. His black shirt clung to his body, outlining the definition of his muscles. No response. You hadn’t expected one. That had always been your dynamic from the beginning—being present, caring, without expecting anything in return. How could you ask for love from someone who had never learned how to receive it? Someone who had never truly felt it? "Fuck you." His voice was muffled against your lap, trying to silence the quiet sobs that shook his body. Even now, you hadn’t figured out how to get him to swear less. You’d have to work on that.

It took him a long time to figure out sex, he barely knew the basics. To him, it had always been just a mechanical act, nothing more than pulling in and out. Aftercare wasn’t even in his vocabulary.

It felt like moving backward, but in the purest, sweetest way. Learning each other’s bodies from scratch, asking if every touch, every movement felt okay.

You gave sex meaning for him, the feeling of making love, rather than just bodies colliding.

"Do I have to dress up for that?" Max asked, tossing his shirt aside. He wasn’t joking about not wanting to wear a costume, he was genuinely concerned about the possibility. You brought the word foreplay into the conversation. Perplexed was an understatement. His reaction caught you off guard for a second, but then you laughed it off. Him not knowing? Actually hilarious. You hooked an arm around his neck, pulling him closer as you lay back on the bed. Keeping deep eye contact, without any warning at all, your hand trailed down—palming him through the fabric of his clothes. Slowly, deliberately, letting your touch explore every warm inch possible without actually giving him what he needed most. In an instant, his head nestled against the crook of your neck. His handling span was subtle, as if unaccustomed to your overwhelming attention. "It's about teasing each other just the right amount," You murmured. "Testing our limits playfully."

From an outsider’s perspective, anyone would assume he was a wreck in bed, and truthfully, he used to be. In fact, if you asked him to go back to his old ways—ruthless, relentless—he wouldn’t hesitate to leave you utterly wrecked within minutes. But that wasn’t his comfort zone anymore. You had taught him how to take care of you, how to slow down, and he had learned to like it. Now, he preferred to take his time, savoring every moment. After all, for him, you always came first—in every sense of the word. His top priority.

The building of a healthy relationship has a bit of everything—ups and downs. Sometimes, no matter how much effort you put into someone, their beliefs were stronger. Self-esteem is key to that—well, at least in Max's case. Being number one wasn’t just a state or a way of living; you had to believe you were the one first.

But in a world of multiple numbers, there’s always more than one number one

"Haven't you seen how he stared at you? He even looked twice." He had very expressive, almost cartoonish reactions. Brunch was set on a table outside— a tranquil midday scene, with just enough people around to create that typical background hum of chatter. Your favorite kind of day involved eating out, trying new restaurants, and pretending you were exigent food critics. It had become a sort of ritual—while it took you over an hour to get fully ready, he would just shower and throw on the same white shirt as any prior date. The dress code was formal, but the manners were anything but—immature, noisy laughter, and an endless string of inappropriate jokes.

Looks were tricky. You appeared composed and serious, but never judge a book by its cover. The same went for Max—rock-solid on the outside, with a slightly silly demeanor or playful banter for the media. You two brought out each other’s true selves because, with each other, you felt the safest being your realest.

The way you were with him: compassionate and soft, became the meaning of it all, the reason behind his persistence in calling you angel and reminding you that you were his angel. Sometimes, you could hardly bear his cliché explanation that you saved him, but in truth, you did—not from any external harm, but from himself. You had some sort of protection and halo over him.

“My sweet angel.” "Max Emilian." You protested, just like every other time he called you that. He sounded so careful with each syllable, as if he meant every word. It was him at his corniest, if you were being honest, taking your breath and words away with just a surname. Leaving you all giggly and flustered—that was exactly why you hated being called that so much. "I'm really touching heaven by having you by my side." The Dutch man whispered against your lips, wearing a full smile. He was only this happy with you and only you. The podium wasn't a factor in the happiness equation.

You changed his life for the better, so how could he not feel happy and blessed to call you his?

[bunnylove1]

-ˏˋ. Ren headcanons ˊˎ-

✎ᝰ. : I Do not own this character! These headcanons are just for fun and may not be what the creator headcanons for there character! Please keep that in mind !

✎ᝰ. : warnings! 18+ content ! 14 days with you is an 18+ game so is my account if you are underage please leave. This writing contains, smutty acts, fluff, and more ! Not proof read!! You have been warned.

→ : I have a feeling ren has a bunch of those cheap Chinese toys that you’d get from the dollar store in a bin in his room. Idk he just looks like he would

→ : Rens closet is like those two houses that are opposite from one another yk what I mean that black and pink houses yeah that’s his closet.

→ : they definitely have a thing for public sex. Like come on the living room scene … I mean that dudes freaky.

→ : Ren is a big guy he’s 6’5 I see him having too get a bunch of pants he thinks are cool tailored too his size cause if not his whole ankle is going too show.

→ : they definitely like too Color. But like adult coloring books with colored pencils.

→ : if you where too live with them he'd put all your “special plates/cups” aka the ones you use frequently, on the top shelf so you have too get his help.

→ : lets you paint their fingernails, Dude love seeing your face go bright when he says yes.

→ : I know this dude has a thing for seeing you in black and purple. Idk why purple but I just think he’d be all happy and complement you 24/7 if you did wear those colors. Especially if it’s alt fashion

→ : Ren just gives off the vibe that he wants too be called a good boy while he dominates you. Like Imagine their fucking you dumb and all of a sudden they go “call me a good boy please” in like a breathy voice GAH.

→ : Definitely loves it when his partner bites or marks him he likes showing it off. As much as he can

→ : that ring that he wears, yeah that one. That’s definitely gotta be your future weeding ring.

→ : he likes when you draw imaginary shapes on any part of their body. Doesn’t matter were they just like the feeling.

→ : The best at taking photos of you. The beach scene just says it all. They’ll take as many as they can too get the perfect photo for you. He’d do anything for their angel

→ : Halloween with Ren definitely wouldn’t be boring. They’d drop a hint saying that a new horror house opened up for Halloween and if they saw you were interested he’d take you there.

→ : the same thing with Halloween I 100% see them wanting too do an angel and devil matching costume with you.

→ : randomly buys you flowers and leaves them at your door with a letter saying something like “have a good day angel�� or “these were just so pretty and thought you’d like them”

→ : would have those pink fluffy dice in his car.

→ : they’re those people too like anime figures and get a bunch of them and get a case too put them in.

→ : would get a tattoo of his partners name. (Bad ren don’t do that shit.)

→ : into bondage and cum play definitely. Like tying your hands behind your back and putting a blindfold on you that definitely gets him hot and hard. They’d love seeing you covered with his cum. Mostly would like it too be on your stomach or inside you.

→ : I know this freak has a thing for you in costumes (like a cop or a nurse) idk he just gives me the vibe that it would make him hard.

→ : likes the sound of you gagging on him. especially if you have drool slipping out your mouth.

→ : he’s a switch no doubt about it. I just think it depends all on you how you feel. If you a dom I know he’d sub for you and if you a sub he’d dom for you. Ren would do anything for you.

→ : try’s too match your breathing when your asleep.

→ : I feel like he hates fish. Like food wise.

→ : would get you a custom made biker helmet with cat ears or something on it for when you ride with him.

→ : randomly scares you. Like not like he means it just they walk so quietly that he’d randomly appear behind you and you wouldn’t even notice till you turn around

→ : likes too hug you from behind while you cook, maybe even sway his hips while he does it.

✎ᝰ. : I did it !! Took me forever cause I got overstimulated half way through. Which is why it got kinda short at the end because I was starting too lose motivation…

✎ᝰ. : I hope you liked this pumpkins !! Non of this is going too be 100% canon because it’s not mine, these are just for fun remember!

[livelaughlovesubs]

I need more Boothill... Maybe just taking orgasm after orgasm after orgasm... Mommy kink even...?

WAIT HUUUH?? BAE, YOU ARE REQUESTING SMT FROM ME? I’m fucking honoured I could cry also you are a switch? >:0

Anyway, hope this is to your liking <3

Dom!reader x sub!Boothill

Warning: mommy kink (boothill calls reader mommy), handjob, dacryphilia, praise kink, soft dom

His once cold metal arms were wrapped around your neck, holding onto you as tightly as he could. Legs spread as far as he can while he squeezed his eyes shut, unable to handle the overstimulation your touch brought him. “Too.. too much~” The male groaned into your neck, his hot breath tickling your skin. All you did in response was coo at him, whispering gently, “you are doing great, my love.” Each time your hand pumped up and down his sticky length, he could feel his body overheating and going feral. As if all of his systems shortcut, he felt how his limps went weak, at this rate he can barely hold on to you any longer.

Your hand was all dirty with the lube as well, smiling at him as you continued the same movements you’ve been repeating for the last hour. Up, down, up and down… just like that, a steady rhythm that made his mind go blank. You adored this man with all your heart, the only thing you want for him is eternal happiness and satisfaction. In your opinion, it was a blessing that you can make him feel good like this, make him whimper and cling onto you. “So good and so pretty for me, my baby.” A soft chuckle left your lips, eyes filled with adoration scanning over his mechanical body. He really was beautiful, every side of him, from his adorable personality to his looks. You swore to yourself that you’d always love him, his past, and his future. A future where you hope to be in the picture as well.

That lovely gaze of yours didn’t escape his sharp senses, those very loving eyes were what caused boothill to fall for you. He found comfort in them, solace and peace. It was indescribable. The moment you look at him with such tenderness he haven’t felt since centuries, he crumbles like sand with water. Somehow, you were able to make his nonexistent heart beat, causing him to year for you. All he could do was thank the aeons for granting him this comfort, since you reciprocated his feelings he tried so hard to suppress. “S-stop it with those uHhm~ dadgem compliments…” The cyborg scoffed, biting his bottom lip to keep his moans in check.

“But you deserve them, sweetie, and it’s only the truth. It’s what I think about you.” You mumbled against his head, using your free hand to stroke his long hair. “I really adore you.” You added after seeing his ears redden. Sometimes he thinks you are an angel, because of how nice you are, yet other times you were straight up the devil’s incarnation. Whenever you’d tease him until he’s whimpering and humiliated, that is. “Still.. stop it.” Boothill insisted, he felt way too embarrassed and aroused by just some praises that it was hurting his ego. His hands were bawled into fists behind your neck, sometimes when it got especially intense he’d also scratch your back.

Instead of nodding along, you just smiled again, picking up your pace on his length. His body has been warmed up by your body heat at this point, that’s how long you two have been going at it. How many times has he cum now? Since there are no physical signs of him reaching his orgasm, you could only guess from his other body languages. If you guessed rightly, it’d be three times already. When you suddenly started going faster, the cowboy cried out, pressing his face further into the nook of your neck as he begged incoherently, “please please please.., no-no more, mommy..” If it weren’t for his inability to, he would have cried from the excessive pleasure.

Poor boy was panting and gasping the entire time, mouth hung agape because he got no time to close with from all the moaning. The ecstasy was too much, way too much to handle, to the point even his fake thighs shook uncontrollably. How was it even possible for him to feel anything below his neck? He doesn’t know. He also didn’t know if this is a blessing or a curse since, fudge, you are driving him insane. “Hngghh… I can’t I can’t..! Ah, ahhH- mommy, please…” Boothill whined again, he was such a mess now, all due to you, only for you.

“Shh, it’s alright baby. I’m right here, mommy here with you.” You reassured him, kissing his forehead gently. The warmth of your lips was the last straw he needed to spill over the edge, eyes rolling back as a chocked out moan escaped his throat. “UghH- uhmmHg..!!” All of this was too much for him, he could feel new electricity crashing down on him in waves. Then a sudden sharp pain coursed through your body. His fingers dug into your back, crawling at your skin again, leaving behind new scratch marks. You bit his neck to bear the sensations, drawing out another pained groan from the boy, “ugh-nnNghhHH~..!”

After calming down a bit, you kissed his face. From his cheeks to his nose and lips, leaving behind little pecks for him to enjoy. “So good for me, my good boy.” You praised him again, ending with him turning his face to the side and avoiding you. What an adorable thing he was, of course you didn’t mind his bratty behaviour, instead you laughed before teasing him, “did you enjoy it? I mean, you even started calling me ‘mommy’.” Immediately the blush previously pestering his cheeks returned, and he yelled out a ‘fork you’. Once again you giggled, kissing the tip of his nose again, then saying, “aw, I thought it was very cute though.”

Never would he ever admit to have done something so.. embarrassing yet cute. Boothill thought this was finally over when you suddenly started rubbing his tip again, causing him to let out a squeak, “aghNhh..?!” You looked at him with expectant eyes, asking him, “what, you didn’t think I was done already, did you?” Right after you finished that sentence, you started jerking him off in the earnest again, and he moaned through gritted teeth, “nGHhhh~ fudge… please spare me, mommy~~ ♡”

[lacilashea]

I love Jesus more than all and all my posts belong to Jesus and he is my Lord and savior, the Messiah, the Christ, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, Jesus Christ the truth, Jesus King of the jews, the rest on the earth and that much being God's son. as my Lord and savior and this is not about me but about Jesus the Messiah, the Christ, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, Jesus Christ the truth, Jesus King of the jews and the rest on the earth and that much being God's son with Mary, and Jesus, God, and the Holy Ghost have feelings like you and others do that also exist because of God, and you can talk to Jesus, God, and the Holy Ghost literally all the time and they do talk back to you and outside of prayer also and will be that close to you and talk to them and others that exist like you all day and night long and you'll never be alone and start talking to Jesus about everything and your lives will improve, No one needs governments, kings, queens, etc of people anywhere when people could just help one another as God and Jesus said and with God and Jesus being kings over us and all the people even now God and Jesus should be-1 samuel 8:6-9-It displeased Samuel when they said to him, “Appoint a king over us,” so Samuel prayed to the Lord. The Lord said to him, “Listen to everything that the people have requested of you. It is not you whom the people have rejected, they have rejected me as their king. They have done this from the day that I brought them up out of Egypt to this very day. They have rejected me and served other gods, just as they have rejected you. So grant their request, but warn them solemnly and inform them what the king who reigns over them will do.” and then what happened to Jesus-John 18 and 19 and he-JESUS IS EVERYONE'S KING and GOD'S BEGOTTEN SON with Mary and GOD JESUS'S DAD AND OUR HEAVENLY FATHER IS KING-as for you, DO NOT BE CALLED RABBI. you have but one TEACHER, AND YOU ALL BROTHERS. CALL NO ONE ON EARTH YOUR FATHER; you have but one FATHER in HEAVEN. DO NOT BE CALLED MASTER; you have but one master, the MESSIAH-JESUS-MATTHEW 23:8-10. Just more FACTS.

I love Jesus more than all and all my posts belong to Jesus and he is my Lord and savior, the Messiah, the Christ, Jesus is my King and should be your too instead of people and made up governments and Lord of Lords, Jesus Christ the truth, Jesus King of the jews, the rest on the earth and that much being God's son. as my Lord and savior and this is not about me but about Jesus the Messiah, the Christ, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, Jesus Christ the truth, Jesus King of the jews and the rest on the earth and that much being God's son with Mary, and Jesus, God, and the Holy Ghost have feelings like you and others do that also exist because of God, and you can talk to Jesus, God, and the Holy Ghost literally all the time and they do talk back to you and outside of prayer also and will be that close to you and talk to them and others that exist like you do all day and night long and you'll never be alone and start talking to Jesus about everything, and your lives will improve and I'm not just saying that it is true and I know from my own personal experiences that Jesus is a friend to all that want to be his friend just like God is Abraham's friend, God is the same way, the Holy Spirit, Also others really do exist God Jesus and the Holy Ghost have made-a variety of angels, animals, plants, people, demons, devil, you, me and more me who God, Jesus and Holy Spirit has made and you only worship Jesus, God, and the Holy Ghost as that how it is suppose to be and Jesus is who allows you to talk to God and anyone(as you are breathing)-John 14:6 just ask Jesus and he let you talk to them. Exodus in the comments to Chapter 24 and goes to 40 to look up the rest-Jesus is King and should be ruling us with God as King and the Holy Ghost everywhere right now instead of people and made up governments. Jesus, God, and the Holy Ghost are my-Laci Lashea Higgins and many more last names in my families only kings and you should understand why you do not want people over you and all should be given back to Jesus God's son to be over/leading as king, ruler, leader over everybody only with God and the Holy Ghost-not people as Jesus is the only Messiah and that is why. If they do not take a hint with made up governments everywhere just write in JESUS on the ballot because that is not suppose to be going on either anywhere with made up governments or kings over anyone anywhere when Jesus can be over everyone and should be-not people. Everyone looking at my blog knows exactly what I mean.

[atsulovee]

✧ ─ · · KINKTOBER DAY TWO !! · · ─ ✧

To Thee, My Eternal Love

Knife play - Vampire!Dazai x Fem!Reader ➻❥ content warnings: blood, threat of bodily harm and mutilation, implied kidnapping, slight yandere!dazai, period typical misogyny (early 1800s), mentioned abuse. ➻❥ word count: 2.2k ➻❥ notes: this one specifically made me glad i put a 3.5k cap on my word count for kinktober lol. i kept catching myself getting way too wordsy so i had to cut a lot of unneeded stuff.

"The red moon hung heavy in the sky, consuming and tearing every little star in its light. Your husband was slotted between your legs, one hand keeping you leg on his hip and the other pointing the silver dagger at your esophagus. Like the old renaissance paintings of the devil, Dazai was handsome."

“To thee, my eternal love,

Even from so far, I hear the lovely beat of your heart, the alluring race of your pulse. Each night as I wake, your beating heart is all I care to listen for. I have not seen the sun in centuries, nor heard the call of morning roosters, but when the heat of your blood is my replacement, I find I do not mind. 

My beautiful mortal darling, as ephemeral as the petals of a spring flower. I, they call a vampire, a forager of blood, but it is beauty that I seek. Under the cover of darkness, near the churchyard, was when I found you. A muse, an angel, sitting at a grave. So young, so beautiful. I just could not bear letting your beauty be marred and restrained by the common village folk. I knew then you walked in a murky world- one that no one else could understand. You’re far too slight for such burdens. I would carry the world for you, slaughter villages, burn down whomever you ask. It was time to strike, for love could not wait. You fought, and you cried, relieved to be rid of mortal plights. 

I am not the monster you wish to believe I am. My undead heart has not beat in centuries- however, when I am with you, I feel the faintest tremors of a pulse. I’ll live a long time yet, my dear, and I could not bear an eternity without you. The day you die will be the day I’m destined to wander this world more helpless and alone than I have ever been. I’ll call your name to the moon at night, knowing there will be no answer.

And that is why I must never let you pass on from this world. 

Your Darling, Dearest, Dead, Osamu Dazai.”

. . .

To be the perfect doll is to be quiet, docile, and moldable. To be a wife is to be the same. A delicate puppet on silk strings, meant to be taken care of, meant to bend to every will and whim of their man. 

Cursed with your womb, you are all but a fully autonomous person in the eyes of the masses. A woman in the early 1800s has one duty to her family- marry young and above your social standing. Never step a foot out of line and never pull at your own strings. 

You were his- irrevocably, incredibly, dangerously his. Dazai had long made sure of that. 

His hand clasps your own and pins it above your head, a silent command from him to listen as you lie on the satin sheets. In a flurry, your hair splayed across the bed like a halo as blood red light filled the room. To Dazai, you were the light of heaven he was destined to never see. A gift from a God that despised him- perhaps to make up for His transgressions. 

Dazai’s deep, steady breaths puffed against your neck, even as his narrow hips pressed flush against yours. “My darling…” He sighs, never once blinking. Dazai couldn’t stand the idea of taking his eyes off of you for even a second. Each moment, each minute, each hour was so special, so precious. Each second that Dazai dared to spend not gazing upon your beauty was a second wasted. You were human still. And you could so easily leave him, slipping away into eternity.

His hips stilled against yours, the tip of his cock gently kissing your cervix. “My darling.” Dazai nearly whines, leaning forward until his chest pressed against yours just so his lips could gently kiss at your pulse point. Your blood was warm, much like the sun he had not seen in decades, and it was sweet just like the food he could no longer taste. “I adore you.”

Dazai was always a desperate, pitiful man. One who longed for things greater than him and shrunk away when his wishes were fulfilled. But you, his dearest human, was one thing he could never shy away from. 

You were lonely tucked away in his home, but you were safe. There was so much beyond his walls that could harm a human and you were simply not allowed to die by anyone’s hand but his own. 

His cold hand drags up your torso, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and up to your chest. You were so warm, Dazai laughed weakly against your neck as he listened to the heavy beat of your heart. He had no need for you to reciprocate his devotions so long as you stayed alive.

“I adore you, my love. You know that.” Dazai resists the urge to sink his fangs into your exposed neck, pulling himself away to stare at the flush on your cheeks. “I haven't felt such joy in either of my lives- undead or otherwise.” He savored every whine and cry that fell from your colored lips as he slammed his hips in and out of your tight hole. 

His nails bit and tore into your skin, letting droplets of your blood stain the sheets below. You hiccuped and cried every night when he took you to bed, but you no longer fight like you once had. It was a pity, really. Dazai thought you looked especially cute as you kicked and squirmed, trying to fight an inhuman being away. 

You tilt your head to the side, sniffling as Dazai holds you by your hips, forcing you to feel every thick inch as he plunges into you with an obscenely wet noise. Your strangled gasp meshes into a hiss as he punches the air out of your lungs with each thrust.

“Look at me.” Dazai whispers, grabbing your chin and pulling your face towards him. His voice is soft and sweet, a gentle breeze against your lips. But his smile is wide and his grip is bruising. When you fail to raise your eyes, he pulls your hips towards him harshly, forcing you to feel his cock in your stomach. “I will not ask you again.” It’s only when you feel the familiar blade of his dagger pressing against your throat that you dare look at him. 

Crimson light spills into the room like it was a flood. The red moon hung heavy in the sky, consuming and tearing every little star in its light. Your husband was slotted between your legs, one hand keeping you leg on his hip and the other pointing the silver dagger at your esophagus. Like the old renaissance paintings of the devil, Dazai was handsome. In the light, his brown eyes seem to glow mahogany. A horrible, horrible gaze as you don’t dare avert your eyes again.

After a moment, as he studies the look on your face, the resignation, Dazai smiles though he does not lower his blade. “There we go. I missed those pretty eyes, my love. I don’t like when you ignore me.”

As Dazai starts to move his hips once more, he drags his blade down from your throat to in between your breasts and down your sternum.

“You do know why I must keep you here, right?” He begins. “It’s not because I’m cruel and enjoy watching you suffer. There is just so much in the world that could harm you.” Dazai’s pelvis kisses yours each time he pulls out just to stuff you full once again. His thrusts are merciless and rough, one hand planted firmly on your hip, pulling you down on his cock each time he rams it in as the other points his dagger at your heart. “Just as easily as I keep you alive, I could kill you. Isn’t that terrifying?”

His voice is eerily calm and steady, even as wet squelches, gasps, and hisses fill the air. Each thrust muddies your thoughts, filling your mind with nothing but the dopamine of pleasure. It was hard to think, much less hate the man in front of you when he fucked in a way no human could. Then, he sinks the knife into your chest just slightly, enough to split the skin and let small streaks of red make their way down your skin. 

Instinctively, you squirm and whine, desperate to move away as your mind screamed danger but his dagger did not move. It felt like each shuddering inhale and hiccuping exhale would only drive the silver blade further into your chest.

“Calm down.” He mutters, moving the blade from the shallow wound as Dazai leaned down to lie his forehead against yours. He dragged it down your stomach, stopping just above where your womb would rest. “I have no intention to kill you, and you know that. If I had, I would’ve done so long ago. What poor excuse of a husband would ever murder such a darling wife?”

You knew, had learned months ago, what a monster your husband really was. You had made one attempt at escape and you knew to never try such a thing again. Dazai was cruel and vicious with his victims- the poor, innocent people he fed from, but he was so much worse with his love. 

His smile pulled tight as he looked down at you. He had intentions of giving you a second chance only once, if his beloved dared to defy him once more… The night would end with your shared bed soaked in blood as your corpses held one another.

Stakes don’t kill vampires, he had told you that night as he dabbed at the wounds he had inflicted upon you, bloody and weeping. That’s just a silly story that weak humans came up with to make themselves feel stronger. However, silver- something so pure and holy, is just the thing to do the trick. 

“You’re sick.” Your voice wobbles, thick and cracking as your eyes glare up at his. “The only reason you haven’t killed me is because I’m cattle to you.”

“Is that so?” He smiles, stabbing the dagger into the pillow next to your head. Dazai huffs with effort, gritting his teeth, letting his fangs click and clash together as he works open your cunt. “Will you do it, then? Will you try to kill your shepherd? This is the only chance you’ll ever get, darling.”

You spat at him, face flushed red in a way his no longer could, despite the drool wetting your bruised lips. Your rich blood mixed with sweat, streaking down your chest- the mounds bouncing as Dazai grinned.

“Just look at you…” He croons, hand that once held the dagger coming to grip your chin once more. His hand held you with such force, you could see the way his arms flexed. Your once soft skin was marred and littered with blacks, purples, and yellows- with puncture marks from when he had not felt like finding another victim to terrorize. “So precious. I should carve out your womb. No human man would ever want you, then. Even if by some chance of fate, you escape from my clutches, there is not a single person on this earth that will ever consider having you know that you’ve been defiled by me.”

“You’re vile.” You hiss, voice weak and strained. You wanted nothing more than to push your captor away, to reject his advances but such luxuries were fantasy so long as you wanted to live. You clasp your hand over your mouth as Dazai delivers a particularly hard thrust into your cunt, shutting you up. 

Dazai groans, his hand falling away as his desperate thrusts speed up. “I know.” He drawls, “I know. And that’s why I want you. Why I need you.” Dazai pants into your ear, the hot breath contrasting sharply to his cold skin- the chill running down your spine and pushing you closer to him. “Because I’m vile and you’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”

He groans, rolling his hips into yours inch by inch, with the depravity and viciousness of a beast. Desperation ached inside of his bones like a disease, burning and boiling with each thought of you. Dazai loved you so much, he wanted to keep you to himself forever. Wanted to kill you to preserve your memory. Wanted to turn you to make sure he’ll never be alone again. 

As you tilted your head back, walls fluttering around him, he takes his place with his lips on your neck once more. Gently, as he had done a thousand times before, his fangs punctured the delicate flesh. Warm, rich blood pooled into his mouth- only a single drop escaping him. 

Dazai’s thrusts speed up as he gasps, pulling back with bloodied lips. He could barely control himself on the best of days, he’d drain you in but a moment. Each movement made Dazai crave more, the lava pooling in his gut addictive and sweet.

It felt like his cock was molding its shape in your core, truly claiming you as his in the most vile, animalistic way. Everything felt raw, sensitive to the touch. You could barely think, barely breathe with how thoroughly the vampire was drilling your aching cunt. Overwhelmed tears drip off your flushed cheeks as your own incisor threatens to split your lip.

“I need you by my side, my love.” Dazai sighs, kissing down from your temple until he finds the still pulsing wound on your neck. “And so, I must never let you pass on.”

Once more, his fangs find their way into your neck and once more do you feel the gentle cold taking over your body.

➛ wanna join my kinktober taglist?

➛ tags!! @null-zero-0 @ghostedwriting @Sinfulthoughtsposts @oforphicintent @kiironyx @seasonaldeii @rainsoakedsun @sakui1 @meowimacow

[valentine-cafe]

˖⁺. ﹙ devil in angel's robes  x male demon reader. ﹚ .𖹭 ݁

. . . pretty demonic thing !! 🍒 :  angel ˖ admiral ˖ guardian angel﹙ verse 9948e rishen. ﹚

you are a demon who caught the interest of the golden angel of nadir who has just so happens to snatch you away from hell itself

to think. a demon of your stature. bound and held by a pigeon angel. a mere fledging.

you had underestimated the one they call scarlet saviour. with such a pretty face and eyes that sparkled more than the astral sea — how could you not?

the last thing you expected was to be defeated by him. see that damned serene smile. his tender hands. he'd dragged you to the nadir. you awaited trial. confrontation with the divine and yet. . .

all you are met with is a catacomb. one you would come to be very familiar with. turns out this marvelous place dwells beneath his citadel.

is he mad? locking a demon below his home?

the question is. . . why? you had asked yourself time and time again. the young angel would visit your form bound by chains ridden with magic he should not have. he has stood before you countless times. eyes that you would have expected mockery only held a bewildering softness.

he has caressed you before. felt you. cupped your large, warm face in his hands and tilted it further.

divine, is what he was. glowing. with shadows cast along his beautiful face.

you slowly catch on. is this morbid curiousity? it seems as such when during one of his visits, he sits himself over your knees. hands cupping your face all the same.

“what are you doing, my dearest angel?”

he smiles at your voice. leaning his body down and folding his wings behind him. a gleam in his eyes holds no light. but you shiver all the same.

“I grow enthralled by your beauty.”

“is that why you keep me here?”

“for study purposes.”

he promises. brown curls tickling your face as he tilts his head in the slightest. such a coy thing. your claws ache to dig into his soft flesh. yet whether to tear or to cling is a question for another day.

“study purposes? might I ask, oh angel of light?” the name even burns your tongue. yet it brings him to smile.

“matter of interest. I wish to see a demon’s. . . devotion.”

“my race know no devotion -”

and yet when his lips befall yours, you kiss back with an earnesty of a faithful follower. he reaches up to grip onto one of your horns. yanking your head at an angle that allows him control.

in turn your wrists jerk around the restraints. eager to grab. eager to hold. to claw. claim.

teeth clash. tongues twist. he forces his control onto you until you both part after a good taste of one another's saliva. only a string in your wake.

the bastard huffs a chuckle. pupils dilated and his own neat nails digging into either side of your jaw.

“my god,” he breathes. “you are fun to kiss.”

[myfamilyllashea]

I love Jesus more than all and all my posts belong to Jesus and he is my Lord and savior, the Messiah, the Christ, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, Jesus Christ the truth, Jesus King of the jews, the rest on the earth and that much being God's son. as my Lord and savior and this is not about me but about Jesus the Messiah, the Christ, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, Jesus Christ the truth, Jesus King of the jews and the rest on the earth and that much being God's son with Mary, and Jesus, God, and the Holy Ghost have feelings like you and others do that also exist because of God, and you can talk to Jesus, God, and the Holy Ghost literally all the time and they do talk back to you and outside of prayer also and will be that close to you and talk to them and others that exist like you all day and night long and you'll never be alone and start talking to Jesus about everything and your lives will improve, No one needs governments, kings, queens, etc of people anywhere when people could just help one another as God and Jesus said and with God and Jesus being kings over us and all the people even now God and Jesus should be-1 samuel 8:6-9-It displeased Samuel when they said to him, “Appoint a king over us,” so Samuel prayed to the Lord. The Lord said to him, “Listen to everything that the people have requested of you. It is not you whom the people have rejected, they have rejected me as their king. They have done this from the day that I brought them up out of Egypt to this very day. They have rejected me and served other gods, just as they have rejected you. So grant their request, but warn them solemnly and inform them what the king who reigns over them will do.” and then what happened to Jesus-John 18 and 19 and he-JESUS IS EVERYONE'S KING and GOD'S BEGOTTEN SON with Mary and GOD JESUS'S DAD AND OUR HEAVENLY FATHER IS KING-as for you, DO NOT BE CALLED RABBI. you have but one TEACHER, AND YOU ALL BROTHERS. CALL NO ONE ON EARTH YOUR FATHER; you have but one FATHER in HEAVEN. DO NOT BE CALLED MASTER; you have but one master, the MESSIAH-JESUS-MATTHEW 23:8-10. Just more FACTS.

I love Jesus more than all and all my posts belong to Jesus and he is my Lord and savior, the Messiah, the Christ, Jesus is my King and should be your too instead of people and made up governments and Lord of Lords, Jesus Christ the truth, Jesus King of the jews, the rest on the earth and that much being God's son. as my Lord and savior and this is not about me but about Jesus the Messiah, the Christ, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, Jesus Christ the truth, Jesus King of the jews and the rest on the earth and that much being God's son with Mary, and Jesus, God, and the Holy Ghost have feelings like you and others do that also exist because of God, and you can talk to Jesus, God, and the Holy Ghost literally all the time and they do talk back to you and outside of prayer also and will be that close to you and talk to them and others that exist like you do all day and night long and you'll never be alone and start talking to Jesus about everything, and your lives will improve and I'm not just saying that it is true and I know from my own personal experiences that Jesus is a friend to all that want to be his friend just like God is Abraham's friend, God is the same way, the Holy Spirit, Also others really do exist God Jesus and the Holy Ghost have made-a variety of angels, animals, plants, people, demons, devil, you, me and more me who God, Jesus and Holy Spirit has made and you only worship Jesus, God, and the Holy Ghost as that how it is suppose to be and Jesus is who allows you to talk to God and anyone(as you are breathing)-John 14:6 just ask Jesus and he let you talk to them. Exodus in the comments to Chapter 24 and goes to 40 to look up the rest-Jesus is King and should be ruling us with God as King and the Holy Ghost everywhere right now instead of people and made up governments. Jesus, God, and the Holy Ghost are my-Laci Lashea Higgins and many more last names in my families only kings and you should understand why you do not want people over you and all should be given back to Jesus God's son to be over/leading as king, ruler, leader over everybody only with God and the Holy Ghost-not people.

[satanslovergirl]

╭────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────╮

T H U R S D A Y S A R E F O R

H O L D I N G H A N D S

╰────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────╯

❝ I'm not a hammer, as you say. I have questions, I have doubts. ❞

— Castiel, Season 5 Episode 4 “The End”

Pairing: Castiel x Reader (She/Her)

Word Count: 4,262

Tone: Innocent Romance, Wholesome Affection

Rating: T (Canon-typical dialogue, emotional tenderness, light intimacy)

Written by: Little Devil ♡

Based on: Season 4–5 timeline, post “The Rapture”

Synopsis:

When Dean sends you and Castiel to investigate a supposedly haunted house, neither of you expect it to be a bust—or for the stakeout to spark a ritual. Castiel watches humans hold hands and asks if it’s really something people enjoy. You show him what it means, just once. Then every Thursday, without fail, he finds you and offers his hand again. It starts as curiosity—but becomes a quiet promise. Something warm. Something sacred. Something like love.

════ ⋆✩⋆ ════

It started with a ghost.

Well. Not really.

The ghost was a dud—classic salt-and-burn turned cold. Nothing but local lore and a basement full of mice. But Dean had double-booked himself with Bobby, and in a rare act of what he called “character development,” he paired her with Castiel. Said it would be good for the angel to “learn how to handle a civilian without treating her like a feral raccoon.”

She didn’t mind.

Castiel was quiet. Still. That kind of old-world silence that didn’t feel uncomfortable, just… deep. He watched everything with a gaze too sharp to be human. Still, he never made her nervous. If anything, he made the air around her feel steadier.

The house was empty, the evening quiet. So they ended up back in the Impala. Waiting.

It was late. Streetlamps blinked down on cracked sidewalks. Couples passed occasionally, voices low, laughter soft.

She sat sideways in the front passenger seat, one leg tucked beneath her, boots crossed at the ankles. Rain tapped faintly on the roof.

Castiel sat beside her, unmoving, hands resting flat on his knees. He stared out the windshield like he was reading something she couldn’t see.

“Why do they do that?” he asked suddenly.

She turned. “Do what?”

He tilted his head. “That.”

Outside the window, a man and woman strolled past hand in hand, fingers linked casually.

“You mean—holding hands?”

He nodded once. “Is it pleasurable?”

She bit back a smile. “It can be. It’s… comforting. Familiar. Sometimes romantic. It’s not just physical—it’s about connection.”

He looked at their joined palms. “May I try?”

She blinked. “You want to hold hands?”

“I want to understand.”

Her chest fluttered—soft and sudden.

She reached out. Slowly. Fingers brushing his first, then gently curling between them.

His hand was warm. Broad. Solid.

“This is it,” she said softly. “Just like this.”

He stared at their joined hands with the reverence of a man witnessing a sunrise for the first time.

“I see,” he murmured.

And she didn’t know if he meant it metaphorically or not—but something shifted in the air between them.

════ ⋆✩⋆ ════

The next Thursday, he found her.

She was folding laundry in a rundown motel’s washroom, humming along to the static-fuzzy radio and folding one of Dean’s flannel shirts when she heard it—

“Hello.”

She shrieked.

Turning fast, she found Castiel standing barely two feet behind her, deadpan as always.

“Cas!” she gasped, hand flying to her chest. “Warn a girl!”

His brow furrowed, almost apologetic. “I didn’t intend to frighten you.”

“Well, you did,” she huffed, breathless—but laughing now. “Maybe next time skip the ghost routine and try knocking.”

“I’ll remember,” he said solemnly.

She gave him a look, brushing a dryer sheet from her arm, then tilted her head.

He stepped forward. The same careful way he always did.

“It is Thursday,” he added simply.

Her expression softened.

And then—just like that—he held out his hand.

Her heart ached in the best way.

She laced their fingers together and let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

They stood there in the hum of spinning machines, surrounded by soap and steam and quiet, steady warmth.

════ ⋆✩⋆ ════

It became tradition.

Every Thursday, wherever she was, he appeared.

A bus stop in Illinois. A coffee shop in Kansas. The shoulder of a dirt road just past sundown. Sometimes they spoke. Sometimes they just stood there, palms pressed, skin warm against skin.

She never asked how he found her.

She always said yes.

════ ⋆✩⋆ ════

The sixth Thursday, she asked:

“Why Thursdays?”

They sat in a diner booth, late-night pie long forgotten. Their hands rested between them on the vinyl seat, fingers intertwined.

Castiel looked out the window.

“It was a Thursday,” he said. “The night you showed me this.”

She blinked.

That was it. That simple. That honest.

She smiled into their joined hands, and he looked at her like he’d said something profound. Maybe he had.

════ ⋆✩⋆ ════

The twelfth Thursday, it changed.

They were in a motel outside Sioux Falls. The wallpaper peeled in corners. A lamp buzzed on the nightstand.

She lay curled on the left bed, book closed on her chest, moonlight softening her face.

He appeared beside her in silence, as always.

“I missed you,” she said softly, eyes half-lidded.

“I missed this,” he replied. “You. This hand.”

He sat down slowly and extended his palm.

She took it.

He stared at their joined fingers. “I don’t do this with anyone else.”

She smiled. “I know.”

“I no longer wish to.”

She turned her head toward him.

“I no longer wish to hold hands with anyone else.”

Her chest ached—in that soft, sweet way.

“I think I don’t want to either,” she whispered.

They stayed like that until dawn. Fingers laced, hearts quiet.

════ ⋆✩⋆ ════

Now, it’s Thursday again.

A different town. Another nameless roadside motel.

She’s lying on the bed, still dressed, staring at the water-stained ceiling.

She’s not surprised when the air shifts.

When the room stills.

When he appears.

“Hello,” she says.

“Hello.”

He sits beside her, trench coat settling around him like a blanket.

And without a word, he offers his hand.

She takes it.

They lie there in the quiet.

Hand in hand.

Fingers woven.

And though he doesn’t say it, she feels it in the way his thumb brushes her knuckle, in the way his grace hums warm and steady through the room.

But still, tonight, he says it anyway:

“I think I was always meant to find you.”

╭────── ⋆⋅✩⋅⋆ ──────╮

E N D

╰────── ⋆⋅✩⋅⋆ ──────╯

[azialways]

write me like you love me

Ronin x reader

cw: post canon events, canon plot, breaking in, crowbar, suggestive content, a very touchy ronin

It was yet another uneventful day for Y/N, her boyfriend was gone doing god knows what; probably murder. The European killers were asleep, so that left Angel and Misaki to talk to. Angel was busy with her own stuff, so it left Misaki and Y/N on call to gossip and shit talk. The two enjoyed their gossip sessions while Y/N would work on their story, it was routine, almost.

“And so yeah, basically this guy would not stay still for the life of him! I swear he had ADHD or something…but eventually he stopped for a split second to tie his shoe, so I got him, BUT DAMN I WAS WORRIED ABOUT MY LACK OF MONEY.” Misaki ranted, while Y/N typed up some more of their writing.

They began to talk about Ronin, well the character that in sorts represented him…his annoying charm, his personality, the flirtatious nature of his character…everything that pissed them off in a way that made them realize how in love they were.

“Dude. Earth to Y/N.” Misaki spoke, taking Y/N out of their trance.

“Shit, my bad, What did you ask?” They asked, switching to the server tab.

“I said, spill the beans on you and Ronin. We obviously know you’re together since you dropped it on vday, but how is it going?” They asked, adjusting their position in their bed.

“Ouhhh, yeah it’s good. He's essentially the same as he is on the server, just touchier and more flirty slash cocky slash annoying…but he’s great, really sweet surprisingly. considering all the shit he gave me before.” They chuckled, recalling how Ronin would call them out and mess around with them.

It still partially pissed Y/N off that Ronin was playing with them at first, even if he’s apologized over and over. However, he made up for it by being a pretty okay boyfriend. They continued to write down ideas on their document, generating ways to represent Ronin accurately without blowing his cover, obviously. Not that they planned on making the characters the exact same, hell, the only similarity between the two are the cocky, flirty personalities, which isn’t unique.

“So how do you think I can represent Ronin best without it actually being him?” Y/N asked, thinking out loud.

“Being a cocky, flirty asshole?”

“That’s a lot of guys, Misaki.”

“Shit you’re right. Gotta make him unique.” They chuckled, crossing their legs in a butterfly pose. “Uhh, make him obsessed with the word “darling” and give him religious trauma.”

“Genius!”

“Talkin ‘bout me?” A voice spoke from the direction of her window. Not again.

“Babe, how many times do I have to say this: stop coming in through my window! You have a copy of my key, use the front door.” Y/N groaned, grabbing his hand and squeezing the life out of it.

“He does this frequently?” Misaki asked, looking confused at the camera display of Ronin with a crowbar and disheveled from climbing.

“Unfortunately. Call you back Mis?” Y/N asked and Misaki nodded, hanging up and leaving them to each other.

“Also, little warning when you’re visiting next time? I look like shit.” Y/N sighed, sitting back on their office chair.

“Darlin’ I think you look divine…wearing my shirt and some short ass shorts…fuck baby…” He groaned, his arms wrapped around their waist as he brought them closer, their back on his chest….his mouth right above their neck, breathing down and making the tiny hairs stand up.

“mmm you can work on that later, be with me, with your devil.” He kissed a spot on their neck gently.

“Mmhm-baby it’s your section, the part where you come in.” They explained, and that got his attention; because he came up from his spot in their neck.

“Oh? What are you writing? Something flattering I hope…”

“Well I’m currently trying to find a way to not expose you and get your ass thrown on death row, so yknow.” They responded, chucking self depricationally. They wouldn’t know what they’d do if they accidentally got Ronin thrown on death row. He was a wanted man after all, alas, nobody knew his identity except for the server, but they wanted him represented somehow.

“Mmm, should I just make him a cocky emo boy with a love for the word darling?” They suggested, turning to face him. All he did was bark out a laugh.

“hah! good one. though, I do think that’s accurate. As long as you also make him love a crowbar…and maybe rip out the main character’s aorta at the end?” He suggested, his hands resting on their hips. His eyes batted teasingly, as if begging them to put it in the book.

“i’ll think about it. would make for a romantic ending…a story about a girl falling in love with a guy who was secretly a serial killer, who’s loosely based off of you.”

“But you were the one in secret…we weren’t hiding as serial killers, you were hiding as the writer.” He added, pointing out the inaccuracy.

“Well yeah but i’m not trying to give the media any ideas about you guys’ existence.” They chuckled, their hand going up his arm.

“I guess, cause if not, I’d have to kill you.” He whispered, kissing a spot on his neck.

“You said you were gonna do that months ago, and where are we now?” They teased him, their hand on his cheek.

“A moment of temporary weakness. How do I resist someone as charming as you, my writer darling?” He chuckled, knowing they had mixed feelings about that nickname.

“Just darling works fine, Ro.” Y/N ruffled his hair, sitting on the bed. He followed, sitting down next to him. They rested their head on his shoulder, placing a soft kiss on his jaw.

“Love you, psycho.”

“Awh, Psycho? Keep talking dirty baby.” He teased, his arm wrapping around their waist, pulling them closer.

“God, you’re such a whore sometimes.”

“Only for you, darling.” He kissed the top of their head.

“Aren’t I a special one?” Y/N teased, then yelped softly as Ronin grabbed them by the waist and pulled them onto his lap, straddling him.

“I missed you, yknow? All. of you.” He spoke, a hint of yearning in his eyes. He did miss Y/N, they could tell. The look in his eyes, the way he spoke so tenderly…it was the look of a man in love. He loved Y/N like he loved his crowbar, maybe even more. He’d never explicitly say it, but they knew it was the truth.

His hands snuck under their shirt, feeling the soft, warm skin under the fabric. It made Y/N shudder at the sudden contact. Their arms found their way around his neck, holding themself up.

“Hey gorgeous.” He spoke, his voice barely above a whisper as he leaned in.

“Hi baby.” They responded, leaning in to him. Their lips were millimeters away, the ghost of his breath on Y/N’s lips as he tenderly closed that gap. Their lips moved together in a tender harmony, one that spoke to the love they shared. They pulled away, a string of saliva connecting them, their breathing slowly quickening as Ronin went back in for another kiss. This time, it was a lot more passionate and aggressive. Lips on teeth, and teeth on teeth. One thing about Ronin, he bites. He bites and marks like a madman. He liked people knowing who he loved, and Y/N loved it.

Ronin pulled away, just to dive into their neck. Y/N tilted their head so he had better access, but he also used his hands to make it happen. His hand was in their hair, pulling it back so he had his space. That earned a moan out of them, and another when he nibbled at that sensitive spot he knew they liked.

“Goddamn it…R-Ronin-fuck baby.” They moaned, whimpering from the constant sensitive stimulation.

“There’s no god here darlin’, just your devil,” He sneered, grabbing the back of their head and pushing it back a bit.

“And if you have requests, I'd gladly voice them.”

God it made them so horny to think about the options, the possibilities they could do. Ronin had barely any limits, he’d cut them up if asked… he wasn’t into anything too crazy, but he was generally open. As long as he had his share of Y/N, to worship their body and love them…he didn’t care.

And fucking hell, they loved that about Ronin Beaufort.

[bluetooththereptile]

Can I request a part 2 for His Mother (Yandere Damian Wayne x naga reader x Yandere Bruce Wayne)🙏🙏🙏

Yes! For sure you can!

( English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes in the following text.)

Note: this oneshot is continuation of this fic.

Tw: mentions of drugs

The faint scent of soaked wood was in the air, and your den's condition was stimulated so well that if it wasn't for the walls around you, you'd feel at home. Minus the sunlight of course, and a fresh breeze, the air made you feel weak and sleepy and its scent was sort of sweet on your tongue, as if it was spring already and the flower petals were in the air. Every day, all you did as time passed was either spent sleeping or taking care of the little one who unlike you was extremely energetic, cooing and babbling as she crawled around with her tiny hands, still not old enough to learn how to crawl with her tail. She could be a menace and a little angel at the same time, crawling on top of a few branches and then jumping down onto you, giggling, which was her favorite pastime that left you alert most of the time to her presence. Lately, a few teeth had grown into her mouth and she had started to nibble on things, including your tail, and feeding her with your hands had turned into a challenge. Now that you looked around, you could see her bite marks on the plants around you. That little thing had explored the whole invisible cage so many times that you'd wondered if she had learned to crawl on the walls as well...it wasn't that unlikely of her.

Speaking of the devil...

Lulu's head popped up from under the water as she splashed the water around her "Mama, mama!" She reached out for you, and you slowly reached out and took the baby in your arms, she could breathe underwater unlike you, which meant her parents were water-based Nagas. Handling her wasn't easy, but it was for a few hours before they came along. Bruce and your boy, Damian. They somehow knew how to handle both you and little LuLu, or as they called her, Lucy.

You looked down at the cooing baby in your arms, smiling softly, Lulu was pure white, her large eyes having a red hue to them, you thought the poor thing was sick for not having a color to her scales or little puffs of hair, not knowing that she was a very rare albino, oh how many nights you had spent on worrying about her health not noticing that she was chubbier than most of baby Nagas you had seen, which meant she was quiet healthy.

As you held the baby, she nuzzled into your chest, liking the fabric of your topwear. Bruce would provide you with them, and not much to your liking, he'd take it off or put it on you himself. Lulu's tail wrapped around your arm as you rocked her, watching her play with the tip of your tail, poking it with her chubby fingers. You let out a soft sigh of irritation as she reached for the tip and started playing with it, you didn't know when you found that abandoned egg you'd end up like this, you were mateless and young, without much experience, you didn't know how to handle the baby, and she didn't help you with handling her either...well, except Damian, at least he'd listen. Your mouth turned downwards, remembering that he was the reason you were now captive. Poor you, you didn't have much luck in both parenting and mating...well, as for mating, Bruce still tried to woo you, you could easily deduce that, but how did he know of Naga culture and their ways of courting, you weren't sure.

Lulu squirmed out of your arms and swam into the shallow pond, splashing around as she swam to the other side of it, you sighed again, too tired to follow her around. "Lulu...honey come back" You tried to take her attention, but she was already on her way to creating chaos once more. You relax your upper body on the warm sands close to the pond, and your lower half rests in the water, soaking in. Today none of them came along, were they unwell? The thought made you feel bad, both with the image of them being sick and your thought of caring about them made you feel bad. You couldn't deny you worried about them as well, but...Were you being tamed like a beast? Never! You wouldn't allow that!

You were too busy rubbing your temple as you let your thoughts circle in your mind like a swarm of irritating flies, to notice the door of your gilded cage opening. Damian and Jon's heads popped in, noticing that you were far away from their side of the cage they let out a sigh of relief. Knowing you, if it wasn't for the sedatives you'd be charging at them already. You looked at the two humans entering slowly, struggling with blinking to keep your eyes open, you rested your head on top of your hand, watching them walk to Lulu, who was already crawling toward them.

"Dami! Dami!" Lulu squealed with excitement as she spotted Damian, her chubby cheeks flushed with the struggle of crawling faster to her brother. Damian smiled at the little one and bent down and picked her up, her giggles filling the air. You smiled softly at the scene, looking at how Damian's one snake-like eye's iris widened at the sight of his sister, a sign that he loved her.

You hummed his name under your breath, remembering the time you had to put your special balm on his wounds, made out of your blood and a few different herbs, unknowingly giving him some sort of mutation, making him gain some snake-like features. How precious he was when he held onto you tightly, seeking comfort, fever haunting his body because of the infection in his blood. You wanted to be mad at him for bringing that man, Bruce, to take you away from your swamp, but you couldn't, he was your boy.

When Damian turned around to take Lulu away you felt a little surge of panic rush into your reptilian heart, where was he taking Lulu? "W-wait-!" You were too slow and the boy and his friend had left with the little one, leaving you there, filling your heart with worry. You moved into the pond, getting closer to the door of the cage, you knew you couldn't move past the invisible walls of it, naturally you didn't know of glasses, thinking of them as invisible walls, you didn't know how to move past them, but you still tried. You moved your hand and slammed it on the door of your confinement with the remnants of your energy in a struggle to make it open, you knew it would be in vain, but you still did so, but much to your surprise, the invisible door opened, letting clean air come into your cage, you could see a different light coming from there...oh?...oh...OH!

....

"Just be quick, I need to put Lucy back with Mom..." Damian told Jon as he put Lulu in the little tub to keep her from crawling around. The baby Naga was a little distraught by the unfamiliar nature of her surroundings, her small fist tightly holding onto Damian's finger. Jon moved closer, with a few little dresses that his mother had tailored for little Lucy. "My mom said they are water resistant," Jon said with his proud smile and helped put the dress on top of Lulu's body, she giggled as her head popped out of the neckline of the little pink dress, finding it amusing that Damian tried to pull her little arms into the holes of the sleeveless dress, to her everything seemed like a game.

"If you want to take pictures, I have a camera you know" Dick appeared behind the two young boys startling them slightly. Jon nodded enthusiastically, while Damian huffed "Let me at least tidy up her hair". He said as he ran his fingers into her white messy locks. "Say cheese!" Dick spoke as he used a rattle to gain Lulu's attention as he held the camera, chuckling slightly as Lulu looked up at him with a large smile, her few teeth shining. The picture of the Naga in her cute dress was taken with a bright flash from the camera. The bright light made a huge shadow behind them appear on the wall the three humans tensed up visibly, turning around slowly, their eyes widening in shock.

....

"E-easy, Y/N..." Bruce groaned out as your tail made another circle around his legs, tightening around them not so gently. You were on top of him, your hands holding him as you glared down at him with your snake eyes. You had crawled out of your cage and since you weren't inhaling sedatives, you were gaining back your strength, so you had startled Bruce on his seat in the bat cave.

You looked down at the man you had pinned to his seat, unconsciously moving your hand to trace the different parts of his face, you were too focused on his blue eyes that you didn't notice his hand move to push a button, it'd give you an electric shock to stop you from doing something reckless, but his hand paused as he watched you lay slowly on top of him, trying to get some warmth from his body. "Mate..." the word came out of your mouth in a whisper, you had realized that struggling was futile, Bruce was the alpha predator of your chain of family, and you should submit to feel happier, he knew how to handle Lulu and Damian and seemed to like you, even now that Lulu was away from you she seemed happy enough, so why resist?

"Mine..." you added, making Bruce smile nervously, something that he had thought would happen with force, now had happened easily. His hand moved away from the button to caress your hair, chuckling slightly as he heard Lulu's voice as Damian approached them with her in his arms "Mama! Mama!" Her voice echoed in the cave, promising a new future in a much different world for you with your new family.

[r0-boat]

Because I’m starving for the boy who clearly came out of a shoujo manga. The true beauty of Hades imho. Could I request some sweet and maybe spicy Foras headcanons? 🌸

Ooh YES!!

Foras headcanons

Nsfw&Sfw

Cw: stalking, dubcon.

Sfw

Foras is in unknown territory. It's just a flutter every time he sees you. You're so bright and lively that he shy is always so easily. But at the same time, it's that same bright and liveliness He wants to protect and cherish. He has never been in love before. And the fluttery feelings honestly scare him.

Balancing his love and loyalty for his king and his love for you is difficult... Especially when the two of you fight like angels and devils. He knows how much you don't like Levi but he'll still at least try to get you to have a better relationship. (He doesn't know the dynamic you two have) he can't help but selfishly fantasize about having both you and leviathan his arms. And he hates seeing two people he loves fight.

Foras wants you but never dared to act on those feelings; call it shyness. Or call it not wanting to give unwanted competition to his king. He avoids you when he's visible; when he's invisible, he's practically your new shadow. He passes off as an excuse, throwing his king under the bus. Telling you that Levi had ordered him to stalk you. (Something he would tell you if you actually catch him) which is half true. Yes, Levi wants him to follow you around everywhere you go to report back to him. But honestly, he's just as curious about you as Levi.

But will not fight you if You're the one initiates. In fact, he would prefer that; his heart would go wild if you pull on his ropes and pull them into a kiss. He doesn't care if he gets punished for this. He wants to feel your soft lips against his.

Touch starved. Extremely touched starved. Melting into your hand when you pat his head, touched starved. He wants more, but he doesn't want to ask.

He feels that little pain in his chest, poisonous jealousy when other devils get your attention. But, he had never acted out on those feelings before.

He would only do something if it protected you. Or if an angel attacked you and your all alone. He is the reason that water or snacks would magically appear if you say the your hungry or thirsty.

Nsfw

He can't say that he has claim over you, Even though it'd feel good too. He wants to claim you in more ways, claim the inside of his body in the most prime way. He touches himself every night dreaming to how you would feel. Every night, he would touch himself to you, wishing and wanting. He hates to admit it, but one time, he came into your room invisible and walked in on you, touching yourself. His breath was getting heavy and shaky, looking how your fingers and hands played with yourself. After a while of watching you, he gives in, sliding his hand into his pants to palm himself. Biting his lip to hold back his sounds.

His greatest fantasy is fucking you in front of Leviathan. Whether it be ordered to do so or not, it's something that he jacks off to constantly.

Despite being a devil, He's actually sort of innocent by devil standards. He has never had sex before.

Now that he is over you, his face is pink, and he is nervous; he wants to pleasure you. He wants to make you feel good. even though he's very nervous. At least he knows how you like to touch yourself.

Pull on his chains will you ride him; he'll go insane. Those things are just for decoration, so they might break, but he doesn't care. The sight was so hot he filled you up on the spot.

Closet pervert. Chivalrous knight of hell is a closet pervert! He has a virgin but at the same time he thinks about doing real nasty things to you you'll never know because of his straight face.